Posts Tagged ‘Bamburi’

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Doug: Life in Mombasa, Part 2

November 23, 2011
My new room in Bamburi–a mosquito net is an essential.

So there are some distinct differences between living in Nairobi and living here in the coastal Mombasa region.

First off, have I mentioned that Mombasa is hot? Cause it is. It’s stinking hot. The only time I’m not sweating is the 5 minute period after my 2x daily showers. To make matters work, everything I eat is hot: from hot morning tea at home with my host family, to hot mid-morning porridge with the kids at the school, to hot lunch, to a hot dinner—always made more difficult by the fact that we use our hands. Undoubtedly, due to the intense coastal sun, I’m turning more African daily. The culture of the coast is crazy different as well. Walking through Old Town Mombasa, one gets very confused about what country you’re in. It’s like India, the Middle East, and Africa all collided and produced Mombasa.

The streets of Old Town Mombasa

From Hindi, to Arabic, to Swahili, to English—I think downtown Mombasa is having an  identity crisis. Add in the fact that the Portuguese were here for a while, and your head really goes for a spin. While we were touring an old historic site in Mombasa—Fort Jesus (creative name, I know)—my dreams were made complete: I heard a Kenyan giving a tour of the fort to some Spaniards—IN SPANISH. Now I just need to find someone in Ecuador (where I’m going for spring semester) who knows how to speak Swahili, and my life shall be complete.

View of Mombasa harbor from Fort Jesus

Old town Mombasa

Where was I? Oh yeah, Mombasa. The city itself is really cool, especially Old Town. Winding stone alleyways, beautiful mosque architecture, awesome views of the harbor. It’s only about a 25 minute matatu ride from Bamburi—where I live with my host family. Bamburi is a bustling town, inland from the Indian Ocean about 15 minutes. Stoney mud roads lead through a crowded town center, with numerous mosques, and people walking everywhere through the streets. I’ve found my favorite hole-in-the-wall café, where I’ve befriended some of the staff, and where I eat beans, chapati (sorta like pita bread…), and the most delicious passion fruit juice I’ve ever had—all for under $1.

A couple times a week I head to Pirates Beach (which is a public beach about 15 minutes from my house) with a couple friends who are also working in the Bamburi area. It’s a good place to relax—and by relax I mean get harassed every 5 minutes because you’re white—and that means you want to buy every small random trinket that someone is selling (literally a man walked by, asking if I wanted to buy one of the massive stuffed animals that he was carrying), or just make random small talk with random Kenyans. It’s always a different experience….

Kenyans hanging at Pirates Beach

Two weekends ago, a group of us from my program went to stay in Tiwi—a beach south of Mombasa. Tiwi was undoubtedly the most tropical and beautiful place I’ve been. We only stayed for 24 hours (only $10 for the night!), but it was a pretty sweet stay. We were able to snorkel through the crystal clear and blue waters, see some awesome brightly colored fish and, and go in some even more awesome sea caves. It’s times like this where I wonder what am I doing? I’m 10,000 miles from home, snorkeling in the Indian Ocean—in Kenya. Very blessed indeed…

The view upon arriving at our hostel at Tiwi Beach

Sunrise over Tiwi Beach

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Doug: Life in Mombasa

November 19, 2011

Greetings from the coast of Kenya! Apologies for the long delay in posting, but so much has happened in the last 4 weeks. I will try and capture it all in the following post.

Around October 23 I moved from Nairobi (the capital of Kenya—where I had been living for 3 months) to a coastal town called Bamburi, just 25 minutes north of Mombasa—the main port city on the coast of Kenya. I am now in the internship portion of my program, where every student works for 6 weeks at a development NGO in the sector of development that he or she wants. I requested to be put at an internship that mixes social services and education—since those are my two interests.

