Géillim milséan

Eric works in the local gym in Kilifi. He’s a 5ft 8, lumbering giant with arms the size of small children. By small children I mean, ten year old boys with big appetites. These arms deserve a chapter in some medical journal. They’re enormous, ridiculous, titanic.

Last week I suggested to Eric that he take advantage of his extraordinary girth (easy) and enter into Mr Tembo 2010, an annual body building event in Mombasa.

“Ah no, I cant, I don’t have The Cuts” he says to me with a shrug and wry grin. You see, while Erics arms are Russian and Qatari Brown Envelope in size, they do not have rosette merit worthy definition i.e. The Cuts.

Eric goes to leave when suddenly, a light bulb flashes over his head and he stops, squares me up and says to me -

“Colm, do you know how I can get The Cuts?”

A knife? Mail order? A russian website? I know what he is getting at but I decide to play dumb.

“No idea Eric, how would I know, sure I’m only little” arms like a 10 year old girl arms me. But I’m not getting a way that easily. I get a prompt...

“But some protein supplements or something? (Wink, nudge) Do you (now) know how I can get The Cuts?” He gives me a ‘do you see what I’m getting at’ look.

I'm supposed to respond: Oh like can I buy these for you because I’m white? Sure, why not?

But I aint picking up what Eric is putting down, playing dumb as served me so well up to now (cough).

“Give me a marker Eric and I can draw them on for you buddy. Otherwise, I’m the wrong guy to ask?”

“Ha ha, you’re a funny guy Colm”

Translation: tight arse muzungo wont give me money.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………....................................

Every morning that I walk to work through the village I am greeted by kids screaming Jambo at me. It makes my day everytime. A dirty, nappy clad infant with a huge smile, tiny hands and first words to strange white guy ‘Ambooo’. Come here till I eat you.

Last week, two boys about ten (may well of been eric’s arms released for the day) pass me and instead of saying Jambo, they say “Give me sweet”. (‘Sweet’ said in two syllables “Swe-Eet”, cute. “No-oh” not so cute.)

I say “No, you give me a sweet”

One of the boy’s panic, the other is just confused by this response, repeats the question like as if he was misunderstood.

“Give me Swe-Eet”

“No, you give me a sweet” I insist, hand out.

One boy looks at the other and shrugs. Looks at me and think ‘this one must be one of them Irish mzungu’s, their broke ass bitches. Perhaps he does need a sweet more than me’. Finally one of them says

“Kesho (tomorrow)” and they quickly walk away, looking over their shoulder to make sure weird muzungo is not following them.

This “Give me Swe-Eet” or just “Caramela” if they think I’m Italian (sallow skin and smoldering Latin looks, it’s not difficult to see this mistake being made) is not new. But it does become more popular closer to high tourist season and in bigger resort towns – Diani, Watamu and Malindi.

White people trying to do nice by giving cute, poor african children sweets. Name me any other continent where visiting a school is as big a tourist activity then it is in Africa.

“Hey! Yeah, off to Dublin for the week next week. Visit a few museums, sit in the pub where Ulysses was written and visit a school in Finglas and hand out sweets.”

“Oh yeah, I did that in Washington when I visited last year”

Puck me Fink.

The biggest thing that annoys me about Kenya is people stereotyping me as having money. Therefore, I’m willing to dole it out to anyone who asks – like Eric.

We’ve created this stereotype. Us, stupid dumb-ass white people, not anyone else. A creation borne out of guilt and a self-serving need to help the poor Africans and a romantic, sexy, utopian ideal. We believe the desire to do good equals doing good and that makes us feel good.

Youth Groups and NGO’s don’t ask me to help them write business plans, they ask me to help them write grant proposals. When we organise events and provide t-shirts, people who have nothing to do with event voice huge disapproval when they don’t get a t-shirt – a hand out, merited or not, is expected. We did this, do this.

Big NGO’s give huge million pound grants to spent over 1 year (impossible) not because it will have an impact, but because it needs to be distributed. Our Quantity not Quality approach is breeding ground for the hand-out generation.

I hate stereotypes. I hate mine here. But I cant blame anyone here for it. It’s not their fault.

I’m going home for Christmas on Sunday (yipee!), I’ll bring sweets and some notes to share on how to write proposals to donor agencies. Ireland is really poor these days – living standards at 2003 levels they say. Imagine!

Times like these

He had eyes like two dark caves each with a small boy standing alone in its empty depth; cheekbones and temples like worn, weathered rocks encased by skin tight and shiny; and lips a pail purple or a shallow grey or just wearily colourless.

A PLWHA*, on ARVs*, formerly a MARP*, a member of the 7.9%.

His name is Simon from the Red Ribbon support group in Chonyi, near Kilifi and is HIV+.

