Kisumu life, work and MEN (yes another really long one)

Fidelis is gone for a great deal of October. So I have a work plan, books to read and writing to do but I still don’t feel like I have much to do. I get a bit bored. I think it’s because my social life is slower and it’s not really safe for me to go out at night. It’s sort of nice to have all this solitude, but is taking some getting used to. I shouldn't complain about relaxation though, besides, I don’t know if I could use too much more energy. This is the closest I’ve ever been the the equator and I’m still adjusting to the relentless heat. I finally have time to do something I would never do at home. Read. Barbara Kingsolver continues to change my life. I get shivers down my back as the words take unexpected turns to display very clear and emotionally provoking pictures. I'm not all alone in Fidelis' house which is good. Nimu, is a lot of fun and a busy student writing her master's, so we both have slower social lives. She says it’s normal for her though. So I now have an office (below) and we purchased a new printer and I've been filing papers and cleaning the dust off of everything in our office/feed warehouse. Out of this little tin building we run the agricultural trade. Helen and I had to cram and haul 100 frozen chickens in a tuk tuk to a restaurant. I couldn't help but laugh at how funny the situation was. It was difficult to explain why I found it so funny. According to my co-workers, my work plan looks like too much. I have a sneaking suspicion that I can do most things, especially documentation-wise quite a bit faster than most educated people here. It seems unfair to me really. Almost all education is offered in English, when it is not Kenya’s first language. Fortunately for me, it is spoken often and I am learning Kenyan English more than Swahili. I think my accent is funny but they understand it better. The majority of these educated people, even office workers have poor typing skills due to a lack of technological resources. This may be why they think my work load is too big. I think the most challenging part of this work is processing information from an unfamiliar cultural context and producing documents accordingly. I'm looking forward to some of the hands on, in field work that will start next week.

I still feel like a tourist when I walk around Kisumu. Another sneaking suspicion is that they’ve all seen me many times and I wouldn’t recognize any of them. I think they are all curious about who I am and what I am doing here. Hopefully the word gets around soon. Apparently it does in this place. For now I am the mzungo. While in line at NAKUMATT (the supermarket with set prices and I don’t have to bargain for every banana!) I heard some talk of a mzungo behind me and someone’s ‘smart card’ was passed up to me to use so that this woman could earn the points from my purchases. I think she was thrilled.

