Keriama

Wow. So much has happened in the past week in Alale. I learned so much in Alale. About the Pokot, about myself, and about my friends. And I have only begun to process my experiences there, I'm sure. It is impossible to cover everything in one blog post, but here are some of the highlights...

Upon arriving in Alale, we went to Michael's mother's homestead to rest for the remainder of the evening after a long day of traveling. My fellow travelers were Michael (of course), Peter (a.k.a. Losenguria), and Lomaler. As the evening unfolded, I was astounded to discover some things I had not known about the very people with whom I have been spending a good portion of 2 months. 

I have neglected to ask probing personal questions of people like Nelly, Peter, and Lomaler because I did not want them to feel as if they were being inspected and studied like the people they observe me interview (even though I am, in fact, studying them). Unlike the various people I have interviewed, I had to see these 3 every day. 

So, I was shocked to learn that Lomaler is Michael's younger brother. About a decade or more separates them. Michael never introduced him to me as family, and because Lomaler runs a number of errands for Michael's family and sleeps in Michael's Toyota pickup, I assumed Michael had simply extended a helping hand to a fellow Pokot in need. I knew Michael and Lomaler come from the same Snake clan, but that was as close to family as I thought they got.

This goes back to my observation about how people in Pokot (if not all of Kenya) refer to each other. Each person usually has an English-sounding name, an African-sounding name, and a nickname. I think what I've realized is because each person has so many names, and because a person may not know which name you know for another person, then they refer to that person as "that guy" instead of using a name. In the case of clans, a person can be referred to as a brother or sister if they are literally a blood relative, or if they belong to the same clan. Lucy (in the Shackled post), for instance, is not Michael's blood sister after all, but is in the same clan as Michael.

Kolemoi, goat herdsboy

I met Michael's blood sister's son, Kolemoi, while in Alale. Because clans are patrilineal (anthropological term meaning descent or kinship is determined by the father), Kolemoi belongs to a different clan than Michael and his sister. Michael introduced Kolemoi to me as his sister's son. And I said, "ok, so he's your nephew!" Michael's nonchalant response was, "yeah, but he's from a different clan, though." I don't want to paint the picture that Michael is uncaring towards his nephew. Michael has a HUGE heart...for everyone inside and outside his clan, for everyone inside and outside Pokot. But this exchange so beautifully clarified for me what are considered the inner circles of family for Pokot. 

To help narrate some of the rest of my journey in Alale, here are some photos:

Making a driveway to Michael's mother's homestead.

Michael's brothers holding down a goat while I slaughter it by slitting its throat.

Michael with his brothers: Losil and Lomaler. This is their first photo together.

In the rural areas, I mentioned before that women wear
many bracelets to indicate they are married. At this point
in the trip, I only had 2, so this guy did not know I am
married and offered Michael 50 cows for my dowry.

Getting more marriage bracelets. The woman who fashioned and hammered

on the additional bracelets has a ton of them on her own arm!

At Kaliman's homestead (a friend of Michael's). He asked if I had ever milked
a camel. I hadn't. So, I became the evening's entertainment by milking a camel.
Camel milk, by the way, is very very sweet.

Helping a newborn camel stand up (also at Kaliman's).

Fueling up the pickup at Michael's mother's homestead. There isn't a gas station

in Alale, so we had to bring a jerrican of fuel with us.

At a government-hosted peace meeting between Turkana and Pokot.

At the peace meeting, I learned that the Turkana had recently

raided a nearby Pokot community for their cattle, and slaughtered

a young Pokot herdsboy. On the way back from the peace

meeting, we coincidentally stumbled upon the mother of the

herdsboy who was brutally murdered. That was a rough day.

There's gold in them hills! Mountain climbing with gold diggers.

Panning for gold. This is an alternative to raising cattle and cattle rustling.
On average, 1 day's work earns a person $2.

Jumping. A social event. Like running, people were surprised I knew how to jump...

Chilaxin at Kaliman's. I am teaching Losenguria and Lomaler how to play the

card game "Speed." I don't think either of them had ever played cards before.
I also climbed a tree and shot a bow and arrow. I surprised everyone (including
myself) when I was told to aim for a tree 30 yards away that was no more than
2 inches in diameter and hit it square center. I haven't shot a bow and arrow in
15 years (not including the Wii sports version).

Plowing a field. Growing crops is another alternative to the nomadic tradition

of cattle raising and rustling.

Me with Chenenaut, Losil's daughter. This little girl is completely
satisfied sitting quietly on your lap and ever so delicately
examining your jewelry.

Goat sacrifice (different from slaughter). This is offered to God by Pokot elders
and then eaten by all men present (leftovers sent home for women and children).

I get to eat with the men. I am convinced this is the best way to cook goat.

BBQed whole, then cut up and BBQed some more. Smoky tasty! Unfortunately,

I ate some undercooked meat and got really sick the rest of the day.

Michael and Kaliman collecting leaves for the goat sacrifice.

Michael found a baby goat that had gone missing for nearly 

3 days. I was really surprised, because you can hear hyenas
at night.

Some of you were wondering how I spent my birthday. This was it. It was only

just the day before that I got really sick from eating the undercooked goat. So,

my body was super exhausted the next day. By the way, just a week before, I

thought it was really awkward to lie down and take a nap in front of everyone.

I obviously got over it.

My Alale family (minus Michael, taking the picture; and Kaliman, absent).

Left to Right: Michael's mom, Longoria (a friend), Losenguria (Peter), Losil's

wife, Michael's sister, Lomaler, Me, Chenenaut, Losil, Kolemoi, Kabet, and the

last 2 kids I never learned their names.

