Ran into Dede riding a bike by the police station in ISiolo.
I can’t think of much to say about this jacket, but I wish I had one.
Archive for the 'Residents and Friends' Category
Keys
Published November 5, 2009 Isiolo , Just Hanging Out , Residents and Friends Leave a CommentTags: Dede, Isiolo, Jacket, Kenya, Photo
Kitchen Kids
Published November 1, 2009 Isiolo , Residents and Friends Leave a CommentTags: Chef, Children, Cooking, Food, Isiolo, Kenya, Kitchen
Miriam and Bushka cook the night away in Isiolo.
Somehow I ended up obligated to cook for 15 people by myself. …so there I was not quite sure how to go about this. Not that I didn’t know proportions or what to fix, but rather I didn’t know how to get this finished before 11pm.
The sun had set and a small kerosene lamp was dwindling away in the corner of the kitchen. Not so far off were the sounds of adults and children frantically organizing for a group of visitors arriving eminently. It was time to peel mountains of tomatoes, onions, carrots, prepare rice, shred some kale, boils potatoes, go out and find salt, and on and on. I got started.
About 20 mins into my plight came Miriam. She’s a an 8 year old from the orphanage waiting to be placed with a family in the Isiolo community. She hops down the kitchen step and stands over me.
“Bryce! Give me the knife!” she says in a high pitched voice.
Bushka, the same height and age as Miriam, hops down the step> She approaches, her skirt brushing the damp durt floor beneath her.
“Let me help!” Bushka says matching the tone of Miriam. Before I can respond, she starts rummaging for a knife in a tray of clean dishes.
These two are followed by 3 more small girls.
“Let me help!” one says.
“Give me the cabbage!” says another.
“We need stools!” says the last to enter.
I’m completely surrounded before I know it. Little kids are clattering dishes, digging up charcoal and criticizing each other all over the kitchen.
An argument erupts amongst three girls siting around a pot peeling and chopping tomatoes.
“Look. No! Bushka has cut them too small. Look!” one says. The girls look at a half inch piece of sliced tomato and shake their heads with pity.
“No! It is good. Stop!” Bushka retors cutting even faster. I watcher her destroy a tomoto with a knife literally 3 inches longer than her forearm.
By now, I’m giving orders to the sauciers. “We’re putting the ginger in with the chile. Then smashing them together.” I’m say.
“Together?” several ask.
“Yes, together.” I say with a glint in my eye. But it’s a delicate line between headchef and errand boy.
“We need more knives!” Miriam shouts over a boiling pot of eggplant. I rush off to the dinning area and bring more knives. They are immediately taken and put to use with tiny hands.
Eventually we run out of maize flour. “I need to go for flour,” I say. “But we need the kale cooked. Can you do it while I’m gone?”
“We can do it, Bryce!” Miriam shouts over her shoulder as she shoves wood into hungry fire, causing sparks to fly around her, “We can cook! We can make rice, tomatoes, meat, ugali, even chapatti! We can do it!”
Needless to say, we got everything finished on time and it tasted great. And I could have sworn I heard Whistle While You Work from Snow White being sung somewhere out in the night.
Bits, Pieces, and Soda
Published October 28, 2009 Isiolo , Residents and Friends , Uncategorized Leave a CommentTags: Airtime, Ambulance, Birthday, Isiolo, Kenya, Soda
David, his parents, and his bling.
I needed some airtime and wanted a soda. As I was walking out of the pepo compound I ran into Peter. He’s a 14 year old I’ve know since I first came here in 2007. For reasons not remembered, we decide that’s he’s stolen my potatoes and we race into town as if he’s a thief.
On the way we run into Hadija, a member of the microfinance group Mama Hope supports. She’s sitting out in front of her vegetable stand with her mother. We exchange greetings and chat until we’re interrupted by a drunk mama trying to sell me the necklaces her husband gave to her as a wedding present. Hadija’s mother then gets into a fight with the mama saying that she’s not the one who needs money. The drunk mama thwarted, Hadija’s mother turns to me and says she’s the one who needs a sponsor from the US.
“For what?” I ask.
“So I can go to school!” she laughs, then shoos me away. I gladly oblige and dart off.
I catch up with peter and we walk the rest of the way to town and part. I’m completely out of funds and have to stop by the bank before I can get my airtime. Which I do.
Money in hand, I head to a store. As I’m crossing the tarmac the pepo ambulance roars up and honks its horn. Inside are my friends Stella and Stella. I pile into the car without asking where we’re going and we take off.
Upon reaching our destination (Stella’s parents house), we’re greeted by her 8 year old brother, JB. He’s eating a lollypop and is dressed in his pajamas at 4:30pm. When I ask why, it’s explained that he doesn’t have any homework, so he decided to shower and hang out in his pajamas, then sleep early. Reasonable enough.
My birthday cake. I also had it for breakfast for the next four days.
Next I’m sitting with the two stella’s eating a birthday cake Stella’s mother made for me. Her name is Charity and she laments about not having enough margarine when baking. We drink tea and listen.
Seconds later, I find a graduation photo of David, Stella’s 25 year old brother. He’s with his parents and has a 1×1 foot paper made heart dangling from his chest. His father hand made it for him. They call it David’s bling.
Peace at Last by Jill Murphy I want to write children's books too.
I then find a book called Peace at Last about a bear trying to fall asleep. I show it to Stella and she says, “Peace at last? What has he been through!?”
Now 4 hours later, we are packed back in the ambulance bumping down the road listening to Celine Dion sing My Heart Will Go On. For which the other Stella, who seldom is able to speak a word of English, breaks into full song. This is followed by Bob Marley’s Three Birds.
We stop at a small shop for airtime. An incandescent light flickers at whizzing insects and I have to jostle to get to the front. As I’m waiting for the matron to get the minutes I spy a soda cooler. I just can’t help myself. I buy a coke and gluttonously down it in 10 seconds before hopping back in the ambulance and heading down an unforgivably bumpy road.
Five minutes later I have a massive stomach ache and wondering happily how I managed to end up riding in an ambulance at 9:30pm in Isiolo, Kenya.
A Safarcom scratch card. Preface the code by *141*, hit send and your set!
Stigma and Discrimination
Published October 28, 2009 Isiolo , Photos , Residents and Friends Leave a CommentTags: AIDS, Art, HIV, Isiolo, Kenya
Stigma and Discrimination by Khadija O Rama
HIV Positive Children by Khadija O Rama
These are two of my favorite art pieces by Wind of Hope founder Khadija O Rama. She painted them in the mid-nineties. I’m amazed they’re still around.
Albina and the ECD Collage
Published October 27, 2009 Isiolo , Photos , Residents and Friends Leave a CommentTags: Children, Collage, Isiolo, Kenya, teacher
A collage of my photos in the Pepo La Tumaini ECD
I got all warm and fuzzy when I saw this. I gave a handful of prints to Albina, the former Early Childhood Development teacher, last year. Anyone else would have just taken them home and put them in an album. When I mentioned it to her she simply said, “The kids love so much to see themselves. They’re always pointing and laughing.”
