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By driving around the streets of Mombasa with various people, it’s clear to see that nobody likes the way people generally drive. The aggressive and dangerous driving methods in Kenya are rooted in the habits of matatus. To drive in Kenya you need to know how to courageously cut off matatus and force your way into unyielding traffic.
Infrastructurally, the road system is pretty bad (no where near as bad as many countries in the developing world, but still not good). The roads are narrow and full of potholes which destroy a car’s suspension and undercarriage. There are a few traffic lights around the country, but rarely are they respected. Essentially traffic police do not exist. The police that stand roadside watch cars to ensure they have the right registration and OCCASIONALLY direct traffic, god forbid they have a vehicle by which to chase down traffic violators. Any police car you see is crammed full of policemen and is only transporting those men, not looking for law breakers.
It came to me pretty quickly – what would happen if traffic laws were enforced?
1. A huge amount of money would be collected from the magnitude of tickets that would be issued.
2. Money made from traffic infractions could be used to widen roads, put up traffic lights and traffic control signs, employ more police officers, and even provide the police with vehicles and equipment.
3. Traffic would decrease as congestion was controlled and channeled properly.
4. People would die less often from out of control matatus careening off the road or into other vehicles.
But with those ideas came a huge hurdle: corruption. How will those fines make it to the government? You'd have to crack down on corruption. So how do you fight corruption?
If there is one thing that has held Kenya back from becoming a booming success, it is be corruption. Until recently, issues such as political oppression and tribal clashes were virtually unheard of in Kenya. Now, Kenya remains far from perfect, but its glaring weakness is good governance. They are currently on their third president in 45 years. The first president, Jomo Kenyatta spent 15 years as president, succeeded my Daniel Arap Moi, a man who stayed in power for 25 years, during which he worked his way onto the list of the top 10 or 20 richest people in the world. Let me tell you, he wasn’t making hat money through his recently torched wheat plantation. The current president has been in power for just about 6 years but is suspected to be handling money no better. That corruption percolated down through every organ of the government and is particularly apparent in the police force.
So I thought, where do you start? Let’s think about just the police. Maybe you can give the police higher salaries? Not an easy thing to do and not guaranteed to stop corruption. Anti-corruption teams don’t seem to do it either.
I realize now that it fighting corruption depends on those not involved in government, everyday people.
Talking to a guy I know through a local community organization in Mtopanga, the topic of fighting corruption came up. He was very pessimistic, believing that there is no way around corruption. It’s a system that is here to stay and that we might as well partake in it. He holds no hope for the system changing. This comes in part by the horrible example set by the national government. They steal and make deals under the table constantly (such as a recently planned arms sale to South Sudan that they fervently denied). It dawned on me that the people don’t believe that corruption can be fought; they have objectified and internalized its existence. After internalizing it, they externalization corruption as they participate in it. This process creates an ever-growing negative feedback loop.
Taking a true stand against corruption lies in giving the public hope that if they try to fight it they can win. One of the ideas in America that has been sewed into our moral fiber, alongside our protestant work ethic, is a strong distaste for being cheated or similarly for corruption. I truly believe that if a cop was going to give us a speeding ticket for $100, and offered to give us a warning in exchange for $50, we would go straight to the police station, pay our ticket, and turn in the officer. Perhaps we have a good system of checks and balances? Even so, when it comes down to it, corruption is held in such a bad light that people will fight it wholeheartedly. But, we Americans usually have the ability to pay the ticket. The difference of $50 is painful for any regular wage earner in America, but to a Kenyan that $50 is a month’s salary (if they’re lucky enough to have a job). They rarely have savings and would have to submit to corruption.
At the end of the day we BELIEVE corruption can be brought to justice. Kenya needs both to be given hope, and for their development process to continue so their GDP can rise and their country can prosper. Unfortunately, there is a tremendous Catch-22. They need their economy to improve to allow them to fight corruption, but corruption cripples their efforts to improve the economy.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Matatus
Matatus are Kenya’s main system of public transport – they are vans privately owned that pick people up anywhere on their route and drop them anywhere along the route. The drivers fight to get up and down the road as fast as possible so they can shuttle more passengers and collect more fares. They use sidewalks as part of the road, make a two-lane road a four-lane road, and frequently get in the opposite lane and play chicken with the car coming towards them. They are also sometimes called "ma3s" because "tatu" in Swahili means 3.
The matatu system is reminiscent of a gang hierarchy. There are bosses that control routes. Drivers and conductors (the men that collect the money on each matatu) must pay these men so as to operate on those routes. You could consider it a union, or a cooperative, but the matatu network operates independent of any formal authority. If you don’t belong to the “gang” your matatu will get cut off incessantly, people won't yield for you in traffic, you'll be on your own. To survive in the matatu world, you need to “belong”.
I constantly feel like I’m going to die riding around in a matatu, and I have to take 2 for about 15 minutes each just to get to work. They’re very convenient, but I’d rather walk 10 minutes to a bus stop and lower my chances of dying considerably.
Recently, a law was passed that matatus could not have more people in their vehicle than there are seats and that each passenger needs a seatbelt. That law was enforced for maybe 10 minutes. Seatbelts, nonexistent. The max number of people allowed in a matatu is usually followed, but frequently (during busy hours) as many people as can fit are jammed in the van. Heavy loads don’t make a matatu any nimbler, and every time I hear of a matatu that has flipped while making a sharp turn, I consider becoming religious.
The only other rules matatus have are that they must have their route painted on their vehicles (though you can't trust that the painted route is the one which will be taken that day) and the conductors must wear a maroon uniform (only 3/4 of the conductors wear them, but some do get arrested for not wearing their uniforms).
The seats are close together, uncomfortable, and getting out of a full matatu is tricky maneuver. I can’t imagine how an obese person would do it. Some matatus make trips as long as going from Mombasa to Nairobi (a 6 hour trip) and sometimes go further. I’ve been on a matatu for as long as an hour. That was bad enough. One of the interns, Ben, is 6’5. When I complain about being cramped, I think of him and stop complaining.
