<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/24269690?title=0&amp;byline=0&amp;portrait=0" width="400" height="225" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/24269690%22%3Ekenya 2011</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user3292241%22%3EHannah Grimes</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com%22%3evimeo%3c/a%3E.%3C/p>

Surprise! Baby! number two

"Finally the powers on! Three days is just ridiculous." I grab my empty glass and head back to the kitchen for some more juice. The last night we had carried the t.v. over to the empty neighbours house so we could watch CSI. The things I have to suffer through over here.
I glimpse at the slightly ajar door and then turn into the kitchen of our small apartment when suddenly I jumped at a small moving mass on the floor. Frozen for a moment, my brain registers what it's looking at. And then I burst out laughing, "Ummm there's a bunch of chickens in the kitchen,"
"What?" I heard my aunt call from the sitting room.
"Yeah, there's 12 baby chickens in your kitchen."
It took us a while to heard them all out the door but finally cheapers were all back outside. Paul, our friendly, farming neighbour, seemed to have a very busy group of chickens.
"No wonder that roosters been so excited lately."

Traffic.

I cough and wipe my watering eyes as a dump truck belches a cloud of dark smoke from its muffler right where I stand. I scowel in his general direction as he speeds off in a great hurry, leaving a trail of opaque pollution. I continue on my walk trying to recompose myself and enjoy the beautiful morning. HONK! I jump pracitcally into a bush as a noisy matatu rumbles up from behind and the tote waves frantically out the side door. I shake my head with an expression that cleary said "look bud, if I wanted a ride I would have flagged YOU down! Not the other way around!!" But, taking the culture in mind, he probably thought I was commending him on spotting me. I shake the wrinkles out of my clothes and take a deep breath. I boldly take another step and think, 'I am going to enjoy this walk,' and my foot is met by a squishy pile of cow dung. I look incredulously at the Masia sitting under the closest tree watching his herd of cows wander aimlessly across the busy street. I walk away grumbling and shuffling the nice gift off my shoe when suddenly I yelp and grab my foot dancing around on the other. After plucking the 2 inch-long thorn from the sole of my shoe I decide that I had better start back home. 'It's a miserable day anyways' I think, as I walk three steps back to my drive way.

Surprise! Baby!

The day started off much like all the other days in Kenya start. I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, mused about going back to bed, had a cup of coffee then settled down in my rocking chair. I was planning on meeting Janice at the Thogotto junction and then walking up to the Kikuyu hospital where we would then meet Rebecca and William and discuss William’s case. And as I sat rocking in my chair with cup of coffee in hand my mind failed to foresee how drastically my day was about to change. The cellphone buzzed on the table beside me indicating a text message. It was Janice telling me that she had had a rough night and would be a little late. I sighed; late can mean anything from an hour to a week with these people. 2 hours later I watch the very pregnant Janice walked slowly towards the fruit stand where I was waiting. I knew right away that something was very wrong with her. Usually she has her huge characteristic smile with a witty phrase waiting on her lips when she first meets me. Today she was holding her belly and looking quite sombre. Then the next warning sign, she wanted to take a matatu to the hospital. Usually Janice says something like “It’s only a short distance, we should walk,” even if it’s six miles. I started inquiring about Janice’s pains and she told me that it was her lower abdominal. The baby wasn’t due for another month so we decided that it would be a good idea for a check-up once we got to the hospital. I asked her when the pain started. Then, after she told me that they had started last evening, I asked her if she had felt the baby kick since then. My heart sank as she said no, it had not. My mind frantically went into panic mode as it tried to prepare itself for handling a mother with a miscarriage.

When we arrived at the hospital Janice was in real pain and was doubling over every few minutes. I’ll fast forward a few details to the part where we finally got into the ultra sound room and, miracles of miracles, they found a teeny tiny heartbeat. About an hour later we were back outside sitting on a curb pondering what to do next. “Janice, I think you’re going to have a baby.” “No, I just need some pain medication. Then I’ll go home and rest.” I’ll fast forward a little more to the part where we were taking a taxi to a different hospital. My hand was buried deep inside the crushing fist of a labouring mother. “So why are we going to this hospital?” “Because I’ll lose my job if we go back to the Kikuyu hospital since I bypassed the system,” said Evelyn, an employee of Kikuyu hospital and good friend. Fast forward again, Evelyn is shaking my hand and telling me she must go back to work. The doctor comes out from examining Janice and says “Yep, the baby will come around three o’clock.” I chuckled. It sounded as if he was talking about delivering a baby.