Here in a small room in Kilifi District Hospital Simon gives us his support group’s progress update following our first training last June. In the heavy heat, ruthlessly oblivious to the loud overhead fans, one member from 23 HIV support groups in the region sit and listen.

“We’ve started a savings group where we all save Ksh25 (¢25) a week” he said over the hum of the straining aircon.

“Some of us are growing tomatoes and pulses from the kitchen garden training but for many, the bags are too expensive” they listened while outside young Kenyan doctors and nurses went about their business.

“We held one business management session and one on record keeping but there are only 4 of us who are literate so it is difficult” my colleague scribbles his comments on her note pad for the post training report.

“However, our biggest problem is that no one wants to buy from us.” Simon gives a little resigned smile and shrug like as if he recited the same tired joke told already several times that morning, one that wasn’t funny the first time.

This was the first day of our follow-up training to HIV support groups across Kilifi and Kaloleni and it is proving to be quite positive. Each member gives an update and challenges faced over the past two months. They achieved a lot. More than the Doubting Thomas Mzungu (‘white person’ in Swahili) Volunteer from Ireland would of thought.

Stupid Doubting Thomas Mzungu from Ireland.

Training people on Business Management and Marketing Skills is akin to Human Alchemy to a cynical SDTMfI like me. With the donor funds given to you, you gather people with little or no business experience, take them through a three-day training and hope they can create for themselves a little money making enterprise. I write the training course, and I of course have myself a little gold mine business empire?

Then, confident enough in ones alchemy, add to process the big disease with the little name - HIV. And thus, Stigma.

You had sex without a condom. Once. Several times. For money. With prostitutes. While drunk. While taking drugs. While sober. While married. While single. With some stranger. With your neighbours daughter. While working away from home. With multiple partners. When you were a respected member of society. When I bought food from you. When you were still my friend. When you used to sit beside me in church. When you were still my wife/husband.

You disgust me! Now go live in shame forever and die the lonely, horrible death you deserve.

The above is wretched, despicable, ignorant self-righteousness.

To hell with them.

The District AIDS Support and Care Officer (DASCO), a middle-aged guy called Meschack with silver eyes and a well-tendered goatee comes to give an official opening speech (some 4 hrs after training started, Shhh I arrived late too). He is an excellent, entertaining, captivating speaker. During his speech he tells everyone attending today's training that he’s proud of what they’ve achieved so far.

And then, as he begins to finish he falls to the ground. He gets up again. He falls theatrically and gets up again.

“Everytime they push you down, get up” he says repeating his charade. “Eventually they’ll stop and you’ll prove to them that no matter who they think you are, you can always be proud of who you know you are…and succeed through positive living.”

A few people giggle but the message is understood. Kenyans love their Drama but it works: his performance lets everyone know they’ve got folk in their corner (and good folk too, Kilifi District Hospital is one of Kenya’s best).

With his words in our minds, we continue our training. Tomorrow, I’ll be on time and join Simon and the others in a session on ‘Record Keeping follow up’. I got to be honest with you, I didn’t understand it the first time either!

It’s time like these, time and time again.

*PLWHA=Person Living With HIV/AIDS

ARV=Antiretroviral

MARP= Most At Risk Person (e.g. Polygamous Men, Matatu Workers, Sex Workers, Drug Addicts)

7.9% of the Coast population our HIV or AIDS positive.

Here...

Here there are no cars or roads, just donkeys and paths.

No monday mornings, just sunday afternoons.

Nothing yet everything.

Here is Lamu, a remote island archipelago 2 degrees south of the equator on the Coast of Kenya.

From Diani to Mombasa and Kilifi to Malindi, Kenya is truely spoilt by an opulent spread of lush silver sand beaches, possesing a stunning brochure-esque beauty; spotless yawning beaches, brilliant tourquise oceans and languid arching palm-trees. Tailor made for the lens that sells an idylic beach paradise ready to compete with any other ‘eden’ pitch.

However here, here is different.

There’s something wonderfully unique and infectiously special that no lens could capture about Lamu and it’s utopian blend of exotic ingredients.

Of a blissful, tempestous marriage of arabian and african culture, that dawned a rich, firey history of trade, adventure and romance.

Of wild, lusty dunes that guard virgin, soft sands that spread down to the sea and stretch long toward the dazzling horizon and glorious isolation.

Of skinny, shaded streets meandering through tall, stoic buildings that reach toward the hidden sun. Of slicing fruits of the sea and of deep thinking donkeys loitering on street corners seemingly ready to burst into a long conversations.

Of tall, ghost like dhows whose simple sail slides into swells of a sparkling ocean of diamonds and pearls. And of vibrant red sunsets that melts into soft silky grey nights.

Far from anywhere and unlike anywhere, Lamu is what it means to be Wide Awake Dreaming.