They play lots of loud reggae and Swahili music. It’s a pretty rocking ride, though the songs have quickly become repetitive. There is not much song turnover around here.
The driver and conductor of the matatus make their own rules. With a full load of passengers they’ll stop to top up on gas, grab some food for the road, etc. Sometimes they’ll take alternate routes and drive in circles for a little while until they have enough passengers in the matatu to continue onto the original destination. Professionalism is completely absent. People have to use them to travel and they exploit that fact.
The matatu network is the only way to really get around. I’ve got the system down, I’m a veteran. I still get stared at constantly since I’m the only white person on the thing. And, in the end, I really do enjoy riding in them! It’s fun and exhilarating, but frequently terrifying and frustrating.
The matatu system is reminiscent of a gang hierarchy. There are bosses that control routes. Drivers and conductors (the men that collect the money on each matatu) must pay these men so as to operate on those routes. You could consider it a union, or a cooperative, but the matatu network operates independent of any formal authority. If you don’t belong to the “gang” your matatu will get cut off incessantly, people won't yield for you in traffic, you'll be on your own. To survive in the matatu world, you need to “belong”.
I constantly feel like I’m going to die riding around in a matatu, and I have to take 2 for about 15 minutes each just to get to work. They’re very convenient, but I’d rather walk 10 minutes to a bus stop and lower my chances of dying considerably.
Recently, a law was passed that matatus could not have more people in their vehicle than there are seats and that each passenger needs a seatbelt. That law was enforced for maybe 10 minutes. Seatbelts, nonexistent. The max number of people allowed in a matatu is usually followed, but frequently (during busy hours) as many people as can fit are jammed in the van. Heavy loads don’t make a matatu any nimbler, and every time I hear of a matatu that has flipped while making a sharp turn, I consider becoming religious.
The only other rules matatus have are that they must have their route painted on their vehicles (though you can't trust that the painted route is the one which will be taken that day) and the conductors must wear a maroon uniform (only 3/4 of the conductors wear them, but some do get arrested for not wearing their uniforms).
The seats are close together, uncomfortable, and getting out of a full matatu is tricky maneuver. I can’t imagine how an obese person would do it. Some matatus make trips as long as going from Mombasa to Nairobi (a 6 hour trip) and sometimes go further. I’ve been on a matatu for as long as an hour. That was bad enough. One of the interns, Ben, is 6’5. When I complain about being cramped, I think of him and stop complaining.
They play lots of loud reggae and Swahili music. It’s a pretty rocking ride, though the songs have quickly become repetitive. There is not much song turnover around here.
The driver and conductor of the matatus make their own rules. With a full load of passengers they’ll stop to top up on gas, grab some food for the road, etc. Sometimes they’ll take alternate routes and drive in circles for a little while until they have enough passengers in the matatu to continue onto the original destination. Professionalism is completely absent. People have to use them to travel and they exploit that fact.
The matatu network is the only way to really get around. I’ve got the system down, I’m a veteran. I still get stared at constantly since I’m the only white person on the thing. And, in the end, I really do enjoy riding in them! It’s fun and exhilarating, but frequently terrifying and frustrating.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Polygamy
One night, somehow coming to the topic of contrasting beliefs, my host sister Fatma challenged Western monogamy. In Kenya, it is perfectly acceptable to have multiple wives. For a Muslim man, he may marry up to 4 women. Tribally, a man can marry as many wives as he pleases. There do exist men with more wives than there are days in the month.
Fatma told me she is completely fine with polygamy, and even prefers a society where it is available. Her reasoning was that a man had needs. The way his mind works often means he requires the satisfaction of more than one woman (speaking of human male instincts, that’s a pretty good argument). I tried out some hypothetical situations on her:
Me: If a man already had one or more wives, would you marry him?
Fatma: Yes, if he is able to support all of us.
Eli: If she was the first wife and a man married another, would she be OK with that?
Fatma: Yes, as long as he treats us all equally.
From those two questions and the ensuing discussion I came across the unwritten rules of polygamy. The man must be able to support each wife and must treat equally. She was completely fine with the idea as long as he provided for her everything she needed.
Eli: So what about love? That is something you would need him to provide, right?
Fatma: Of course!
Eli: Would you be concerned about favoritism?
Fatma: A person cannot love any two people in the same way. A man should love each of his wives differently but equally. But, according to how a wife performs (interpret that however you will), he might spend more time with some than others.
Eli: Since a man can have multiple wives, shouldn’t a woman be able to have multiple husbands.
Fatma: No, no, no. You see, men and women are different.
That was it. We’re different. She went on to describe that men and women have different needs.
Fatma: You see, a woman cannot handle many men, but a man can handle many women. Besides, there are many of us, and few of you!
I disagreed with both. Biologically, the first part of her statement didn’t really add up. As for the male-female balance in the world…I don’t recall there being a huge excess of unmarried woman roaming around.
Culturally, or more specifically religiously, polygamy is completely acceptable. I asked a coworker, Zuhura, about polygamy. Zuhura is very well educated and, like Fatma, a Muslim.
Zuhura: (in a careful, thoughtful tone) Because of my religion, I do believe in polygamy. I cannot go against the word of Allah. But because of the situation today, I do not agree with it. (She later explained that “the situation today” involved STDs, spousal abuse, and the spread of liberalism and women’s rights)
My conversation with Fatma, and her firm belief in and even preference of polygamy, was eye-opening. It is not the first time that I’ve talked to a Kenyan about a controversial topic, and heard their unwavering support for something that I unconsciously disagree with. They love their culture, and they believe strongly in their religion, and they want you to listen to what they have to say so that you might even end up agreeing with them!
Fatma told me she is completely fine with polygamy, and even prefers a society where it is available. Her reasoning was that a man had needs. The way his mind works often means he requires the satisfaction of more than one woman (speaking of human male instincts, that’s a pretty good argument). I tried out some hypothetical situations on her:
Me: If a man already had one or more wives, would you marry him?
Fatma: Yes, if he is able to support all of us.
Eli: If she was the first wife and a man married another, would she be OK with that?
Fatma: Yes, as long as he treats us all equally.
