it’s always darkest before the dawn

dusk; maasai mara

I had a lovely taxi driver last week who, after hearing about my ‘run in’ with the car, asked me about the best and worst parts of volunteering in his country. the best? seeing the smiles on children’s faces when you give them something as small as a lollipop or even rice for lunch. the worst? not the fact that I was hit by a car, but saying goodbye to all the incredible volunteers I’ve been fortunate enough to meet over the past three months in kenya.

saying goodbye is never easy, and even from my time in europe in june, I’ve had to say goodbye to more people than I’ve probably ever had to say goodbye to. maybe since I finished high school. I guess I should probably clarify that I don’t mean ‘on the death bed’ goodbye; I mean meeting people who you get on so well with and then are likely to not see again, or at least not for a long time. it’s kinda the bittersweet part of travelling, I’ve learnt that on my previous trips overseas. but I would argue that volunteering and meeting other like-minded people makes it even harder. because we’re all (well, mostly all) here to make a small difference, to brighten someone’s day, to make someone smile. at least, I am. and I’ve met countless others who are too.

if I listed all the people I’ve hugged, waved off or helped with their bags as they climb into the taxi, I’d be here all day… and I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say it would be in the hundreds. I’ve cried only once (bloody susie) , but have been teary on many more occasions. meeting people from all around the world, like I have for the past 4 months, means having so many more contacts for future travel experiences. it started at the end of my tour in turkey – when the rest of the group continued on to cappadocia while I went back to istanbul – and the latest is just this morning, when I waved off michael and alyce, two of the greatest aussies I’ve met, no topic is too gross or too over share-y with those two. and I’m so glad I’ll see them again in a couple of weeks when they briefly come back from uganda.

but I’m richer for having met everyone I’ve met. you learn something new, you learn to appreciate things more – like people you actually get along with. I certainly haven’t clicked with everyone, sometimes you meet people and wonder what the bloody hell they’re doing in a country like kenya – “oh my god, the toilet, it like, so doesn’t flush properly”, “the floor is so dirty, seriously, what’s with that?”, “we have to supply our own toilet paper? what the hell?!”, “oh my god, the electricity is off again? how do I charge my phone now?”… I’m not kidding, people have said these things. a) you’re lucky there even is a flushing toilet, b) you’re lucky it’s not a dirt floor and c) you’re lucky to even have electricity in the first place! fark me, some people.

I still hate goodbyes. I’m dreading saying goodbye to the kids at ‘little ray of hope’ and I’m dreading saying goodbye to my host sisters (who now snuggle with me on the couch of an evening). only one month left in kenya before tanzania – time flies when you’re working hard and having fun.

and we’ll keep on fighting to the end

this past weekend has been one of fear, disbelief, horror and shock. by no means are attacks on innocent people a new thing, you could probably even go to the extent of saying that we’re not as shocked by them anymore – at least not like the world was with 9/11. I admit I’ve even felt less shocked by them as the years have gone on, they’ve become such a regular occurrence. another suicide bombing in the middle east, another IED explosion, another terrorist threat, another mass shooting in the US… often with another group of faces whose lives have been tragically cut short on the front of a newspaper, only to be thrown in the recycle bin or used as a fire starter later on.

for me, this weekend changed all of that. it’s the first time I think I’ve actually felt real fear. I’m sure you’ve seen the news (and I’ve spoken to my family more than enough times to know that it has been in the australian news, more than once). I’m currently living in the city where the attack on the westgate mall happened, it’s not too far from where I live. where a group of extremists from a neighbouring country followed through on one of the many threats they’ve shown to kenya over the past few years. the al-shabaab group, an extremist group who are believed to be a branch of al-quaeda, have claimed responsibility for the attack, explaining their actions are justified due to the kenyan defence force invading somalia at the end of 2011. I don’t know the whole story but I was reading the organisations live tweets on saturday night (published under the name ‘HSM press office’) justifying why they’re doing what they’re doing. it was horrible. that there are humans on this earth capable of such acts, for ‘retribution’. they have claimed that they’re doing this for allah, that they will be given eternal paradise for their work. why is it that the rest of the world’s muslim community seem to live in peace and in harmony? that we don’t see every single muslim out there strapping bombs to their chest or carrying ak-47s into shopping centres and gunning down men, women and worst of all, children? this isn’t justifiable by your god, my god or anyone’s god. the brainwashing in this organisation is clearly evident, don’t try and twist religion to make your beliefs sound credible.