And that is exactly where I have been placed. For the past 3 weeks I have been interning at the Wema Center (‘wellness’ in Swahili) —an orphanage, school, and vocational training center for youth from the coastal area. There are 8 dormitories at Wema, which are solely for former street girls, and there are 3 classrooms which host about 80 children from the community. In order to attend the school at Wema, the child must come from an impoverished or needy household. Many of the kids in my classroom come from single-parent homes (always mothers), and some were even abandoned on the streets of Mombasa, found by the police, and brought to Wema. From my first awkward day shadowing the main teaching in my classroom, I have moved on to taking full responsibility of the class and teaching for the entire morning block—usually numbers and language lessons. It took a little time, but I finally have all the kids’ names down in my classroom, and know a good number of other students, and even some of the older girls that stay here at the center. I’m usually at the school (a 15 minute walk from my home) by 8:30 am, and leave to walk some of the boys home around 3pm—since they live in the surrounding community. (Side note: my walks to school in the morning have gotten interesting, since I’ve started to walk with one of the other teachers who lives in my neighborhood. She’s Japanese, and knows very little English. So, naturally, we speak the entire time in Swahili—we sure do get some strange looks from Kenyans along the way…)

Teaching is definitely not easy—and some days are better than others. If ever there was a theme or motto to my time in Kenya it is this: just roll with it. For example, the main teacher will sometimes walk into the classroom just as class is about to start, tell me how he has to go to a meeting and will be gone for the rest of the day, and that I will be teaching the whole time. I then have to scramble to come up with a lesson for the whole 1.5 hours. But this extends to all aspects of Kenyan life—I get home and really need to work on an essay, but the power is out so I can’t charge the laptop. Or our bus breaks down and we can’t get where we need to go. Unlike in America where people get stressed out if the Starbucks line is taking too long, in Kenya, you just roll with it. After all, there’s not much (anything) you can do.

My homestay here in Bamburi is much different than Nairobi as well. For the first time in my life, not only am I in the minority, but I’m overlapping every day with people who are Muslim—something that was so foreign to me, having grown up in the Ohio suburbs. I live with my mom, dad, my 5-year-old sister, my 15-year-old sister, and my 24-year-old brother—though he is often out working. The first night I was surprised when we ate on the floor with our hands. Also, my family is of the Waswahili tribe—where the Swahili language originated from. So everyday I hear more Swahili than I ever have in my life. I try to keep up, but usually it’s just too fast—I have become conversational in Swahili which is helping a lot, and was my goal upon coming to Kenya. I’ve also picked up the Muslim greeting that’s used seemingly every time someone enters the room: Salaam alekum, to which you say walekum salaam.—I’ve more or less become fluent in Arabic obviously…

Also, while living with a (big) Muslim family, I’ve had the opportunity to experience two family events: celebration of the Muslim holiday Eid a few weeks ago, and a Muslim wedding last Sunday. Both were really interesting experiences. For the holiday, I showed up to a family member’s house, where everyone was crammed into a small hallway, divided men and women. There was everyone from small children to elders—and one man was leading the call-and-response prayers in Arabic (as if I needed to feel more out of place). What followed was a huge feast of Biriyani (traditional Muslim dish) and Mango juice (I don’t think I’ll ever get over how good the juice is here on the coast: passion, to watermelon, to avocado—this stuff is crazy good).

Me with my host mom (on the left) and all her sisters, after celebrating the Muslim holiday Eid.

For the wedding, which was last Sunday, I traveled with my two sisters and a bunch of other kids—all of us decked out in our white wedding attire, through the streets of Mombasa, across the channel via the Mombasa Ferry, and into a rickshaw (tuktuk in Swahili), where we wound through small streets, 3 hours late to this wedding.

My host sister Rahma (on the right) and our cousins crammed into a tuktuk (rickshaw), on the way to the wedding.

We showed up and crammed into this concrete-walled house with other family members, where the bride was sitting. After I had been asked/forced to take copious pictures of the bride, she was marched outside underneath a large cloth, and we all went to the groom’s house—the final event of the evening. I joined a long line of women signing and shouting, as we stormed the groom’s house in one final hurrah. It was certainly quite the evening. And what evening would not be complete without a pikipiki (motorbike) ride back to the ferry with my host mom—during which we had to come to a screeching halt 3 different times to avoid hitting people. Kenya never fails to keep things interesting….

Me with my two host sisters (left and center) at the wedding.
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