time is like the ocean, you can only hold a little in your hands

thoughts, part IV.

(if you’re new to these “thoughts” posts, it’s basically little things I’ve written down that intrigue me and I feel the need to share with you lot)

on one of my last weekends in kenya, my host family had a huge party at home. about 50 people came over for a late lunch where they’d eat the two goats that were freshly slaughtered that morning. preparations started the night before when makena, her aunt and her grandmother sat in the kitchen peeling potatoes. then the next morning when I woke up, there was an army of kenyan women in the kitchen; rolling dough for chapati, slicing (what looked like) a million bunches of kale to be eaten, cutting vegetables, preparing what would be lunch for about 50 people that day. I felt a bit homesick actually, because I love it when my big dysfunctional family gets together. and it felt like that, except there was no alcohol at this party… something that’s never missing from my family shindigs.

seeing evelyn, the principal at little ray of hope give the rest of her lunch to one of the smaller kids one day brought tears to my eyes. I have never met a more selfless person.

it gets me down when you see people purely ‘existing’ here. I mean that in the sense that some kids just don’t have the same opportunities to grow up and be who or what they want to be; that they have to sell fruits and vegetables by the side of the road so they can merely survive. not many of them get to dream as big as we do.

I find it hilarious that kenyans drink guinness, and a lot of it, regardless of how old or pregnant they are, because it would “keep their skin nice and evenly black”. because nobody wants uneven skin colouring.

arriving in africa, I was told to dress somewhat conservatively so as not to offend anyone. I complied for much of my stay, understanding that you have to cover up in certain areas in africa to be respectful – however everyone can go get fecked if they think I’m going to wear neck to toe coverage when it’s this bloody hot. okay, I get that wearing a crop top and short-shorts would be offensive to the many muslims here in tanzania (and I wouldn’t do it anyway), but if my “pasty white” shoulders offend you, which by the way they are no longer pasty and white, avert your eyes. it’s too goddamn hot to be polite anymore. rant over.

a very wise person once told me “you can’t grieve over everything you see here, otherwise you’d never stop grieving” (that was norwegian anna by the way). it’s so true. seeing men carrying “bunches” of chickens strung together by their feet on the dalla-dallas shocked me, initially. same with seeing men dragging goats across a road by a rope tied around their neck. or seeing baby chickens tightly crammed into cardboard boxes on the side of the road waiting to be sold. I hate animal cruelty but here, this is life. this is how people survive. I think I’ve come to terms with it a bit easier than some other people I’ve met and maybe it’s because of the “farm girl” attitude I’ve been raised with through my grandparents and my parents. I hate that people can’t handle the fact that a “cute baby animal” had to die for that delicious juicy steak or an amazing pork chop they’re eating for dinner. where did you think it came from? of course the cute things are the most delicious. (just writing about steaks is making my mouth water, I would do anything for a big bit of meat right now… I don’t know how vegetarians do this shit). you have to eat to survive. here, nothing goes to waste and nothing is more obvious for some than the will to survive.

I hate that regardless of how well practised you are – and I’ve had four and a bit months worth of practice – when using a squat toilet, if you’re a girl, you will piss on your feet. it’s inevitable. and it sucks.

the fact that it takes me almost an hour to get to work at my clinic here in tanzania. dat shit cray. in kenya, our workplaces were always within walking distance. and how I get to the clinic is as follows: get on a yellow coloured dalla dalla (matatu), ride for 20-25 mins into town, get off yellow dalla, walk 15 mins to get to red coloured dalla, ride for 20 mins, get off red dalla and walk 5 mins. but I’m not alone, this is done with about 15 other people crammed into the back of the van, most of whom are women who have done their market shopping for the day so are carrying bags of vegetables and/or dried fish and/or dead animals. delicious.

this week I got on a by motorbike for the first time since my accident. no there was no helmet, no I wasn’t wearing any protective clothing (I was only in a dress), yes I’m an idiot… I already know that, but I was lost and the dalla I got on to go home went the wrong direction and it was almost dark and I needed to get home ASAP. needless to say it won’t be happening again, I was shaking like a fool the entire ride and for about 20 mins afterwards, as well as being so sweaty, I hated the entire ride. never again. but I did it. I conquered a fear… sort of.

speaking of dalla dallas, I can safely say that before I got to tanzania, I had never before been asked to purchase a bra from a woman sitting behind me to “help support her family”. lingerie sales in the back of a public van. sorry love, but I like to try before I buy.

careless and young, free as the birds that fly

you know you’re in africa when you’ve developed a decent tan, you get in the shower and your ‘tan’ washes down the drain.

and I couldn’t be more in my element.

