Happy Independence Day!

We just got back from a good old-fashioned barbecue potluck at one of the Embassy residences.  Beyond enjoying the grilled burgers, chicken, yummy sides, and homemade ice cream (yum!), it was really nice to celebrate our nation's birthday with American community.  For me (Darlene), who spends most of my days with Americans, I was thankful that it wasn't just the typical Embassy types that I had met before (although they are nice, don't get me wrong)--but also included some folks in town from Tanzania and a current Peace Corps volunteer (PCV) serving in a village near the Chyulu hills where we were a few weekends ago.

David got to talk with the Regional Medical Officer, a psychiatrist who provides mental health services for embassies throughout Africa, and learned that the psychiatrists are constantly looking for licensed social workers in a country who are American/Western-trained to be able to refer cases to for longer-term therapy and crisis management.  He was very interested to hear of David's social work training and urged him to complete his licensure and come receive referrals from someone like himself.

For me, I found hearing from the current PCV very interesting.  It was my first time meeting a PCV in the middle of their tour--I've only ever met them after they've had the benefit of some time away to look back nostalgically.  But even without the time-induced nostalgia, this guy seemed to be enjoying his time.  His lifestyle is completely different than the American lifestyle in Nairobi--no electricity, living in a compound with two Kenyan families, goats, cows, and chickens.  As someone who has only traveled as a part of an Embassy community (and thus with replete security, generally lavish accommodations, etc.), I've always wondered what it would be like to serve as a PCV at some point (I even went to the Peace Corps website today).  I sometimes wonder whether I romanticize the idea of living closer to "actual people" in a culture after being barricaded behind gates and security guards during most of my visits.  Sometimes I think I'll be "doing more good" if I could only get outside of the bureaucratic halls/cubes of the Embassy.  But it's not necessarily true (and the PCV himself said this directly) that I would be accomplishing something of lasting value in the development of the country, but rather in my own development and personal growth.

Speaking of guards, I was speaking with the taxi driver I have been regularly using a few days ago, and he was asking me if all of the guards in the U.S. are African.  When I told him that most houses didn't have guards--that our house in Washington does not have a guard--he was shocked.  He then asked who opened the gates.  He was even more shocked when I told him that, generally, there are no gates.  "So you all have guns?" he asked.  I replied that, while some people have guns, not everyone does--we call the police when there's a problem.  He smiled and said "That is the difference.  We do not trust our police to come help."  So, I'm thankful.  Both for the measures of protection that we have while traveling here and for the general, systemic responsiveness of our police and fire responders at home.

After that patriotic statement, I think some virtual fireworks are in order.

Happy Fourth everyone.

The meaning of food. There are those within the international development community that see food as a form of aid that is unsustainable.  Food distribution is seen as a drain on resources that does not provide any long-term benefits in a person's life. Education opens doors to future jobs and careers.  Entrepreneurship training opens the doors to new markets and business opportunities. Yet the food simply goes in and eventually comes out, and then more is needed.

And the people that have this opinion are absolutely right. Food aid by its very nature is not a sustainable development program. It is something that money goes into and no return is ever seen.

Yet, recently, I have become aware of an issue. Many of those I have talked to who feel that food aid is unsustainable also desire to lower funding for food aid. They desire to move funding from food aid to "long-term sustainable programs."  They want returns and measurable outcomes that are being met. And the way they talk it appears that they feel they can have the "long-term sustainable program" without the food aid.

But I do not think they can. I think they are misunderstanding the meaning of food, or indeed the meaning of the provision of any basic need.  Refugees do not flee their homes, go through war and trauma, lose contact with family members, and walk for miles, only to arrive in Kenya and say, "Boy, do I need some peacebuilding!", or "Excuse me, but where is the nearest computer training course?" They want food, medical care, clothes, and shelter. They need immediate needs filled.

I think many donors are viewing food aid as simply about putting food in the belly. And by viewing food that way it is obviously easily seen as a drain on resources that must be satisfied with large, continuous, monthly payments with no obvious, sustainable goal even years later. But the meaning of food lies not in the physical aspect, but in the social-emotional-psychological realm. Food says we are with you in your hour of need.  Food says this is a safe place.  Food says these people can be trusted. Food says you can rest from your journey. Food says you can take some time to consider what is next.

It takes away an immediate threat and it provides a certain amount of breathing room that was not there before the food. But above all, food brings clients to an NGO's door, as does the provision of any basic need. And once the clients are at your door, feeling safe, being able to rest, trusting the giver, it becomes vastly easier to have those clients embrace whatever truly long-term, sustainable programs that are offered. They will embrace your entrepreneurship programs, conflict mitigation programs, and scholarship programs.