Today, Chris (personal chauffer and friend) “picked me” in his tuk tuk and drove me to the Kisumu outdoor pool. My Fridays are spent reading and doing homework. I spent the day reading in the hot sun with swim breaks in between. I was the only one using the pool though. I’m quite pink all over now, but it’s the pink that will turn brown overnight. I won’t lie, I love the sun. Soon I’ll be very brown and perhaps less of an anomaly? I was able to get some good reading done too but not as much as I had hoped to as a result of the freakin’ men who try so hard to talk to me and arrange a later meeting. This might be the most difficult and annoying part of being here and going out and about alone. I am stopped by a complete stranger anytime and anywhere. However, I think I’ve mastered the daily occurring conversation that usually goes something like this:
“Hello! What is your name.”
Hello. My name is Justine.
“oh that’s very nice. Do you also have a second name?”
Yes.  I tell him.
(here he attempts pronunciation a few times with me correcting.)
“ok, that is a very nice name. So Justine (emphasis on the Jus), are you from the United Staes of Amerinca?”
Oh no, I am from Canada.
“Canada, oh that’s wonderful. You are our friend here. Caribou. Do you know what that means?”
yes, it means welcome.
“Whoa, how did you know that? You must be very smart. Do you know more Kiswahilli?”
yes, only a little.
(here I list the words I know and he laughs and corrects me while commending my knowledge. A few men have offered to give me regular swahilli lessons. I usually thank them but refuse the offer saying I have a good book to learn from. One has argued that I can’t learn from a book as well as from him so I should take HIM out and he will teach me.)
“ok, so Justine, how long will you be in Kisumu? Are you touring or working here?”
(I tell them about MICH and my degree in Canada and that I’ll be here until December at which point they move in closer and fire more questions usually pertaining to my family, western culture, my religion. I’m always surprised at how quickly Africans will ask, “Are you saved/Are you a Christian?”. They also want to know if I “take alcohol”, and we discuss the issue of drinking, usually agreeing on ‘everything in moderation’. It’s also interesting to see how fascinated they are with my white skin. They might say, “ok, so I understand that mzungo skin changes color when they are very angry or happy….” I explain to them why and when my cheeks turn pink and that the sun turns our skin red and brown.)
This conversation, along with the explanation of Canada’s four seasons and life in the winter gets a huge reaction, as if I’d just told them that I actually come from another planet. They are truly intrigued by the skin contrast and the little blonde hairs on my skin when we hold our arms out together. Why do they get to be body hairless? This area is filled with people (Luo tribesmen) who want to be educated, have office jobs but not WORK. Many have a great deal of education behind them, yet they don’t know where Canada is on a map. Hmmm…… I work hard to explain to them that though it looks like we are part of the US, we are a very different country. I’m curious about the Kenyan education system. At this point in the conversation I want to kindly shake their hand (a second time) and say it was nice to meet them but I must go. I swear they read my mind and rush into a question like this:
“so Justine, I see you have rings on your fingers, are you married/do you have children?”
I am regretful to tell them no, I am only 20 and still a student. They appear thrilled. My body language says I am ready to leave and so they don’t miss a beat to say;
“Justine, I have a request, I don’t know if you’ll refuse or comply, and I know you have known me for a very short time, but I am just going to ask it because I think it is important to just be honest. Can I ask it?”
(here we go again…..)
From experience I know that they are going to ask me to take them out, meet somewhere for tea, walk with them downtown or meet again to ‘have a talk’ and get to know each other better. So I’ve learned to cut them off here and explain to them that I am here to work, I am very busy, I am here for a very short time or I even imply something about me not having the money their looking for or even that Canada is too cold. (I’ve learnt that African men want to connect with white women so badly for:
1. status
2. money (and/or)
3. a ticket to the west.
After I blatantly but politely refuse, they still persist, convincingly, denying all of the above, asking at least for my ‘contacts’ or probing, “why can’t you meet with me..”…
At this point I feel annoyed, anxious to get away, and sometimes even badly because they are pleading and begging. I finally agree to take their contacts. They victoriously write their name, mobile number and e-mail in my little notebook and ask me to promise to call.
“ok, I will. I have to go now.” I shake their hand (this is not flirting but Kenyan custom) and swiftly walk away, hoping he won’t come after me with more questions and that I won’t see him again.
Seriously, I don’t do a thing to make them think I’m interested in the least. I don’t want to be rude or flat out lie, but in the end, I’m finding it’s the only way to get away. They are absolutely relentless. This has perhaps been my biggest woe.
As much as I love this culture, the polygamous men drive me nuts. Some of the ones who strike up the above conversations with me look about 40 and they most likely have 3 or more wives feverishly caring for many children. Their attitudes towards women and the way they stand around gawking makes me ill. Fortunately, not all men are this way. It all depends on their tribal history and religion, but this area has its fair share of tradition. People here are often shocked to understand that I come from a family of 3 daughters. It is shameful for a man not to have a son, therefore, he will often find another wife when wife#1 is not “giving him a boy”. A good indication of a man with many wives and a lot of money is a big belly. Fat=wealth/success/domination. It is something else!

One of the pictures below shows Nimu rationing our week’s supply of water. We hauled up about 12 of these water barrels into the kitchen today. For the past week we have not had running water and I find myself carrying bucket after bucket to the bathroom to shower with, flush with and wash my clothes with. Nimu can not even imagine the washer/dryer at home that I’ve extensively explained. “How could one possibly dry clothes without hot sunshine? How can you trust that your ‘trousahs’ are clean without even scrubbing them?”. Last night it stormed on the way home from town. From inside the tuk tuk I watched people scurrying to cover or carry their roadside goods, find some shelter and cram into matatus to get home. The raindrops were huge. I was outside for 20 seconds and drenched. I’ve never seen puddles form so fast. We got home and the power was out. Life is camping inside. It is so difficult to answer questions about my country because it is just so different. One explanation always results in at least 5 more which induce to more questions. It’s kind of exhausting but refreshing to speak of something very familiar. It's a nice break from me trying to understand Africa. I think there are some things that I may not ever understand but I try to live as if this is normal for me. Watching and observing is a lot easier than asking.

Going to an Anglican church in the morning. I'm looking forward to the contrast from my past 2 wild pentecostal Sundays. There is actually a movie theatre here and Chris has agreed to drive me, as long as he can watch with me. It will be nice to sit and watch "Evan Almighty".

more than enough said.
peace.