From those two questions and the ensuing discussion I came across the unwritten rules of polygamy. The man must be able to support each wife and must treat equally. She was completely fine with the idea as long as he provided for her everything she needed.
Eli: So what about love? That is something you would need him to provide, right?
Fatma: Of course!
Eli: Would you be concerned about favoritism?
Fatma: A person cannot love any two people in the same way. A man should love each of his wives differently but equally. But, according to how a wife performs (interpret that however you will), he might spend more time with some than others.
Eli: Since a man can have multiple wives, shouldn’t a woman be able to have multiple husbands.
Fatma: No, no, no. You see, men and women are different.
That was it. We’re different. She went on to describe that men and women have different needs.
Fatma: You see, a woman cannot handle many men, but a man can handle many women. Besides, there are many of us, and few of you!
I disagreed with both. Biologically, the first part of her statement didn’t really add up. As for the male-female balance in the world…I don’t recall there being a huge excess of unmarried woman roaming around.
Culturally, or more specifically religiously, polygamy is completely acceptable. I asked a coworker, Zuhura, about polygamy. Zuhura is very well educated and, like Fatma, a Muslim.
Zuhura: (in a careful, thoughtful tone) Because of my religion, I do believe in polygamy. I cannot go against the word of Allah. But because of the situation today, I do not agree with it. (She later explained that “the situation today” involved STDs, spousal abuse, and the spread of liberalism and women’s rights)
My conversation with Fatma, and her firm belief in and even preference of polygamy, was eye-opening. It is not the first time that I’ve talked to a Kenyan about a controversial topic, and heard their unwavering support for something that I unconsciously disagree with. They love their culture, and they believe strongly in their religion, and they want you to listen to what they have to say so that you might even end up agreeing with them!
Friday, October 24, 2008
Mau Mau
On Wednesday night, the Director of Ujamaa Center, Patrick Ochieng, offered me a ride partway home. What I didn’t realize was that during the 5 minutes between that offer and getting in the car he decided to take me elsewhere. After passing the place he was supposed to drop me we went into Mombasa town, drove in circles for a while, all the time chuckling about how we were off to see the Mau Mau, then ended up at a film festival dedicated to the Mau Mau.
From my time in Kenya a while back, I had been versed in the Mau Mau revolution. The Mau Mau’s were a guerillas group that fought against the British colonial government in Kenya and strongly influenced Kenyan independence. I’ve even been to the cave they used as their main hideout/staging ground. Regardless, I was given no decision. To Patrick and the other Kenyans I was with, this film festival was crucial for me to attend. Kenyans are PROUD of their country, but also want to expose the hardships they endured to get independence.
My center is build around people who are activists and extreme human rights proponents. Their proactivity is invigorating (the only thing I don’t like is their extreme distaste for globalization, but that’s a conversation for another blog entry). The festival is based around movements. Wednesday was based on just the Mau Mau. Thursday night I saw a Rosa Parks documentary and an Oliver Stone interview with Fidel Castro – that man won my heart, he is an amazing leader and human being.
I learned some incredible stuff about the post-independence nation and the lack of heroes. The one hero after independence was their first president, Jomo Kenyatta. He was labeled the leader of the Mau Mau, but actually had no association with them and condemned their violent resistance. The British eventually quelled the Mau Mau rebellion, but realized that the fight to hold Kenya was futile and gave power to Kenyatta on the condition that the Mau Mau be unrecognized for their struggles. From Kenyan independence in 1963 until 2003 the Mau Mau fighters were given nothing for their struggles and service to Kenya. The land they fought for was given to others and students at school were told little about them. Many were taught that their movement was savage, casting a negative light on the immense hardship their struggle entailed. Luckily, they have finally brought that injustice to light and the veterans are getting some reparations.
The festival has filled me with a rebellious spirit. I can’t remember the last time I felt the proud about our country’s civil rights movement. Watching that Rosa Parks video and contrasting it against the Mau Mau video I saw the night before, I gained a lot of respect for the civility of society. The video had Martin Luther King Jr’s first speech as the leader of the African American anti-segregation movement. It crushed my apathy, it gave me new hope on how the world can be changed through united people. Movements take strength, they take sacrifice, and when you combine that with passion and belief, you can turn the world upside down.
From my time in Kenya a while back, I had been versed in the Mau Mau revolution. The Mau Mau’s were a guerillas group that fought against the British colonial government in Kenya and strongly influenced Kenyan independence. I’ve even been to the cave they used as their main hideout/staging ground. Regardless, I was given no decision. To Patrick and the other Kenyans I was with, this film festival was crucial for me to attend. Kenyans are PROUD of their country, but also want to expose the hardships they endured to get independence.
My center is build around people who are activists and extreme human rights proponents. Their proactivity is invigorating (the only thing I don’t like is their extreme distaste for globalization, but that’s a conversation for another blog entry). The festival is based around movements. Wednesday was based on just the Mau Mau. Thursday night I saw a Rosa Parks documentary and an Oliver Stone interview with Fidel Castro – that man won my heart, he is an amazing leader and human being.
I learned some incredible stuff about the post-independence nation and the lack of heroes. The one hero after independence was their first president, Jomo Kenyatta. He was labeled the leader of the Mau Mau, but actually had no association with them and condemned their violent resistance. The British eventually quelled the Mau Mau rebellion, but realized that the fight to hold Kenya was futile and gave power to Kenyatta on the condition that the Mau Mau be unrecognized for their struggles. From Kenyan independence in 1963 until 2003 the Mau Mau fighters were given nothing for their struggles and service to Kenya. The land they fought for was given to others and students at school were told little about them. Many were taught that their movement was savage, casting a negative light on the immense hardship their struggle entailed. Luckily, they have finally brought that injustice to light and the veterans are getting some reparations.
The festival has filled me with a rebellious spirit. I can’t remember the last time I felt the proud about our country’s civil rights movement. Watching that Rosa Parks video and contrasting it against the Mau Mau video I saw the night before, I gained a lot of respect for the civility of society. The video had Martin Luther King Jr’s first speech as the leader of the African American anti-segregation movement. It crushed my apathy, it gave me new hope on how the world can be changed through united people. Movements take strength, they take sacrifice, and when you combine that with passion and belief, you can turn the world upside down.