At this point, I am very sad to think I will be leaving in exactly 1 week from today. I have made so many friends here that it will be hard to say goodbye. I will be coming back to Pokot. It is only a matter of when.

Keriama. Let's meet again.

Shackled

Lucy is Michael's sister. She comes by every once in awhile for afternoon chai and to help with laundry. I found out recently that she makes traditional Pokot jewelry for a hobby. I was admiring her Pokot marriage bands (bracelets) one day (the Pokot version of a wedding ring); the next time I saw her, she brought the piece of metal from which one of the bands had been cut. She cut 2 bands from it and fit them to my right forearm, so now I am pestered less when going into town with Nelly because men recognize that I am a married woman.

The traditional marriage bands are less common in the more "urban" areas, such as Kapenguria, but everyone still recognizes them for what they are. They are still very much in use in the rural, nomadic areas. Lucy just wears 2 bands on her arm, but when I was in Ombolion, many of the women had over a dozen. Michael said I will acquire more in Alale.

This is Lomaler. He was the one who actually
did the hammering while Lucy oversaw and
directed his work.

These bands are permanent, and require a hammering device to get them on. I could remove them if I really wanted to, but it would be a hassle...requiring at least one other person, and if I wanted to put them back on, it probably wouldn't look or fit quite right. I doubt I will have trouble at the Nairobi airport, but I'm sure TSA is just going to love me for my future domestic and international flights.

Between the jewelry I was gifted at Mtelo Hall during the County Government meeting, and the jewelry I purchased from Lucy, Michael said I will be presentable for our trip to Alale.

We actually left Sunday morning for the trip to Alale, and are planning to stay a week or more. Because I wasn't sure about my internet connection in Alale, I prepared this post ahead of time and asked Luke to publish it for me. I know, I'm cheating a little bit, but I hope it keeps you entertained in the mean time. I look forward to updating you about my adventures in Alale upon my return to Kapenguria next week.

For those of you who are planning to visit Michael and Daylight in the upcoming months, and are interested in purchasing jewelry while you are here, I highly recommend that you commission Lucy to make the jewelry for you. Especially if you will not be going to Alale where there are quality jewelry shops. I've done a lot of searching in Kapenguria, and the few pieces I've found are very low quality.

Lucy was trained by her aunt, and even knows how to make jewelry that Pokot no longer wear (phased out due to scarcity of materials). Lucy would like to open a Pokot jewelry-making business (in order to support her children), but hasn't been able to pull together the up-front costs (because she spends what she has to support her children). It takes Lucy about 2 days to complete a large project, such as a necklace. She (and others) charge about $16 (KShs 1300) for a necklace. To put this in perspective, a loaf of bread here costs KShs 86.

If I had figured this all out sooner, I would have been open to taking orders from those of you who are interested in supporting Lucy and acquiring some traditional Pokot jewelry. But I won't be in Kenya much longer!

I will post a picture of Lucy when I return from Alale.

Grace

This past week, I met with the people whose land Daylight has been purchasing incrementally. Currently, Daylight is renting space from a local seminary, but in order to increase attendance and host more orphans, Daylight has been in the process of purchasing its own land on which to build classrooms and dormitories.

Our first meeting. Quite intimidating for me!

First, Daylight purchased a little over 3 acres. The husband and wife (Kenya and Grace...yes, his name is Kenya) who own the land believe in what Daylight Center and School is doing, so they had offered to set aside the neighboring 9 acres for Daylight to purchase in the future, refusing other offers on the land. But the couple have their own bills to pay, and they shared their concerns with me a few weeks ago that they may be forced to sell to another interested buyer.

For our first meeting, we sat beneath a big tree.

Thanks to a number of generous Daylight donors, we were able to purchase 3 more acres this week. I had simply passed on the urgent information to the rest of the U.S. board of directors for Daylight, but Grace thanked me as if I had pulled the necessary sum from my own pocket. Even Angelina, Michael's wife, thanked me for doing what I did. I'm not exactly sure what I did... if it was picking up the phone and putting the pressure on the rest of the board of directors, or if it was just being present to put the land owners at ease.

Second Land Meeting: Me, Grace, and Kenya.

I have gotten to "know" this family better than I thought I would since our first meeting. Grace's father passed away a few weeks ago, so Michael and I attended the funeral which took place in her and Kenya's backyard beneath a temporary canopy made of rugged wooden beams and a tarp of maize sacks sewn together. Her father was buried in the backyard as well. Also, her daughter is about my age and speaks English very well, so we have fun chatting every time we see each other.

At this last meeting, Michael and I agreed to raise the funds for 2 more acres of land by then end of May...so, in just a little over 2 months. These 2 acres will ease the couple's current financial burdens, and allow Daylight to consider and purchase the last 4 acres at its leisure.

I don't want any of my blog readers to feel pressured (ok, maybe just a little), or to stop reading my blog because I've turned one of my posts into a call for donations. But in addition to the research I am doing for my master's research, this Daylight project is very much a part of my Kenya experiences.

Something I have learned while interviewing people for my research is that the Kenyan government still has a long way to go before public school systems (as the U.S. knows them) are providing free education for all children to attend primary and secondary school. In addition, the Pokot have a long history of being overlooked by government benefits. Just in the past century, the Kenyan government decided the Ugandan government should be responsible for the Pokot, but Uganda didn't want that responsibility, so the Pokot were abandoned.

The new Kenyan constitution, signed by President Kibaki last fall, brings a lot of hope and promise of equal distribution of government-provided benefits, such as free eduction and a percentage of national revenue to Kenyan counties for development projects. Even so, it will take some time before these changes reach Kapenguria, and even longer before the nomadic areas see the effects of the new constitution.