it’s now the fourth day since the shopping centre was first placed under siege, and it still feels a bit surreal. as though, it’s not really happening, that it’s not really just down the road – even though I know of people whose friends or family members have been shot. it doesn’t really get much ‘more real’ than that. yesterday we woke up and from 7:30am saw that it was still going on, we hardly left the tv room all day. whether it was disbelief or fear, or maybe both, but I certainly didn’t feel like leaving the compound I live in – knowing full well that westerners are the ones being targeted. I’ve always been a firm believer that you can’t live your life in fear – I mean, you can walk out of your house and be hit by a bus. but I still feel like something a lot bigger is going to happen, why else has this been dragged out over four days? maybe I’m being over-dramatic, but when something like this happens just ‘up the road’, you probably would too.

this event has been called “kenya’s 9/11”, and it’s no surprise why. a terrorist group attempting to make a name for themselves and using the lives of innocent people in the process to do so. last night infact, we were watching the al jazeera network where the newsreader was interviewing the commander of the al-shabaab group. he, in not so many words, admitted that they were encouraged, even mentored, by al-qaeda to do this. al-qaeda, really? no wonder I don’t feel safe.

these pricks deserve to rot.

kenya, like australia, is incredibly resilient. I’ve already seen that in the three months I’ve been here. the people here are strong, they fight for what they believe in and most of all, they’re generally pretty peaceful people. my hope is that this isn’t the first of many attacks, that this is it. those responsible are brought to justice, and that kenya is left alone. I am a wishful thinker, I like to be positive; so I hope this is all that there is. I still have a month left here, and I’m not leaving yet.

praying that kenya remains strong, that those lost in this awful tragedy may be at peace, that those who lost loved ones may find comfort that justice will be found, that we can all go back to feeling safe.

I had a dream the other night, about how we only get one life

since I’ve been travelling, I use the notes section on my phone to write down things that I don’t want to forget when I’m at work during the day or just walking around nairobi. only 10 days ago, I wrote this little gem:

ever since I was a kid, I’ve been scared of motorbikes. it all stems from riding on the back of one (i think with my dad) at my grandparents farm and resting my leg against the exhaust pipe for just long enough to burn it. it’s a foggy memory but its embedded in my subconscious. so it’s not surprising it took a good 5 weeks of being in kenya for me to actually get on the back of one. transportation here is ridiculous; you either walk, get a matatu (overcrowded van) or jump on a piki piki (motorbike) and ask the driver to take you to a certain place. finally worked up the courage to jump on a piki piki (thanks to a little push from my friends) and haven’t looked back. yes it’s slightly more expensive – a 5 minute trip in a matatu costs either 10/20 bob while the same distance on a piki piki is either 50/100 bob. I’ve already had my wallet stolen out of my bag on a matatu so it’s become my new preferred way of travel. shame about the lack of helmets though, and leather. if I was at home, I’d be criticising the lack of leathers too… #donorcycles

two days later, I was hit by a car, knocked off the piki piki and skidded across the road into the safety of a ditch, thankfully not into the path of oncoming traffic. it’s kind of ridiculous, in fact a lot ridiculous, it was one of those moments when you see something is about to happen and everything slows down and you feel helpless knowing you can’t do anything to change the events about to occur. my life didn’t flash before my eyes but the world definitely slowed down, a whole lot.