Monday, October 20, 2008
My Project
Through all the frustration and seemingly wasted time, I found a great way to help this organization. It wasn’t what I expected coming, nor completely what I want to do, but it’ll make me feel like I’ve made an impact when I leave.
(Side note, I just looked out the window and saw a blue-balled monkey stroll by. Oh Kenya...)
My organization is based off of the philosophy of the first Tanzanian president, Julius Nyerere. The philosophy is based on village governance. President Nyerere called it Ujamaa, which in Kiswahili roughly means community, or group. It is believed that by giving people small scale self-governance they can enact the change that they themselves choose. The term coined in the international arena for such a practice is Community Empowerment.
The manner by which my organization (Ujamaa Center) has done that is great. They recruit active members of various communities who they title Community Mobilizers. These people have a few vital aspects to them: they know the community they are working in, that particular community can relate to them, and most importantly they care about their community. Each Community Mobilizer (CM) is required to take a course specifically aimed at community empowerment based development work. There they learn how to make their entry into a community, how to assess the people’s needs, what sorts of activities they should hold, and with the help of experienced development workers, what works and what doesn’t work, and so on.
Taking all that into mind, I couldn’t really see myself doing something constructive in the field in just 3 months. There was no existing project that had a screaming need for someone to drive it, and I didn’t want to try and rush to a conclusion about how to help a community just because I only have 3 months to work. It was initially pretty distressing because I couldn’t get sufficient information on ongoing work, what CMs they had employed, etc. All of that led to a glaring, gaping hole in Ujamaa’s methodology. Their infrastructure of documentation and management of their activities need some work. So, I’m going to work on all of that.
It was a realization that made me a little sad since I thought I’d be more directly involved in an on the ground, in the field, project. That me a little lost, but I realized that I could wrap my project around field visits by working closely with CMs to try and develop the best methods of documenting their work. My blossoming project will require me to visit activities put on in the field and spend a lot of time, at the very least, learning all about the way these motivated and inspired people engender sustainable development. My last couple field visits were inspiring and have started to build my perspective on the wide, multi-faceted world of development, particularly the approach of being a facilitator rather than an implementer.
My saving grace, mentally, is that I came here partially to see how an NGO is run, what comprises it, etc. I’ll certainly attain that goal as I’m part of the infrastructural process. I’ll be writing a grant, building capacity, and essentially fortifying Ujamaa’s internal processes. I would not send future interns to Ujamaa if what they are looking for is participation in the change that is already in motion. They can observe, they can benefit, but there impact will be from a structural level.
Ujamaa is off and running, their roots run deep, and I hope those roots spread far and wide. I'm surely a fan.
(Side note, I just looked out the window and saw a blue-balled monkey stroll by. Oh Kenya...)
My organization is based off of the philosophy of the first Tanzanian president, Julius Nyerere. The philosophy is based on village governance. President Nyerere called it Ujamaa, which in Kiswahili roughly means community, or group. It is believed that by giving people small scale self-governance they can enact the change that they themselves choose. The term coined in the international arena for such a practice is Community Empowerment.
The manner by which my organization (Ujamaa Center) has done that is great. They recruit active members of various communities who they title Community Mobilizers. These people have a few vital aspects to them: they know the community they are working in, that particular community can relate to them, and most importantly they care about their community. Each Community Mobilizer (CM) is required to take a course specifically aimed at community empowerment based development work. There they learn how to make their entry into a community, how to assess the people’s needs, what sorts of activities they should hold, and with the help of experienced development workers, what works and what doesn’t work, and so on.
Taking all that into mind, I couldn’t really see myself doing something constructive in the field in just 3 months. There was no existing project that had a screaming need for someone to drive it, and I didn’t want to try and rush to a conclusion about how to help a community just because I only have 3 months to work. It was initially pretty distressing because I couldn’t get sufficient information on ongoing work, what CMs they had employed, etc. All of that led to a glaring, gaping hole in Ujamaa’s methodology. Their infrastructure of documentation and management of their activities need some work. So, I’m going to work on all of that.
It was a realization that made me a little sad since I thought I’d be more directly involved in an on the ground, in the field, project. That me a little lost, but I realized that I could wrap my project around field visits by working closely with CMs to try and develop the best methods of documenting their work. My blossoming project will require me to visit activities put on in the field and spend a lot of time, at the very least, learning all about the way these motivated and inspired people engender sustainable development. My last couple field visits were inspiring and have started to build my perspective on the wide, multi-faceted world of development, particularly the approach of being a facilitator rather than an implementer.
My saving grace, mentally, is that I came here partially to see how an NGO is run, what comprises it, etc. I’ll certainly attain that goal as I’m part of the infrastructural process. I’ll be writing a grant, building capacity, and essentially fortifying Ujamaa’s internal processes. I would not send future interns to Ujamaa if what they are looking for is participation in the change that is already in motion. They can observe, they can benefit, but there impact will be from a structural level.
Ujamaa is off and running, their roots run deep, and I hope those roots spread far and wide. I'm surely a fan.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Antony, the Coca Cola Bottle Inspector
On a Matatu, the night that I saw an undercover cop running towards a crowd with an AK-47 to bust some gangsters, I met a guy named Antony. He seemed soft-spoken and shy, but pretty intelligent. The other night he gave me a call because he was in Mtopanga hanging out with his best friend and co-worker.
He had told me that he was a bottle inspector at the coast region Coca Cola bottling plant in nearby Mtwapa, as was his friend/co-worker. They were sitting around sipping on whisky and Sprite, watching some TV and listening to music. After a bit of chatting, they started to tell me about their jobs. Oh man does globalization make you mad when you hear stories like this:
Antony and Karanje (his best-friend and co-worker) are what they called “cash-workers”. This means they are paid a set rate per day they work. Their days are 8 (or more) hours long, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. Zero vacation, zero holidays, zero overtime pay. No matter how many hours they work, they still get the same daily wage. Their daily wage is 390 shillings, or $5.50. They explained also that to get to work, considering their hours and plant location, costs 130 Kenya shillings, leaving them with less than $4 of overall earnings per day…
A 15 year-old makes twice that serving fries. Antony and Karanje went to an institute to study bottle inspection before applying for jobs in a competitive market.