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.

leaning now into the breeze

thoughts, part II.

that there have been 12 confirmed cases of polio this month in kenya alone, and one confirmed death of a child who succumbed to polio. what? how can we live so comfortably in our country because a disease has been eradicated, yet not even all the way over on the other side of the world, children have died from it. now. in 2013. this is what upsets me, seeing the absolute injustice of healthcare across the world.

I will never get sick of driving down a highway and casually passing a herd of zebras. it’s magical.

the longer I’m in kenya, the more I’m convinced its just melbourne but further away. the weather here is ridiculous. I’m changing outfits more than twice a day because its freezing of a morning, the sun comes out and I start sweating balls, then the afternoon may bring a thunderstorm and then we get tropical. hardly feels like I’ve left home at all.

I went to church last sunday (which was incredible in its own right and will probably get its own post) but the term “sunday best” is very true here. people might wear their rags during the week, but they have the most incredible and colourful outfits they wear to church. it’s pretty awesome. I still believe that god doesn’t care what you wear, but it’s a matter of pride here, which I love. kenyans are full of pride and aren’t afraid to express it. maybe that’s why I love it here, because I’m so proud to be australian and I love people who are proud of where they come from & don’t try to hide it.

I’ve had more marriage proposals in kenya than I can count. I was counting in my first month but stopped when I could no longer keep track. having men hit on me in australia is a rare event, in fact I wouldn’t even be able to recognise if they were, it happens that infrequently. but here, it’s at least a daily occurance. I was walking home the other day and had a man call out “hey sister, you are very sexy” and I actually laughed out loud. kenyan men put themselves out there, which I have to give them credit for. I do have a bad habit of laughing always at the wrong times, and now that can be extended to when I’m being hit on.

communication is so important in a country like kenya. even in the slums, you’ll find the poorest of people with a mobile phone. I was shocked, initially, thinking that how could they justify having a mobile phone when they can hardly afford any other basic daily requirements. I’ve slowly observed and learnt that family is a big deal in kenya. and I love that. that being able to communicate with your family is so much more important than maybe eating that third meal that day. without your family, what do you have?

I have never once in my life used earplugs, at least not that I can remember. but here, they are a godsend. they stop me waking from the constant howling of dogs throughout the night, from the screaming preachers who start their spiels at 5am, from the roosters crowing and the matatu horns blasting.

my host sisters singing this song to me “mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb. mary had a little lamb, it was as white as victoria”.

during high school, I dreamt of the day I could fluently speak french. or any language fluently other than english. well I came close, but never quite made it. but the urge to be able to speak swahili is so much stronger. the inability to properly communicate with everyone in a country you visit is infuriating. while most people here speak fantastic english, the further out from nairobi you get, the less and less they speak.

my new friend, sierra from the US, said something on our way to the naivasha medical camp that really struck me. “people at home have everything and yet they fight over nothing”.

hold me fast, I’m a hopeless wanderer

my theme song at the moment

received another beautiful email from ‘a note from the universe’

“it’s perfectly normal, victoria, that when waiting for a really big dream to come true it seems like it’s taking forever, you wonder if you’re doing something wrong, and you feel like you should just be happy with less.

but I promise you, no matter how long it takes, once it happens it’ll seem as if time flew, you’ll wonder how you ever doubted yourself, and you’ll feel like you should have aimed a little higher.”

feeling so unwell and lacking in energy at the minute (felt better on the weekend and now I’m back to square one). trying to make every day memorable and worthwhile when you feel like shit is hard, until I remember how long I’ve been wanting to be here and do what I’m doing. and seeing other people who are a lot sicker/worse off than me makes one feel a lot less sorry for oneself.