But without offering food, or meeting some sort of basic need, there is a real danger that when the long-term sustainable programs are developed fewer clients will be around to take advantage of them.  They will be somewhere else looking for food, medical care, shelter, the things they need to stay alive.  And yes, maybe they will find places to meet those needs and still end up finding their way to your NGO and its sexy micro-loan program, or that fantastic, wizard of a peacebuilding program in Kayole. 

But why risk it? Why not change the understanding of what food means and continue to fund the fuel (or some version of it) that brings people to your door. That way those that need the long-term, sustainable programs will already be there with you when they are ready to receive them.  That's the meaning of food.

Kenyan politics

This is Darlene.  Last time I was here in Nairobi was in 2008, shortly after Kenya experienced a horrific spate of post-election violence that left hundreds of thousands displaced and killed hundreds.  The crisis ended up finally being resolved through a "Government of National Unity"--with the two candidates who claimed electoral victory sharing power, one as president and one as prime minister.

Back in 2008, I didn't have much chance to talk with everyday Kenyans about what they had experienced, as I was primarily sequestered in the Embassy -- and as the post-election crisis waned, a food price crisis and drought were converging to create serious food shortages throughout the region, including in Kenya.  This kept me busy looking at maize yields and nutrition indicators and left little time for conversations.  I think, too, that I was a little wary of asking the taxi drivers and other people I saw during my day about what they thought since emotions were still pretty raw.

I was not surprised upon coming back this summer how largely the post-election violence events figure in the conversations of the people I interact with on a daily basis.  It was Kenya's near-Rwanda experience.  And everyone I talk to this time says "never again"--that Kenyans were so horrified by what they were doing and had done to one another that they would never return to that level of violence.

Kenya is facing elections again--they were supposed to be held this year, but it's looking quite likely that they won't be held until March 2013.  All the taxi drivers I've met have said that the delay is a power and money grab by the politicians in power.  With more than 10 contenders for the presidency (plus one recently killed in a helicopter crash that every Kenyan I've spoken with calls suspicious), only God knows what the next year will bring. Some analysts are expecting more pre-election violence instead of or in addition to post-election violence, despite what all the Kenyans have said about "never again." Honestly, the complexity of the issues and the ethnic and economic dimensions of Kenyan politics are beyond me.  Although Kenya is in the broader region that I cover at work, I generally don't spend much time focusing directly on Kenya itself, but rather on several of the other countries that the regional office oversees.  All I can say, as I continue to learn more, is that I will be praying for this country as they approach their election, even as I pray for ours.  And, I think, with all the fraught issues in American politics, we have a lot to be thankful for.

On Saturday, we traveled to a little village known as Katulu to celebrate Sister Jacinta, a JRS colleague who was becoming a full sister in the Catholic church. I am not sure if the terminology is correct here. What are you before you are a full sister? (50 shillings to whomever has the answer.)  Anyway, I had only learned what the celebration was really about on Friday, for Sister Jacinta had invited me a few days prior by saying it was a celebration of her brother's new house.  There will be food and dancing she said, he has finished his house.  Sounded like a good enough reason for a party to me, but hearing she was entering a new stage of commitment to the church added enthusiasm.

Paul, Matthias (the social worker Travis works with), Travis, Darlene, and I all piled into a rented matatu in the morning and headed towards Katulu. The roads were bumpy yet everyone was excited.  To see new parts of Kenya, to hang-out with JRS colleagues for the first time since arrival, to meet Darlene, to celebrate Sister Jacinta, many reasons.  Along the way we stopped to buy a gift which consisted of an ambiguous card that, depending on ones view, could either celebrate a new house or becoming a full nun (eat your heart out Hallmark). We also bought candy, "for the children" Matthias said.

The order of the day was a 10 am mass, followed by speeches, then the party would really begin. We were there before 10 but things did not get started until 11:30. Notice the photo below of everyone waiting patiently. From left to right you have Nora, Matthias, Geoffry, two mzungus, and Paul in the background.

The mass began and was a lovely ceremony with Sister Jacinta making a full commitment (I'm really wanting to know what the proper language is). Then the speeches began. It was probably about 1 by this point and people were getting hungry, but this was how Sister Jacinta's community celebrated it was explained, "Food always comes after." That was fine, things were still fresh. Travis and I even got invited up front along with the rest of the JRS team and were asked to say a few words. I think Travis did a much better job (ask him about his pre-rehearsed African speeches), as I think I may have screwed up some verb tenses at one point.

