Jump Rope in Kibera

Saturday, Wednesday and Thursday were jump rope days at Kibera. Cantar, the Carolina for Kibera Youth Sports Director, picked me up to attend a practice and performance in Kibera on Saturday. A slow-moving group of UN visitors and security vehicles through the largely unpaved roads of Kibera added an additional 40 minutes to the typical 5-minute ride to the Undugu Center.

Undugu technically is not a school - more of an activities/vocational training/educational center in Silanga, at the southeast corner of Kibera. Dennis, the Undugu administrator, is very proud of his part in offering outdoor space for the jump rope program, and hopes jump rope will spread throughout the center and the country.

The Kibera jump rope program is one of several Mike set up in 2009 and 2010 in Kenya and Tanzania with the help of a Leadership and Creativity Fellowship from Oberlin College. His hope has been that CFK would adopt the program and make it their own, and that's exactly what has been happening. CFK has made the jump rope program the second strand of their Youth Sports program (soccer was the first). Several of the original trainers have deepened their level of commitment and established practice formats that are decidedly their own. CFK is making sure the program grows steadily as space and staff become available, and the program is now up to more than 180 jumpers.

Saturday's performance was held after the first round elimination for the players who will represent Kenya at the 2011 Norway Cup soccer tournament this summer. As with all performances, this one started with the mandatory clearing of the largest stones from the field.

The jumpers were reserved at first but opened up once they learned I was "Mama Mike." (Nothing changes - I was "Mike Fry's Mom" for years in the USA Jump Rope World.) Everyone wanted me to tape their freestyle routines for Mike; the more gregarious asked me to record messages for him. And Thursday, more than a dozen jumpers  - some who had not even met Mike - brought in hand written notes, letters and small gifts for me to take back for him.

The practices, held at different sites in Kibera, are impressive for the obvious dedication of the trainers (you can often hear them in the background, exhorting the kids to push themselves), and the commitment and love for jump rope of the jumpers - no complaining, no slacking off, just multiple repetitions of each skill.

Taking the Slow Train . . .

Spent a lazy Thursday morning trying to get my suitcases organized. Everything fit into two, so I wanted to leave the third one with Dorothy and avoid paying $55 to bring it back into the US.  The morning went into hyperdrive when I found out that my bags had to be out of the room by 10:00. The outside temperature was back to blistering.

I had wanted to do a bit more looking around - and possibly some shopping - in Old Town, and Stephanie agreed to come along. Her bargaining skills were invaluable in securing some interesting gifts for Bill, as well as a large bag woven of baobab fiber. This bag has turned out to be my very own Mary Poppins bag - no matter how much I put in it, there's always room for more.

One tuk-tuk, one matatu and a short walk brought us back to Stephanie's house to visit the flip-flop burial ground and for one last walk on beach. The pit Coco had dug was more than two feet across, and had yielded not only my flip-flop but four of Mr. Rooke's socks as well. More socks had been discovered in other holes, as well as childhood toys that had been missing for years.

The beach was missing, completely covered by the rising tide, so we sat on the rocks above and watched the waves climbing the rocks.

Back to the Poly to pay for my stay there, then a tuk-tuk to Dorothy's to meet up with my security force, then on to the train station. The guys helped get my heavy suitcases onto the train and into my compartment, and insisted on watching over me until just before the train left at 7PM.

The compartments in First Class are tiny, even for one person, let alone the two they're designed for. In addition to the bunk beds, there's a small closet, tiny sink, trash compartment and a ladder for reaching the top bunk.

The Camera makes the cabin look larger than it is.

The corridor is so narrow you have to move into your compartment
when someone needs to pass by.

The fans in our compartments weren't working, so it was a relief to be called to the dining car for dinner, where the fans were plentiful and operational. The meal was surprisingly good - I had read that the dinner meal was generally the more disappointing of the two - but the conversation sparkled.

At my table:

• Rupert - a businessman from Malindi (several hours north of Mombasa), and a veteran of Kenyan train travel
• Barnaby - a young independent film maker who makes short promotional films for businesses
• Lucy - a young make-up artist/costumer/special effects genius with a small British TV production company.

Rupert kept us in stitches the entire evening, and somehow managed to turn the rest of us - all quiet by nature - into clever and witty conversationalists.