Flying without wings

The road to Chonyi, a town some 30 deceptive kms from Kilifi, is battered and bruised, beaten down by neglect and poor servicing – it will take huge public money and time to fix. Travelling on it is akin to white river rafting; big determined crevices and platoons of repetitive potholes for rapids and waves that shake you till your unsure if you are still going in the same direction.

It’s a dusty 45 minute test of ones ability not to fracture your skull of the side of the matatu.

The unusually lengthy rains has left the Chonyi countryside drenched in a rich, elaborate, wonderfully green veneer. Wise and timeless Baobob trees with their erratic pointy grey branches and thick ashen trunks are slowly replaced by long slender coconut trees with their floppy parasol leaves like carefree, gangly rastas as our journey takes us away from the coastline vista into the rolling interior.

As seamless as the road we ride, the driver changes the music from some hip hop to the subtle sounds of a famous foreign foursome - Westlife.

I take off one of my ear plugs, nudge my colleague in the side.

“These guys are Irish, from where I’m from” I tell her proudly with an affirming nod.

She doesnt hide the fact that this does not impress her. “Yes Colm, you’ve told me that before”. She returns to her own trance and focus ('In a mood'). I go back to listening to my i-pod taking in the mud huts with small hard worked shamba’s (small farms) that splatter the stunning rolling hills and valleys.

It’s 10:30 when we arrive at the Peer Educator re-fresher training course in a public library/ testing centre in a small village 10 minutes from Chonyi Location. SCOPE are training over 180 peer educators in three locations throughout Kilifi Division this week on a range of topics from HIV/AIDS, Counselling and Testing, Drug and Substance Abuse and Gender Equality.

My role, as is always, is to try help some Peer Educators and their support or youth groups with Business or market advice on their activities. I am meeting a few peer educators from Kaloleni District (a further 1 hour journey interior) and another peer educator who wants me to document some of his work with fellow HIV positives in his support group.

Peer-Educators (PE) are selected by village/town chiefs or school principles as worthy candidates to under-go Peer Educator training facilitated by SCOPE through funds from USAID to increase awareness of HIV/AIDS prevention .

The approach is a well thought out successful strategy to achieve higher prevention and awareness of HIV in local communities as well as improving access to services via referrals. .

So, Under a canopy of banana and coconut trees in Chonyi, I discuss with PEs the need to ensure their product – from coconut art to oils and honeys – needs to be of high quality, distinctive and better than the rest. They seem a bit taken a back when I appear to hint to them that creativity may well be enhanced artificially with the aid of booze and drugs. PE it seems are more concerned with poo pooing drugs and alcohol than harnessing (cough) its power.

After that I meet Mrima, the peer educator, who’s story I documented about him helping a female member of his community find out her status and receive arv’s, arranges with me a date in October where I can take photos of him and his support group. He is a nice fella who it seems refuses to smile even at a few of my witty tension breaking gags or (therefore, quite reasonably) I suspect even when challenged to smile under pain of death.

I sit in on a few other PE sessions (ironically and this is no joke, on Drug and Alcohol Abuse – ‘abuse’ being the key word) before departing early at 3. I have to wait on the side of the dirt brown road for about 40 minutes for a matatu back to Kilifi not failing to arouse the attention of the shoeless locals ambling slowly on there way to somewhere vanilla.

When I get back home, I wash off the dirt, it never fails to amaze me how much I collect when travelling to other districts and reflect on an altogether unremarkable day in Kenya. Except of course the fact that I’ve developed a pride in Westlife being Irish! What has Africa done to me? Or is it just Ireland being so far up shit creek that it is a sign of the times that Westlife becomes a beacon of hope for our battered and bruised ‘Chonyi Road’ State.

Child Sponsorship

There are 3.5 million children whose education is being sponsored by individual donor(s) via Child Sponsorship bodies such as Plan International or World Vision. There are significant studies in Uganda and Kenya supporting the success of child sponsorship in the short and long term:

• It yields an increase of approximately 2.9 years of formal education
• Increases the probability of formal employment by 20%
• Increases the probability of white collar employment to 31.7 percent from 19.1 percent

In addition, sponsored children are less likely to use alcohol or drugs and are more likely to become community leaders. Sponsoring the girl child has further gender specific socio-economic benefits including

• Educated mothers are more likely to send there children to schools
• It reduces the likelihood of a girl getting pregnant by over 7% for each year of school attended

For those who are concerned about the well being of individual children in Africa, sponsorship is simple, cheap, effective but critically, crucially and consciously selective.

For each child sponsored to complete their education in the developing world, 29 will drop out of school. That’s 101 million poor children worldwide that drop out of primary education due to (predominantly) poverty.

Children face huge challenges in Africa to gain access to a good education and it is important to consider what role sponsorship plays in helping to change this.

UN MDG 2

According to the ten year review of the UN Millennium Development Goals, Kenya is well on its way to achieving universal primary school for all children by 2015, but celebrating success might be misguided.