After our speeches finished the speeches kept going. And then they kept going. And then more people got up to speak, and while they were speaking, others lined up behind them to speak. And then people started speaking for awhile and saying at the end of their speech that it would be good if those who came after them would speak quickly so that everyone could eat. It was after three by the time the speeches were slowing down, and the hunger among the partygoers was visible.

It became even more difficult to forget the hunger when they brought the food out. Huge pots of beef, chicken, potatoes, beans, rice, chapati, soda, and cabbage. In the photo below, notice the man speaking and the two woman in line waiting to speak. And notice the food between them.

There were several times when it appeared the meal would begin...but then someone else would get up to speak. The confusion and tummy-induced gittiness was not just among us mzungus.  Even the Kenyans could be heard saying, "In my village we eat during the speeches, otherwise we fear our guests will leave with their gifts", or "Oh my goodness, we are never going to eat." The MC started imploring people to speak quickly and, I may be wrong about this, but I think it finally ended when he negotiated with two women to allow the meal to begin rather than speak.

Then we ate and the food was as good as we hoped. We had to leave after the meal to return the vehicle, which was difficult as Sister Jacinta showed me the goat and cow meat that would be roasted later. The party was going to go all night she said which did sound like fun. Another time we said. We would be honored to come back.

 But do not gloat over the day of your brother
    in the day of his misfortune;
do not rejoice over the people of Judah
    in the day of their ruin;
do not boast
    in the day of distress. (obadiah 1:12)

This is Darlene.  It has been a somewhat tumultuous time in my work scene in the past month, with hasty departures both among my direct co-workers and people that I have worked for/worked near in years past.  I am struck by how hard it is to put the principles exemplified above into practice in some cases.  My natural reaction is to gloat at the downturn of those who for some reason have lost my respect professionally.  To consider and even savor in my mind all the things that made this loss of face occur. 

It's an active struggle to not engage in the water cooler, aka cube-land gossip. I have to confess that, especially with some individuals, I do.  I realized today how empty that made me feel.

I am reminded of other verses that talk about what I should be boasting in:

"If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness." - 2 Cor. 11: 30

"My soul makes its boast in the LORD; let the humble hear and be glad." - Psalm 34: 2

"but let him who boasts boast in this, that he understands and knows me, that I am the LORD who practices steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth. For in these things I delight, declares the LORD.” - Jeremiah 9:34

This does not take away the fact that I fundamentally think that people who are slackers, bullies, or liars are not ideal co-workers.  In serious cases of malfeasance, it is important that truth come to light.  But I think in large part, I put myself in the place of judge (and mocker) and that's not where I belong.

Ask me about it in person some time, see whether I can cite any growth in this area (with God's help).  I need it.

Watching Euro 2012 and completely useless right now. Regarding the almost getting arrested though, yes, it's true. For two hours on Monday a police officer drove around un-fun parts of Nairobi with myself and the driver saying he was taking us to jail.  The driver had hit a pedestrian who was in the back seat with me. He was fine, but when the driver hit him the police had seen the whole thing.

It was the driver's fault. Completely. The man was simply standing in the middle of the road and wasn't moving. Stupid, yes, but not worthy of being plowed into. But the driver disagreed and did exactly that. He just drove right through the guy. 

As I said the man was okay, shaken and understandably angry, but okay. But, again, a policeman and a policewoman had seen the entire thing. They angrily came at the car and started pounding on the hood of the car yelling for the driver to pull over. He did and something happened that is never good. A huge crowd surrounded the vehicle. They were just curious onlookers, but one can never know. Kenya has a reputation for public justice.

The policeman (the policewoman was suddenly nowhere to be found) came around to my side of the vehicle and demanded that I get out. I was surprised as to why I should get out and played the role of confused foreigner. He repeated his request while banging on the door, "You are to ALIGHT HERE!" I looked at the intensity of the policeman's face and the large crowd around the car and decided now was not a good time to pick a fight.

So I got out and the policeman got in the front seat and began yelling at the driver in Swahili. In the meantime, there I am with a large crowd of Kenyans wondering what to make of me. So I engaged them in conversation:

Me: Hello my friends! (I think I shook a hand or two) What is the situation here? What should I do?

Crowd: You need to get into the back of the vehicle.

At this point the policeman had directed the man who was hit to get into the backseat of the car and was wanting me to get into the back seat as well. The crowd alerted me to this request. So I got in and must say that I was relieved to have the car leave the eyes of the crowd.

As we drove the policeman was yelling in Swahili and English. One thing I remember most was when he yelled, "NO ONE is above the law!!" I secretly agreed with him and we kept driving.  Then he said, I am taking you both to jail." That's weird was my thought.