so… onwards and upwards! back to the doctor tomorrow before work. #powerofpositivethinking

with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair

six weeks in africa and I’m certain I have seen the absolute worst of it. living between and/or under sheets of corrugated iron, having a floor of dirt, kids wearing what used to be shoes but have no soles left so are practically barefoot, adults and children not eating more than once a day, children using old wires for skipping ropes, the fact that a girl my age died after bleeding out because abortions are illegal here, kids who are orphans after their parents passed away from aids then become street kids and are addicted to sniffing glue, watching people suffering from polio crawl along the dirt road.
there are no words to describe how sad it can be here.

before I left home, a lot of beautiful people wrote me going away/good luck cards – all of which I brought with me and have stuck on my wall. a memorable one, from my mums (and my) beautiful friend angi – originally from south africa – which has pride of place smack bang in the centre. part of it says:

we hope you have the most amazing time experiencing all the delights africa can give and that they overpower all poverty and cruelty.

and that couldn’t be more true. while so many things are sad here, it’s the kids are what get me every time. I’ve been sick for at least 3 weeks now and before school was over for their holidays, I still wanted to go regardless of how rotten I felt because of how inspiring they are. life has dealt them probably the shittest card in the entire deck and yet they are at school 6 days a week because they don’t want to be criminals when they grow up. it brings back a whole lot of memories about how much I hated high school when I first started, mostly as it was all girls and I missed being around boys. I look at that now and think of how conceited that is. I hated school just because I was better friends with people who had penises. at least I could go to school, and not just any school, one of the best schools in australia.

other things I’ve come to severely miss and/or appreciate more than I ever did:

proper ice cold beer
kenyans do not understand/appreciate that concept. unless its over 35 degrees celcius here, it’s never classified at hot, so drinking cold beer on a ‘cold’ day of 30 degrees is unheard of. I will not give in, will not be tempted to drink warm beer – no matter how bad of a day I’ve had.

having a laundry
washing machine/dryer combinations are a beautiful thing. I didn’t realise this until I’ve had to hand wash my clothes in hotel/hostel/apartment sinks through europe or hand wash in buckets in the yard in kenya. I found a lady down the road who has a washing machine and washed an entire bag of my clothes including jeans, denim jacket, 5 tshirts, yoga pants, singlets and skirts for only 300ksh (about au$4.50).talk about luxury!

making a cup of tea with pasteurised & homogenised milk
a huge thing in kenya is that a lot of their milk is unsafe to drink cold, it must be boiled. I’m sure that’s why I was sick a lot I’m my first few weeks here, because the ‘chai’ (kiswahili for tea) they make here is done by boiling water and milk together and then mixed with a powder, which I’ve come to love. not only can you not drink the milk if its not boiled, but also the water, and I’m sure it hadn’t been boiled properly. but ashley, another volunteer, went to our local supermarket and found pasteurised, homogenised milk… I think I cried of happiness. the pure joy of boiling the unsafe tap water to (what I hope is ‘100 & kill every bug in this water’ degrees) pour over an earl grey tea bag (nicer than the english breakfast here) and then putting cold milk in (like normal people do) was just amazing, infact I did a happy dance in the kitchen when I had my first sip. I’m not even kidding. weeks of improvising and making do with what you have is fine, but it is pretty sweet to have a little slice of home.

australia
I’ve always been a pretty patriotic aussie, I love where I come from. but I still have the urge to travel, but that’s not because I don’t love where I live, it’s just because I want to see something different. but I truly appreciate home. the other week, we watched blood diamond and I remember watching it the first time years ago and being absolutely horrified at how people live & how they’re treated. whereas this time, when watching it in africa, my first thought was literally “wow, that looks like the street I live on”. no word of a lie. I love to travel, but australia will always have my heart.

advice from my mum
I met a truly beautiful girl, nat, from the uk who bravely told me about her mum passing away a couple of years ago from a very aggressive cancer. I couldn’t help but question if I could do this trip without my mum, who is never more than a phone call away – albeit often an expensive one.