Back in my room for the night, I joined in the collective cheers when the fans began working. Periodic power fluctuations would dim the lights and slow the fans. I tried to blog, but wasn't able to get a reliable Internet connection, and the motion and sound of the engine finally lulled me to sleep.

The train stopped just before 7:00 AM for what we thought was a short stop. We later learned that a train ahead of us had broken down and was awaiting assistance. My breakfast companions included a quiet Indian mother with limited English, and her son (maybe 9 or 10 years old?), who said nothing. He left the table while we were being served and his mother followed after having a few bites.

The fourth person at the table was Noemie, a young Belgian woman with Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders), who was returning from a week in Lamu. She had spent the week before that in Nairobi, interviewing local MSF medical personnel who were applying for international (traveling) MSF positions.

We talked for several hours, and tried to get train staff to give us some idea of when we might be arriving in Nairobi (responses ranged from one to three hours late – not sure how the one hour figure was arrived at as the train had been stopped for more than two hours by that time). Passengers who had planned morning or midday meetings were stressed, and nearly everyone had someone to call to change pickup arrangements. "Don't come to the station - I'll call when I get in" was the phrase of the day.

An isolated two-bungalow compound along the tracks.

After an additional few hours of conversation and several large animal sightings (unfortunately the camera operator wasn't quick enough), we finally arrived in Nairobi - just 5 hours past the scheduled 9 AM arrival time.

School and Spice Shopping

Last night's rain gave Mombasa the first pleasantly warm day in the week and a half I've been here. The rain stopped about 7, and the power went on shortly thereafter. It was so breezy I left the fan off, then turned it back on just before I left to dry the rest of the laundry.

I called Peter, my "regular" tuk-tuk driver for an early morning trip to the railway station. He showed up 45 minutes later in the back seat of someone else's tuk-tuk. His was out of commission for the day and he had found someone else, come with him to pick me up and then sent us to the station. I had no trouble getting a ticket for the Thursday night train.

After an early morning trip to the railway station to get my ticket for the Thursday night train, I went to Mombasa Academy to observe in Stephanie's Mom's class. Diane runs a special needs class of about 20 students with the help of four assistants, a great ratio for successful learning and the molding of positive behavior patterns . She is calm, firm and creative. The walls are filled with bright posters and drawings, and books, toys and games her own children have outgrown are everywhere.

Stephanie, who helps out a couple hours each day, was particularly excited because the little boy who was her "case study" for the workshop had just learned to request "toilet" that morning using a small single-message device. He pealed with delight at her voice coming from inside the little talker, at the big deal she was making, and at being immediately rushed to the bathroom. The day before he had been taught to request water in a similar fashion. This is a child who had not used any sort of AAC until last week when Stephanie introduced the picture display she had created during one of the workshop sessions.

I spent a bit of time with a bright 7-year old who was using tongue depressors to help with subtraction, but was nearly ready to handle the problems without them. I asked about doing one of the "easier" ones (10-9) in his head. "I already have the 10 in my head," he explained. "Where shall I put the 9?"

Nuala, another of the local speech-language therapists dropped by the Academy to pick me up for an afternoon of shopping, along with her friend Judy, a former OT volunteer in Mombasa. We stopped for Indian buffet  - spicy food and lassi, a refreshing yogurt drink.

Just inside the market area, we came upon a spice shop with good prices. Most were 50 KES - about 60 cents - for sealed 30 gram bags. I left with an assortment of seasonings and spices, genuine saffron (not "Indian saffron," which is actually turmeric), and blocks of jaggery, an unrefined cane sugar (sometimes palm tree sugar), all for other people. Now I'm hoping I can find a good spice shop in Nairobi and buy for myself.

The spice shop haul - my suitcase smells heavenly.

Back to the Poly, then off to Dorothy's to take Brian shopping for school shoes - it's hard keeping size 8 feet in size 7 shoes. Once back at Dorothy's - my last dinner in Mombasa - I watched dozens of chapatis being made for the evening meal and the next day's lunch. I hope the video clip gives you an appreciation for how time intensive the process is - remember, it doesn't include making the dough and forming it into balls.

Then dinner, gifts and goodbyes - not final goodbyes, though, because Dorothy insisted that I be properly accompanied to the train station tomorrow afternoon by Brian and an older cousin. She was appalled that I had made the trip alone this morning.