When I ask the nomads what the government is doing in their area, or what they expect from the government, the response I receive is "What government? I've heard about this thing called government, but I have not seen it," or "The government? Our government are the missionaries and aid organizations."

And when I ask what they believe will resolve the challenges they are experiencing with drought and hunger and health care, most everyone's response has been education.

On our way from Nairobi to Kapenguria, we stopped in East Pokot and I met this
mother and her son, who has a deformed foot. Michael asked her about having
her son come to Daylight once a host is arranged for him. She said Michael's
proposal was an answer to prayer.

Isn't he adorable?! A current Daylight student on
the cold day I taught a few classes.

This is why Daylight is so significant to the nomads. Daylight provides free education to orphans and other marginalized children, accelerating change in the nomadic areas they come from. 

Learn more about Daylight Center and School, or make a tax-deductible donation of $100 towards the remaining 2-acre land purchase.

Even if you do not click on one of the links above, thank you for taking an interest in this part of my trip by sticking to the end of this post!

Not a Drop to Drink

It has been raining a lot this week. And I mean A LOT! Kapenguria is drenched and has not had an opportunity to recover between showers. Day and night, there might be a reprieve of two or three hours. On the plus side, the rain against my tin roof has not disturbed my sleep, I have grown quite accustomed to it. It's sort of comforting now.

But it has also been unnaturally cold (for Kenya) and humid, due to the rain. My jacket got soaked one afternoon, so I hung it in my room to dry. It was still damp the next afternoon.

Nelly cutting vegetables this afternoon beneath a
double rainbow.

I have been wanting to do some laundry and take a shower since Tuesday, but I don't have enough places to hang wet clothes in my room, and I can't bear to even think about taking a cold shower in this cold weather. ...Think about that for a second: no shower or clean underwear since Tuesday... I never thought I'd stoop so low.

On top of it all, I made a big misjudgment last night at dinner. I've become a little too comfortable with Nelly cooking meals. And Michael wasn't around last evening to confirm my suspicions or advise otherwise, so I ate what I was given.

Yesterday afternoon, Nelly made some beans and rice for lunch. When Angelina got home from visiting Daylight, she suggested having chai and buttered bread instead, and saving the beans and rice for dinner. I know I saw Nelly reheat the beans, but as soon as I bit into the rice, I started to feel conflicted. It wasn't hot. Or warm for that matter. Do I say something and ask to have it reheated? Or would that be an over-precaution? Well, I didn't say anything, and it would NOT have been an over-precaution.

I am almost out of Pepto Bismol. I am sure the humid conditions lately only contributed to and sped up the process for the contamination of the rice.

It's amazing to me that the only times I have felt unwell are in Kapenguria. I was expecting to become ill in the rural areas, if at all. This just proves I need to maintain the over-precaution I practice in the rural areas at all times, including in Kapenguria.

The head master translating for the kids. He actually can't
understand my accent very well.

On a lighter note... Yesterday, I visited Daylight Center and School. The head master asked me teach two Math classes, and then an English class where I could talk about anything I wanted. I handed out pennies from the United States and told the kids about Abraham Lincoln and Obama, and then quizzed the kids on their own Kenyan Presidential history. Then I answered questions about the weather in Minnesota and what travel back to the United States entails.

I've noticed these pants have gotten a little baggy on me.

At recess, I attempted to play soccer with the kids, but they thought it way more fun to run after me than the soccer ball. I tried to get an honest game of tag going, but it turned out everyone was it, except for me, of course.

People have been surprised when they see that I run...as well as carry as much as any Kenyan woman. I have no idea where they get their perception of Americans, but it certainly doesn't include the possibility that at least some of us are physically fit. I suppose it doesn't help when they witness one of us keeling over with stomach pain after eating something as simple as rice.


Afternoon Update:
Not long after writing a draft of this blog this morning, I began to feel much better...at least, enough where I could stand up straight...without needing to pace. And then the sun came out!

Nelly and Lucy (Michael's sister) were doing laundry, so I brought out mine to wash it myself and ended up getting some quality instruction on how to hand scrub my clothes. Nelly was able to get out a stain on my white shirt that I was convinced wouldn't be spotless until I returned to the States and soaked it in bleach. Amazing!

After making chai for lunch, Nelly used the remaining heat from the coals on the stove to warm some water for me to shower. I feel sooo much better!

Bull: 1, Rachel: 0

Yesterday was excruciatingly frustrating. I can confidently say it was the worst day of the trip. Provided nothing worse happens, I can at least allow future incidents to roll off my back a bit easier.

Yesterday was the date of reschedule for the bull sacrifice (mentioned in my "Murder Investigation" post). I will take a moment here to explain that this murder was not random, and I am completely safe. Essentially, the murder was the result of cattle rustling. As the Pokot elders do not approve of cattle rustling (or murder!), they are making a very big example out of everyone remotely involved in this murder and cattle rustling event.

Michael wanted to ensure I would be present for the entire bull sacrifice ceremony, so we planned to leave Kapenguria for Lelan at 5:30am. After getting fuel and picking up an elder, we ended up leaving Kapenguria at around 6:00am.

We arrived in Lelan sometime between 7:00 and 7:30am, where we waited and waited. And waited. Fortunately, waiting is something I have, at least, come to expect in Kenya. I think Luke will be pleased that I've developed a better concept of patience during this trip.

That morning, a Lelan local treated our entire crew (Michael, Peter, Lomaler, Nelly, the elder, and myself) to chai, but Michael cautioned me not to "take chai" because he wasn't confident it was prepared in such a way that killed all of the bacteria in the milk. This is because Lelan is a small rural town that is not accustomed to tourists.

