It ain't easy being white...

Kenya is awesome, as my previous picture stated. I was a touch disappointed that nobody commented on it, I worked hard on it. I will now proceed to tell you about my life as a muzungu (a white person).

I left on Friday night. I took one seven hour flight to London, and an eight hour flight from London to Nairobi. Heathrow is undoubtedly the junkiest airport I've been to yet, although I'm sure that I will encounter worse. The Nairobi airport is a strong adversary, however, as I waited in a customs line for two hours in order to get my visa, and there were others who waited longer. It was abominable. When I finally got out of the line and found my bag (not as easy as you'd think at an airport with three baggage carousels in one room), I busted outta there. I was met by two staff from Fadhili and two other volunteers: Cleopas, who does a lot of stuff at Fadhili although I'm not sure of his official title, Mike, the driver, who's super awesome, Feng, a 24 year old volunteer from China, and Mike (we call him Big Mike), a 22 year old volunteer from Virginia. Also coming off planes from Heathrow were Becca, a 17 year old volunteer from Chicago and Ammabel, a 24 year old volunteer from the Philippines who lives in Scotland.

Mike and Cleo dropped Ammabel and I off at the home of a Kenyan couple, Phillipa and John, where we spent Saturday and Sunday night. I didn't have a mosquito net, so I got attacked by mosquitoes. The exciting part is that I had forgotten to start my malaria regimen, so I started it the next morning, only a week late. Cross your fingers for no malaria! I don't actually know the symptoms. On Sunday morning, Cleo came to pick me and Ammabel up and we walked to his church, just down the road. It was pretty cool, but being one of three white people in the building -- there was an Irish priest sitting on the other side of the church -- I felt a bit too insecure to get into it. I was also very tired. And Ammabel isn't technically white, she's Asian. Coming home from church, Cleo called another volunteer, Erin, and arranged for us to meet her and go shopping so we could get such essentials as water and mosquito nets. We walked to the shopping centre along a back road that was interesting. The first building was a private school with fancy buses, which set the tone for the street. The rest of the building were heavily gated, privately guarded affairs. You could just see the tops of the beautiful houses and trees peeking over the walls.

On Monday, it was orientation. Cleo walked over to pick us up again, being that the house we were staying at was a two minute walk from the tiny Fadhili offices. When we got to the offices, we met Pedro, a volunteer from Portugal, and the four of us set out for the orientation that was being held in a conference room a few minutes away. We arrived before the other volunteers, only two of whom I hadn't met: Claire, a mom from Florida (staying for ten days, of course), and Agnete from Denmark, staying for six months. Ammabel is only staying for ten days as well, while Feng and Pedro are staying for three months, like myself. Becca is staying for three and a half months and Big Mike is staying for six (I'm jealous). We met the Fadhili staff as well: there was Cleo and Mike, Boniface, the PR manager, James, the project director, Joe, a sort of co-director, and Maggie, who manages the office and the internet cafe that they have there.

After they gave us the appropriate lectures about safety, public transit, Kenyan culture and customs, Kiswahili, our work, and our accommodations, we walked back to the office and piled into a van bound for everywhere. I shared the front bench with Pedro and Mike, and Pedro and I tried to teach Mike some Spanish. We drove all through Nairobi, which is super awesome. I was the last volunteer to be dropped off. I was staying a minute further down the road that I stayed on the first night, but that doesn't count the time it takes to get up the stairs. I'm staying in an apartment with a Kenyan woman named Sharon, and also with Erin. Sharon's apartment is five stories up, and there's obviously no elevator.

I wish I could write more, but I've been on the internet for two hours now; I have to pay for it myself and there's a line up of people waiting. I'll write more about the school/orphanage that I work at later, perhaps tomorrow.