Free primary school education was introduced in Kenya in 2003 allowing significant increases in Net Enrollment Figures. This success can be somewhat attributed to large amounts of aid given to it by DiFID (UK) and USAID. However the ugly head of corruption, endemic in Kenya Public Services threatened to derail this. The scandal prompted both DiFID and USAID to suspend education Aid payments (They have since re-started funding following the forced sacking of the Minister of Education.)

This illustrates two things: 1. The reliance a country like Kenya has on development aid and the perilous position school children are in relying on public institutions who are so hell-bent on filling their pockets with this Aid 2. The inability of a country to sustainably pay for its own public services and of a public unable or unwilling to demand for better public services.

Take point 2 here. The post powerful group in a effective democracy to effect change in the quality of public services offered is a majority, educated vote carrying middle class, of which, Kenya has one of the highest middle class in Sub-Saharan Africa. However, middle-class parents almost without exception choose to send their kids to Private School because of the overpopulation and poor teaching standards in Kenyan Public offering. This therefore removes one of the most powerful voices in demanding improvements in the public services offered by their government. One of the obstacles to organic change.

50 Million people by 2020

Furthermore, the size of the challenge ahead is illustrated in the recently released Kenyan Census 2009. The results show a population that increased by 35% over the last 10 years to 38.6m, well on its way to reach 50million by 2020. This census reveals also that 42% of Kenyans are under 14. Figures that will place further stress on an education system in Kenya already struggling to cope with the introduction of free-primary education.

Put the existing problems of providing education to children in Kenya and its capacity for organic change, together with a rising population and it is clear that for Kenya children to continue to get access to a reasonable primary education beyond the magic date of 2015, still requires a huge effort and change.

Looking briefly beyond primary education to secondary education, provides us with a gloomier picture.

In Bamba, Kenya poorest constituency in rural coast province of Kenya, just 50km from Kilifi there are over 10,000 students attending primary school but only 400 or continuing their secondary education there. This is endemic of the problem facing students in Kenya of being able to complete secondary education. The National Attendance Rate for secondary schools for ‘poorest’ children is 6%.

Bigger Picture

It would shortsighted to miss the fact that huge strides have been made in improving education access in Kenya and Africa. But it would be equally remiss to ignore the sustainability and long term challenges is to maintain these changes.

It is therefore difficult to accept that sponsorship of children is the answer. Sure, if you are concerned with individual well being of poor children, go to www.eastafricancentre.org for funds that go direct to one community in Kilifi or www.plan-international.org (incidentally, Plan’s strategy aims at improving the community it works in for all children in the community not just sponsored kids), for it is evident that sponsorship works for individuals.

But for the bigger, more difficult issue of helping the millions of poor children who will not get access to school, primary and secondary, the answer is harder to find and therefore should require of us more attention, not less.

Read, join, act…

www.google.com

Marshmellow kids

Babies in Africa taste of marshmellows. I have no concrete evidence to back this up but I am almost certain they do.

My clothes cleaners’s baby boy for example, is the chubbiest baby I have ever seen. God bless his cotton socks, he gives me an irrestiable big toothless, dribbly smile every time he sees me with huge black eyes that sing. He almost certainly would taste of marshmellow. Like any of these marshmellow kids, Babies in Africa are freaking adorable.

Many of them are also unwanted. In Kenya every year, 1,000,000 accidental pregnencies are discovered. For men whose vitality is measured in the community by the amount of children they sire (wonderful word sire, isnt it?) this is not a problem. To women it is.

55% of women want more access to family planning to give a choice at an alternative life. But for various reasons; poor access, limited awareness and more to the point, gender inequality the choice is often not theirs to make. Women do not decide when to stop having children (or start – studies show that over a third womens first sexual experience is forced). Men do.

So what?

The role of women in society is perhaps, along with corruption and governance, the biggest obstacle to the development of societies in Kenya and Africa as a whole.

Poor Famiy Planning or increasing populations poses a greater risk to a countries development than HIV/AIDS. Having fewer, healthier children can reduce the economic burden on poor families and allow them to invest more in each child’s care and schooling, helping to break the cycle of poverty.

My clothes cleaner has 4 kids so far, 3 girls and their adorable new brother. If she has more, you can be assured it’s the girls who will be first taken out of school. Thus, the cycle will continue and women will continue to suffer.

However, satisfying the unmet need for contraceptive services in developing countries would avert 52 million unintended pregnancies annually, that means more girls in school and fewer kids with more mums.

More Mums? A woman's lifetime risk of dying from complications in childbirth or pregnancy is

• about one in 39 in Kenya
• about one in 48 000 in Ireland
• (about one in seven in Mali)

458 in 100,000 women die due to pregnancy related complication in Kenya every year. In Ireland it’s 4.