being a girl and having equal opportunities in my country
one day, my host sister vicky (5 year old) asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had a little bit of a laugh, told them I was already ‘grown up’ (whatever that means) and that I’m a nurse and a paramedic. she had no idea what a paramedic was so I told her they’re the people who work in ambulances. I got the strangest looks from her, along with a little bit of a bewildered laugh, to which she tells me “but thats what boys do”.

having at least 3 meals a day
the school I have been working at a lot, little ray of hope, has become my second home. but the life stories these kids have behind them are enough to bring anyone to tears. I don’t know if, when anyone else was a child, they were told “kids are starving in africa” if you didn’t finish your dinner, but it’s true. serving sizes here are so small, sometimes non-existent.

a lot of them don’t get breakfast or dinner at home, because they’re families are just so poor they have absolutely no money to spare on food and depend on the one mug of ‘porridge’ the kids get for morning tea at school. so they come to school on an empty stomach, which no child should ever do because how on earth can you learn on an empty stomach? they get their ‘porridge’ at about 11am and many don’t bring lunch from home, so the teachers try to buy some street food for them – like beans or chips, something to tie them over until they get home. but for a lot of them, that mug of porridge and half a handful of braised beans is all they eat.

I’m using quotation marks for the porridge because its not like you and I know porridge at home; you know, the nice oats cooked with milk and then sometimes you put brown sugar or honey or banana or all three on top. no, this is like a purple sludge that contains at least 4 types of grain which is excellent for growing kids but not overly appetising. but these little angels take it with such excitement every time; I’m there so often I’ve memorised their prayer.

when I want to pray, I put my hands together, I close my eyes, I bow down my head, then I say: thank you god for this porridge of today, bless our porridge, in jesus’ name, amen.

writing all this isn’t meant to make anyone feel bad about how good they’ve got it at home. I’m not turning into a martyr, I still appreciate the extravagant meal I had in paris, I would still happily spend $5 on a good single origin espresso, I still love expensive wine, I still crave fresh seafood that costs an arm and a leg.

but if anything, I appreciate it all even more than I ever did. even my crazy extended family with all their unending dramas, I appreciate being happy and healthy and having a family who pushes me to do new things and go see the world and work hard, that I have parents who are willing to support me in my crazy endeavours, that I have friends who are strong enough to listen to me whinge about all sorts… that my plate has always been full, in more than just the ‘food’ sense.

in the words of angi,

vic, you will love africa; it’s rhythm, smell and beauty will intoxicate you, but hopefully not too much to lose you to it

well I’m not lost yet, but after six months, I might very well be.

–

on a completely unrelated note, all my new found volunteer friends have left/moved to a different program and I’m back to ‘travelling alone’ – at least until the next bunch arrive. so for now, kind of like the last king of scotland, I’m the last australian in kenya. x

fever in the morning, fever all through the night

who graduates from university with two specialised degrees in health yet neglects to bring a basic first aid/medical kit over to kenya? me. that’s who.

when I left australia, my ‘drug bag’ consisted of the following:
– atenolol (required heart medication)
– lariam (required malaria medication)
– aspro extra strength (the only thing that works for me when I have a headache)
– gastrostop & immodium (I didn’t even buy these, my aunt who is a nurse bought them as a ‘haha’ birthday present for me to start packing my medical kit for kenya, along with some disposable undies and extra large condoms – “because black men are well endowed”… very haha)
– bushmans 80% deet bug spray (because I am not coming home from africa with malaria, although I’m sure I probably will)
– gloves and alcohol hand sanitiser (for when I would be in hospitals/clinics)
aaaand yep. that’s it.