There are a total of 6 bottle inspectors at the plant who rotate on 8 hour shifts throughout the day and night so that there are 2 inspectors on at all hours of the day. The only way they can get time off is by arranging for their co-workers to cover their shifts.
The plant used to be in Mombasa town, but recently moved 30 minutes out of town to Mtwapa so that they could get water from a borehole instead of from the city of Mombasa. The owner of this Coca Cola branch, a man by the name of “Shah”, decided that now that the plant was in a rural location, wages could be lowered. Apparently moving the plant to a lower income area was excuse to lower wages, even though employees now have to travel farther to work.
Coca Cola’s saving grace is that their other plants in Kenya are owned by Coca Cola Africa who, Antony told me, treats their employees well. This plant and Mr. Shah are alone in their ridiculousness. I asked about unionization of workers. I was told that there was once a union but that it dissolved upon the plant moving to Mtwapa, and that there didn’t seem to be another one near creation.
These guys work so hard for so little doing a technical job. It allows them to come home to their wives with consistent cash, but at the price of having little to no life. That night Antony and Karanje were celebrating their form of holiday. They were told they didn’t need to come to work since there wasn’t much to be done. It was great to get to relax, but that meant no 390 shillings for either of them.
He had told me that he was a bottle inspector at the coast region Coca Cola bottling plant in nearby Mtwapa, as was his friend/co-worker. They were sitting around sipping on whisky and Sprite, watching some TV and listening to music. After a bit of chatting, they started to tell me about their jobs. Oh man does globalization make you mad when you hear stories like this:
Antony and Karanje (his best-friend and co-worker) are what they called “cash-workers”. This means they are paid a set rate per day they work. Their days are 8 (or more) hours long, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. Zero vacation, zero holidays, zero overtime pay. No matter how many hours they work, they still get the same daily wage. Their daily wage is 390 shillings, or $5.50. They explained also that to get to work, considering their hours and plant location, costs 130 Kenya shillings, leaving them with less than $4 of overall earnings per day…
A 15 year-old makes twice that serving fries. Antony and Karanje went to an institute to study bottle inspection before applying for jobs in a competitive market.
There are a total of 6 bottle inspectors at the plant who rotate on 8 hour shifts throughout the day and night so that there are 2 inspectors on at all hours of the day. The only way they can get time off is by arranging for their co-workers to cover their shifts.
The plant used to be in Mombasa town, but recently moved 30 minutes out of town to Mtwapa so that they could get water from a borehole instead of from the city of Mombasa. The owner of this Coca Cola branch, a man by the name of “Shah”, decided that now that the plant was in a rural location, wages could be lowered. Apparently moving the plant to a lower income area was excuse to lower wages, even though employees now have to travel farther to work.
Coca Cola’s saving grace is that their other plants in Kenya are owned by Coca Cola Africa who, Antony told me, treats their employees well. This plant and Mr. Shah are alone in their ridiculousness. I asked about unionization of workers. I was told that there was once a union but that it dissolved upon the plant moving to Mtwapa, and that there didn’t seem to be another one near creation.
These guys work so hard for so little doing a technical job. It allows them to come home to their wives with consistent cash, but at the price of having little to no life. That night Antony and Karanje were celebrating their form of holiday. They were told they didn’t need to come to work since there wasn’t much to be done. It was great to get to relax, but that meant no 390 shillings for either of them.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Fauzi Wants To Be Fat
Fauzia does not and will not exercise. She used to while in secondary school, but now she has not one bit of interest in it. Why? She wants to be fat.
Fauzia is my host brother’s wife (my host-sister-in-law), is 25, and as of now has given birth to just one baby boy. I would describe her frame as “stocky but athletic”, and in no way fat. When I probed her on the question, she said, “Fat is good! My mother was fat, and I want to be fat.” Plain and simple as that.
The urge to be large is also partially explained by the preferences of Kenyan men. They like big women, a girl with some meat on her bones. I suppose our cultural norm of enjoying stick figures with huge breasts hasn’t quite made it here. There are a few ads for slimming, including a huge billboard advertising the fat-trimming benefits of drinking low-fat milk. People don’t seem to believe in or have any interest in low-fat milk. They enjoy their tasty whole milk.
Accordingly, being skinny is NOT a good thing. Michelle’s host-brother is a ridiculously skinny adolescent. She mentioned how skinny he was at dinner one night, not trying to be offensive, just observant. Apparently, that offended the family. Yesterday I was talking to a co-worker who had recently given birth but showed no signs of it. I told her, “You’re lucky that you’re so skinny!” And she replied, “I’m not skinny! Definitely NOT skinny.” She wasn’t being modest, she was being defensive. I corrected myself and said she was “healthy,” which she heartily agreed to.
Part of the reason for all the above sentiments have remained unchanged is that this is not in the capital Nairobi. Nairobi is notorious for having a more fast-paced, westernized society. There are many many more mzungus (white people) and consequently a bigger market for western style and attitude. Mombasa is a big city, but the coastal people have maintained the larger part of their relaxed, slow moving culture. Apparently even the insane matatus (public transport that always has you feeling death is imminent) apparently drive less crazy here in Mombasa.
All in all, fat being bad is still a purely Western phenomenon. Most of the world that hasn’t taken to the West’s cultural hegemony remains sane. They don’t eat too much, because they don’t have too much to eat. When a person is fat, that means they are healthy and likely wealthy. When someone is skinny, either they don’t have enough to eat or their parents are not taking care of them well. But, the fat people are not obese, just round. They either know when to stop or their food is much less processed. I think it has to do with processing and food quality.
Fauzia is my host brother’s wife (my host-sister-in-law), is 25, and as of now has given birth to just one baby boy. I would describe her frame as “stocky but athletic”, and in no way fat. When I probed her on the question, she said, “Fat is good! My mother was fat, and I want to be fat.” Plain and simple as that.