that morning I’d been at ray of hope, teaching the kids a song on my ukulele. here’s some pictures that were taken by the kids that day (there’s some gross pictures coming up so their cuteness will distract you)

surprisingly, my piki piki driver wasn’t in the wrong at all, which is rare because usually they are – crazy drivers zipping through cars and buses and trucks. the car was supposed to stop and give way as we were on the main road, however he kept driving, not slowing down at all and ploughed straight into my right leg – throwing us off the bike and tumbling across the road before landing in the dirt. I was in a state of shock – seriously? did that really just happen? I didn’t hit my head at all as my arms broke my fall, (thankfully my cranium remains intact, even without the use of a helmet). instantly I felt the burn of the grazes and cuts on my arms and leg, as well as this intense throbbing in my knee. I was wearing fishermans pants (you know, the ‘one size fits all just tie it tight’ pants) and gingerly rolled them up to see this huge lump sitting on top of my knee. now, I’m not a doctor but I can only guess that was my patella sitting grossly out of place. not surprised considering a car just drove straight into my leg! acutely aware of the huge crowd growing, as well as me sitting in milky mud (literally, I just bought some milk and it exploded everywhere), I stood up, almost screamed in pain – I realised later that I probably just realigned my own kneecap, no penthrane/green whistle required. I am a tough bitch after all!

I somehow landed at least two metres away from my driver, and I copped the brunt of the ‘being hit off a motorbike’ injury checklist. he, on the other hand, merely had a cut on his palm. but isn’t that always the way. the driver of the car got out, was mostly concerned about the damage to his car and offered to drive me home. the crowd was growing pretty quick – I’d say its because a white girl was hit, and they were probably waiting for me to threaten to sue. old women kept saying ‘pole, pole sana’ meaning ‘sorry, so sorry’ and trying to brush off the dust, dirt and mud I had accumulated on my clothing. I managed to take a look at my arm and see why it was hurting so much, and it was covered in mud and bloody dirt. I knew I probably should go to hospital to get properly cleaned up (because I certainly don’t have any first aid things at home, the idiot that I am) but since I was standing (albeit in a lot of pain) nothing could be broken, and in all honestly, I couldn’t help but think about the potential for infection with all this gross kenyan dirt in my open wounds. I guess that’s what they call tunnel vision.

the driver of the car was relatively unapologetic, probably didn’t want to admit he was at fault. he kindly offered to drive me home, which at the time I thought was nice, now I’m sure he just wanted to get out of the area incase the police were called. his car still worked, even though the front section was hanging off, his number plate was broken and there was a large dint in the bonnet – probably thanks to my femur – which I’ve deducted must be made of steel. I walked into my house, and jane (the housekeeper) saw me and said I had to call NVS (who I work for) straight away and go to hospital. I really just wanted a shower, to get rid of this dirt and grot that was festering in my wounds (what a lovely visual). she was pretty firm (thank god) and told me no, so I called, and someone was sent to take me to the local hospital within about 10 minutes. this whole african/kenyan time thing definitely doesn’t exist when you’re injured!

selfie at the hospital, to let the parents know I was okay

nairobi women’s hospital was lovely, really nice. I guess expectations are a funny thing, I thought if I ever had to go to hospital here, it would be a mud hut and instead of antibiotics I’d get some sort of herbal treatment (which would arguably work better than a course of antibiotics anyway). this place was really nice, clean and the staff were super friendly – except for when they were cleaning my wounds with betadine, I cried like a neglected baby. I had my knee x-rayed which (thankfully) showed no structural damage to any bones, but a lot of soft issue and ligament damage; dislocation was likely.

the phone call to home was pretty funny. well, for me at least, it was funny because it was predictable. I would never call home if it was after midnight, unless something was actually wrong. it went a little something like this:

mum: hello?
me: hi mum!
mum: what’s wrong?
me: okay so everything’s fine, I’m okay, it’s all good, I was just slightly hit by a car and now in hospital, but I’m okay.
mum: oh my god, oh shit. how?
me: I was on a motorbi..
mum: oh my god.

or at least something like that.

the past week I’ve been mostly responsible in making sure I’m not doing too much on it, except for going out drinking most nights following to our local, volcano bar and restaurant, for some much needed “pain relief” in the form of tusker beers. or to carnivore restaurant to eat weird meats to celebrate jasper’s birthday. or for a sunday sesh at volcano to numb the pain. alcohol can be a wonderful thing. the wound on my knee is almost healed, my arm will take a lot longer as its a lot deeper and according to the nurse at the hospital, “normally we would stitch that because its so deep, but you haven’t got any skin left”. I would hate to think about the potential state of my arm if I hadn’t have been wearing my denim jacket, which by some miracle has not even one hole or rip or tear. amazing.