School and Fun - Part Two

Tuesday was Sapling Trust day. One of the Sapling Trust teachers had asked me to come and observe her class of three young children with autism. I spent quite a bit of time with her, gave her a few basic suggestions for encouraging communication, but concluded that what would be the most beneficial would be to have an assistant to help manage the wide variety of behaviors.

I then spent nearly an hour with a deaf 21-year-old artist/computer geek who was having a bit of a problem finding the drawing program that wold allow him to open a file he had created. I offered a few suggestions and from then on he was always 3-4 steps ahead of me. Using his flash drive, he was able to transfer the program to the appropriate user area, complete the required registration, re-install it, and open his file to show me a his rendering of an apartment complex. He also enjoys drawing cars and copying and designing commercial logos.

In Eunice's class, the morning's focus was on singing about action words - washing and wiping in particular. Each child got a chance to "wash" a towel in a basin of soapy water. The lesson became even more functional after a large amount of water was spilled on the floor, and we began singing about the teacher washing and wiping the floor.

I walked a couple of long blocks to a busier intersection where I could hail a tuk-tuk to take me to the Nakumatt Nyali , where I exchanged about $40 in Tanzanian currency into Kenyan shillings and met Stephanie. We walked to her house, had a lunch of rice and curry, and caught a matatu to Haller Park.

Haller Park is a green urban sanctuary. There are trails, snake exhibits, a 3:00 PM giraffe feeding one can participate in, crocodile and hippo feedings to watch (check out the monkeys sneaking in for their share) and a huge whale made entirely from discarded flip-flops.

Back at the house, Stephanie's mother shared home remedies that have been passed down in her family - I'm looking forward to trying the the one for sleep.

Another calming walk on the beach. The views were even more breathtaking today. We were able to walk way out because of the neap tide. Neap tides are particularly weak tides that occur twice a month - during the first and 3rd quarter moons - when the sun and moon are at right angles to each other. The sun cancels out much of the moon's gravitational pull, resulting in smaller differences between high and low tides (Thank you wiki answers!).

Looking back toward land

Jack, the neighbor's dog, accompanied us on all
our beach ramblings.





Back at the house, we washed the sand off our feet and left our flip-flops outside to dry.

Big Mistake.

When it was time to leave for town, only one flip-flop could be found. The usual canine suspects were rounded up and the sand pits were surveyed, but no flip-flop could be found.

I did several small buckets of laundry at the Poly. Everything dried quickly with the help of the powerful ceiling fan, except for the final load of three items (2 needed the next day), which I had pinned up just before storm - and power outage - hit at 2:15 AM. 

Have I mentioned that Mombasa is hot? The kind of hot where sweat pours down your face after just a minute or two outside? The kind of hot where being inside without a fan almost constitutes abuse? Luckily the rain brought an immediate drop in temperature, so the absence of the fan was tolerable.

School and Fun

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were all days of school visits in the morning and enjoying Mombasa with friends in the afternoons.

Dorothy and I walked to her office at the Mombasa EARC (Educational Assessment and Resource Center), where she gave me some background on training for assessment teachers and the assessment process itself. The Mombasa EARC has staff offices and workshops, including one that builds wheelchairs from the ground up.

A custom-welded wheelchair from the Mombasa EARC
(click to enlarge)

EARCs fall under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Education, Science and Technology. Their duties include:

* Assessing and identifying children with special needs 

* Providing guidance, counseling and courses for parents of children with special needs

* Establishing special needs units in regular schools

* Referring children with special needs to special schools or programs or for medical examination and treatment

* Offering seminars for teachers and other professionals working with children with special needs

* Providing hearing aids

* Collecting data for research and planning

The local agency coordinator told us that Starkey Labs, a Minnesota firm that produces hearing aids and diagnostic equipment, is donating 1000 sets of binaural (right and left ear) hearing aids to the Coast EARC (basically southeastern Kenya) in March, and a European company (sorry - can't remember which) will be coming to build a soundproof booth for hearing assessments soon as well.

Next door to the Mombasa EARC is the Tom Mboya School for Cerebral Palsy. One of the teachers who had attended the training last week had asked me to visit. I spent a couple hours there observing, participating in classroom and feeding activities and offering suggestions when asked. As in most programs for the developmentally disabled, there are so many bright children whose bodies won't let them communicate very efficiently. I saw so many who could benefit from some type of augmentative communication.