The urge to be large is also partially explained by the preferences of Kenyan men. They like big women, a girl with some meat on her bones. I suppose our cultural norm of enjoying stick figures with huge breasts hasn’t quite made it here. There are a few ads for slimming, including a huge billboard advertising the fat-trimming benefits of drinking low-fat milk. People don’t seem to believe in or have any interest in low-fat milk. They enjoy their tasty whole milk.
Accordingly, being skinny is NOT a good thing. Michelle’s host-brother is a ridiculously skinny adolescent. She mentioned how skinny he was at dinner one night, not trying to be offensive, just observant. Apparently, that offended the family. Yesterday I was talking to a co-worker who had recently given birth but showed no signs of it. I told her, “You’re lucky that you’re so skinny!” And she replied, “I’m not skinny! Definitely NOT skinny.” She wasn’t being modest, she was being defensive. I corrected myself and said she was “healthy,” which she heartily agreed to.
Part of the reason for all the above sentiments have remained unchanged is that this is not in the capital Nairobi. Nairobi is notorious for having a more fast-paced, westernized society. There are many many more mzungus (white people) and consequently a bigger market for western style and attitude. Mombasa is a big city, but the coastal people have maintained the larger part of their relaxed, slow moving culture. Apparently even the insane matatus (public transport that always has you feeling death is imminent) apparently drive less crazy here in Mombasa.
All in all, fat being bad is still a purely Western phenomenon. Most of the world that hasn’t taken to the West’s cultural hegemony remains sane. They don’t eat too much, because they don’t have too much to eat. When a person is fat, that means they are healthy and likely wealthy. When someone is skinny, either they don’t have enough to eat or their parents are not taking care of them well. But, the fat people are not obese, just round. They either know when to stop or their food is much less processed. I think it has to do with processing and food quality.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Chai and Kakawa
Oooh chai. Chai in Kenya is not just spiced tea, but fantastically spiced tea boiled with both water and milk. It usually uses fresh tealeaves, which are strained out towards the end. You are offered it often and most times must indulge lest you offend your host. I have come to enjoy tea more and more, especially with some nice coarse brown sugar. Oooh chai.
At the beach Socy and I got some Kakawa (Coffee). It was spiced, and had some added ginger powder. An odd but alluring flavour. Still don’t like coffee, but with some nice spicy ginger powder it was exotic and bearable.
At the beach Socy and I got some Kakawa (Coffee). It was spiced, and had some added ginger powder. An odd but alluring flavour. Still don’t like coffee, but with some nice spicy ginger powder it was exotic and bearable.
My First Real Day at the Center
Started with a post-mortem meeting of the previous day’s events. It was curious. I’m learning a ton here bout how to lead and manage. You don’t really think about the value of a meeting like that until you’ve started it and hear the amount of good reflection that happens.
After that, there was yet another meeting. That is where I got a true view of the inner workings of Ujamaa. We held a meeting for the grassroots community organizers, called Community Mobilizers (CMs). They were there to be chastised for not being serious about their work (eg. not turning papers in on time) and for throwing temper tantrums. It was like I was in a high school classroom! I sat and listened to them blame their trainers, blame the managers, blame financing for not giving them money. Money money money, it always seems to come back to money in the end. The center director did a fantastic job keeping things constructive and progressive, but I didn’t feel anything was accomplished, aside from exposing concerns and letting people know that they needed to shape up or else.
My First Mild Breakdown:
I’ve come to this organization trying to figure a lot of things and have not been given any of the support I’ve needed. I know I come in here as an intern, but to grow young up and comers, especially those with low confidence in the process of sustainable development, more MUST be provided to me. I am not told what the daily activities are, I am not told when I will find time to define my project, I am not told what the organization is planning. Am I a part of the team? Can my work be appreciated? Is there a community I will be able to help?
All of that hit me after the meeting yesterday. By the end of the day I finally got to chat with my supervisors and get more direction. They promised to meet with me and go over my stuff so that I can create a project and have it planned by my FSD deadline. I’m not perfectly happy with their response, but at least I’m moving forward.
Oh, and I was extremely hungry which had me a little sour. No lunch for the second day in a row!
After that, there was yet another meeting. That is where I got a true view of the inner workings of Ujamaa. We held a meeting for the grassroots community organizers, called Community Mobilizers (CMs). They were there to be chastised for not being serious about their work (eg. not turning papers in on time) and for throwing temper tantrums. It was like I was in a high school classroom! I sat and listened to them blame their trainers, blame the managers, blame financing for not giving them money. Money money money, it always seems to come back to money in the end. The center director did a fantastic job keeping things constructive and progressive, but I didn’t feel anything was accomplished, aside from exposing concerns and letting people know that they needed to shape up or else.
My First Mild Breakdown:
I’ve come to this organization trying to figure a lot of things and have not been given any of the support I’ve needed. I know I come in here as an intern, but to grow young up and comers, especially those with low confidence in the process of sustainable development, more MUST be provided to me. I am not told what the daily activities are, I am not told when I will find time to define my project, I am not told what the organization is planning. Am I a part of the team? Can my work be appreciated? Is there a community I will be able to help?
All of that hit me after the meeting yesterday. By the end of the day I finally got to chat with my supervisors and get more direction. They promised to meet with me and go over my stuff so that I can create a project and have it planned by my FSD deadline. I’m not perfectly happy with their response, but at least I’m moving forward.
Oh, and I was extremely hungry which had me a little sour. No lunch for the second day in a row!
Kenyan Politics: Mombasa's Town Clerk and the Kenyan Minister of Tourism
I had two amazing privileges on Monday, my first day at Ujamaa. I got to sit in while a study of the city's ability to provide public services was presented to the deputy clerk of Mombasa (the clerk’s office is in charge of providing public services). We sat in a large conference room with a gorgeous wood table, and while the meeting went on, chai (refer to CHAI section below) was served to all.
Then I was whisked away to White Sands Hotel where there was a launch of the Mombasa Citywide Residents Association. It is being formed to bring together residents of Mombasa so that they might hold the local government accountable for their funding of service projects such as water, electricity, roads, etc. The most important guest was Honorable Balala, a Minister of Parliament (tourism minister to be exact), a Mombasa local, and a BIG DEAL. I felt lucky to be there.