so this week has been a bit shit, really. I was supposed to go out to kajiado, the village in maasai, to work in a clinic there for two weeks, but the fact that you need to walk at least 30 minutes there and back from your homestay every day sort of made it a bit impossible. I’ve had fantastic support from my new friends here in nairobi (including using their first aid kits… yes, yes I will buy one eventually) as well as a visit from James, staff member at NVS, who also informed IVHQ and I got an email from them, checking that everything is okay. and I really miss my beautiful angels at ray of hope, I’ve only managed to go once since the accident because its a pretty decent walk away from home. evelyn (the main teacher) has messaged me everyday checking on how I am and even emailing mum and dad to let them know she will check on me! bless her.

everything is okay, I mean my knee is really bloody sore (even more so this morning when I slipped in the bathroom) and my arm still really hurts; I guess growing new skin is a painful experience, doesn’t help that my pain threshold is zero. bad things happen in threes right? well I’ve now had my wallet stolen, been hit by a car and fell off a motorbike. if that’s the case, I’m set, the world is my oyster and nothing else bad will happen. so lucky, it could have been so much worse, especially due to a lack of helmet. I’m not getting on a motorbike again, at least not in nairobi. and not in this lifetime. and not without a helmet, or leather jacket, or leather pants. it’s far too dangerous and the severe lack of road rules here bloody sucks. but I will have some gnarly scars, especially the one on my arm. like my auntie kate suggested, it will be my inspiration for a tattoo when I’m home – I agree with her, made in africa just above it will look fantastic.

love from the ‘lucky’ cripple in kenya. X

I’m the one who waltzed matilda, I am australian

thoughts, part III.

what is it about australians – when you meet them overseas – that you are somewhat drawn to them? I can’t figure out what it is; is it the accent, the familiarity of a fellow aussie, their friendly nature or the warm smile that emerges when they talk that only australians tend to have?

on this trip, I’ve not travelled with anyone, nor caught up with anyone from home since I’ve been overseas – funny that, no one seems to ‘pop in’ to africa. oh wait, I met an awesome aussie, hollie, on my turkey trip who I then met up with in germany, but not an organised ‘oh I see you every weekend back home but we’re in the same country, lets meet up’ way. and that’s okay, it’s makes it more my trip, doing things by myself. it forced me to meet a huge bunch of interesting people in europe at bars or restaurants or tourist spots; not just drunk twenty-something’s in hostels. you get the amazing opportunity to be utterly yourself, not the person you might be around ‘this’ person or ‘that’ person.

whenever I go overseas, starting with my trip to italy with alex in 2009, there’s always bring one thing I bring with me – a book called “why you are australian” by nikki gemmell. she married her australian husband, moved to london and then had three children there, takes them to australia for 3 months & puts them into local public primary schools, then has to try to convince her husband that for the sake of their children, they should return ‘home’ to raise their kids; because nothing compares to an australian childhood. the general gist of the book is her writing a whole bunch of letters who her children explaining her choice of giving them an australian citizenship over an english one. I’ve included some of my favourite parts of the book:

overseas, if you’re rich you can buy opportunity. in australia, you can earn it. I love the idea of a country that says you can be whatever you want to be, no matter what your background, as long as you have the ability and work hard enough.

the first time I finished reading it, I was sitting on a train somewhere between venice and verona, and remember tearing up because of how much I love my country; I could understand the dilemma of loving where you come from but having the desperate urge to travel and stay away as long as possible; and I was only 18. I won’t spoil the plot but it is my favourite book. I’ve underlined my favourite parts, it’s filthy, pages have been turned over and permanently creased, the paper cover is torn and the hardback is covered in scratches and pen marks.

the smell of eucalyptus as the day softens into darkness. a tall night sky. stars! buttery, meltingly fresh fish. fruit, in its correct season, that tastes fabulously of the last, that tastes as it should. the scent of frangipanis and gardenias. the sound of a lawnmower on a lazy saturday afternoon, rain on the tin roof, the smell of water on hot concrete, wearing the marks of the sun long on my skin, sunscreen at the beach, the spit of salt in the air, the heady scents of summer, a cool breeze through the gum leaves, the deafening sound of cicadas.

