Challenging Questions
While yet in Kenya I reverted the “A Shifting Perspective” (originally posted as “Not all Peaches & Cream”) entry to Draft mode for further editing. Since then, I have worked on it daily (leaving the original post date in tact in order that the entries remain contiguous). Not because what I wrote was completely inaccurate nor offensive (at least I don’t believe it was), but because in prior posts I offered my experience of Kenya, Nakuru, and Pistis through stories of interaction with less of my own interpretation.

In Shifting Perspective, I try to understand what I have experienced through contrast and comparison to the norms of my own upbringing and culture within my country, asking hard questions as many were also asked of me.

“I have heard it is dangerous to be Black in the United States. Is this true?”

“Why is your government trying to define who can and who cannot be married? I thought the U.S. became independent from England to keep the church separate from the State.”

Perhaps the most challenging to answer, which I have been asked during other ventures overseas, “Is it true that your government kills people with electricity?”

I was asked several times, “Is it [cold/hot] in the United States?”

And my favorite, “Is there still manual labor in the United States? Or is everything done by machines?”

Some of these are funny, even fun to answer, but some are very challenging. While I can quote statistics or give my personal opinion, I cannot pretend to know the experience of African Americans nor fully explain the history of how the church and State do share government. Often I was asked questions that do not have a single answer, explaining that in many respects the U.S. feels like the union of small countries, each with their own weather, laws, culture, and languages. I always made clear that I am but one person with my own opinions and experience and that I represent only me and perhaps my family and a few friends, with any level of certainty.

In the same respect, I bombarded my Kenyan host family and new friends with my thirst for knowledge, seeking understanding of what I saw and experienced there. They were more than patient, answering what they can from their own points of view. In so doing, I realize too how much anyone takes for granted, how much we accept as the norm where we are born and raised.

So when someone asks, “How far behind is Kenya from the U.S.?” I laugh and say, “In some respects, you are far ahead. In others you are catching up.” The United States has a great deal to offer that is of benefit to others, but we have a great deal to learn as well. I ask that as we continue to mature as individuals, and as a country, that we stop pushing so hard for everyone to be like us; that we stop long enough to ask, What can we bring home from where we visit? What do we have to learn from the rest of the world?

This post is continued with A Shifting Perspective.

Leonard tells me that one becomes Kenyan when you can sleep the duration of the road from Nakuru to Nairobi. If this is true, then I am may be on my way, having slept through most of the nasty road (I find near death experiences simpler to accept eyes closed) my head once or twice bobbing onto the shoulder of the woman to my right, an attorney who passed opportunity to practice traditional law (and make a great deal more money), choosing instead to help bring equality to women, gays, and lesbians through protective law, workshops, and conferences. We talked briefly while at the Nakuru depot about the boys at the orphanage who are gay and how they may or may not be accepted in the confines of a fairly traditional church.

Leonard’s high school friend, the taxi cab driver who helped us retrieve the solar panels two weeks prior picked me up at the Mololine depot and whisked me to the airport. I departed at 11:30 pm on Lufthansa airlines. A bit overwhelmed for I could again understand most of what was being said, the touring Americans speaking in a relatively high volume (we are known for this, world-wide). My brain suffered from stimuli overload.

From the relative chaos of Nairobi to the organized sterility of Zurich Switzerland where open interior spaces are defined by sharp lines of reflective silver, black, white, and glass. Modern architecture neatly matched modern advertising, store fronts, and products, the bold faces of high contrast, moist model photography compelling “Be beautiful, like me.”

With another transfer from Zurich to Munich and then the final leg to Denver, the passenger nationalities transitioned from Kenyans and a varied host of tourists to mostly Germans visiting the U.S. and U.S. residents returning from a weekend of German pub tours, the low cost of U.S. to Europe flights making possible an international weekend get-away.

And with this transition the long hand shakes and inquisitive eye contact gave way to personal space defined by iPods and head phones saying, “I am in my world now. Leave me alone.”

My good friend Sean was gracious enough to drive to the airport, finding me at a pay phone for the firmware upgrade to my cell has apparently killed its domestic function.