It reminded me of an Old West ghost town, with a dirt road that abruptly comes up to a short strip of parallel shops. Only, instead of tumble weed, a sheep would occasionally trot by. Skip, you will be pleased to know that the electric guitars in the opening song from Once Upon a Time in the West queued in my head.

Me thinking about rolling down the hill.

So, after watching people drink chai, Michael apparently got an update regarding the location of the ceremony. So, we drove maybe 3 miles out of town and parked off the road in a pasture. Where we waited some more. Peter, Nelly, Lomaler and I climbed a small hill and the view was amazing. Not only could you see the haphazard patchwork of farms and pasture and homesteads in the valley below, but we also had a clear view of Mt Mtelo to the northeast and Mt Elgon to the west-northwest. I'm convinced that if I started to roll down the west side of that steep hill, the only thing that would stop me from reaching the valley miles below would be a solid fence or two.

After waiting there for about an hour, hour and a half, Michael received another phone call, and we headed back into Lelan. Where we waited and waited. At this point, a handful of elders showed up. So, I jumped at the opportunity to ask a few questions and get a better understanding of the ceremony. Before, I understood that sacrificing someone's bull is only one step down from corporeal punishment. Well, that actually isn't the case. From greatest to least in severity, after corporeal punishment in Pokot, the next biggest punishment is whipping or beating the criminal, then it is lapay (which is essentially a HUGE fine for damages rendered), then the bull sacrifice, then forced excommunication, and finally, voluntary excommunication.

Speaking with some elders.

After getting my questions answered, one of the elders treated our crew to more chai. This time, I had a Sprite. At this point, some of the shops had opened, so Nelly and I went into a clothing shop just to kill some time. Not much of a selection. After waiting some more in Lelan, Michael and the elders were getting up to go somewhere, so I chose to follow.

We climbed a huge hill, where there were more board members with stackable plastic chairs, presumably determining where on the hill to have the ceremony. Nelly and I wandered around the hill and found the ruins of an old house or something, so we hung out there until one of the elders called out to us to come.

Notice I am carrying one chair and Nelly is carrying three...

We picked up some of the chairs and followed the elders halfway down the hill to a clearing where a man was moving some brush aside. This seemed to be the place they decided on. But we did some more waiting. And I found out we were waiting on some elders who had just left Kapenguria. It was around 12:30pm when I learned this, so that would place the elders in Kapenguria at around 2:00pm. While we waited, I got to watch Peter perform the Pokot way of extracting ear wax. Apparently, they allow ear wax to build up until it is the size of a pea, and then someone fashions a tweezer out of a stick and attempts to fish out the ear wax from their patient.

Then, it started to sprinkle, so the elders picked up the chairs and walked back to Lelan. If it started to rain hard, they wanted to be close to a building that they could retreat to. There is an area, just outside the "city center," that appeared to be for auctions or public addresses, and that is where the elders finally settled. I dozed off at around 1:45pm for a few minutes. At 2:15pm, things were finally getting started.

By 2:30pm, about 100 people had gathered, and an elder stood up and welcomed everyone. Michael pointed out the criminal to me, and I asked him where the bull was. He said he didn't know. About 2 hours later, it started to rain. Hard. So, everyone retreated into a nearby sheep shearing shed. I didn't understand what was going on, but somehow the bull sacrifice ceremony turned into a peace meeting between the Pokot and Marakwet. There was no bull, there was no sacrifice.

At around 6:00pm, Michael said he was feeling very tired and told Nelly to translate for me, then left the meeting with Peter. Nelly translated a few things, but it takes her longer than Michael, as her English vocabulary isn't as advanced, which means that I'm getting more of a watered-down version than if Michael translates. This is fine for me, as I simply just want to get an idea of what is being said, but then she stopped translating all together. When Michael does this, it usually means the person speaking is simply repeating himself, or is saying more of the same of what has already been said. But in Nelly's case, Peter had once told me that Nelly (who is not originally Pokot) does not speak Pokot. In preparing for this trip to Lelan, I mentioned this to Michael, and he said that Nelly actually speaks Pokot very well. Well, this morning, while having chai, I observed Lomaler teaching Nelly how to pronounce Pokot greetings (phrases I have already learned). I'm sure Nelly must understand more Pokot than I do, but I don't think I can continue to depend on her for formal translations.

Finally, at 6:45pm, after sitting uncomfortably on a wooden bench for over 4 hours, the elder we came with stood up, made a statement to everyone in attendance, and then turned to leave. In response, Lomaler and Nelly got up to follow. Nelly even picked up my backpack and turned to me to say "just come."

"Wait, what's going on?" 

"We are leaving now," was her response.

I had no idea if the elder was opposed to something said, or if he was politely excusing himself, or if something was about to happen where women were not to be present (Nelly and I were the only women). So, I had little choice but to follow Nelly out of the shed to inquire further. Once we were a good twenty yards away, I asked again:

"What's happening, why are we leaving?"

"The meeting is ending, they are just going to pray now." 

"What?! Nelly, I can't leave. I need to see that!"

So I rushed back to the shed to stand at the open door. Nelly and the elder followed me, the elder asking 

"What did you forget?"

I expected Nelly to answer him, since I needed to pay attention to what was taking place, but he kept asking. So I turned to him and said (not knowing exactly how much English he could understand) 

"This is what I came all the way from America to see." I emphasized this by pointing into the shed. "I can't leave yet." 

A few minutes later, it was all over, and we headed back to the truck to meet up with Michael.

