Balloons!

Last Sunday outside the pediatrics ward of Kijabe Hospital:

A Lesson in Productive Procrastination

I like things with redeeming value: a pizza with vegetables, chocolate chip cookies with oats, a tragic story with a hopeful end. Towards that end, when I put off doing things I need to do, I like to procrastinate in order to accomplish other good things (even if they're less "important" than that which I choose not to do); I like to redeem, if you will, my wasted time. Sure, you might dismiss this as my putting a positive spin on an otherwise negative pursuit; but really, many of my best memories have come in these times of productive procrastination--and in the end, the work always gets done. (Perhaps my real error is in deciding that the tasks that I avoid are more important than that which I would choose to do first--but that's another post.)

I entered this weekend dreading the stack of seventy-plus English essays that awaited my attention. I had already set them aside for a week while I focused on some last minute AP English prep, which involved reviewing lots of essays, too; but after speeding through the AP essays, I had little interest in a new set of papers to wade through. So when my friend Heather asked me if I wanted to join her on this Saturday's Town Trip, I happily said yes. I knew I should stay home to grade the papers, but I considered that I had not been to the grocery store in over a month and could use some more food, I wouldn't have too many more opportunities for quality time with Heather before we leave this summer, and I just might get to see a movie. I'm sure you can see why putting off grading the papers was a very good move.

We boarded RVA's Blue Bird school bus this morning about 9 am with a group of about 30 students and several other staff chaperones. Our 45 minute drive to Village Market, a sort of outdoor/enclosed shopping area on the outskirts of Nairobi, went smoothly and uneventfully--a feat in itself whenever traveling the Kenyan roads. When we pulled up to the mall, our bus driver read the Town Trip rules to the students: which included an advisory of what to do in the event of some kind of siege of the shopping center. If bullets are flying, immediately drop to the floor, and if at all possible, make your way to the Chinese Restaurant at the top of the mall to rendezvous with the rest of the group. (How often do you hear such advisories on your school trips? And is a Chinese Restaurant really the best place to meet?) I'll spare you any suspense: there was no such excitement today.

The first order of business for Heather and me was to check out the movie theater offerings. I had hoped that Iron Man might be playing, having already read several excellent reviews, but assumed that it would not yet have made it out to East Africa. You can imagine my joy, then, when I discovered that not only was Iron Man playing, but it was playing at just the right time for us to see it and be back on the bus by 3 pm, with time leftover for the grocery shopping. The movie tickets here are a comparable price to those in the States: $7-8, depending on how week the dollar is on a given day. The redeeming value of seeing a move here, though, is that the popcorn is less than $1. And it's good popcorn.

Iron Man was great fun. After having a possible terrorist attack on my mind after driving by the US Embassy (a new one since the bombing back in the '92) on the way in, and then hearing the warning on the bus, it was very satisfying to see the bad guys so handily defeated. Heather and I loved the Tony Stark/Robert Downey, Jr. character--for reasons that, once you see it, I'm sure you'll understand; we agreed that it was nice to have a more mature super hero to enjoy (though I do like Toby Maguire’s Peter Parker/Spiderman as well as most). The technology was believable and cool in the world they'd constructed, and the ending was most satisfying--with plenty of redeeming value. I pretended I might understand some of the Arabic the bad guys were speaking, having picked up at least the sound of it on my North Africa trip, but I don't think I really did. I did leave, however, thinking about how to really defeat evil in the world without causing more of it (a constructive thought to have when leaving a movie, I'd say). (I was also thinking that I might actually take my dad up on his offer to take me to the range when I get home in July.)

After the movie Heather and I ran down to the bookstore, where I picked up a book I've been wanting to read: Last Orders at Harrods: An African Tale by Michael Holman, a novel about the proprietor of a restaurant in "Kireba," which I guess must be like the actual Nairobi slum, Kibera. We then ran over to Nakumatt Supermarket to buy our groceries. (Food prices really have gone up here, I'm afraid; but at least the dollar might be on its way back up.) The food item I'm most excited about from this trip: the fresh tandoori Naan sold in the bakery.