Poverty shows itself in some unexpected ways. I saw children wearing one shoe and carrying the other. Their shoes were so tight that even the slightest difference in foot size meant that one foot could not be forced into their shoe. I tried.

I had lunch with Stephanie and her mother. Stephanie is hoping to train to be a Speech Therapy Assistant and had wowed everyone at last week's training with her trash-to-treasure AAC adaptations. We spent several hours talking at their house, walked on the gorgeous beach just a short distance behind their house, fed the monkeys that inhabit their trees and tried to avoid the holes their dogs have dug burying shoes and other family treasures.

One of the many caves on the beach

Weekend Update

I got a taste - actually many tastes - of Mombasa over the weekend. Rehana, one of the local Speech-Language Therapists, had offered to show me around.

(click to enlarge)

We started in Old Town –  a small section of Mombasa with narrow streets and alleys, interesting shops(most with the standard tourist goods, but some with very temping and unusual items), and beautifully carved wooden doors.

After a couple of mango smoothies in a local coffee shop, we headed to Fort Jesus, a massive compound still showing some of the original coral walls. Fort Jesus was built by the Portuguese in 1593 and was the site of many skirmishes as different nations sought to control Mombasa. The museum there had fascinating artifacts.



View from Fort Jesus



Hamisi, our personal tour guide rattled off names and dates much faster than we could process them. Rehana - born and raised in Mombasa, and therefore in possession of the elusive bargaining gene most Westerners are missing - had firmly negotiated the fee at the beginning. He kept asking if we were happy, expecting that our satisfaction would justify a higher fee. He was no match for Rehana. 

The heat finally drove us to leave. We drove to waterfront parking area with lots of food vendors. Everything Rehana mentioned was something I had never had and wanted to try. We started with juice from green coconuts, drunk out of the shell. Rehana asked for a bit of pulp; the vendor quickly added some and cut little spoons out of the tops of the shells. This was followed by some seasoned roasted cassava spears - absolutely delicious. I also bought some cassava chips to take home.
On the way to Rehana's house (to replace a broken sandal), we passed a massive pair of crossed elephant tusks that had been erected in honor of Queen Elizabeth.

Rehana's parents' house has a gorgeous view of "the creek", a section of waterway surrounding the island of Mombasa. Her mom served a delicious lunch of Masala fries and steak, accompanied by Indian tea with milk. Her older sister gave us some just-cut yellow coconuts from one of their trees - how could I refuse? The juice was much sweeter tasting than the green we had had earlier.

No visit to Mombasa is complete without some beach time, so we drove to what is known as Yul's Beach, walked, watched the camels giving rides on beach, carefully avoided the camel dung, and all the beach vendors. And apparently no walk on Yul's Beach is complete without some of Yul's famous ice cream - my scoop of lime was delicious.

Sunday I had to pay for the gastronomic excess of the day before. I spent most of the morning in bed, with no appetite at all. After a short visit to Dorothy's  - was forced to eat a piece of bread - Dorothy's friend Eunice came to pick me up, and we took a long matatu ride (accompanied by trusty Brian) to Bamburi for me to spend some time with her absolutely adorable one-year-old son Raymond. Raymond was diagnosed with cerebral palsy just a few months ago, and has made tremendous progress with daily therapy - he now extends his arms, tried to grab for things and is able to stand for short periods while holding on to a table.
We spent nearly two hours talking about adapting common materials to encourage arm and hand use (great ideas from Tots-N-Tech - http://tnt.asu.edu/ideas, and from Let's Play http://letsplay.buffalo.edu/toys/adapting-toys.pdf

Brian, who is only 13, was so good with Ray, trying foot exercises and massage techniques Dorothy had shown him, talking gently all the while. He would make such a good OT or OT Assistant.

Workshop Week - Part Two



(Most of) Our Group

 February 8-11 - this is it - the 4-day training on Augmentative and Alternative Communication for people who don't speak, with little bit of assistive "technology" thrown in to boot. The training was held at APDK (Association for the Physically Disabled in Kenya) Bombolulu. The site is lovely - a cultural center, craft workshops, day care, classrooms, housing, open restaurant, large, very reasonably priced gift shop - really a small "village."

Dorothy and Wellington, an Assessment Teacher* from Vihiga district (a 15+hour bus ride west) picked me up in a tuk-tuk at 7:30 that first morning and after 8 for the rest of the week. Wellington and the OT from Vihiga Hospital couldn't claim the longest ride, though. That distinction belongs to Martin, OT, and Simeon, Assessment Teacher, from Mumias, often a 20 hour bus ride.