I guess me taking the book with me every time I’m overseas gives me subtle reminders that no matter how much I love the country I’m currently visiting, it’s not my home. not that I’ve really fallen for a place other than australia. I suppose I could definitely see myself living in london for a little while – the city is incredible and has such deep history, incredible coffee and bars, wonderful restaurants and just generally a great scene. it’s so like melbourne, and maybe that’s why I’ve identified with it. but until the weather improves (ie. becomes like australia) I couldn’t live there for a long period of time. the cold would snap my bones, I couldn’t survive the blisteringly cold winters or the ‘spring’ days where the sun never breaks through the overcast cloud. I love london, just like I’ve loved bath and paris and antalya and berlin and vienna, but not enough.

give me the fierce and unforgiving heat of australia any day.

where playing barefoot is a signifier of freedom not impoverishment. where a backyard’s a given and not a luxury. where sunshine and fresh food grow children tall… where you learn that beautiful australian crawl… where you learn confidence and optimism and enthusiasm and reach.

being in kenya I’ve seen so many children who I wish I could give them the gift of my own childhood. where I played outside barefoot, not because I couldn’t afford shoes but because who needs them when you’re running around in the grass – only needing to be careful of dog poo and bees. not like here where kids are barefoot because their parents can’t afford to supply dinner that night, let alone a pair of shoes. kids walk over glass, sharp rocks, ‘flying toilets’, goat/sheep shit; literally everything. and yes I did similar things when I’d play with my cousins at my grandparents farm, but the difference was I wore gumboots or proper closed in shoes (mainly to avoid the stinging nettles and snakes hiding in long grass).

infact kids in australia today could benefit from the gift of my childhood. get rid of the computer games and the tv shows, get them outside in the fresh air. almost every afternoon as a child for me was spent outside playing with my sister and my dogs, where mum had to drag me inside to shower before dinner, where you’d collapse into bed exhausted at how much you crammed into that day. kids in australia could learn a thing or two from kids in kenya. get outside, off the play station, let the sun hit your skin and make your bones strong. if kids here are happy playing with wires for skipping ropes, at least kids at home with proper skipping ropes have got more than these kids have.

because it is not my land and never will be. because I’m not living in the place I’m meant to be living in. living overseas has taught me that whitefellas can have just as fierce an attachment to the australian soil as aboriginal people.

I was extremely lucky meeting susie, a fiercely independent and hilarious 22 year old australian from brisvegas. she graced me with her presence for 3 brilliant weeks during august when she was teaching music at our host mums school. it’s not every day you basically meet your other twin (meagan you’re still the first and you would love susie), especially in a country like kenya. finally, I could speak ‘australian’ and there was someone there to understand what I mean when I said bogan (constantly trying to explain to canadians & americans what a bogan is and the only parallel I could draw was ‘redneck’ and that still doesn’t quite bring kath and kim, short shorts or jeggings, ugg boots and flannies together), someone who understands that being open about bowel movements is not unusual, someone who didn’t look at me funny when I said certain words.

the originality and vigour of the australian language. esky, servo, ambo, tradie. battler – and at the other end of the spectrum, bludger. trackies, arvo, barras and blowies. a southerly buster, yakka and woop woop and nipper.

a total breath of fresh air. and that’s the thing, you meet so many people on your travels who teach you so much, who surprise you all the time, but meeting someone exactly like you with the same level of crass humour and sarcasm and not having to watch what you say is incredibly calming – soothing almost – like a hug from ya mum.