The Irish Times recently celebrated the improving gender equality in Ireland over the past 30 years and called for a second wave of feminism. Second Wave?

Surely society should focus on ensuring the changes in countries like Ireland happen around the world. 99% of the 536,000 women who die from pregnancy-related causes every year—more than 10 million women per generation - happen in the developing world.

Statistics damn statistics. Just watch this.

You would not accept this if that were your sister. So why accept at all. It doesn’t have to be this way?

www.google.com

Slim success in Kilifi

Strengthening Community Partnership and Empowerment (SCOPE – my placement organisation in Kilifi) manage and distribute the World Food Programme ‘Food by prescription’ programme to People Living with HIV/AIDS who have a low Body Mass Index (BMI) of under 18.5.

AIDS is well known for causing severe weight loss known as wasting. In Africa, the illness was at first called “slim” because sufferers became like skeletons. Whilst, less dramatic changes often occur in earlier stages of HIV infection.

SCOPE’s intervention tackles ‘slim’ by giving clients high nutrient food for 6 months to improve their nutritional level. The programme is an effective way to keep PLWHA healthy; Clients progress, gain weight and graduate from the programme.

The problem is sustainability. Once clients leave the programme, poverty often see’s them quickly deteriorate, lose weight and become vulnerable to infection and thus, are reliant on food support.

One of my objectives as a VSO volunteer was to help create a sustainable exit strategy for clients through facilitating the creation of Income Generating Activities – to do this, SCOPE had funds available under the USAID APHIA II Coast prevention programme.

And as with all VSO work, this was to be done through enhancing the capacity of the organisation to allow them to deliver the solutions over the longer term.

Developing internal capacity

We first started to enhance the Business Development training ability of SCOPE and specifically my colleague – Ruth Mugiirah. Ruth, a 25 year old Kenyan, comes from a Community Health/Peer Educator background and has excellent facilitation and community support skills.

However, Ruth had limited knowledge on business. So overtime, I worked closely with Ruth to develop a basic business skills training programme for groups in the local community. We helped several women's groups using this programme, primarily organising them to access finance and to manage their businesses better. Additionally, Ruth and I worked to enhance her documentation and organisation skills.

Working with the key stakeholders

We worked with SCOPE’s Food Distribution (FD) team, Malingi and Katunguu to develop a plan.

The FD team were familiar with the key stakeholders in the programme, the main challenges and issues facing clients. They introduced us to the stakeholders including KiKaso – The Kilifi and Kaloleni HIV/AIDS support group network of 30 groups, and the District Aids Service Coordinator, Mr Meshack. Together we decided to survey all groups of Kikaso to create a baseline level and to implement what we believed to the most suitable approach.

Working with Kikaso – Kilifi and Kaloleni HIV/AIDS Support Groups Network (30 Groups, 23 Active)

In March of this year, we met with the Secretary and Chairperson of Kikaso, William (Willy) and Chief Ndago respectively. During the meeting we agreed a programme to Survey members and develop the training. From this point to the training date, which included several hiccups and delays, we worked closely with Kikaso, particularly Willy and kept DASCO, who was extremely helpful, informed at every step of the process.

We completed the survey by May which gave us a baseline level of the skills and resources available to each support group, and thus, allow us to measure our effectiveness when programme at the end.

The survey showed us that importantly, no group said they had received training in Business or Agriculture in the past, presenting us with an excellent opportunity fill a need gap.

Training 23 HIV/AIDS groups and 7 Peer Educators

(Pictured above: 1. All participants and SCOPE staff pictured outside Kilifi District Hospital and 2. Me and Ruth (in the light brown shirt) pictured with some of the members of KIKASO and some Peer Educators)

From Wednesday 23rd June to Friday 25th 2010, in Kilifi District Hospital, SCOPE trained a representative from 23 support groups and 7 peer educators from each of the 7 districts in Kilifi and Kaloleni on Basic Business Management. The training was designed so that each representative and PE could return back to their support groups or peer educator groups and pass on the information to their members.

Over the three days trainees were trained on Basic Business Management, Savings, Finance and Records, Running Successful Groups, Accessing Credit and Agronomics. The trainers came mainly from within SCOPE whose extensive peer educator training experience made the ideal trainers. We also used an external trainer of Micro-Finance and forming Co-operatives, whilst DASCO also had a session on Socio-economic dynamics of HIV/AIDS in business.

The feedback from the session was excellent and all participants found the training extremely useful. Each has now developed a work plan to implement the learning's and Ruth and I have arranged follow-ups with each group.

It was a fantastically well run event, organised almost exclusively by Ruth with help from several other members of SCOPE and with invaluable help from DASCO and Kikaso.

Now we are working with USAIDs APHIA II Coast project to seek further funding for additional follow-up trainings. This should provide SCOPE and Kikaso with an excellent platform and momentum to really effect change with PLWHAs in our community. Whether it’s the sustainable exit strategy for the food programme remains to be seen.