The two experiences were fascinating. I’m still trying to grasp the style of Kenyan politics and professionalism. I’ve noticed it every day that I’ve been here and at every event, be it conference or small office meeting. The statements are careful to take all measures of cordiality, but many become attacking and suggestive. I had to make some equalities to explain it all:
QUESTION = STATEMENT
ASK = TELL
ANSWER = DEFEND
And that has held true. Especially disturbing to me is that people will answer cell phones when being talked to and/or whisper to others around them without even asking the presenter to pause. Now, I don’t know if they’re amazing multitaskers, but I was offended for the person presenting. Anyways, issue dodging was the name of the game and it made me glad I’m not in politics. It was frustrating to listen to. Questions were not answered well, people spoke in circles, politicians focused on their own agendas.
All in all: great day, very telling.
Oh, and on my way home, I witnessed a police bust of some gangsters. A man drove up in a car next to the matatu I was in, jumped out with an AK47 and ran off. He apparently was part of an elite police squad. I heard a gun shot, people began freaking out and running all over. Luckily my matatu made it back alright, using some back roads and very questionable driving!
Then I was whisked away to White Sands Hotel where there was a launch of the Mombasa Citywide Residents Association. It is being formed to bring together residents of Mombasa so that they might hold the local government accountable for their funding of service projects such as water, electricity, roads, etc. The most important guest was Honorable Balala, a Minister of Parliament (tourism minister to be exact), a Mombasa local, and a BIG DEAL. I felt lucky to be there.
The two experiences were fascinating. I’m still trying to grasp the style of Kenyan politics and professionalism. I’ve noticed it every day that I’ve been here and at every event, be it conference or small office meeting. The statements are careful to take all measures of cordiality, but many become attacking and suggestive. I had to make some equalities to explain it all:
QUESTION = STATEMENT
ASK = TELL
ANSWER = DEFEND
And that has held true. Especially disturbing to me is that people will answer cell phones when being talked to and/or whisper to others around them without even asking the presenter to pause. Now, I don’t know if they’re amazing multitaskers, but I was offended for the person presenting. Anyways, issue dodging was the name of the game and it made me glad I’m not in politics. It was frustrating to listen to. Questions were not answered well, people spoke in circles, politicians focused on their own agendas.
All in all: great day, very telling.
Oh, and on my way home, I witnessed a police bust of some gangsters. A man drove up in a car next to the matatu I was in, jumped out with an AK47 and ran off. He apparently was part of an elite police squad. I heard a gun shot, people began freaking out and running all over. Luckily my matatu made it back alright, using some back roads and very questionable driving!
A Tad More About Ujamaa (My Host Organization)
Let me talk a little more about the center. It’s a very well maintained and managed place. The director, Patrick Ochieng, is a very experienced worker in the NGO arena, and is a very good friend to my FSD Program Director, George. The center runs three separate programs under three different program managers. I can give you guys better rundowns when I talk to you on the phone. It takes me about 30 minutes to get here by matatu. It takes 2 matatus to get here and in the mornings it is painful trying to get into both. People stand on the side of the road in crowds waiting for the next matatu with space. When one shows up, people flood towards it and you have to fight your way through to get yourself a seat. They have indeed held true to the max passengers law, allowing only 14 per matatu, but seatbelts are scarce! Kira told me that she put one on in a matatu once and was laughed at by a man next to her the whole way to her stop!
My Host Family
I’m now a member of the Mwachai family and a resident of the village of Mtopanga. Mtopanga in English means Panga River (a panga is the African machete). I was told not to swim in the nearby river since I might attract new friends just as Cholera and Typhoid. Friday my host brother came and got me, and whisked me away, across the Nyali bridge (on the north side of Mombasa) and down the Old Malindi road towards Mtopanga. As we travelled down the road, my host brother Omar (nicknamed Socy) started to tell me the name of each town we were passing through. Along about 15 minutes of Old Malindi road we passed non-stop storefronts and (apparently) 6 towns. They seemed to me to be seamlessly fused together. Turning off the main road onto an appropriately potholed road we ended at my new place of residence.
The Mwachai family is huge. I have a sister, and three brothers just at that house. I think there are a couple sisters off in other places and Socy lives with his wife in a rented room a little further down the road. My room is quaint, the mattress will take some getting used to. No electricity for me, only outlet is in the family room. I take bucket baths and use a squat toilet. The village is always alive, people coming and going, chatting or just observing.
Socy more or less sequestered me for the weekend. After arriving and meeting the family on Friday, I got a quick, confused, and abbreviated tour of Mtopanga, seeing both his room and his cousin’s DVD rental store. Then it was off to the beach with me.
Socy and my relationship has had an awkward beginning. Getting to know him and the life he lives involved many awkward questions followed by pointed answers. Socy has no job. His last real job was cooking for the incoming interns. This led to me finding out about a scandal within my FSD program, followed by a change in the intern orientation which didn’t involve Socy’s cooking. As we went around he made constant references to his ability as a survivor. The support of friends when finances were tight, people being confused as to why he is still poor is he is always around white people (wazungu), and so on. [Quick side note – Wazungu (White people) are inherently connected to money. All white people are believed to be made of money, and those who fraternize with them are thought to benefit] When I would then try to help pay for our activities throughout the day, he would say, “No, you are my brother! As brothers we share.” Loaded statement?? Hmm. I’ve come to notice this sort of beginning to a relationship happening often here in Kenya. I wonder if it is a characteristic of people living below average income or an African tendency. I lean towards the latter. You are everyone’s friend. You are everyone’s brother.
On Sunday night one of my many Mwachai brothers, Bady, left for Naivasha (a long ways from Mombasa) to go through police officer training. It was to be his first time away from Mombasa, and on top of that, his first night spent away from his house in Mtopanga. He’s 22. He was in tears. What a difference, we are trained to independent; here they’re brought up relying on others, especially family members.