I’ve decided that I’m a hugely patriotic australian. actually I haven’t really decided it, I just realised it more than ever before. I didn’t feel like my room here in nairobi was my own until I sticky-taped the australian flag mum sent me on my wall next to my bed (not that there’s a flag stuck in my room) but its the little things. I love meeting other people who are proud of where they come from. I’m pretty sure I’ve already written this, but I love being in kenya because everyone is so proud of their country. sadly being proud doesn’t directly translate to taking care of the country – people still throw rubbish everywhere – but hey, a perfect world has never and is likely to never exist.

I can’t wait to come back to kenya, especially now that I’m planning to start a project ensuring children get sponsors to go to school each and every year (but more on that in the coming days). but I could never live here. stay here for a long time to see this project get started, yes, but not forever. infact I could travel forever, but I know australia will always be my home. why would you want to live anywhere else when we’ve truly got it all?

I realise now I definitely could have taken a gap year straight after high school and not waited until I had got some sort of qualification (even though then I was only going to take 2 years to finish my commercial cookery certificates, not spend 4 years learning how to save lives and take care of people when they’re sick). I didn’t then because I was certain I would fall in love with somewhere overseas, never return, never go to uni. I don’t regret a thing, not even a little bit, I’m so proud of have finished and completed what I did in those four years.
but isn’t that always the way… if only you knew then what you know now.

I’m a photophiliac, a lover of the light. lock me in the sunshine.

life is too far to walk alone, you can’t do it on your own

then and now

the longer I’m in kenya, the more I’m missing my sister. she truly is my little best friend, even though she can be a total wiener at times, sometimes she doesn’t know when to shut up… and sometimes we have stupid arguments and get really annoyed at each other – but it never lasts longer than 20 minutes. this is the longest we’ve ever been apart, surpassing every school camp (including the 8 week long marshmead) and any overseas trip we’ve both taken (and her 8 week stint in austria), except for the time when I was born and had to entertain myself for two and a half years until she showed up. as each day passes, the urge of wishing she was here with me gets stronger and we could be the cool volunteer sisters (obviously the adjective can be changed to stupid or idiotic or hilarious, etc.)

but I was thinking the other day, as I was doing HIV testing back out in the slums again, how she would probably die here. I don’t mean literally ‘cark it dead’ die, but just freak out and not cope die. my reasons are as stated:

1. kenyans do not walk with purpose
I remember a few years ago me and rowdy were in the car with mum in the city and some average joe was just casually crossing the road and rowdy started to lose her shit over the fact that he wasn’t walking with purpose. no she hasn’t been diagnosed with OCD (god only knows why). when I go out testing, vincent (my mentor) is constantly telling me to slow down, that I’m always going too fast… and I’m not even a fast walker.

2. kenya is a smelly country
it stinks here. constantly. and my poor sister doesn’t ‘do’ things that smell. my entire life, we’ve always had dogs, and somehow the princess has always avoided doing dog poo patrol because she hates it that much. well, it’s not just animal shit that you get the pleasure of smelling here in kenya, you get to smell human sewerage as well. oh and the fact that people are constantly burning their rubbish, so you might get a whiff of plastic a good 3-4 times a day. love a good bit of toxic fumes in my lungs.

3. kenya is a filthy country
there is clearly no such thing as the environmental protection agency here in kenya. rubbish is just thrown out car/bus windows, as people are walking, and rowdy doesn’t really do mess very well. except in her bedroom. whereas I’m the compete opposite, a total grot but when it comes to my room, you could eat off my carpet it’s that clean (although I wouldn’t recommend doing that because mum would slit ya throat, not even kidding)

4. kenya is full of smog and dust
okay so I lied, I think she would actually ‘cark it die’ here. at least you would in nairobi. smog, dust and asthma are three things that can never be friends. on my walk to work every day, either at the clinic or the school, I’m constantly swallowing billows of black smoke, either from the exhaust of buses or matatus, or the constantly burning little fires on the side of the road. take this as a work of caution, asthmatics, don’t come to nairobi. come to kenya, but not nairobi. similar to one of my favourite mean girls quotes “you will get the black lung, and you will die”.