It was really a mixed group of people -  classroom teachers (the largest group), Assessment Teachers, Occupational Therapists, a Physical Therapist, some CBR (Community Based Rehab) workers, several Speech Therapists (2 are long-term volunteers) and a student who would like to train to become a Speech Therapy Assistant.

People were so eager to learn and it was wonderful watching the light bulbs go off for some of them - some by the first afternoon, others not till the third day - you could see and hear it happening. Some people had such perceptive observations, although because of the size of the group most of those had to be encouraged to share them. They were most animated when they were in groups planning and evaluating solutions for different scenarios, and or their particular child (they had been asked to have a case study in mind).  They would argue passionately for (and sometimes against) selecting certain messages or visuals, trying to balance their desire for quantity with picture size, space available and the needs and abilities of the child.


What could we do to make this picture display better?


Everyone created a communication visual or board using materials I had brought to take for their particular child. That seemed to be one of the favorite activities, although they were also very engaged when I gave each group a child with a specific disability, a prepared set of visuals and asked them to come up with reasons the visual display would not be good match for the child and what could be done to "fix" it, to make it work for that child.


Selecting images for their projects was a big hit.



Through the magic of pulling names out of an empty backpack (no hats were available), some people were fortunate enough to take home a low-tech voice output device (Thanks again to Central Coast Children's Foundation, Sydspeak, and Ablenet!). Everyone got an assortment of handouts; most were guidelines/checklists for when they are ready to plan their next visual display. Judging from the evaluation comments, people felt they had learned a great deal of helpful information and would like to see follow-up presentations on AAC. 



*Assessment teachers are first trained as teachers, then get training in special education, then go back for additional training in assessment of various types of disabilities. The country is divided into districts, with each district operating its own Educational Assessment Resource Center (EARC).





The Tyranny of the Mosquito Net



Ready to move in for the night

 Five things I dislike about mosquito nets:
- the slight sense of claustrophobia
 - having to untuck and re-tuck when you need to get out
- holes
- having the netting touch any part of your body
- those pesky mosquitoes that sneak in while you're tucking the net in around your mattress

I'm safely (I hope!) ensconced my mosquito net, along with my netbook computer, Safaricom modem, phone, glasses, notebook and pen. I just could not seem to get the bednet fastened in straight, even though I was trying to match the seams to the corners of my mattress.

I'm afraid I've become more complacent than I should about bednets. For the 2008 trip, I made my own net as well as one for Liz, hung them on the line, and sprayed them with a highly toxic mosquito repellent. We were careful to get them set up early and get into bed as soon as we could, making sure to collect our essential items ahead of time. Late night trips to the bathroom were postponed till morning whenever possible, to avoid being bitten. When such a trip had to be made, the exit tunnel was as narrow as possible and was immediately blocked so none of the enemy could invade.

In 2010, I brought my own net again, but most of the places I stayed had their own nets. I stayed up later, and the tunnels into and out of bed were definitely larger than the year before. I'd wait till the next day to let the hostel staff know that my net had a hole.

This trip, I'm getting into bed anywhere from 9:30 to 11:30, and right now I'm looking at holes of varying sizes that I haven't mentioned to anyone. It's often an entire side and a half of netting that gets pulled out for entrances and exits, and I don't think twice about getting up in the middle of the night if I have/want to.

As much as I dislike them, though, I'll continue to use them, and take an anti-malarial, and hope that any stray mosquitoes I encounter are a non-malarial species or male (only the females can spread malaria).

How many places are there where you hope your bites (and believe me, I'm covered) are from ants or spiders?

Workshop Week - Part One

This has been a whirlwind of a week, and the fact that I'm just now getting it down means there will be many missed details.

Sunday Morning Dorothy and her daughter Pendo picked me up to share in her church service at the Mombasa Pentecostal Church. Alex, Dorothy's husband, joined us later. It's a large, very enthusiastic congregation. Nearly an hour of singing in English, kiswahili, Luo and Kikuyu, with the words presented on screens at the front, followed by announcements and a thought-provoking sermon delivered by the pastor's wife. Congregants were asked to get out their notebooks and write down ideas they might want to consider in greater depth throughout the week.

