Kenya: Entering Week Three

Many people here thought the world would end on Saturday at 6 pm. We are still here (no one saw that one coming). PRAISE JESUS. Continuing.

What I had first mistaken as novelty and noting difference, I now believe is a form of hard and fast racism. Now that I am alone, traveling as one Mzungu and not two or three, I am scared. I am really fucking scared. And I have never felt more alone in my life.

People shout on the streets, 'Mzungu, mzungu!' I didn't let it get to me, I didn't. But now it's just like their shouting, "go home! you don't belong here. get out!" Kenyans are of this mindset: white skin=money. And, yes, I guess it is true. I have a lot more fucking money than almost every other person I see on the streets, but put me here in Kenya, convert the actual ratio of money I live on to Kenyan schillings and see how rich I am. See how many schillings I have to spend on just rent for one month in my 'shitty' apartment back home. I don't have money to throw around here, but yes, yes I DO have the ability to pull out 10,000 shillings at a time. So WHAT?! It means NOTHING. I don't like being accosted, ripped off and touched. My fine hair is not a signal that it's okay to touch it. My tanned skin is not a signal that it's okay to take my arm. My leather wallet is not a sign I have money.

I was ripped off buying fabric. I paid 300 KSh, which I thought was a reasonable price and a trustworthy shop. Turns out that should only have cost me 150 KSh. And then someone had the nerve to attempt to sell me the same size and quality of fabric at a market yesterday for 600 KSh.

It's not just the shopping. Yesterday I went into Nairobi and I saw reverse ghettos. White people seclude themselves in these huge, hulking, luxurious apartment complexes. White people being ex-Pats, the people who are descendants of the British who colonized here who do almost always have more money than all the others. The racial divide here is so stark it's hard to not notice. Honestly, I can't blame them. People cut in front of me in line, assume that I'll take them back to where ever I'm from, harass me...I guess I'd separate myself too if I could.

And the religion. I think I am literally the only person within 200 km who doesn't accept Jehovah as my Lord and Savior and understands that sinners may not burn in hell. It's intolerable. I will NOT start going to church when I get home, okay?!

The worst I suppose is the huge language divide. I know their talking about me because I catch the word "mzungu" in with swahili jibberish and I catch sneers in my general direction. Of course I can't communicate in Swahili, okay? I TRY though. I really do. I'm TRYING not to stick out so sorely, but I can't live in blackface for three more weeks. I just don't know what to do; I feel lost. I'm so alone here, especially in this village because no tourists live here and no ex-Pats live here either.

My phone, I have discovered is incredibly expensive to use. I can't talk to my friends or my family on the phone, and I can only get to this stupid internet room deemed 'cafe' for a couple hours in the afternoon before the sun sets and I am in true and present danger. This only adds to my sinking deepening feeling of loneliness.


In other news, I taught the kids to say "What's up?" today. It went over quite well even if they only half knew what it meant. I really like those kids but sometimes they gather around me like I have all the answers and know what to do and everything in the world. I don't. I really don't. I've started preparing lessons in the evenings, and it went pretty well today. The teacher, who I finally found out was 21 years old, was super cooperative and the lesson went well. I taught them a simple conversation a la:

Hey, what's your name?
My name is Milkah, what's yours? ['yours' is always pronounced wrong, without fail]
I am Rebecca. How old are you?
I'm 9 years old. And you?
I'm 20 years old.
Where are you from?
I'm from Kenya. And you?
I'm from The United States.
How many siblings do you have?
I have 2 sisters and 1 brother.

Some of the older kids can get it, but the ones who only know Maa (Masai native tongue) can barely form the words. And even the older kids need a script. I am now absolutely positive that they absorbed not even 30% of what the Canadians taught them. Maybe two of the kids could explain in Swahili some of what we went over last week. I'm trying, I'm doing my best. But my best is just not good enough.

And still I wake up thinking, HOLY FUCK I'm in KENYA. (!!) Probably the best experience I'll ever have.