the little weiney made me sad this weekend when she told me about going to her friends 21st and how the sister made a speech, then she came home and cried cause she missed me so much. this isn’t meant to embarrass you rowds, it’s just made me realise just how lucky I am to have an awesome “mini-me” in my life; being told that you’re missed is nice, it’s nice to know you’re worth having around. I’ll be home before you know it, see ya on the sixth of jan! (oh yeah, I booked my flight home everyone, back on australian soil in january!).

anyway, in true me form, I’ll end this before I turn into a blubbering mess, love you little weiney, x

and we’re standing side by side

after everyone’s amazing campaigning efforts – in just 4 days – another $1200 has been donated, so the grand total for this medical camp is sitting at just over $3900!

holy shit, this is going to be huge. I can’t tell you all how amazing this is, only pictures and my stories after the camp will be able to express it. I’m so blessed to have such a huge support network back home, thank you to all those who shared it and those who donated. to the people I’ve never met but have donated because of my friends sharing the post, thank you for being so trusting with your money. a huge thank you to those people who donated for a second time, and thank you to those who donated for the first time. it’s never too late!

your messages of support have made me feel like the luckiest person in the world.

grateful, thankful, inspired and excited for the hard work to come in these last two months before moving to tanzania. ♥

she acts like summer and walks like rain

“walking down the street as a guy in a third world country is just how I imagine women feel walking down the street in a first world country… but that said, I don’t know if that will change the way I behave when I get home”

– jasper, a gorgeous and incredibly honest 17 year old guy from the US at the beginning of his gap year

when everything was as fresh as a bright blue sky

being a teacher anywhere in the world is hard, but I would argue that it’s hard bloody work in kenya. I don’t know how teachers do it here – especially with such limited resources. I’m teaching at ray of hope tomorrow and doing some preparation tonight. tomorrow I’m teaching the junior class; 48 children aged between two and a half and six. three separate classes in one. that means 3 separate work sheets, one for the pre-unit class (5 to 6 yrs), one for the nursery class (3.5 to 4 yrs) and one for the baby class (2.5 to 3 yrs). all handwritten. it’s 11pm and I’ve only done the pre-unit and nursery class worksheets. maybe the babies – which they are – can do drawing tomorrow. I don’t think my wrist (or brain) can do much more!

like I said, I don’t know how the teachers do it here. I also know how hard it is to teach a two and a half year old kenyan girl english when the poor thing can hardly even speak swahili yet. but it’s not impossible. I’d do anything for these kids..

my little rays of hope.

if you had one shot, one opportunity

september is already amazing; part I.

this week has only just started and yet it has already hit the mark of fan-bloody-tastic. I hit AU$4000 in donations, which is – quite literally – out of this world. even people I’ve never met have donated. so a huge thank you to my family and friends who have spread the word of what I’m doing. really, all of you are my backbone here in kenya.. I wouldn’t be able to help the people I’m helping without the selflessness of you all. so here is my thank you #1.

there’s a quote by mother theresa which says something like, ” if you can’t feed the world, then just feed one person”… I’ve slightly adapted it to, “if you can’t help the entire world, then focus on one small part and do as much as you can”. that’s how I feel about the ray of hope school. my amazing uncle ron is back home making skipping ropes to send over for them because I said they use old wires instead. this is everyone’s project, everyone who has donated, not just mine!

so as I’ve let you all know, I’ve already used a fair bit of the donation funds here in kenya – particularly on stationary, books and necessities for my little angels at ray of hope, as well as at other medical camps and donations to slums I’ve visited. however I didn’t realise that gofundme (the website I use to fundraise) and paypal both take a percentage of these funds. but that’s life, nothing comes without a small fee! anyway, long story short, I still have approximately $2700 – an incredible amount of money – for this medical camp; which brings me to the second part of this post.

september is already amazing, part II.

