November Rains

Mutomo has finally entered the "short rains" season. This was scheduled to come mid-October, but they work on their own time, which seems to be whenever is most inconvenient for me.

Here is a typical scenario describing the rains and my misfortune:

• The skies are completely clear and bright


• I decide to run some errands in town


• I leave behind my raincoat and/or umbrella (this is sub-Saharan Africa- I don't want to draw more attention)


• Due to the scorching heat, I'm usually wearing cool and light colors. Such as white.


• At the exact moment that I am as far as possible from any sort of shade or shelter there comes a downpour of rain

This rain is so fierce that it actually stings. There isn't much I can do but stand there and suffer through it, or seek some cover under a leaky tarp from a mama selling overripe bananas. Although they don't look appealing or fresh, I buy a few in exchange for preserving what is left of my dripping wet dignity.

Along with the rains come a whole host of new bugs and insects that seem to want to make my acquaintance by inviting themselves into my room, without giving me time to adequately assess their potential danger or intimidation factor. It's a jungle in there.

Last week we finally completed our handwashing lesson at three schools. In total, over 1,000 students received the hygiene message, so I expect by the time word gets around during our next set in January, we'll need to arrange for crowd control. These Peer Educators are a hot commodity. Check out the pictures.

Destruction Hits Mutomo

Over the weekend Mutomo experienced some rain and high winds which resulted in a mini-tornado that ripped the roof off six classrooms at one of the local schools. Luckily nobody was injured, but this was the school that was going to get the first hygiene lesson, so we obviously had to reschedule. Something tells me that hand washing wouldn't have been a high priority without a roof over their heads. Unless we adjust our lesson to include classroom renovations. We might be good, but not that good.

While Mutomo was dealing with Mother Nature's antics, I was in Kitui meeting up with some fellow Volunteers and of course to see my host family who was hosting a party. There were lots of people and lots of food and my host brother was the first to greet me, grinning and showing off the progress of his growing front teeth. He'll need a new nickname since mapengo (affectionately translated to "toothless") is no longer accurate.

I stayed with a nearby Volunteer, who lives only about 8 kilometers out of Kitui town, but with public transport this ride is usually 15-20 minutes long. After I boarded and crammed in, we cruised around looking for more people to pickup until the matatu was more than completely full, then promptly got pulled over at a police checkpoint. The obligatory handover of kitu kidogo (something small) was exchanged for a turning of the back to all of the number of rules we were violating. It must have been a sufficient payoff, since the AK-47 remained untouched, slung over the officer's shoulder as he wandered around the car and waved us on. Weaving through the large metal spikes in the road, we were finally on our way. But not before stopping for petrol on the edge of town, the tout hanging out the sliding door window, slapping the roof, calling for more passengers as we passed them on the road. Not sure where he was planning to fit them, but I guess he'd worry about that upon arriving at the next police checkpoint.

When I arrived back to Mutomo, I ran into my neighbor kids as I was walking to my room. I was happy to see them, but they peered at me suspiciously and, hands on hips, the 8-year old ringleader asked where I had been all weekend. I realized I hadn't cleared my travel with her. Guilty, I hung my head and murmured, "Kitui". Unconvinced, she narrowed her eyes, looked me up and down, and asked where my bags were. I pointed to the bag on my back. She nodded her head in approval and let me continue, calling out after me that they missed me while I was gone. Looks like I'll need to fire up the popcorn this weekend to put this little misunderstanding behind us.

Happy (early) Thanksgiving! A turkey can be pardoned for me, since I think it looks like roasted goat meat or chicken in my future. I'll let you know how Kenya celebrates.

The Sounds of Mutomo

Sunday 6:57am:
The Muslim call to prayer can be heard through the loudspeakers. A baby tests her lung capacity by screaming outside my window. Gospel music echos from the nearby church. A baboon does what sounds like an aerobics class on the tin roof above my head. Then a rooster crows, getting louder and louder until it sounds like it has snuck into my room and is crowing directly into my ear.

In an unprecedented team effort, the community of Mutomo has come together to disrupt any hopes I had of sleeping in on the weekend. These creatures do not observe Sundays.

Arising early on the weekend means I can feel smugly productive and accomplished for the rest of the day, but then I realize all the mamas have been up since dawn cleaning, feeding their family, looking after the children, as well as running the entire household, and they still find time for church, so I really can't compare. But getting up that early does minimize the guilt if I decide to doze off later while reading a book.

Five primary schools are nearing completion of their pit latrines, so next Friday my peer educators make their debut hand washing lesson at the first school. It's already been made clear that I am their agent and manager to book their gigs, and any offers for additional promotions or endorsements need to go through me first. I know a good thing when I see it.