then I got to france and buggered my feet something shocking so had to buy the following:
– bandaids (but they’re so un-sticky I’d be better off without them)
– sports tape (and it’s so sticky, it’s the best 20 bucks I’ve spent on a sports tape)
– ibuprofen (because I figured aspro might not help with ‘open wound/raw skin’ pain… although ibuprofen wasn’t all that good either
– also bought sunscreen as I realised I would soon be in turkey and in constant 30deg sunshine, and didn’t feel it necessary to bring such a silly item from home because I could just as easily purchase it from somewhere whilst overseas… of course in paris, they pretty much only sell really really nice sunscreens so after spending €30 on a clinique sunscreen because that’s all they had left, I was kicking myself for not bringing some cheap banana boat coconut scented sunscreen with me. yes mum I should’ve listened.

then I got to turkey and got swimmers ear, so I got bottle of prednisolone ear drops. not that I’ll likely need them whilst I’m in kenya, but it’s another addition to my pathetic ‘kit’. oh and I stocked up on proper band aids. win.

and then I got to kenya, and see people have the most amazing first aid/medical kits. things like antibiotics for when you get travelers diarrhoea, antibiotics for just in case you get this infection and this antibiotic might fix it (ie. bactrim, amoxycillin, etc) burn cream, after sun cream, extra strength hydrocortisone cream for bites and itches, tongue depressors, antiseptic wash, bandages, finger splints, instant ice packs, paracetamol, tylenol, motion sickness tablets, tylenol with decongestant properties, sleeping tablets, anxiety medication (not prescribed, just in case), muscle relaxants, cough syrup, blister protectors, drops for pink eye, anti-itch wipes for bites… the list goes on. basically everything you may need for when disaster strikes and the world ends and you just happen to be stuck in kenya at that point of time.

shit.

and these are legitimate examples from people’s first aid kits that I’ve had a nosy at and felt utterly idiotic for not listening to my mother who said before I left (and I quote) “you know you really should see the gp to get some prescriptions for antibiotics just incase.. you never know. oh and while you’re at it, perhaps a first aid kit wouldn’t go astray”. but in true ‘victoria the fiercely independent fool who doesn’t listen to other people’s suggestions form’, I decided that would be silly as its just another example of doctors too readily giving out antibiotics and that’s why the world is building up antibiotic resistant diseases à la VRE and MRSA, and that I shouldn’t encourage that behaviour blah blah blah. as well as the fact that I convinced myself that I wouldn’t be the patient so I shouldn’t waste money on things that I could use on someone else.

yeah well I pretty much slapped myself in the face when 2 weeks ago I had a productive cough with green gunk coming from my lungs and a decent fever… classic chest infection. antibiotics would have gone down a bloody treat then. absolute idiot. or when a few days ago, my symptoms reappeared but instead of the cough, my head was so full of snot I thought my eyes were going to bulge out of my head it was so congested up in there… cold and flu/decongestant stuff would’ve been amazing.

this deems me to be the worst prepared qualified healthcare professional, ever, to set foot in kenya, I’m sure of it. and I’ve also learnt that you should always listen to your mother, even when you’re 100% certain she’s crazy/nuts/ridiculously wrong/gone off her nutter… she’s not. she’s always right.

in the jungle, the mighty jungle

nothing made me feel more like I was in africa than going on safari. being that my favourite quote is ‘hakuna matata’, my favourite movie is the lion king (followed closely by air force one) and the fact that I love animals – life really couldn’t get any better. I was totally in my element.

this post doesn’t really require many words, so here come the pictures. there’s not a whole lot, because I’m a firm believer in seeing a moment with my own eyes – not through a camera lens. (you may have noticed due to my severe lack of harassing the world with facebook photo uploads)
however, I did manage to snap a couple.

susie (a fellow aussie, from brisvegas), me and chelsea (a beautiful canadian from vancouver)

my australian sister susie took this pic as me and gonçalo ran out of the van (hugely illegal) to chase zebras

running of the bulls? lame. it’s all about chasing zebra’s in maasai mara national game reserve when a wild lion, leopard or cheetah could be lurking in the long grass. #yolo

susie (aus), ashley (california), chelsea (vancouver), anita (las vegas), gonçalo (portugal), lena (perth), and me

safe to say that after a good 8 hours on our game drive, everything hurt. you get to stand in the 4wd because the roof lifts up but the roads are so so so so so bumpy that you hit your head, arms, legs, elbows, funny bones and ankles on every hard bit of the car. also, the bumpy road/sore boob phenomenon also occurred… girl problems. african roads are legitimately the worst I’ve ever seen or experienced, for the love of god please fill in the blood pot holes!