I asked Michael, "so they aren't killing the bull tonight?"

"Oh no. Not tonight." 

He then explained that the culprit was being difficult, saying he wasn't in compliance with the elders' ruling. But then he said he was and he has the bull here, in Lelan. So now, because he was being difficult, he must sacrifice 3 bulls.

"When was that decided?"

"Just now. At this meeting today."

"Oh. I didn't get a translation for that."

"Oh, really?"

"No. This is news to me."

I can't blame anyone for this. Michael, after waking up early and navigating a steep and bumpy drive to Lelan was rightly tired. Nelly, a woman attending an all-male meeting, culturally is not going to question an elder when he motions her to leave. Also, this is a Pokot meeting. I am clearly not Pokot, but most of my translators are. This meeting is far more important for them to experience than it is for me. This is their history in the making. If I don't get a complete translation because they are personally consumed with what is being said, then who am I to distract their attention?

What was frustrating for me was being pulled away early from the meeting. It wasn't waking up early and then waiting for 9 hours. It was the fact that, if I can't get a play-by-play translation of what is going on, then I can at least use my own eyes to absorb the experience. But if I can't understand what is being said, and I can't see and experience it either, then what is the point of me being here?

I feel I can salvage my research efforts yesterday, but it was extremely disconcerting to think that we almost wasted an entire day, $60 of gas, as well as Michael's time, my time, etc.

Not only did I listen to a ton of Pokot spoken yesterday (with little translation), but only two English phrases were uttered the entire car ride back to Kapenguria. 

Fun fact: I think the biggest reverse culture shock I will have upon returning to the United States will be English overload, where I will get overwhelmed with understanding everyone.

I didn't initiate an English conversation because I was so frustrated about what had happened that day that I thought I might start crying if I opened my mouth. In fact, at 8:20pm, after we got back and Peter brought me my water bottle from the truck, saying "I think you are tired Recho," I locked my door and completely broke down. After only eating half a protein bar and 3 slices of bread all day, I thought I would be hungry, but I had lost my appetite.

This morning, even though I still didn't feel hungry, I forced down 4 cups of chai. And instead of going to Daylight with Michael's family, I decided to recuperate at home today.

Before leaving for Daylight, Michael updated me that our trip to Alale will probably be postponed until this weekend. He only just submitted receipts, etc to the Daylight board, so we must wait for the wire of funds so that he can pay the Daylight staff before we leave, as well as pay for a few more acres of land for Daylight's new location.

From my experience in Kenya, something tells me we won't be going to Alale until sometime next week. But because I have this understanding, I can at least make the most out of my time while I wait for us to leave. 

All in all, I had both good and bad experiences yesterday. Unfortunately, months from now, I'm afraid I will only remember the bad ones that occurred yesterday.

Quarter Pounder

We went to Kitale on Friday! 

The trip was to serve two purposes: 1. Have Michael's truck serviced, and 2. Find a restaurant that serves American food.

Check and check. 

This was the cutest little burger I've seen.

The repairs for Michael's truck took all afternoon, from around noon until 5:30pm. In the meantime, 

Checking out the work.

Peter accompanied me to the Mid African Hotel (nice restaurants, in at least rural Kenya, are in hotels) where I ate a cheese burger and a bowl of mixed fruit, and its ladies' room had running water and a toilet (the kind you can sit on!)! 

I think a trip to Kitale was just what I needed. I was really getting tired of hearing "mzungu" and "how are you?" every time I went into Kapenguria with Nelly or Peter. There are quite a few other mzungus in Kitale, so the number of people who stared or said something at me was closer to zero.

In Kapenguria, I wave or respond to children who yell "mzungu!" or the never-ending and repeated question "how are you?" I am pretty sure this is the first English statement all children are taught... But it has really been getting on my nerves when adults do the same thing, especially if they do not also greet the person who is with me. If they greet Nelly or Peter, then I will certainly stop and humor their English efforts. If not, well, ignoring them doesn't seem to make them stop or go away, so I've found responding briefly in Swahili is the best solution.

In Kenya, the common Swahili greeting is "Habari," which literally means "how are you?" No "hi" or "hello" precedes this, and if you do eventually share your name with someone, it happens much later in the conversation. The Pokot greeting varies, but is also similar..."Sapay," "Takweny," "Caram noman," and "Caram" are all essentially asking "how are you?"

In the States, when you greet someone you don't know, you usually introduce your name right after you say "hello." I would do this the first few times I greeted people in Kenya, and they would always seem confused or surprised, as if I was trying to end the conversation before it had even begun. As a result, it has taken me a great long while to learn the names of all of Michael's kids, as well as the people who regularly come by Michael's home.

I'm not sure why, but people usually do not refer to each other by name, either, especially if they are within pointing distance. Nelly, Michael, and Angelina often say "that guy," or "that kid," or "that boy" when referring to someone in the immediate vicinity, making it, of course, even more difficult to not only learn the names of people, but also learn (for a mzungu) the difficult pronunciation of some of their names.

I have had the awkward inquiry from a few people asking me if I remember their names. I have no choice but to respond honestly: "No. When we first met, I was given your African-sounding name, your English-sounding name, and a nickname. (And I haven't heard any of them since then.) Which would you prefer I use?" This doesn't seem to offend anyone, in fact, they find it rather entertaining.

This morning, Nelly taught me how to make chai. I kept asking her if she knew about how much water and milk she was using, but she didn't seem to know. So, hopefully my estimate and scribbling of a "parts" breakdown will be close enough. Michael has suggested I take the lead on making chai a few times before I leave so I can get a feel for it.