Fast forward. I’m holding Janice’s hand and rubbing her back as she lays on a hospital bed in a pink gown. “Did you call anyone yet?” “Yes, but they won’t be her until later.” She moans and my fingers crack painfully. Then she starts to heave and I reach for the bucket for her to puke in. Some splashes onto my shirt.

Fast forward. I stagger wide eyed into the waiting room to meet Hannah and Lois who had been writing at a coffee shop when I called for them. I jabber out some strange un-thought answers to their questions. Hannah follows eagerly after me into the pre-labour ward. My aunt had suggested that we ask to suit up and go in with Janice while she delivers. His answer is a friendly “yes” and then we’re quickly ushering Janice into the labour ward. “spread this for me!” says the doctor handing me a sheet and I ran ahead spreading it on the bed where, in mere minutes, human life would splash upon.

Fast forward. Hannah is staggering out of the room and then collides with the door jamb weak kneed. The Doctor pulls his fingers from Janice (too much information) and rushes to catch Hannah as well as the one and only nurse present. I follow so that the doctor can go back to attend the moaning Janice who is in mid-contraction. “Doctor, come back to meeee!” I laugh about it now haha

Hannah was a trooper, after getting some air she managed to come back in time for the crowning. I witnessed the whole thing directly. The slimy little creature came sliding out into the gloves of the doctor and had a healthy first breath and cry. Then the blue cord was snipped and a few minutes later out came the placenta. The baby was beautiful: open eyed, of natural colour and truly looked intelligent rather than those new borns you see that are shrivelled and squirming, horrified that they have gone through some kind of invasive exodus into a less squishy and warm world.

I wander out of the hospital sporting stains of sweat, vomit and embryonic fluid satisfied and amazed. How can such a treacherous, nasty process seem so beautiful? I suppose the doe-eyed little baby laying in the make-shift incubator helps a little. The ruggedness of the small Kenyan hospital and the casualness of the doctor and nurse seemed to make the whole situation even more wonderful.

Kimberly is thriving and adorable, gaining weight and eating normally. We are hoping that since we were the first faces that Kimberly saw upon her arrival, she won't be terrified of white people when she's older.

The Mendazi Party

Mama Joy dumped some self rising flour into a plastic bowl in the small kitchen. Our party members were an interesting group: three mothers whom I had gotten to know from the creche, a bundle of their toddlers, Janice's (one of the mothers and owner of the house we had gathered in) temporarily adopted daughter Margarette and me.
"So what ingredients do you need to make mendazi?" I asked Mama Joy holding my camera up to catch her response. It was really quite simple. Flour, warm water, a pinch of sugar and whatever else you could afford at the time. Sometimes milk, sometimes eggs and- if you're really doing well- chocolate or lemon. I call them the poor man's doughnut.
After mixing the flour and warm water- each measured out by instinct- Mama Steven tasted some dough, spitting it out satisfied. It was time to fry them up. Out side the modest wood house, Mama Steven had started a three stone fire. The technique where you find three large stones, roughly the same size, and arrange them in a circle lighting a fire in the middle. Then the pot of oil sits on top of the stones. It's simple genious.
As the oil heats up to a boil Mama Joy kneeds a chunk of dough expertly into a ball. She then coats her work table with a bit of flour and rolls it out into a thin circle. Cutting it grid like the peices are ready to be fried. I give it a whirl and find that it is not quiet as easy as it seems. They chuckle at my oblonged dough shapes.
The dough makes about 60 Mendazi, maybe even more. I am astounded. No wonder the African ladies get a little chunky over here; 60 mendazis for under 3 dollars! I eat over 10 of the delicious little morsels and I don't regret it, they were amazing! Now that's the kind of party that I would never miss.
As I sat around the three stone fire the four toddlers wandered around with peices of mendazi on their faces and hands. After a while Janice put some tea on and we talked and laughed until almost dark.
"Janice, are we still taking motorbikes home? It's almost dark!" Half an hour later I sit smooshed between Janice's pregnant belly and the motorbike driver zipping down a pitch black dirt road towards the small town of Kikuyu. I could not stop smiling for the entire ride, even as my head bonked against the helmet of the driver after he hit every pothole in the road. Funny he should have a helmet and not the passengers. The thought lasted only a moment, no place for caution in a moment of pure reckless spontanueity.
After connecting with two more matutus, once with Mama Joy's toddler wedged comfortably on my lap, I walked through the doors of our campus apartment to be met by a worried looking aunt. I chuckled nervously as I tried to explain myself and eventually regained her confidence. Well, at least I think I did.
The party was wonderful and I shall bring back my new acquired skill to Canada where many more mendazi parties will ensue.