After church, Alex hailed a tuk-tuk, a partially enclosed 3-wheeled, 3-passenger mini-jeep taxi. The area in front of the church was jammed with tuk-tuks, matatus (9-passenger minvans outfitted to hold 15), and regular taxis, and our driver got completely hemmed in. When he tried to get out, a matutu pulled in so close that the two vehicles became stuck. Much yelling and assigning blame followed. We got out and several men picked up the tuk-tuk to disengage it from the matatu. Another tuk-tuk was hailed and we were off to Dorothy's for the midday meal, more visiting from an assortment of relatives and friends, rest, dinner, and then a walk back to the Poly. Tom, from the International Guest House in Nairobi called to say he had delivered my 2 larger bags to the Coast Bus office for the night bus to Mombasa, and had wrapped them to prevent loss of contents. Then, several hours on the computer at various times throughout the night, refining my presentations.

Monday morning I caught a tuk-tuk to Coast Bus to collect my bags, now disguised as large feed sacks. Opening the sacks was a bit of a challenge as my scissors were packed inside, and the sisal stitching that secured the tops was knotted tightly. There was so much corn dust that I decided to complete the process in the shower area so I could wash it most of the dirt away. Everything inside was intact, although smelling of grain.

My classy suitcases

After a few hours of working on my presentation, I set off  to find a tuk-tuk to take me to a cyber cafe  for copying some handouts and for printing out my notes. Although the tuk-tuk driver had  vigorously nodded his understanding of  my verbal and pantomimed "cyber cafe" and "computer," he obviously had no idea where such a thing was located. I finally caught sight of one that advertised printing and copying services, had him stop to let me out, but refused to pay the extra he wanted for the "long trip" since he hadn't really known where he was going.

The printing process was slow. The sweet girl helping me applied all the skills she had learned in her secretarial course to my files, insisting on checking and correcting my margins, tabs, and bullets, and trying a number of different functions before finally selecting Print. I was eventually able to convince her that I liked the settings I had chosen. She looked wistfully at each new document she opened, hoping I would change my mind and allow her to make things right. The ink cartridge on the printer ran out and had to be changed, and the copy machine gave new meaning to the word 'molasses.' When all was done, she walked me to the nearest supermarket (I had some shopping to do) and we exchanged phone numbers in case I would need more printing or copying done. She called later that evening to make sure I had arrived home safely after my dinner with Dorothy.

More time on my netbook, working on presentations, chatting with family and trying desperately to catch up on my blogging. The Safaricom modem has been a life saver.

On to Mombasa

After an early breakfast, I caught the only taxi on the corner (7 AM on a Saturday morning must be too early to expect fares.) He actually knew where the Raqib bus office was. Was thrilled that the fare would only be 15,000 TSH - about $11 - and that may have been the Mzungu (white person's) price. It's about 3 times as much to travel from Nairobi to Arusha.

It was a hot trip and the bus was nearly packed (Saturday is market day in Taveta, just across the border in Kenya). Major portions of the road were so dusty that we kept the windows closed for long periods. Making the trip "extra comfortable" were the frequent grouping of speed bumps, in an attempt, mostly unsuccessful, to slow down drivers. Every time there was a stop, the helpers would load the luggage, collect the fare, and then race to get back onto the already moving bus. Valentine's ads with talk of love played on the radio between songs.

The Holeli-Taveta border crossing is bare bones - not many buses ply that route. You get out, get your exit stamp, walk across the border (although I could have hopped on a motor bike), get your entry stamp, get back on the bus, drive a short distance, then get out, get your bag(s), and have them (cursorily) searched.

We stopped for a while outside a garage and watched two tire changes, then went on to Voi, a much larger town. The bus was surrounded by children and adults selling all manner of food and drinks - cakes,pop, water, crackers, chips,chunks of sugar cane. Some hawked their wares through the windows; others boarded the bus. I got another bottle of water for 30 KES, less than 40 cents. A small boy came on with a large bucket of hard-boiled eggs that he would crack for you.

There is so little rain in Kenya, and when it does rain, it's often brief but destructive. There was so much evidence of severe erosion - deep, deep gullies.