On the Mend

So yet again on Tuesday night, I had trouble sleeping. One of Michael's neighbors had been making bricks all day, and then some of the workers listened to the radio all night as they burned the bricks. I woke up early on Wednesday, feeling sick again. So, I skipped out on the chai and fried pastries, and made myself some oatmeal. I still felt waves of nausea throughout the day. What I would have done for a popsicle!

Then it dawned on me. I must be suffering from mild altitude sickness. It makes sense since we had just been in the lowlands of Ombolion last week. The sudden change in altitude, and then back again (even though Kapenguria only sits at an altitude of a little over 2,000 meters) must have been enough to set it off. When Longiman was here, he kept asking me for Tylenol, so I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't suffering from some symptoms of altitude sickness as well.

I remembered my cousin, David, once suffered the same when working at a camp in Colorado one summer. He increased his sodium intake and felt much better. So, last night, I sprinkled some salt on my dinner (which I haven't been doing at all), took some Tylenol PM and then slept for 12 hours. When I woke up this morning, I didn't feel sick.

I made some more oatmeal this morning (this time with some salt) to go alongside some chai. I've been feeling much better today.

Along with feeling better, and taking an hour-long nap later on in the day, I had a fully charged computer, and finally got some typing done.

It's almost dinner time, and I am craving a cheesy deep-dish pizza...my body must still be needing more sodium... Unfortunately, the closest pizza place, I'm sure, is Nairobi...and even then, it probably doesn't taste the same.

Tomorrow is the halfway mark for my trip. In just under 4 weeks, I will be home. Not that I'm counting down yet, but I have daily reminders that are also reaching the halfway point...my malaria medicine, my shampoo and other toiletries, even my notebooks. It's hard not to notice my crossing from coming to going.

Well, when I do get home, Luke, I would ask that you have a Hot-n-Ready waiting at the airport, but I'm afraid it would be cold by the time I could enjoy it. So, why don't you map out the closest pizza place to the airport for a quick stop on the way home.

Bittersweet Dreams

Well, it's been a rough few days. It must have been late, late Thursday night when we got back from Ombolion. The Pokot leader, Longiman, who accompanied us to the peace meeting decided to come all the way to Kapenguria in order to do some business in town. As a result, Michael's daughter, Milka (visiting from school), slept in my room. The poor girl got sick and threw up at around 5:30 the next morning. After fetching her some water and some medicine to calm her stomach, I was wide awake, so I decided to go ahead and start my day.

Saturday morning was bittersweet. I got up and made oatmeal for Michael's family and Longiman. It was Longiman's first time to have oatmeal, and he seemed to enjoy it. Then Michael, Angelina, Longiman, Peter, and Lomaler broke out singing traditional Pokot songs that recount historical events significant to the Pokot. Pokot is an oral culture, so it was pretty cool to witness one of the ways stories are passed from one generation to the next.

Then, Longiman decided to leave for his long journey back to Ombolion. By car, this trip takes about 4 hours. My guess is that it would take about 20 hours for Longiman to walk. This didn't seem like a big deal to him...walking is usually how he gets anywhere. He explained to me (through Michael) that because he doesn't know Swahili (he only speaks Pokot), he wasn't counting on being able to ask to hitch a ride from anyone along the way. So, with a simple handshake and head nod, Longiman was out the door and on his way home.

I realized then, that it wasn't hard for me to leave Ombolion earlier that week since Longiman was coming with us to Kapenguria, but when Longiman left, it was like saying goodbye to the entire village. Although I was only in Ombolion for a short time, so much happened, and I was able to connect with so many people despite the language barrier. As my mother observed, I think I left my heart in Ombolion. And I very much want to go back some day (if not later this trip!).

On Sunday night, it rained, and I mean a full-out thunderstorm. My first real rain in Kenya. And I got to enjoy every minute of it thanks to the tin roof over my head. It started at around 12:30am and didn't let up until around 3:00am.

So, I eventually pulled out my computer and queued up some Brett Tyler on iTunes, which helped me at least relax and rest, despite not sleeping. Even though the rain had interrupted my sleep, I was looking forward to what this rain meant...the start of the rainy season in Kenya. The drought will soon be over! (Coincidentally, after writing this blog, I remembered Brett's album is also called Bittersweet.)

In the morning, I discovered that the electricity was out. This happens from time to time for maybe 2 or 3 hours. But I found out later from Angelina that it is quite common for electrical outages to last much longer during the rainy season. Well, it lasted until 8:30pm Monday night...and because I used most of my computer's battery life to listen to music the night before, it meant that I couldn't do all of the typing I had planned to do...compiling notes and survey responses...

On the bright side, I finally had time to explore Kapenguria with Nelly. We did some grocery shopping and stopped at some traditional Pokot jewelry shops. Then it started raining again!

Thankfully, Nathan Roberts suggested I bring some stuff to do to kill time...stuff that I didn't have to rely on electricity for. So, I sat down and opened The DaVinci Code....and then some time later, finished reading The DaVinci Code...

Early this morning, I woke up not feeling very well. I don't think it's technically something I ate. I think it is a combination of the sudden change in weather, along with the excessive amount of milk and fried foods I've been eating, thanks to the Kenyan diet. It simply amounted to yet more restlessness.

But today was very important, so I had to press on. Today, there was a meeting concerning county government due to the new Kenyan constitution. A task force from Nairobi led the meeting, intending to receive feedback from established organizations and groups in the area, as well as the general public on their criteria and thoughts concerning the "devolution" of county government. I think they got what they needed. The meeting lasted 5 hours...