So I did the first thing that came to my mind. I turned to the young man who had been hit, who was sitting next to me in the car and I said:

Me: Hello my friend! Are you okay? Wewe sawa? Are you hurt?

Man: Very shy, Yes, I am okay.

Me: Oh that is so good my friend. Do you go to church? Do you believe in Jesus?

Man: I do not go to church but I do believe in Jesus.

Me: That is so good. I am so glad you are okay. Maybe we should thank God that you are okay, that everything is fine and continue on our days. What do you think my friend?

Man: Pointing at the policeman, He is in charge now. 

That's pretty weird I thought. The cop is in charge. He seems upset. I was still amazed that the driver had simply plowed into a man in the road. A man that he had seen in front of him for at least twenty feet before he hit him. W-E-I-R-D.

The policeman at this point is still talking about jail so I did what I had hoped not to. I called Darlene who was at the apartment that morning, she was staying home because she had a bad cold. 

Darlene: Hey Babe.

Me: Hey honey, I don't want you to worry or anything, everything is fine, but I think I'm being taken to jail.

Darlene: What?!?!?

David: Yeah, weird. The driver hit a pedestrian. Listen, I need the number to the embassy. I think it's better if I don't go to jail.

Darlene: Okay, uh. Are you okay? 

Me: Yeah, everything is fine. It's just a weird situation.

So Darlene started contacting her embassy contacts and the cop kept yelling about jail. So I touched the cop gently on the shoulder and said:

Me: My friend,

Cop: What do you want?

Me:  My friend, I am so glad you are here, you are doing such a professional job. I just need to inform you that a security car from the US Embassy is coming to where we are. 

Cop: They are coming or you are going to call?

I was wondering which one he wanted to hear the least so I responded with a vague, My wife works at the embassy. I called her.

Cop: So a car is on its way?

So that's what he didn't want.

Me: Yes, a security car is on its way. (Not)

Cop: Why did you do that?

Me: My friend, the US Government is my big mcubwa (spelling is probably wrong but means boss) and if situations like this arise we are required to call them. You are doing such a great job (Not) and they will not interfere with you (I think), I just need you to know that they are coming to assist in the situation (Not).

The policeman immediately told the driver to pull the car to the side of the road. We had been driving around so much that I realized we were not actually that far from where the whole incident began. The driver got out and walked to the passenger side to talk to the cop. I took the opportunity to get out of the car as there was no crowd and things felt better out of the vehicle. 

I went back to working phone numbers Darlene was sending me to actually talk to someone at the embassy. I kept trying to call the duty officer but no one was answering. Eventually, the cop came up to me (after much time of yelling at both the driver and the man who had been hit) and said:

Cop: Everything is okay now, this man has withdrawn his complaint.

Me: Oh that is so very good. So what does that mean exactly?

Cop: It means that everyone can go.

Me: Oh that is so good. Do you go to church my friend? Do you believe in Jesus?

Cop: Smiling. No, I am a Muslim.

Me: Smiling back. OK, then inshallah (if God wills it) this will never happen again.

Cop: Laughing. Yes!

And then he was gone. And then the man who was hit slowly walked away. I asked the driver if he had given the cop money and he said no, the cop just made him agree to buy the guy he hit lunch. Like I said, weird.

I learned a few things later from Kenyan friends I told the experience to:

One, the cop was not taking us to jail (at least initially) but was driving us around hoping that I would say enough and start giving the cop money to let us go.

Two, if the driver had been in the car with a Kenyan the driver would have been taken straight to jail because the cops would not have seen an opportunity for a large sum of cash to come their way.

Three, if I had not called the embassy it is likely that he may have eventually taken us to jail. It was the fear of the US Embassy personnel getting involved that made him want to pull the car over.  I said I was confused about that since the Americans were not going to do anything to the cop. But I was told the policeman knew he was trying to get money out of the situation and did not want to be publicly embarrassed by having more witnesses to his ploy.

Four, the crowd was a bad sign and it was good to have gotten out of its vicinity. Most are just gawkers, but things can change quickly. As an example of public justice being served in Kenya, a short while later we saw two men who had been caught stealing. They were in a very bad spot and after seeing what happened I'm questioning if yelling thief is the right thing to do if I am ever mugged. How much is my stuff actually worth?

As I read all this I realize I am leaving a lot out. When it was all over I called Paul in Kayole and said Paul, I just almost got arrested so I've had enough excitement for one day. I'm going home to take a nap.

Paul agreed that that was a good idea. And so I did. And I am proud to say the rest of the day I stayed in the apartment and dreamed of a relaxing Lufthansa flight to the U.S. on August 30th. Way too much stimulation for one day.