visiting the maasai village was incredible, very eye opening and at times a little bit of ‘fuck me, you actually live like this?’ the colours are what got me, so vibrant and eye catching. melbourne-ites need to take note, black is not cool here – obviously unless its the colour of your skin (I’m doing a lot of learning here).

the maasai people are very intriguing, there was a lot to learn:
– the boys become men at the age of 15 when they are publicly circumcised and aren’t allowed to show any signs of pain. after this, they then spend about 3 years literally in the wild (bear grylls eat your heart out) surviving on the land and must kill one lion between the big group. poor mufasa never stood a chance. then they become ‘maasai warriors’.
– the men who have the huge holes in their ears are men who have never been to school. men with normal ears have been educated. this is a personal decision; as maasai, there is no need for them to go to school as they don’t require proper jobs – living on the land is their job.
– the circular burns on their skin is purely a decorative thing. we had the option to get this done when we were on safari and visited their village (see photo below), but I think I’ll wait until I actually live in a village (like lena did) so at least it actually means something.
– men are allowed to have more than one wife … as long as they can afford it. and by ‘affording it’, I mean to be able to pay 10 cows per wife or to be able to jump the highest in the village, then payment via cow is not necessary.

the village leader addressing the visitors. he told us that all the people in the village descended from the same great-great-great-grandfather (or ancestor), which grossed me out more than just a little bit – does that mean they’re all marrying their cousins? trying not to judge, it’s a different way of life out here…

the guy in the blue blanket was the villages’ highest jumper.

making fire with a stick and stone

lena getting maasai burns (she’d already lived in a maasai village for a month)

probably the funniest three days of being in africa so far. the kids in my van were amazing (the group photo of us is above) – so much laughter and stupid jokes… my proudest moment was teaching gonzo from portugal the “…and then I found 50 bucks” saying when someone tells a shit story.

and of course the ‘lion king’ singalongs. when we saw the lions, we’d sing ‘awimbaweh awimbaweh’ or ‘I just can’t wait to be king’; when we saw warthogs (and hope there were meerkats nearby) we’d sing ‘hakuna matata’; when we saw every other animal we literally sung every other lion king song we knew the words to.

I want to do safari again!

welcome to kenya, we’ve got lions

africa; the arrival.

I don’t even know where to start! so much has happened already and it feels like I’ve been here 6 weeks, not just 6 days. during the lead up to me leaving germany and coming to kenya, I was a nervous wreck. even though it was mostly ‘excited nerves’, there was definitely a small percentage of me that was shit scared. I’m pretty sure it was because I spent a bit of time with someone who reminded me of home, which then reminded me of how long I’ll be gone for, which made me question myself more than a million times about what the bloody hell I was doing. but regardless, I got on the plane to doha and then I got on my plane to nairobi. and here I am!

when my plane landed at nairobi jomo kenyatta airport, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. I had finally made it, so much planning and money spent, and I was finally in the land where david attenborough makes documentaries about lions and about the harsh deserts, the land where the lion king was based on, the land where poverty is so prevalent, the land that no one seems to travel to. and here I am.

considering my flight arrived at 7:30am and I hadn’t slept on either of the flights, I was basically a walking zombie. I also didn’t pay attention to the instructions about how to get the kenyan visa.. it costs $50us, but no one specified cash (or if they did, I missed that part) so I had my card all ready to go when the woman tells me she only accepts cash. so I go off in search of an atm back near the gate I came from, get out 10,000 kenyan shillings (approx. $130au) and go back to pay her the equivalent. but of course, she doesn’t have change, so I fork out 5000ksh for my three month visa, and I’ll have to reapply for another one for the next 3 months. classic case of not reading the fine print.