My feelings about it all: It’s been awkward getting to know the system of life as they don’t really tell me how to do anything. My host brother is pretty quiet, but at the same time is a bit overbearing. I can’t really tell what he thinks about any one thing. There is a lot of whisperings and chuckles. Quite a different experience from Spain. There I would get directly told what to do, what I did wrong, etc. Here they kind of stare at you judgingly…I’m sure I’ll get it right in the end, be able to read them better, understand their idle stares. Time is the ultimate healer.
The Mwachai family is huge. I have a sister, and three brothers just at that house. I think there are a couple sisters off in other places and Socy lives with his wife in a rented room a little further down the road. My room is quaint, the mattress will take some getting used to. No electricity for me, only outlet is in the family room. I take bucket baths and use a squat toilet. The village is always alive, people coming and going, chatting or just observing.
Socy more or less sequestered me for the weekend. After arriving and meeting the family on Friday, I got a quick, confused, and abbreviated tour of Mtopanga, seeing both his room and his cousin’s DVD rental store. Then it was off to the beach with me.
Socy and my relationship has had an awkward beginning. Getting to know him and the life he lives involved many awkward questions followed by pointed answers. Socy has no job. His last real job was cooking for the incoming interns. This led to me finding out about a scandal within my FSD program, followed by a change in the intern orientation which didn’t involve Socy’s cooking. As we went around he made constant references to his ability as a survivor. The support of friends when finances were tight, people being confused as to why he is still poor is he is always around white people (wazungu), and so on. [Quick side note – Wazungu (White people) are inherently connected to money. All white people are believed to be made of money, and those who fraternize with them are thought to benefit] When I would then try to help pay for our activities throughout the day, he would say, “No, you are my brother! As brothers we share.” Loaded statement?? Hmm. I’ve come to notice this sort of beginning to a relationship happening often here in Kenya. I wonder if it is a characteristic of people living below average income or an African tendency. I lean towards the latter. You are everyone’s friend. You are everyone’s brother.
On Sunday night one of my many Mwachai brothers, Bady, left for Naivasha (a long ways from Mombasa) to go through police officer training. It was to be his first time away from Mombasa, and on top of that, his first night spent away from his house in Mtopanga. He’s 22. He was in tears. What a difference, we are trained to independent; here they’re brought up relying on others, especially family members.
My feelings about it all: It’s been awkward getting to know the system of life as they don’t really tell me how to do anything. My host brother is pretty quiet, but at the same time is a bit overbearing. I can’t really tell what he thinks about any one thing. There is a lot of whisperings and chuckles. Quite a different experience from Spain. There I would get directly told what to do, what I did wrong, etc. Here they kind of stare at you judgingly…I’m sure I’ll get it right in the end, be able to read them better, understand their idle stares. Time is the ultimate healer.
Prostitutes
Most of our time in Mombasa was spent sleeping and studying and sleeping. We did various things throughout the week aside from Swahili lessons. We were introduced to our host families and host organizations, did a scavenger hunt, listened to some speakers. We explored the city a little, but essentially were occupied all the time.
The last night at the hotel we ended up going out. MAN, what an experience. The club we went to, Casablanca, we had been told, is the prostitute central of Mombasa. It's where all the sailors go while in port. Right after I walked in, as I walked up the stairs to find our friends who were already there, the prostitutes began hounding me. One who coming down the stairwell put her arms across either wall and would NOT let me pass! I tried but she more or less accosted me. It took Kira and Michelle (another FSD intern) pulling on me to get the woman to relent. That led to a night of being stroked and cooed as I walkedaround the club. I was told about 10 times by a woman who was with her boyfriend that she "really liked me." It was a little scary, a teensy bit flattering, and overall ridiculous. In the end, once I had escaped the hungry hookers, had some Tusker in me, and did some dancing, it was a good night.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Getting Started in Mombasa
We're staying at a hotel in town for the first week. Essentially it has been swahili lessons in the morning and activities in the afternoon. The night is ours but we're usually pretty tired and crash after a Tusker or two (Tusker is Kenya's most popular beer). I'm feelin really good about the swahili. I think that being here and hearing it before has made it much easier for me to start off. But, there is a long ways to go since noun classes are the bain of my existence.
I got to meet my host brother a few days ago. It was awkward but soccer will be abundant as he loves to play and (so I believe) do so often! He seems like a smart, nice, aware guy. He looks 20 but is 35.
Yesterday I was picked up by my host orginization and was taken to the center I'll be working at. It's really really cool and has many well defined projects that circle around Community Empowerment. Their job is to enable people inside the communities to then support each other in succeeding economically as well as politically (getting access to public utilities, security, and all their basic rights). The website is www.ujamaakenya.org if you want to check it out. I'm still trying to grasp the wide variety of things that it works on. Yesterday I did not get to meet the center's director, but today I did as he came to give us a talk about sustainable development. The man is brilliant. I am SO lucky to be able to work with him. I feel bad for all the other interns!
Ok, that's all I'm going to say for now! I'm a little hurried at the moment, so ask questions that I can answer! Last words: I'm really enjoying myself, I'm a little worried as to what my host family situtation will be, and I'm SUPER excited about getting to know what the hell sustainable development is all about.
I got to meet my host brother a few days ago. It was awkward but soccer will be abundant as he loves to play and (so I believe) do so often! He seems like a smart, nice, aware guy. He looks 20 but is 35.
Yesterday I was picked up by my host orginization and was taken to the center I'll be working at. It's really really cool and has many well defined projects that circle around Community Empowerment. Their job is to enable people inside the communities to then support each other in succeeding economically as well as politically (getting access to public utilities, security, and all their basic rights). The website is www.ujamaakenya.org if you want to check it out. I'm still trying to grasp the wide variety of things that it works on. Yesterday I did not get to meet the center's director, but today I did as he came to give us a talk about sustainable development. The man is brilliant. I am SO lucky to be able to work with him. I feel bad for all the other interns!
Ok, that's all I'm going to say for now! I'm a little hurried at the moment, so ask questions that I can answer! Last words: I'm really enjoying myself, I'm a little worried as to what my host family situtation will be, and I'm SUPER excited about getting to know what the hell sustainable development is all about.
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