Originally scheduled to begin at 9:00am, Michael thought it would be best if we went at 10:00am...at 10:20am, when we arrived, the event crew was in the middle of setting up the chairs in Mtelo Hall and only a handful of people were already there. The meeting didn't start until 11:40am; by then, there were about 300 people in the audience, both men and women. Here are some pictures.

Inside Mtelo Hall. Note, it was named after the Pokot's holy mountain.

In the middle of the conference, a woman came up to me and put this
traditional Pokot beaded necklace and headband on me. She said it was from
Michael, but then Michael said another woman was so excited to see me there,
that it was a gift from her. Whatever the story, I have some cool jewelry now.

After the meeting, the District Commissioner from the Alale area of Pokot, along with a Nairobi representative who served as the Master of Ceremonies came and greeted me. The District Commissioner was pleased to find out that Michael and I will be visiting Alale, probably sometime next week.

It's only 7:00pm now, but I feel like taking a nap!

The Doctor Is In

In grade school, my teacher shared an analogy to help us remember the difference in spelling dessert and desert. "You need more S's in dessert than desert. Just as you will always ask for more dessert than you would for desert." As a child, I took her word for it. Now, having trudged through the hot, sandy, dry and dusty plains of Ombolion, I can confidently agree with Mrs. Petersen. Bring on the dessert! I think the flies were my least favorite, but the constant stench of cow, camel and goat dung is a close second. 

We learned when we arrived that the village of Ombolion was forced to move within just the past few weeks due to the lack of water and grass for their animals. As a result, no permanent housing or fencing had yet been established in their new location, a mere five kilometers from their old homestead. And just one week ago, the Turkana raided and took much of their cattle. These are hard times for the Ombolion Pokot. 

There was a lot of excitement and curiosity when we pulled up in Michael's Toyota truck. But Michael was exhausted from driving, and Peter, being that he is originally from Ombolion, was pulled in many directions as friends were demanding that he tell them stories of his adventures in Kapenguria and Nairobi. Earlier in the week, Nelly was feeling homesick, so I told Michael she should go home for a few days. That left me in the midst of a very large group of women and children, playing charades, trying to understand each other. I'm beginning to pick up some Pokot, but am no where near able to converse freely.

With the women.

I managed okay on my own, though. Some of the children, I noticed, had small booklets of notebook paper. I gently gestured towards one child, asking to see one of the books. It was full of the letters of the alphabet and numbers she had handwritten in pencil. On many of the pages, there were check marks, fractions, and "good job" written in pen. I looked up at one of the mothers and asked, 

"So do they go to school?"

"Ssh-kool, ssh-kool," she nodded her head and made a sweeping motion over the children's heads.

"Where do they go to school?" I looked as if searching the horizon to emphasize "where" and "school." Another mother pointed in a direction somewhere behind me.

One child came up to me and recited the ABCs and then counted to 100, to which I responded with applause. So then we sang the ABC song together (which he didn't know, but he rattled off the letters just the same).

One woman wanted medicine, so I gave her Tylenol...and then more wanted medicine. I gave out Pepto Bismol and more Tylenol depending on where they pointed on their body. Placebos. The strongest medicine for this part of the world, where no hospital will brave the harsh conditions. At one point, Peter came up to me and said, 

Yes, I am wearing gloves.

"Recho, Recho," (this is the Pokot version of my name) "this man needs some medicine," and then pointed to a man 30 yards away.

"What are his symptoms?" I asked.

"Just look and see. See if you can't tell." 

My travel clinic. Two folding chairs and first-aid kit.

As the man came nearer, I saw a 5-inch infected gash on his shin that had partially healed. I learned later (as I cleaned the wound with antiseptic, then smeared antibiotic cream on it and bandaged it) that he got the gash from a tree about one month ago. I made a similar bandage for a boy the next morning who is suffering from some disease affecting his shin bones. He was in a lot of pain, wailing in pain, and had to be held down by two men in order for me to secure the bandage. I gave him two Tylenol and found him a few hours later under a tree, rather lethargic.

"Takweny?" How are you doing? I asked and pointed to the bandage.

"Epa," Fine, he mumbled.

"Karam. Karam." Good. Good. I replied.

Is it dead yet?

The night we arrived, the village's fattest goat was slaughtered in our honor. Michael actually did the stabbing. That goat took a long time to die, in my opinion. It kept wanting to roll over, which no one would allow, as they didn't want the wound to get dirty with sand. The goat lay still for a few minutes, still breathing hard, so all of the men went and sat to wait for it to die. I stayed within a few yards of it. So, when it lurched and attempted to roll over again, I was the one who had to flip it back over, and then held its hind leg until it finally died.

Meanwhile, the men were building a fire and creating a table of leafy tree branches, fashioning them to face their holy mountain, Mt. Mtelo. From what I can tell, Mt. Mtelo is like the Christian Mt. Sinai, where they believe God has made a presence. Before the 

The leafy table and prayer circle.

goat was divided among the men gathered there, an elder led a prayer, a call and response, where the men chanted in unison. Michael quoted the Bible later, saying that they believe "For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them," suggesting that the men are simply chanting in agreement to what the elder prays, in order to fulfill the message of this Bible verse. 

Some elders have explained to me that before the missionaries came to Kenya, the Pokot already knew the stories about the parting of the Red Sea and the slaves leaving Egypt that are mentioned in the Bible. These stories were passed down orally from generation to generation, telling the story of where the Pokot came from before they found themselves in northwest Kenya.