But it gives us more than a slim chance of succeeding.

The HeMan dilemma

25 Years ago, a young boy woke up on Christmas morning at 4:30am, jumped out of bed and went to see what Santa had left him – a stocking full of goodies.

“Yes! Match Soccer Annual, check. Tub of Fruit Pastilles, check. Satsuma orange, whatever. Five Irish Pounds, check. Ah here we go, He-Man figure – this is what I’d asked for” says the unidentified, perhaps fictional young boy.

“Wait, Santa gave me one of Skelators Henchmen? A horrible cross between a lizard and Arnold Schzaneggar? Damn, I don’t want that!” says the ‘I don’t know any better’ bug-eyed, curly haired young lad.

So the boy turns to the bed beside him, where his brother soundly sleeps. His innocent young eyes fall on the big red stocking full to the brim at the end of his bed. The boy takes a timid step towards the end of his brothers bed and with the skill of a MI5 agent, quietly empties the contents of the stocking. Out pops another He-Man figure but this time a good guy, some hammer head bloke with huge muscles and a cheery face.

“Now, this is what I talking about Santa” he holds the figure in its plastic wrapping up close to his face. His brother is still in the land of nod (still is?), he wants this figure, know one will ever know....

What to do?

Amos Wako, the Attorney General of Kenya faced a similar dilemma over the last two weeks.

After months of public discussion and consultation, after months of parliamentary debates, arguments and finally a vote to confirm the too-long awaited new constitution – a more equitable, modern and representative affair – was signed off and prepared to be given to the public an August referendum.

And then, the ‘He-Man’ moment.

Wako, who has been AG for 15 years and has been embroiled is so many scandals he makes Silvio Burlusconi look like a choir boy, is currently barred from entering the US on account of his efforts to stop reform in his country and stopped the 2002 new constitution efforts, was given the document to check punctuation and grammar and make minor edits if he found any errors.

He made a few minor errors which he passed by an independent body of experts and then had a day, all on his own in his evil lair before he was to send the document to the Government printers.

He doesn’t want this Lizard Skelators Henchman Constitution. He wants the Hammer- Head He-Mans Buddy constitution.

(Let me state that I have no concrete information to suggest this was the actual thought process of the Attorney General of Kenya.)

What to do? He knows if changes the constitution and its passed, people will look at him with ‘why did Santa give me the bad guy and give my brother the good guy. He must have been the better boy this year’ look.

Such a dilemma. What to do?

Well he changes the constitution of course and takes He-Mans buddy, prints it (wake up brother – happy christmas, oh look what you got from Santa – an ugly fat lizard and Skelators ass wipe. Nice, I got He-Mans buddy :-) ) and sends it off into the public.

What did he change you ask – he just added two words which makes access to all Kenyans individual human rights dependent on whether the Head of Security does not believe that access to such rights poses a danger to national security. He did this even though thousands of experts, independent auditors and almost 87% of voting Kenyans a read the document.

One of the main newspapers here – The Standard – wrote in its editorial that this episode illustrates perfectly the ‘moral and intellectual bankruptcy of those in higher office in many African countries’.

Amos has been caught, not officially of course. Shit don’t stick here, unless your poor, then not only does it stick, it proves wretchedly hard to remove. So as always, the blatant screwing of the electorate in Kenyan goes unpunished (so far).

The boy who got his figure did not get punished either as like Wako, it’s unlikely it will ever be proved he did anything wrong.

The moral of the story of course is this

“If you’re ever going to screw the little guy, always end up on the side of the good guys”

No wait, that’s not right…

Changing lives of Sex Workers and Irish Bankers

Everyone gets to do cool things in their jobs. In my last job in the bank I worked in, I got to play in our client entertainment days on the Druids Glen Golf Course – the Augusta of Europe.

This week, working with SOLWODI (Solidarity with Women in Distress - an organisation that work with Female Sex Workers, Children affected by sexual exploitation and Trafficking in People) on their communications material, I got to interview rehabilitated Female Sex Workers (FSW) to learn more about their struggles and how they’re lives have been changed by SOLWODI.

Yeah, Golf? Pssh!

I had three interviews. My first was with a 27 year old rehabilitated female sex work called Joyce* (with the help of a translator). Every question I asked Joyce was answered with almost tangible amounts of confidence, determination and pride. There was no smiles, timidity or shyness. She had come to tell me her story, a story I sensed she had told several times before but was no less impressive because of that.

Joyce came from a big family and dropped out of school early (as so many girls in large impoverished families are forced to do). She was brought up in Marikani, a town just outside Mombasa on the Nairobi road – a route with heavy trucker traffic – and a huge market for female sex workers (FSW).

With no source of income and no way to sustain herself, Joyce explained to me she felt she had no choice but to sleep with men for money. While doing this became pregnant.