The drive back up to Kijabe was smooth. We passed three dead donkeys on the side of the road, which we definitely smelled before we saw. (I have yet to find any redeeming value for that.) As we climbed back up to the 7000 feet of Kijabe, the air grew cleaner and cooler, and the view of the Rift Valley below was especially clear after several weeks of good rains; we could even make out the beginning of Mt. Kenya on the horizon, though its peak remained hidden behind a billow of fluffy white clouds. As much as I enjoy the adventure of trips into Nairobi, I always appreciate coming back to our beautiful home, where the sweet air and peaceful view seem all the more sweet and peaceful after being away.

Now that I'm back I could be grading those essays, but writing this post seems just as productive, and I do need to go wash (with a good dose of bleach!) the vegetables I just bought today... and then there's that book I just bought... and then I'll need to go for a jog on this beautiful, rain-free day...

España: Pensando en Ti

So I'm a bit slow in posting any more about the Spain travels, mainly because I'm trying to readjust to the Kenyan life and prepare for the start of classes again on Tuesday (I'm not exactly speeding into either pursuit). I'm afraid the busyness of the term will begin without my having written or posted anything. Before that happens, though, I will at least share these shots of some of the more memorable scenes in Spain, in no particular order:

1. Views of and from the Alhambra



2. A Complete Breakfast



3. Graffiti


4. Cervantes


5. Cordoba's Mezquita


6. A Cross in Toledo


7. Art in Madrid

From the sands of the Sahara:

More to come from the streets of Spain...

In the meantime, you can read my dad's narrative of the Spanish travels here, here, and here.

Ahhh, Kijabe.

I arrived home in Kijabe last night, after a looong trip from Madrid. I started out with my parents from our hostal in Madrid, Spain around 6 am, said goodbye to my folks and boarded an Iberia Air flight for Casablanca around 10 am, transferred to an Emirates flight to Dubai around 1 pm, arrived in Dubai about 8 hours later, tried to sleep on the floor in the very busy Dubai airport from about 1 am to 10 am, then boarded one last airplane bound for Nairobi. About 6 hours later in Nairobi I waited for all the luggage to come through from the flight, only to find that my bag had not come with me, and then waited in line to fill out the paperwork to try to get it back. The final leg of the trip--the carride from Nairobi's Jomo Kenyatta airport back to Kijabe--took about two hours. I arrived in my little house exhausted from the trip, sad it was over, and missing my parents. But I was exceedingly happy to sleep in my bed, with a normal-sized pillow.

This morning I woke up feeling much refreshed. I still missed mis padres and my muy tipico desayuno de cafe con leche y una tostada con aceite, but I did enjoy a good bowl of oatmeal, which I had missed during the travels. I ventured out for a run around 10 am, and looked out onto a beautiful Rift Valley--much greener than when I left three weeks ago, thanks to some good rain recently. The view across to Mt. Longonot was clear; the sky a vivid blue; the air cool, clean, and crisp. It is good to be back.

Please excuse the brief hiatus in blogging,

as I will be out and about these next few weeks:

Tonight to Dubai,

tomorrow and the next week in North Africa,

entonces una semana en España con mis padres.

All Hail, O Davidson!

March Madness took a sweet turn last night, even here in Kijabe, Kenya.

I joined a group of basketball fans in the RVA video room to watch the ESPN-satellite feed of the round 1 games. (I was thrilled that both the Davidson and the Miami games were on early enough to watch without compromising a good sleep.) I sported my red Davidson hoodie, and sat near the other Kijabe Davidson fans (yes, there are others) to cheer on our team.

Unfortunately, we only saw about 5 minutes of Davidson's closely fought game against Gonzaga, as the footage was primarily on the Miami-St. Mary's game. Now, I am a Miami fan through and through, but Miami seemed to have that game under control, and we had no updates from the Davidson end of things. It was most frustrating. We at least were able to watch the last few minutes when Davidson triumphed--thanks in large part to the incredible skills of Stephen Curry (only a sophomore!).