 

This is little Natashia, very adorable and, as an added treat, she wasn't even afraid of me even though I was the first whitey she'd ever seen.

The Farthest Village

I stagger out of the small truck with nothing much on my mind since the heat had rendered it useless. Smacking my dry lips I reached into my bag for some water. Sweat. Every where coming from every pore. I wiped my sweaty forhead with my sweaty hand and then stared around the village trying to take some of it in. Straw house, children, sand, tree, sand. A man who worked at the dispensery in the village placed out two chairs for us, and although I had been sitting for more than four hours already, I stared longingly at the plastic chair. Finally I wandered away from the group and sat gingerly on the the ledge to make it look less lame that I was sitting. And then I slouched a bit, and a bit more until I was splayed on the chair. Glamour and disposure were far from my mind in this dusty, humid, little village. Hannah, a few yards off, was recording some little kids jumping at a mango tree and then falling over. It was cute, they were both filthy and wearing only pants. The one little boy's pants were so ripped that they concealed nothing at all. After a while some of the village guys wandered over to see the white people that a driven all the distance to see them. They were being sponsered by Hannah's church and so naturally there was pictures and conversation and laughter. I sat complacently. And then they wanted to give us a tour around the village. I groaned inwardly at the thought of walking, even standing! Here I was in a village that not many people in the Western world will ever get to see and I am groaning on a faded, flimsy lawn chair.
Forty minutes later I sit heart racing in the truck bumping along the road. Why the change in mood? Well it could have something to do with the long walk through unmanaged field or hearing the story about the man who's head was almost chopped off by his brother and law. Or because there is a giant black and white spider crawling on me and three people are trying to find it and remove it in the back of the cramped pick-up truck.
Despite my buzz killing mood and dramatic re-accountment of the day it was actually spectacular. Being exposed to such contrast from my own culture was life changing and memorable. I shall never forget it.

Donkeys, Camels and Other Modes of Transport

Donkey
"Noooo, I don't want to!" I looked up from my Glamour magezine and glanced at Hannah on the other bed in our tiny hotel.
"Hannah, it's our last night. We are not going to go to bed at eight o'clock." She groaned but eventually was persauded and 15 minutes later we set off for our moonlight donkey ride. It was fantasy like; plodding over moon lit dunes through tiny villiages of straw houses. I felt like an Arabian princess.
Camel
"Should be here soon," said Jamal as we lay under the shade of a boat house on the shore of the brilliant blue Indian Ocean.
"Ah, there they come," I nodded to the far end where two proud camels bobbed steadily towards our direction. We bartered over the price for a few moments and then watched the two beach boys, who were to be our guides, assemble the sadles. Two long sticks criss-crossed in the front-handles of sorts- then layers of middle east looking blankets for a cushion. I hiked up my pants then lept fearlessly onto the hump. Holding tight to the sticks I readied myself for the beast to arise. It was an experience like no other: I was lurched backwards 90 degrees, then shot forward perpendicular to the ground then finally leveled out. Smiling I looked across to Hannah to see if she had been as over joyed with the experience as I. Snapping photos and giggling we rode off into the horizon...
Other Modes
The Black Pearl was a majestic boat. Its planks were clean and well varnished and canopy blocked the beating sun rays from damaging our delicate skin. The company wasn't bad either, three young beach boys and three more waiting on Shella beach for our arrival. My favourite stood with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a massive afro dyed blonde. His shirt read "beach boy" and he splashed into the water to help us out of the boat. I smiled as I thought one Black Pearl and six Jack Sparrows.