Between Voi and Mombasa, a passenger stood up and talked to the passengers. I thought at first he was a preacher, but he turned out to be singing the praises of a number of organic remedies for . . . well, whatever ails you. I was able to read some of the labels of passengers near me; one treatment claimed to be good for colon disorders, malaria and female problems. Many people bought several different treatments, but money exchanged hands so quickly, I couldn't tell how much they were paying.

Finally, arrival in Mombasa. An old, truck-sized tire had been made the trip on top of my suitcase, permeating the fabric with a thick layer of reddish brown dirt. I prayed that none had of the dirt had entered the interior of the suitcase.

Although I had not been successful in calling or texting Dorothy Mvoi, my contact in Mombasa, while en route, my phone magically worked once I arrived at the Raqid office. Shacklonton, an Occupational Therapist with the Mombasa Children's Therapy Center, was dispatched to pick me up at the the Raqid stop and deliver me to Dorothy's apartment, where I was warmly greeted. Bonding was instantaneous - we talked and laughed as though we had been friends for years. We ate snd talked, and I finally gave up trying to sort out the relationships among all the visitors who popped in and out.

Later, I was accompanied to the Mombasa Polytechnic University College ("the Poly"), where a room had been reserved for me. A room with a working fan and shower - absolutely blissful after the heat and grime of the day.
God apparently felt I needed practice doing laundry in small basins - at least half of my clothes had been "blessed" with a mix of dirt and rust from the traveling tire (white jeans included).

Mission(s) Accomplished

Friday was a day of (some) accomplishments.

On my agenda were:
- presenting a short training to some CCBRT-Moshi staff (I had been there for a week last year;
- bringing jump ropes to Amani Children's Center and getting pictures of the kids jumping;
- bringing ropes to Mkombozi Center for Street Children and getting pictures and videos;
- getting a Tanzanian SIM card for my computer modem (The Kenyan one won't work in Tanzania); and
- finding out when the bus to Mombasa leaves in the morning, where to catch it and what the cost would be.

Well, 3 out of 5 isn't too bad.

The morning began with a 20-minute power outage just as I was getting out of bed - the booklight I bought just before leaving helped locate my toothbrush and toothpaste as well as my clothing. Down two double flights of stairs to the ground floor only to learn that the breakfast room is up on the 4th floor. Up 4 double flights to the breakfast room, quick breakfast, then back down again. The morning desk clerk said it would be no problem for him to get the information I needed about the trip to Mombasa.

The CCBRT van around 7:15, and I was warmly greeted by some familiar faces, although there were lots of new ones. More hugs followed after the van arrived. During a brief meeting with Augusto, the program director for the Moshi site, I was delighted to learn that following my visit last year, they had painted a simple communication board on the lap tray of a child's new wheelchair.

Once we figured out how to connect to the projector and manage the volume, I was able to run through the DVD and Manual, and communication boards of the Basic Communication Package, the program developed in South Africa to train outreach and healthcare workers to teach parents how to create communication opportunities during daily activities with their children. I left the program components there, along with an assortment of children's books for Doreen's Montessori classroom.

One of the vans was leaving for town in the early afternoon. Great, I thought, I'll have time to get that Tanzanian SIM card. Long story short, the Tanzanian card doesn't work without a software download that involved me bringing my netbook to the shop. Carrying around any sort of electronics after being seen with it in a shop would not have been safe for anyone. I was, however, amused to be propositioned by a man (owner?/employee?/friend?) nearly 20 years younger than I who just could not understand why I wouldn't want to spend the next week in Mombasa with him.

After a very brief visit to the internet cafe and a quick change of clothing, I talked with the hotel clerk, who said he had been unable to get hold of the man who would know how to get in touch with the bus company. He suggested I just give him the money and he would try to get tickets for me after his shift was over. I thought not.

I caught a taxi to Amani (bumpy, bumpy roads), and had a delightful talk with Kathleen Mahoney, the Amani Communications Director, then watched the boys finish up a soccer game.

Their jump rope performance was absolutely amazing for children who had just been jumping for a year. They had tricks in there I had not seen in all the years I had judged at competitions. I tried to post one of the videos, but they were all too long. I was able to upload one to youtube for Mike because I knew he would be so proud (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3m39URkUtMM) - watch and be prepared to be blown away.

Shared a taxi back to town with Kathleen and then had the driver take me to Mkombozi. Ben was the only one available at first - one jumper had left for the day, another was recovering from malaria. Ben's English is very good, and he has a great sense of humor. Ben found some newer jumpers and the jumper with malaria insisted on jumping as well. They also looked good. Simon, the sports director there, said they have been going to other schools in the area to demonstrate the sport.