If you didn't watch the game, perhaps because it was the middle of your workday (we did have the advantage of being 7 hours ahead here), read the highlights.

Long time readers of this blog may remember my own March Madness victory last year, when my bracket won the Kijabe pool (as I was the only one around who called the Florida tournament victory). Wanting to give others a chance to claim victory, I did not fill out a bracket this year, but will just cheer on Davidson and Miami as far as they can go. (I'm not sure how closely I'll get to follow all this when I'm in the Sahara Desert next week, anyway.)

GO CATS! (and Canes!)

Vac Plans:

We're just about ready for our next vac (pronounced "vake," short for vacation) here at RVA. Term 2 will end on Wednesday, and term 3 will begin about April 20. In the month long break, students go all over the place. Among the more interesting plans I've heard are these:

I asked one student if he'd be going home to Ethiopia over the break:

"Yes," he replied, "just up to Addis. But some guys are coming with me, so that should be fun... We're actually going to take a truck up there."

"A truck--" I asked, "what kind of truck?"

"Oh, you know, just one of those big lorries you catch in Nairobi and ride on top of."

"Wow,” I replied, "that's crazy."

"Yeah,” he said, “it should be great, and really cheap."

"How long will it take?"

"Oh, a few days."

"And where will you stay?"

"Oh, wherever it stops, I guess. We won't take much, so we won't get robbed or anything."

"Yeah," I replied, "that's probably a good idea."

Then I was talking with another student, who was expressing some reluctance about having to run the children's program for the conference of her parent's organization next week. I asked where the conference would be held--thinking perhaps at one of the nicer spots on the coast, or a conference center in Nairobi. "Oh, in Khartoum," she replied. Oh, of course;--I’d forgotten her family lives in Sudan—a conference in Khartoum. (I've just started reading What is the What, a novel about the civil war in Sudan, so you can imagine the images that crossed my mind.)

Meanwhile, I'm very excited for a big trip myself to North Africa next week. I won’t be traveling too far on the top of trucks, as far as I know, or directly into war zones. But I do except some camel riding and more conservative dress. I'll be traveling with several friends from RVA, one whose family we'll be visiting, and some others who are considering starting work up there themselves. Then while I’m in the neighborhood, I'll hop on up to Spain to meet my folks in Madrid--to tour Andalucia for a bit and brush up on my Spanish for one last term of Spanish teaching back here at RVA.

When I am weak:

I really wish I weren't.

As I write this I am actually winking/squinting at the computer--not because I like my computer (although mac's are great) or because it's particularly bright outside, but because I can't see clearly. I have been battling migraines this week, and I lost the battle today; the meds have mostly taken away the head pain, but the blurry vision remains. I have fought this battle all week. It's the first time I've had to fight it since I arrived in Kenya almost two years ago. I was migraine-free amidst all the changes in climate, culture, and exposure to new bugs and such things. I'm not sure what brought this latest bout on after almost two migraine free years: perhaps some compounded stress from teaching three different preps (five classes total), 80 essays to grade, having to plan today's outreach day after a fellow staff had to leave unexpectedly, an unusually intense few months thanks to the unrest in the country, and other unforeseen or unrecognized forces at work. Anyway, I first came down this latest spell last Saturday, mostly recovered on Sunday, had to take most of the day off on Monday, was better the rest of the week, did too much Thursday, and fell again yesterday afternoon. I missed the outreach day I had been planning this morning, but hope it went fine; instead, I slept until about 1 pm (highly unusual for me) and am still reeling in blurry vision, though the pain is mostly gone. I have started to think that the zomig that I have been taking is losing its potency in my migraine fight. I am starting to contemplate moving on to the last resort: prednisone, but hesitate to do that, as it brings its own host of issues and side affects that I would prefer not to deal with. I am trying to find out if there are any neurologists around Kijabe, and will seek their counsel. I am once again seriously thinking that neurology should be in my future as a doctor.