The morning after the sacrifice of the goat, Michael tapped on the window of the truck (where I was sleeping in the backseat) to tell me that men are gathering for an early morning meeting, and do I want to go? I looked at my watch. It was just after 6:00am. My student self knew I should go, but my pampered self really needed another hour to sleep. So, I gave myself a silent pep talk about why I was way out in the middle of nowhere, and climbed out of the truck, put on my hiking boots, and followed Michael for...I don't know, one or two kilometers maybe, until we reached the "early morning meeting" spot where the meeting was just about to start. They primarily discussed where to take the cattle for pasture, and that there would be a peace meeting with the Turkana later that day, which would be a good three or four hour walk for those who would attend.

At the morning meeting.

My mouth began to salivate. A peace meeting between the Pokot and Turkana!? Later that morning, after Michael confirmed it would be safe, he informed me we would be going. Unfortunately, I couldn't take pictures because Michael did not want anyone getting nervous or uncomfortable, but it was incredible!

A Pokot leader, who is very well respected by both the Pokot and Turkana, arrived with us (by truck) to insure we would be received well. Near the end of the ceremony, Michael and I, the "foreigners," were invited to speak. So, I stood in front of 500 nomadic men in faux army attire, and 300 women and children (who had been shooed away earlier in the ceremony) and told them how honored I was to be present at such an important occasion, and congratulated them on putting aside their differences to make the challenging times they are facing with draught, hunger, and illness better. I incorporated a few key references to what some of the speakers said earlier on, and everyone applauded. And later, the Pokot leader riding in the back of our truck told me people said they were impressed with my bravery, a woman, standing up to address them.

Here is a picture of me and Mt. Mtelo. Michael said it is going to go on the jacket of the book he says I will one day publish about the Pokot.

Modern and Traditional

Me with the oldest woman in Ombolion.

Murder Investigation

So, I haven't posted in a few days because:

1. Nothing too interesting has happened 
2. Something really interesting happened, but I was waiting for the entire process to be completed so I could post on it all at once. Unfortunately, there has been a development that has hung up the completion of the process, so I might as well make an installment on the story to keep all ya'll interested in this here blog. 

So. This past Thursday, Michael disappeared for the entire afternoon and evening. On Friday, while we were having morning chai, he told me that he had been at a Pokot elder meeting. (Michael is not a Pokot elder, but is seen as a leader in his community, so the elders value his input.) Michael told me that the elders have been meeting all week about a very serious issue: a murder case! Michael asked one of the elders if I could attend the meeting on Friday afternoon, and they agreed! 

This is an amazing opportunity for my research!

Me with the elders and other respected community members.

On Friday afternoon, Michael, Peter and I went to a restaurant in Kapenguria where the elders were meeting in one of the upper rooms. When I entered, there were about 70 Pokot men between the ages of about 35 and 80 squeezed in a space that would comfortably seat 40 people. A few people greeted and acknowledged the three of us when we entered, but otherwise, my presence did not create a disturbance. How refreshing!!!

Michael sat next to me and whispered the English translation of the discussion at hand. All elders are considered equal, and all are welcome to speak freely. Although, sometimes a leader is nominated for a meeting in order to keep order and the discussion going. As elders feel they have something to say or contribute, one will start talking as he stands to address his fellow elders. Then is seated when he has said his piece.

The murder case the elders had been discussing all week involves a number of people:

1. The man who pulled the trigger 
2. His 5 accomplices 
3. The man who owns the gun that was used 
4. A man who provided refuge to the murderer and his accomplices 
5. A man who provided information to the murderer about where the murder victim lived 

Where's Rachel? Me with some of the elders.
Check out the guy's hat on the far left!

Friday's discussion pertained only to #4, the man who provided refuge to the murderer and his accomplices. By the end of the afternoon, the elders eventually ruled that the man's bull should be slaughtered, and determined the date for that ceremony would be Monday (yesterday). 

Michael explained to me that every pastoral Pokot man owns one bull which contributes to the man's status and is considered synonymous with the man...meaning the bull, to an extent, represents the man himself. Slaughtering a man's bull is only one step down from corporal punishment. By slaughtering this man's bull, it is almost as if the elders are "slaughtering" the man, and are sending a clear message to the man that he has greatly offended them; not to mention that reproduction among his cattle will, at the very least, be interrupted. Keep in mind that for a pastoral Pokot, cattle is his livelihood. 

At the end of the Friday meeting, four elders were sent to have the man removed from prison. (The relationship between the Pokot elders and local police is another aspect of this case I will need to learn more about.) And Michael and I were invited up front to address all of the elders about the research I am doing in Kenya. They were very pleased that someone would be recording what, for centuries (and in some cases, even millennia), has been an oral tradition. The leader for that day's meeting assigned an elder to fill me in on the rest of the case, and the secretary of elders extended the invitation for me and Michael to attend the slaughtering of the bull (in regards to that day's ruling) on Monday.

So, anyway, Monday came, and Michael contacted one of the elders to confirm the time and place of the slaughter. He learned that the police were refusing to release the man to the elders. Again, the relationship between the police and the elders is something I'd like to pursue and learn more about. The slaughter has not been called off completely, but for now, has been postponed until further notice.

Me at the Kapenguria Museum before going
to the elder meeting.

Michael and I were planning to leave for Ombolion today, a rural village where I can do more observation and interviews with people who are more closely following Pokot traditions and traditional way of life than those living in the Kapenguria area, but have decided to stick around one more day to see if there is any word about the bull slaughter. If nothing changes today regarding the slaughter, then we will leave tomorrow morning for Ombolion and return, most probably, on Saturday.

So, stay tuned!

Fun fact: I have yet to see a mosquito. Unfortunately, this is most likely due to the draught Kenya is currently experiencing. I certainly have a new appreciation for water as a precious resource!