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

Welcome! We make tear gas

Last Friday morning we set out on a journey to Kamba set deep within the rolling dusty hills of Kaloleni district. Sitting in the front seat with our driver and just outside Kilifi, he turns to me with a wink and says that we’re not going to follow our guide in the car ahead but take our own ‘shortcut’ and nodded towards the car in front:

“He says he knows a better way. But that guy, even his lies aren't true!"

It’s going to be a long eventful day.

The reason for our ‘Alice in Kaloleni’ type journey to Kamba’s Chiefs Camp, was a Farming as a Business Trade Fair for farmers in the district. We went to present our Business Training and Counselling service complete with snazzy new SCOPE BDS brochure and flier.

We were meant to leave at 8. We left at 9:45.

Our journey was meant to take little over an hour. It took us nearly two and half.

We were meant to be back for 3. We got back at 6.

Our shortcut was meant to be straightforward. It was not.

Patience is needed for these journeys. Something I don’t have in abundance.

Anyway, after 45 minutes of Bump!Jump! driving on this shortcut where left and right turns were taken with disconcerting frivolity, we stopped at a small village and asked an old Mzee for directions. His answer was almost worth trip alone!

“Oh you cannot even celebrate yet, you are still very far. Just keep on driving down that road and after a while, ask for more directions”

Who needs a Garmin?

So after another hour and half of bouncing deep into the interior including a detour up a hillside donkey path that not even the most foolhardy donkey would take, we arrived a Kamba’s chief camp (Of course we were late but not late. In fact we were early. I don’t understand either).

There were maybe 300 people at the event visiting stands (tables) which housed an array of exhibitors. All of which had an interesting story to tell.

One such tale came from the Kenya Coconut stand who explained to me that despite Kenya having a huge stock of coconut – Kamba and much of Kaloleni and indeed Kilifi are covered in huge arching coconut trees that stretch toward the blue sky– in most of Kenya’s supermarkets they sell coconut shavings from Indonesia or the Philippines.

Kenya has huge tea, coffee and horticulture farming. Kenyan politicians own huge tea, coffee and horticulture businesses. No politician owns a Coconut business.

Another group of local women who had developed they’re own successful bakery business despite their rural location. And another who Demonstrated how investing in relatively cheap machinery can help farmers to add-value to their produce.

We met and visited pig farmers and their pigs. Talked about issues, better farming practices, marketing and business planning. It was great stuff.

But the best stall of all was a group from Nairobi who help farmers set up red-chili farms by giving away free seeds and information to help farmers set-up . No children were allowed near the chili stall for the little brown seeds are kinda caustic – I touched them and it does make the skin sizzle a bit. I kept my hands out of my pockets for the rest of the day.

So anyway, after planting the seeds, a nursery is created, the plants are taken from their pots and then hung on a wire from tree to tree. The result is a crop of tiny pea sized lipstick red chili’s after just three months.

The Chili group then come to collect the chili’s and sell them to firm who make Tear Gas! From the riotous streets of Tehran, to Anfield and wherever Liverpool fans go and a very special delivery to Northern Ireland in July all from the shambas of Kaloleni. I almost cried with pride - or was that the chili seeds?

I love chili farmers. They always tell a good story and showed me some great huge Bullet Chilis - great lovely green, yellow and red pills of volcanic fodder.

It took us nearly 3 hours to get home to Kilifi that evening. We were about an hour from home when we again met our guide who waited for us so he could take us the ‘fast’ way. The ‘fast way’ led us 40 minutes back the way we came! My Kenyan colleagues who are blessed with incredible patience laughed this off as an adventure. I wanted to tear gas the fxxker!

Covered in dust and sweat, exhausted and full of gin (I stopped off in the pub for some much needed alcohol) I went to bed a dreamt of pigs, coconuts, dusty hills, bumpy roads and tear gas.

Another wonderfully eventful day in Kenya.

Death by Netball - picture special

Netball Tournament: Mnarani Primary School

Date: 27th February

Number of teams in Tournament : 5

Planned start finish time told to Guest of Honour: 10am to 3pm

Length of Netball Game: 60 minutes

Number of games on tournament schedule handed to Guest of Honour mid-way through game three just after 1pm: 10

Number Netball games Guest of Honour watched after discussion with tournament organiser about a potential flaw in schedule: 6 (or was it 7?)

Speeches to be made by Guest of Honour: One

Speeches Guest of Honour thought he had to make when accepting the invitation: None

Reception community gave to Guest of Honour and his speech in pigeon Swahilli: Fantastic!

Time Tournament finished finally: 6:47

Minutes of England vs Ireland rugby match Guest of Honour missed: 2 minutes

Biggest laugh of the day: When Guest of Honour said he was looking for an African wife

A long day but very enjoyable all the same.

See pictures below

Picture 1: Not all eyes were on the Netball

Picture 2: The pitch. So the blue tent is where I sat. The community sat under the big trees at the far end.

Picture 3&4: Frantic games of fiercely competitive of Netball under the watchful eye of the ref. Great seats what?

Picture 5: During my speech, I said I was looking for a Kenyan Wife to much whooping and hollering. This lady ran up beside me straight after that to get her photo taken with me!

Picture 6: The winning Captain (and Stewards note- main organiser), Kilifi Town Councilor, the Guest of Honor! and Kilifi Town Mayor