I met a pretty awesome norwegian girl called anna, who volunteered here in kenya last year, and loved the country so much that she’s now moved here for university. I was telling her about my goal of running my own medical camp, and she said she was really happy to assist with funding the camp with some of the money she raised for separate volunteer projects… approximately $850. I was speechless. and then finally, when I found my voice, extremely thankful! how on earth did I get so lucky with such generous people in my life? cue part three…

september is already amazing, part III.

yesterday I met with marcus, the co-founder of KCC slum project, to discuss my medical camp. he was at the last camp I did in naivasha, and knows a thing or two about the organisational side of things. anna came with me, so she can know where her donation money is going too.

he was blown away with the amount of money I managed to raise and was excited at the concept of how far it will go. usually volunteers organise one day medical camps, but he is certain that these funds can make an entire weekend-long medical camp, on october 26-27. that’s huge! the potential number of people we could see in two days is phenomenal, hundreds and hundreds, at least.

I let him know that I would love it run just like the one in naivasha as it was so so organised, but would love it to be for everyone, not just women. still have triage and doctors (maybe even specialists) and a pharmacy and voluntary HIV testing, also cervical cancer & breast cancer screening stations… but I would love to include dental in it as well. he loved the idea, as he had been brainstorming places to have the camp, and came up with a school on the outskirts of naivasha with a huge number of pupils, which would ensure we had a huge turnout. and I loved the idea of ensuring kids had dental checkups, as well as adults. some of the kenyans teeth here are shocking, I’ve seen in the past two months, which is what inspired me to have a dentist at this camp. I also thought of having little take home packs for kids after having a dental checkup, you know like a toothbrush and toothpaste (maybe a sticker or two), like we used to get when we’d go to the dentist as kids.

so marcus is going to get in contact with the local hospital, the school and then give me a run down of a potential budget for the camp. and then everything will start from there; getting staff, organising volunteers to help out, getting medications, getting equipment ready, making flyers & posters to spread the word throughout the entire area of naivasha and the surrounding villages and towns. it’s going to be a huge job, but it will be so worth it.

september AND october are going to be amazing

I don’t know if there’s a way to describe how inspired and excited I’m feeling right now. words are failing me! this was my goal, my dream. running a medical camp for the people who can’t easily access or afford healthcare. it’s my passion, what drives me every day here in kenya.

marcus said to me today “I remember you saying you wanted to fund a medical camp on your very first day in kenya”. this was my goal, and it is actually happening. my ‘one shot, one opportunity’ (cheers eminem). but it’s not just my medical camp, it’s ours. anyone who has donated, this is your medical camp that you’re helping run so that hundreds of hundreds of people can have medical attention, for free, close to their homes.

so now is the time to share my story, if you haven’t already. share what I’m doing with your work colleagues, your parents, your extended family, your children, your aunties brothers sister-in-law’s step-daughter, your boss, your favourite barista, your tram driver, your great-grandma with a huge estate and is unsure of how to spend it, your school, your basketball team or your church… this is it. if I raise any more funds between now and october 26-27, my idea of sending kids away with a toothbrush & toothpaste could come to life. I’d love to have vitamins for children as well (a new idea I just thought of), we’ve not had them at any other camp – and so many kids are malnourished, vitamins could do the world of good. and I am very open to suggestions, the brainstorming starts now!

if you’ve donated and want to again, or haven’t yet because you’ve waited until the right time, this is it. this is where all of the donation money is going (except for the little bit I’m saving for the clinic in Tanzania). this is your chance to directly help hundreds of kenyans, adults and beautiful children, reach healthcare. click on this link:

taking healthcare to kenya

asante sana, from the absolute bottom of my heart. ♥

I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when

so I was really hoping to change to a clinic out bush (aka maasai land) this week so I called the guy who is in charge of changing your place of work. didn’t hear back from him all week, yes I suppose I could’ve called him however I was still very much under the impression that things happen on ‘africa time’ so I wasn’t too worried.

anyway he just popped by pastor regina’s place and I asked him if I could change and he said he was waiting to find another volunteer so I wouldn’t go alone.

really? I mean, bless, that’s really cute but I am big enough and ugly enough to manage a few weeks in the middle of nowhere – alone – work like mad and try something different.

so I told him I can do it alone, he tells me that I can move on the 15th. saweeeeet, here’s to no electricity, no running water and probably a whole lot of ugali (my most hated kenyan food).