My house welcomed me with creaking hard wood floors and the aroma of since burnt incense. The fifty or more plums on my backyard tree not yet ready for picking one month ago are now gone, the remnants lying on the ground beneath its branches. I should have emailed my neighbor to collect them in their prime. The peaches and apples suffered a similar fate. Sad, for this winter’s tremendous snow fall gave way to blossoms of fruitful burden. Summer is done, fall quickly taking its place. We can receive snow as early as the first week of September, the taste of winter not too distant on the whispers of cooling wind.

I could not sit at home, alone, for I longed to be around people again, my definition of personal space redefined by the constant holding of hands with both men and women, shoulders rubbing and seats shared on the musical matatus, standing in line, and when walking in town. I drove from Loveland north to Fort Collins and to Mugs internet cafe where I now write this entry. In those fifteen miles I counted a total of six people standing outside, a stark contrast to the hundreds I passed in just one kilometer in Nakuru.

Here, we surround ourselves with the wood and brick of our homes which grant us cover from weather into the steel and glass safety of our cars where we travel alone, talking on cell phones in order to compensate for contact lost.

I sit now next to a man to whom I will never speak while a dozen people have come and gone to my front. The conversations I overhear include a girl saying, her voice rising at the end of each phrase “Dude? I was soooo drunk? I could not even stand up?” pausing to point to a photo on her computer screen, “And she was like c-o-m-p-l-e-t-e-l-y wasted,” while someone on the other side offering a really bad “walks into a bar” joke. Few make eye contact with someone they do not already know.

A bluegrass CD is interrupted by an espresso machine and blender. The evening, public attire is comprised of a university sweatshirt, white with pink heart pajama bottoms, flip-flops, and a baseball cap to cover unwashed hair. I enjoy the casual college atmosphere but also find myself missing the dignity and pride with which the Kenyans carry themselves, from mud and tin home through trash lined streets amidst violent rains. I miss the beautiful Kenyan accents presenting carefully articulated British English, the words “like” and “fuck’n” not included in their vocabulary.

While I am pleased to again breathe fresh mountain air, to enjoy hugs from my friends who wonder where I have been, it is strange to feel relatively alone in an occupied space that for a half dozen years I have called my second home. I miss my Kenyan host family dearly and will return soon.

I offer this final update for my August 11 to September 8 work with the live-in children and staff of Pistis and local contractors Steven, Charles, Peter and Weissman.

Food Storage System
The food storage system works! With more than 50 bags in place, the revised and greatly improved food storage shelf has held :)

Workbench
The workbench is complete! John and I put in a few long days pounding nails through wood so hard, it makes Cherry, Oak, and Maple look like butter. Last night, by head lamp, I finished the wiring of a work lamp and room lighting, John finishing the adjacent shelves.

Municipal Water to Kitchen
The Pistis boys buried the water pipe which carries fresh, municipal water from one corner of the compound to the kitchen. The pressure is very low, an issue likely at the source with the municipal. But the water flows!

Financial Review
Gladys, the Bishop, Leonard, David and I have reviewed the cashflow spreadsheet I prepared for them to assist with an improved level of financial efficiency as Pistis moves to become self-sufficient, receiving donations for large projects only. We have also prepared spreadsheets to manage compound upkeep and another for volunteers.

Cook Stove Repair
The cook stoves are now three years old and were just yesterday (Saturday) cleaned for the first time since their installation. The black smoked poured from the hatches as the stove pipes were blocked and too often pieces of wood too green and/or too long are used, reducing burn temperature and burn efficiency thereby increasing the amount of wood consumed and associated cost. I am working with the stove manuacturer, Botto Solar to rectify the situation one step at a time, the total estimate over 30,000 shilling to replace the fire bricks and grills. We are also researching alternatives, such as industrial oil fuel which burns cleaner and is reported to be less costly. As Kenya has but 3% of its native forests remaining (not unlike the U.S.), wood is simply not a viable, renewable resource for cooking as it now stands.

But most of all, I am concerned for the immediate health of the cook staff and boys who live in the dorm adjacent to the kitchen, their air filled with a black cloud day in and day out, every day.

I hereby declare that I, Msungu Kai Staats, Vegetarian Extraordinaire, am the reigning, all-time, Arm wrestling champion of Pistis! For any who dare to oppose me, I give you fair warning — I will crush you!