After getting back into town, I bought a delicious Zanzibar pizza on the street in front of the hotel. It's actually fried dough surrounding a combination of vegetables, including potatoes. Cost - 500 TSH, about 30 cents.

Internet Withdrawal

I'm currently at an internet cafe across from my hotel in Moshi, Tanzania, but arrived in town too late to get a Tanzanian SIM card to power my computer modem. While you can buy phone credit nearly anywhere, the SIM cards require formal registration at approved stores, with a copy of your passport. Strange, since they cost so little - about $1.25 in Kenya.

I have gotten so spoiled having a 3G computer modem that having to limit myself to an hour or two at an internet cafe seems barely tolerable (most close at 8 PM). And this time I can't even complain about the walk. Places I've stayed in past visits have been at least a mile from the nearest internet cafe.

Tomorrow I'll be gone most of the day, and will try to get an hour or two at the cafe before they close. Saturday I'll be travelling up to Mombasa, so no computer until I get there - but then I'll be back in the unlimited lane.

Earlier today I got a 3 hour, bone jarring full body massage, thanks to unfinished portions of the Nairobi-Arusha road. The roads here are death to shock absorbers, so even driving on the newly paved surfaces sets up a whole body vibration. I had some productive planning time on the bus, but my notes are barely legible.

Well, I still have to get an ATM to get more Tanzanian money, find someplace to eat, and try to decipher my bus notes.

note: I'm finishing this up early Sunday morning - there was a power outage in Moshi as I was finishing up the post, and the backup generator at the internet cafe just couldn't handle the computer load.

Untitled (Sorry - nothing came to me)

A slow but interesting two days.

Yesterday ended up being a wait-around-for-people-to call-and-come-over day, so my walking was curtailed. Good thing - my calves and knees were protesting yesterday's abuse. I worked on the training materials, Cantar, the sports program director for Kibera, came to pick up ropes for the Kibera teams, and we made arrangements for me to visit when I return to Nairobi in 2-1/2 weeks.

Then waited for dear Nduta, who thrives on African time. She had been waiting on her mechanic to make a simple repair that turned complicated because of all that had to be removed to reach it. She had hoped he would have a car she could borrow, but ended up having to wait till the repair was completed. We spent a few hours talking AAC, and made plans for a visit to her son's old school - a progressive private school for children with disabilities.

After some quality time with my computer, I learned from Tom that the afternoon Nairobi-Arusha-Moshi bus doesn't actually go to Moshi, so decided it would make more sense to stay one more night at the International Guest House, get my phone issues taken care of (you don't want to hear my litany of complaints), and try to find a replacement for a missing battery contact strip in one of the donated devices. The strip must have fallen out at home when I removed the batteries in preparation for the trip.

Tom also suggested that I leave the suitcases I need for Mombasa with him for the few days I'll be in Tanzania. Good plan - I was dreading traveling with two heavy suitcases I didn't really need. He will put them on a bus to Mombasa once I arrive there.

Back upstairs to bond with my computer once more and another repacking session to see if I could fit all I needed for Moshi - jump ropes, language materials, books and my own personal belongings - into my smaller carry-on suitcase. It worked - with the help of a collapsible travel backpack that folds into a 3 by 4" case.

Bonding with the computer, however, was less successful. I allowed myself to become possessed (two+ hours worth) trying to get an onscreen keyboard program to work properly for me. Once I was finally ready to admit (temporary) defeat I realized I hadn't completely finished packing the suitcases that were staying in Nairobi. Final bedtime: 5 AM.

Wednesday, we (Tom, William, one of his employees, and I) drove into central Nairobi to look for the battery component, buy more phone credit (since mine seemed to have vanished), and exchange some of my US currency. Tom and I finished with the last two tasks in no time and returned to IGH. Two hours later, William returned. He had finally found a place to cobble together a functional replacement piece.

New guests came that evening. Mack, a young Canadian (I think) works in finance in Japan. He belongs to a group called Most Traveled People, and this current trip has so far taken him to Bhutan, India, and Kenya (his 66th country). Then he's on to Rwanda, Tanzania, South Africa and Uganda. We talked for more than two hours about traveling, food, space travel, politics and the pros and cons of a cashless economy.