Facilitation, Family, and Faith

A picture with my Kenyan family. From left to right, my host brother James, myself, my sister Susan, father John, and mother Jen.

I am now going on six weeks in Kenya, my fifth week with my host family. Homestay and training here in Loitokitok has certainly been a much different experience than in Mali.

During the week, we are generally in language class, learning Kiswahili, each morning. The afternoons are reserved for technical, medical, or safety and security training.

The center of Loitokitok town on an average, non-market day morning.

Dave, my fellow Mali evacuee, and I have been able to skip out on some of the afternoon sessions, either for additional language classes or to prepare to lead water and sanitation-related training sessions with the trainees.

A view of Mount Kilimanjaro and a nearby mountain from my morning walk.

So far, we have taught a class on common drinking water sources in Kenya, drinking water treatment, PHAST (the series of activities which I had used with my water and sanitation committee in Mali), and the construction of tippy taps (hand washing stations). We had hoped to teach the group how to make soap with locally-available materials, similar to the formation I had held in Mali, but we unfortunately found that, during a trial run, the locally available lye, unlike in Mali, is not actually of the correct chemical compound required. We are currently planning classes on improved cook stoves, forming effective local committees, making eco-charcoal, and performing the baseline survey that we revamped.

My training class spends some of our leisure time together hiking to a nearby waterfall, playing ultimate in a field, or socializing at one of the local establishments. But most of our free time is generally spent with our respective homestay families.

Another view of Mount Kilimanjaro as seen from the road in front of my house.

I have been tremendously lucky with host families in the Peace Corps. My family here in Kenya, as in Mali, has been absolutely great. My host mother, ‘Mama’ Jen, is an incredible woman. She works hard all day, every day, tending to the house, feeding the animals, cooking all meals, washing the laundry, and, during the growing/harvest seasons, working in their fields. But yet she always has a smile on her face. She is always laughing.

‘Mama’ Jen cooking potatoes, carrots, and beef in her separate kitchen building.

I absolutely love spending time with her, and spend most nights helping her cook dinner in the kitchen building. As I mentioned before, the food here has been a huge upgrade from Mali. Practically every single meal includes both meat and vegetables, and nothing is lacking in flavor, at least for me personally after being accustomed to Mali’s ‘to’ and ‘basi.’

‘Mama’ Jen teaching me how to make one of Kenya’s favorite staples; chapatti. Chapatti is basically a soft tortilla made of flour, sugar, salt, and water, and is served with a variety of different local staple foods.

Unlike the rest of the family who are all fluent speakers of English, ‘Mama’ can only speak ‘hivi hivi’ (so-so), so not only do we have fun together, but she also helps me to practice and improve my Kiswahili.

My host father, ‘Baba’ John, is a kind and intelligent man who always takes time to chat and make me feel welcome. And he is also quite the local historian, filling me in on many details of local culture, history, and politics.

‘Baba’ John milking his dairy cow. He has two cows, but one is only a few months old. He milks twice a day, morning and night. Each morning and night, the house is frequented by neighbors, who stop by with bottles in order to buy milk. Milk is a major commodity here, since one of the chief cultural practices, as in Mali, is to drink tea. But unlike Mali, tea, or ‘chai,’ is almost always prepared with milk, and each person, like in America, or Britain (Kenya is a former British colony, after all), gets their own mug. It is a significant secondary source of income for the family.

‘Baba’ and ‘Mama’ have four kids. Their oldest child, a daughter, is married and now living in Mombasa. Their second-born, Steve, is in his late 20’s and works construction like his father, primarily building schools in distant villages. He returns home every other weekend or so.

Baba John and Mama Jen posing for a picture outside of the house.

Their two youngest kids, James and Susan, live at home and attend school nearby. They are great kids; incredibly well mannered, hard working, and smart. It has been an absolute pleasure to stay with this family.

I have also been going to the local Catholic Church, St. Luke’s, for mass most Sundays, either with my ‘Baba’ John or ‘Kaka’ James. Religion is a huge component within the lives of most Kenyans, and my family is no exception. ‘Mama’ Jen and ‘Dada’ Susan are Protestant and actually go to a different church. ‘Mama’ spends each Monday with a fellowship group at a different house each week, praying and singing together.

Sunday Mass at St. Luke Catholic Church in Loitokitok.

The 10:30AM mass is quite long, often lasting until 1:30PM. But I actually find it rather enjoyable, and seeing that I was raised Catholic, it has been fun to compare and contrast how masses are practiced here in Kenya and back in the states.

First off, the music is fun. There are only three instruments: a keyboard, some sort of rectangular wooden instrument which makes a smooth percussive sound as a man vigorously shakes it over his head, and a couple of wooden dowels which another man clanks together for additional rhythm. All songs start with one of the standard drum-machine loops found on any electronic keyboard, then the keyboardist plays over it using a synthesized organ.

The choir, made up of both men and women, sing in harmony while always swaying, clapping, and performing coordinated dance moves. All those in attendance, including the clergy, join in on the fun, singing along, clapping and swaying.

Whenever a procession makes its way down the aisle, whether for the beginning of mass, the entrance of the gospel or the Eucharist, small boys and girls line the aisle, energetically dancing and leading the way.

The homily is also much less rigid than what I had seen in America. The priest is much more prone to involve the audience, and skits are commonplace. For example, this past Sunday, the priest was delivering a homily on the importance of loving one another, even your enemies. Towards the middle of the homily, the priest stepped back to make way for a remarkably clever skit that soon had the entire congregation rolling with laughter.

A middle-aged man got up from his pew, began ranting, then promptly walked up to his father. He shouted out all of the wrongs that he felt his father had committed against him, then tied one of his father’s hands to a rope and began towing his father behind him down the aisle. The priest then told his congregation that he’s got one man to pull.

The man then stopped in front of a random man, again shouted out the wrongs the man had supposedly committed against him, and bound his hand to the same rope. He then walked through the aisles again, roping up about ten more people in similar fashion along the way.

Finally, he ended his journey by trying to climb the steps up to the pulpit with all of those people in tow, and feigned that he was absolutely exhausted. So he came to the realization that the weight of his anger, which he harbored against all of those people, was weighing him down. So he decided to forgive them, one-by-one, untying them as he went. Finally, he let out a scream of joy, he was free! The moral, the priest declared as he continued his homily, is to forgive all those who have wronged against you and love them just the same. Harboring anger and hatred can only weigh you down.

A local cattle pasture in the afternoon sun.

I have long distanced myself from Christianity since childhood, and have tended to focus on the many problems generally found within organized religion. But this church has served to remind me of the intrinsic value such a place can have, at its best, in harmonizing a community, teaching moral principles, and promoting selflessness on a grassroots level.