I asked her how she came to know of SOLWODI and she told me that through the International Centre of Reproductive Health she was referred to SOLWODI’s Peer Educator programme where she trained as a peer educator for fellow FSWs. Later, with SOLWODI’s help, her peer group set up a self-help group and a table banking scheme (a small scale savings and lendings group).

Through this she managed to get a loan of Ksh1,000 to buy and sell vegetables, her first definite steps toward a new life. SOLWODI then linked her to a larger Micro Finance group who gave her basic business training and another loan of Ksh7,000 which gave her enough capital to grow her business, operate in four market days in her local area and develop a decent level of weekly income.

She told her story with well versed clarity, each question asked was responded to with no hesitation and delivered eye to eye.

During these interviews, what you are really looking for is one good quote, something that really shows a positive change in someone life – donors love that. And when I asked her how SOLWODI had changed her, her confidence for the first time was betrayed by a touch of emotion revealed as a gentle tremble in her voice. Almost involuntarily she raised her hand to her chest:

“I’m now taking my daughter to Private School^ and paying for all her fees and taking the responsibility for her future so she will not have to face the same problems that I have” she said as if repeating a solemn vow, a determined commitment to make the most of this new brighter future.

We talked for about 20 minutes, a good success story was documented and one excellent quote sourced. I had pretty much got all the information I needed and in all honesty, it was fantastically inspiring to listen to her. It was some from sort of cheeky curiosity, I wanted ask one more question, one I wasn’t sure if was appropriate to ask. But I wanted to establish the measure of her change in her life compared to her old.

I asked her to tell me what life is like as a sex worker.

She paused and looked at the floor. After a very brief moment, perhaps even a second of silence, she lifted her head and again looked me in the eye:

“Terrible. I never want to do it again.”

Indeed.

And that was it, interview over. I shook her hand and thanked her and tried to express my gratitude. She smiled, said goodbye to the SOLWODI programme officer who helped us and disappeared down a long dark corridor and out into the Mombasa sunshine, back to her life selling vegetables to pay for the basic needs of herself and her daughter.

Good work days no longer consist of playing golf with bankers and their clients. I guess it no longer does for them either. Work life has changed a lot for me. But not as much as it has done for Joyce.

Thank God for that.

*Joyce is not her real name. ^Private primary school is not as plush or as exclusive as it is at home but offers smaller class sizes and therefore a better education

What's interesting about that?

How many people can you fit into a matatu? The law says 14 passengers. Ok but what about short distances, like from Kilifi across the bridge to Mnarani on matatu that’s as fresh as Barbara Cartland? I counted 21 on the journey home today, that’s seven more people stuffed into a small nissan mini-bus fit for 14 passengers.

Another volunteer last week asked me do you ever think what the f*ck am I doing here? Atleast once a week I reckon. Stuffed into a small van with a 50 plus year old woman sitting on your lap at 6pm in the evening, it crossed my mind: How have ended up in a situation like this, its not like I’m Wayne Rooney or nothing.

By the time we got to our village some people started to get out and my passenger rose from my knee and sits in the seat vacated beside me. I’m not sure what the etiquette is on situations like this, it's a bit awkward. So I smile at her. I hope she reads it as a 'the matatu is packed, I understand you had to sit on my lap' embarrassed type smile and not a 'I enjoyed that' sleazy type smile. Oh dear, just look out the window for gods sake.

By the time I go to get out at my stop, the matatu conductor says that Arsenal have a big game on Wednesday. I agree but say hopefully arsenal will have they’re injured striker back and go to walk away (the matatu still almost full cant leave without him) but no, he wants to talk football. The passengers are getting impatient, I standing in the middle of the road listening to their conductor so it appears like its my fault for the delay and a few scowls and muttering get tossed from the bowels of the public service vehicle in my direction.

“Ah we we twende boss, kesho…Big game Wednesday (thumbs up sign)” and he smiles, gives me a thumbs and disappears into the matatu to argue with the few impatient passengers.

I walk toward my house…I get the usual greetings and I don’t care how many times I get it, I love when the kids fist bump Arsenal at me.

I’m having four bananas and a bottle of water for dinner, I’m 200 pages into a mammoth book I started reading last week and listen to some Senegalese music a friend has given on my laptop. Every time I get up from my seat and leave the fan I sweat. When I return, the cool air gives my an earache if I don’t move every so often. It turns out I have Internet for a while tonight, it’s the first time I’ve got reception her in ages. It came and went but I managed to download and watch Saturday’s grand national on YouTube. I bet Tony McCoy is having a better meal than me.

My clothes cleaner (that’s the name I have for her in my phone) is coming tomorrow morning at 8. She’ll bring her 3 month old boy and I’ll take cushions from my couch so she can place him down on the ground to sleep when she washes my clothes just outside my front door. I don’t know why I asked her to come so early come to think of it. There’s no power tomorrow so I cant go to work so she could come later, but its probably to late to ask her to come later.