someone from the volunteer organisation (I booked through IVHQ but networks for volunteer services (NVS) is who I work for once in kenya) came to pick me up. I met three other volunteers in the van, one from sydney and two from america, and we were taken to the place where we’d spend the night before orientation the following day, in the same building. gradually as the day unfolded, more volunteers showed up, with the majority being americans & canadians. I was pretty surprised but once I realised this was their summer break, it made sense. in the group of volunteers on that first day, there were americans, canadians, one japanese guy, one from new zealand, one other aussie and me.

mikki (usa), tegan (aus ) and me with my awkward grimace smile

I was rather overwhelmed by the sheer number of american accents in one room, if there’s ever been an accent which annoys me more (usually only when I’m travelling) it’s that one! but after spending a week with my “new family” of canadian & american volunteers, I hardly notice it now.. except when we talk about ‘tomaytoes’

orientation was my first experience of ‘africa time’. if you’ve never heard of it, basically africans (in my experience, kenyans) don’t wear watches so you might be told orientation starts at 9am however it’s nearly 10am and it still hasn’t properly started. I’m positive this won’t be the only time I mention african time, I’m slowly starting to wrap my head around it, but it still gives me the shits!

I found out at orientation that contrary to what I thought I’d booked, I wasn’t going to maasai land for my first 2 months, but I was going to a family planning centre in thika, (in good traffic its about 45mins north west of nairobi, in bad traffic it might take 90mins). definitely have to be open to change when you’re a volunteer, considering they send you where they think you’re needed most. I also found out I am one of only two medical volunteers, and I’m the only qualified one – the other is a 2nd year med student from the uk. of the 99 volunteers who started on july 1, I’d say the majority are doing the orphanage program or teaching program.

the 99 volunteers, the biggest intake ever

later on in orientation, I was approached by a guy called marcus gregar-rive who, four years ago, came to kenya to volunteer and then set up a program for kids in a slum (called kitendo children’s charity (kcc) slum project) to be able to go to school. he asked me if I would like to be a part of a huge medical camp that kcc slum are running on august 17 in conjunction with kijabe hospital, to which I replied a probably far too ecstatic ‘yes, I’d love to’! after hearing about how another volunteer has managed to set up her own medical camps, I’m feeling pretty inspired on how to use the money that was so generously donated to me before I left. but that’s a long way down the track, with a lot of planning! past medical camps have run for either 1-2 days and service anywhere up to 1500 people with health services they otherwise can’t afford or get to.

so after orienting, you’re supposed to head to your host family before starting work the next day. however my group were still waiting on two more volunteers to arrive, so instead we stayed in nairobi on monday night at pastor regina’s house. it was jam packed full of volunteers, including an incredible mum, molly, from america with her 12 and 13 year old daughters. if that’s not a family holiday that actually means something, I don’t know what is. anyway, as we’re pulling our van into the gated area, about 20 kids are playing with ropes for skipping and rocks.

you often find small clusters of houses who share one common gate then have separate gates to their houses… makes you feel very secure. I’m climbing out of the car and the kids see my ukulele, start making strumming noises and ask me to play. quickly drop my bags inside and go back out with my newly tuned uke, and it was so much fun. initially I was playing and singing a few songs, namely somewhere over the rainbow, and then gradually as it got more exciting, they started taking over the playing and the singing (and the tuning!). it was absolute proof that something as simple as a musical instrument can bring such joy into people’s lives; the latest electronic play things are so unnecessary. it was pretty special to be part of the reason why the kids were smiling so much.

beautiful, happy, dancing kids loving my ukulele

this huge post is literally my first 2 days in kenya, and it’s not even scratching the surface!

when you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose

the time has come! to say I’m nervous would be the biggest understatement made in this century. I’m so nervous about everything that may or may not happen in the next 6 months.. but it’s an excited nervous – talk about fear of the unknown. I’m unbelievably excited about finally being on my way, 12 months down the track from first starting to plan this trip, and I’m actually doing it. there are far too many emotions that I’m thinking and feeling now, especially after a fantastic final few days in europe. on one hand, I am so ready for the huge challenge, but on the other, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m actually doing it.

better believe it sunshine, you’re on the plane!

kenya believe I’m going to kenya?!