Those of you who know the wrath of migraines will certainly sympathize with my battle; those who have been spared should be very thankful, and should understand that I have encountered few, if any, things so debilitating and frustrating. It's really not just a headache; it's extreme badness.

Anyway, if you wonder about the lack of posting this past week--know the reason: migraine.

UPDATE:

I'm much improved. I consulted with a doctor-friend, and she advised that the prednisone would be the next logical step after a week of migraines--she agreed that it seemed I had developed a bit of a cycle which needed something strong to break. She said if I'd taken the prednisone before (I had) and had no major side-effects, and would only be on it a short time, there should be no problem. So I started the course yesterday afternoon and soon after my vision cleared up! I went to bed at a normal hour, but woke up about 2 am to take my next dose; I couldn't fall back to sleep, probably a combo of having slept hours and hours the day before and the prednisone, but I did manage to grade 12 English essays--something I hadn't been able to do since Wednesday. Prednisone is indeed a miracle drug. I fell back to sleep for a few more hours, feeling no head pain and less stress from having graded some papers.

Looking back on the week, perhaps I might have avoided this vicious cycle had I taken more time to rest and recover from the first bout or two with the headaches. I really must remember to do that next time. (But there's always too much to do!)

Also, I learned yesterday that though we have many doctors here in Kijabe, there are no neurologists (which surprised me given all the hydrocephalus and spina-bifida work done at the hospital). Perhaps we can change this down the road a few years...

Kapuscinski on Child Soldiers:

I continue to savor Shadow of the Sun by R. Kapuscinski (I know, I've been reading it for a while now--but I only have time for small snippets here and there!). This past week I read chapters about the history of Rwanda's conflict, the terrible rise and fall of Idi Amin in Uganda, the geography and people of Sudan, Ethiopia, and Somalia. The reading often disturbs and depresses me (especially as Kenya was in its own throes of civil and ethnic unrest), but I continue to love Kapuscinski's rich descriptions of the life and people he meets as he travels. I could not more strongly recommend your reading this one--if you're at all interested in things African. Here is one particularly powerful passage about child soldiers (in a chapter on the Northern Uganda/Sudan region:

In those places where conflict has lasted decades (as in Angola or Sudan), the majority of older people were killed long ago, or perished from hunger and disease; children remain, and it is they who are doing the fighting. The bloody chaos in which various Africa countries have plunged has spawned tens of thousands of orphans, hungry and homeless. They look for anyone who might feed and shelter them, and it is easiest to find food where the troops are, because soldiers have the best chances of obtaining it: weapons in these countries are not only for waging war, but are a means of survival—sometimes the only means.

Abandoned, lonely children gravitate to where troops are garrisoned, where they have barracks and camps. They help out, work, become part of the army, “sons of the regiment.” They are given weapons and quickly undergo a baptism by fire. Their older companions (also children) often laze about, and when a confrontation with an enemy is pending, send the little ones to the front lines, into the thick of battle. These armed encounters between youngsters are particularly fierce and bloody, because a child does not have the instinct for self-preservation, does not feel dread or comprehend death, does not experience the fear that only maturity will evoke.

The wars of children have also been made possible by technological developments. Today, handheld automatic weapons are short and light, the newer models increasingly resembling children’s toys. The old Mauser was too long, too big, and too heavy for a child. A child’s small arm could not reach freely for the trigger, and he had difficulty taking aim. Modern design has solved these problems, eliminated the inconveniences. The dimensions of weapons are now perfectly suited to a boy’s physique, so much so that in the hands of tall, massive men, the new guns appear somewhat comical and childish.

Because the child is capable only of using handheld, short-range weapons (he cannot conduct long-rage artillery fire, or pilot a bomber), clashes in the children’s wars take the form of savagely unmediated collisions, of close, almost physical contact; the children fire at one another separated by just a step. The toll, typically, is frightful. And it is not only those killed then and there who perish. In the conditions under which these wars are fought, the wounded will also die—from loss of blood, from infection, from lack of medicines.