No matter I’ll just get up a read for a while and then use my laptop for the precious 2.5 hrs power it will give me later on in the morning. Then the search for breeze somewhere for the afternoon. I’ll play football tomorrow evening at 6 on a surface that you couldn’t land a lunar module on. The sun goes down at 6:50ish but we’ll play until 8. There’s no floodlights or lights for that matter so I’ll have an excuse for a misplaced pass or 34.

It’s not exciting, nor terribly interesting. It might even be dull. But I never thought I’d live one like it and I’ll get few 24hrs like it in a years time.

One year ago...

“Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. Just to let you know that we have started our decent into Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, Nairobi. The weather at the moment is bla de blah blah blah, de blah blah….”

Oh. Fucking. Shhhiiitttt!

What on Gods green earth have I agreed to do? Fuck, fuck, fuck! What am I going to do? Maybe if I refuse to get out of my seat? They’ll have to just fly me back and I can say I was only joking. You know, Fooled yah! Ha ha! Of course I never intended to volunteer in Kenya for 2 years Silly Billy! Gosh I cant believe you fell for that old chestnut! Anyway, Hey ho, give me my job back and we’ll forget about this whole silly African nonsense…

“Cabin crew, seats for landing”

I’m going to get sick. Where’s my life jacket? I need to blow the whistle, shine the light and wave my hands in the air. Help! Help! I’m in Seat 24c and I’ve made a big mistake!

I was about to start my life as a VSO volunteer, a 2 year stretch in a place called Kilifi, Kenya and for the first time in the 6 month recruitment process, I had fully realised what exactly I had agreed to do.

I remember a few sleepless nights in my first few nights in Nairobi, endless information sessions, meeting existing volunteer, relieved that none were in straight jackets or none told me that they were the 2nd coming. I remember the 7 hour drive to Mombasa from Nairobi on the Saturday morning and thinking that I saw a sign post saying ‘Point of no return? 2 weeks ago you pillock!’.

I remember climbing into a matatu for the first time in Mombasa, one that was to take me to this ‘Kilifi’ place, sitting in the seat directly behind the driver with my three packed bags glued to my side; The East African Lonely Planet whispering in my ear ‘Whatever you do, don’t sit behind the driver’ But would I listen? Sure why start now?

And to add insult to potentially mortal injury, it wasn’t even Kilifi I was going to was it? Oh no, it was a previously unheard of place by the name of Mnarani. Or so I was told, for what was I to know? Little old me who didn’t get a chance to even google ‘Mnarani’. I could be in bloody Somalia for all I know.

‘Pssht Matatu Driver. Hi! its me, the white guy behind you? Tell me this: Is this still Kenya? And are my about to die?’

I remember turning off the tarmac and on to a dusty dirt road to Mnarani to be greeted by hundreds (potential exaggeration) of little children and…Goats!…and Chickens!.. (Breath).. All!...Over!..(Breath)… All! …Over!…The!...Place! (Breath)

A Google search would of prepared me for this.

“Ever so sorry Mr Afican Man, don’t be gettin me wrong, this is a swell Village and all…Dandy-out Boss! Thumbs up for you my good man! But this is where YOU live, yeah? I mean, just for clarification, I’m where exactly? I’m kinda of you know – yawn, stretch, I’m so relaxed about all this – tired. So if you can bring me to my place in ‘KILIFI’, its around here somewhere I’m led to believe? and really nice and modern, I’d be ever so grateful Mr Strange African Man.”

I remember getting a text from my Dad saying that I should just ‘relax and enjoy it’. It turned out to be the best advice in Kenya I’ve got (so far anyway, postcards to the usual address). Ever since that first week, exactly one year ago, it has pretty much been(save for a few dips in moral) as enjoyable and (cliché alert) rewarding a year as any other I’ve experienced.

I was extremely lucky that there was an experienced volunteer - Cocky from Holland - to catch my rattle and through it back into my cot for my first few weeks. Mr Strange African Man has been nothing but 100% hospitable and typically in Kenya, friendly. I am completely aware that in finding ‘this place called Mnarani’ I have been extremely lucky. It is a great village to live in and much better than Kilifi a km or 2 away.

Definitely, I would like to be more effective at work, a lot more effective. But in saying that, I feel I’ve added more in almost any of the the past 365 days than in any of my other ‘career days’. I’ve learned more about life, about myself (shudder) and ‘development’ than I could have ever of hoped for when back climbing the social, corporate and property ladder of Ireland.

I just hope the second year is a good as the first but with more impact. Now, if only the Irish Economy could get its act together in the next year as I had planned for and be ready for my return. But, then again, if it doesn’t …

If you have read any of my blogs over the past year, thanks. J