There has been a BLOWOUT!

Literally, a blowout.

So, we went on safari this past weekend (I will post my thoughts on these adventures after I come back. Reflection on these take time) and I wanted to look good for all of the pictures we would be taking while on safari (can one still be vain in Kenya? Yes, just ask Dan and Hugo). Of course we wouldn't be taking pictures of all the amazing animals we would be seeing on safari (including lions eating zebras, cheetahs, elephants, giraffes, the wildebeest migration), we would be taking pictures of the group, so I needed to look my best for this massive photo shoot.

So, I went to the local salon- ha ha ha, yes, the local salon in Bungoma- and got a blowout. This was by far one of my favorite times in Kenya. I walked in and told the woman I would like her to wash and blowdry my hair. She nearly fell to her knees thanking the Heavens for such an "opportunity." I blowdry my hair often in the States and don't feel quite the same way about this "opportunity." Chore/hassle might be a better choice of words for my blowdrying.

She immediately brought me to the backroom, took out my ponytail holder and petted- I am not kidding with this verb; it is the PERFECT description- my hair. Then, she told me she would disinfect the sink for a myzungo. As I was waiting for her to do this, 3 other women came in to see and touch my hair. Here is the converstaion:
Woman: "Why is your hair different colors?"
Me: "Oh, I dye it back at home."
Woman: "All myzungos don't have blonde hair?"
Me: "Hahaha! Well, not naturally."
Woman: "How do you get it blonde?"
Me: "I use peroxide."
All Women: "Hahhahahaaa! On your hair??! Oh my! Oh my!!"
Woman: "Why do you have hair in the front of your head?"
Me: "You mean my bangs?"
Woman: "Yes, why do you have bangs? Those are...hmmm."
Me: "They are in style in the States."
All Women: "Oh! Oh! In style! Okay! Bangs then!"
Woman: "Why do you have a bob haircut and then long hair? Why is there short hair in the middle of your head and long hair underneath that?"
Me: "My layers? That is so I have body in my hair."

Then, everyone touched my layers. They also wanted me to get braids (called plaits out here) and they wanted to be the ones to braid it. I lifted my bangs and informed them of my large forehead (and, by the way, this means I have a large brain...).

So, I went to the sink and it was DISINFECTED! There was so much Pine-Sol used I was worried it would damage my hair. After three shampoos and one deep conditioner treatment (and quite the intense scalp scrubbing!), I went to the back for the blowout. I brought my own bristle round brush for the stylist to use. She took the brush to "comb out" my hair after she washed it. More-or-less, she raked through my hair and then took out a blowdryer with a comb device attached. She disinfected that with a liquid and then used it (rather than the brush...) to blowdry my hair. When she was done, my hair was parted on the wrong side and I had no bangs- they had been brushed back in a combover-like fashion behind my ears. Otherwise, the look was perfect! :)

I showed her how I normally fixed my hair and she sat me back down when I was done. She asked if she could use oil on my hair. I said no. She asked if she could use spray oil on my hair. I said no. She asked if she could use olive oil on my hair (apparenlty different from regular oil). I said no. She asked if she could use spray olive oil on my hair (apparently different from regular oil, regular spray oil, and olive oil). I said no. She asked if she could set my hair then spray it. I said no. She really wanted to coat my hair. I said no. She gave up.

So, for 4.00 USD, I experienced my first Kenyan blowout. I hope the lions liked my mane.

Things You Didn't Know About Kenya

Okay, so I promised my next blog would be funny, and mixed in with this dose of Kenyan reality is some humor.

Nearly every kid has holes in their clothing, but they still wear it without embarrassment anyways.
Girls and boys typically have shaved heads so they don't get lice.
It costs 200.00 USD to send a kid to a private school. This includes lunch daily.
A school uniform (must have black shoes) costs 1000 Ksh and a student typically gets one per year.
Kids sharpen their pencil with a razor.
Kids don't wash their hands after they got to the bathroom- there isn't even a sink for that at the school.
Students get whipped for not having proper hair, clean nails, or the proper uniform at school.
In school, you are seated according to your grades. Smart students sit on the left.
Students do EVERYTHING for the teachers- EVERYTHING.
There really is no new clothing in town. It's mainly used clothing from other countries that is re-sold here.
Rice, beans, cabbage and tea everyday...EVERYDAY.
Church is five hours long, yes, FIVE.
Kids cry out of happiness when we give them a pencil for free.
When given the choice between hospital bills or death, a lot of people choose death- even for children. Luckily, Hugo pays for the hospital.
Speaking of Hugo, Swedish people think "moistry" is an English word.
When we have chipati night on the farm, everyone smiles.
When we have beef stew or spaghetti, we feel like we've won the lotto! Really, anything besides rice, beans, cabbage, and tea is a treat!
Getting a COLD Coke is a big, big, big deal in a small town.
A small town looks like a strip mall- about 5-6 stores long. And yes, it is considered a town.
Butchers cut their meat out in the open. Then, they leave the entire stripped carcass out for all to see.
People will drive you anywhere on a bicycle.
A matatu has 13 seat belts but typically seats 20.
There is no high fructose corn syrup here, only real sugar.
8th graders go to school Monday-Sunday.
Kids make soccer balls by balling up plastic grocery bags and holding them together with string.
No one wear deodorant, despite the fact that it is visibly sold in stores and very hot in Kenya!
There are half pennies here- yes, only worth half of a cent.
Men share their wives when a good friend stays the night.
It is acceptable to pick your nose (and anything else).
People see us and yell, "Look! A white person!"
Men can pee in public as long as their back is to the street.
One boy rings an old-fashioned hand bell to signal the changing of classes at school.
No prices are set- everything is negotiable.
Everyone knows who Michael Jackson is.
Beyonce isn't known here yet, only Destiny's Child.
No one knows what an iPod is.
People don't know how to use a zoom on a camera- instead they just kneel on the floor to fit in the picture.
Nearly everyone has a cell phone.
The doctors at our clinic have prescribed sunglasses for the complaint of, "It hurts when I look into the sun" and shoes for, "It hurts when I walk on grass."
No electricity!
School lasts from 6:30 AM to 5:30 PM.
People paint their nails here and you can get a manicure for 4.50 USD.
The public bathrooms are locked so you don't steal the glass bottles that beverages come in.
The glass bottles that beverages come in are recycled- I drank out of a Coke bottle from 1995 the other day.
Polio is common!
There is often no change and you must wait for the cashier to run to the next shop to get some.
People use plastic bags for gas.

More later! Cheers to life in Kenya. Hope you enjoyed your little taste!

"How are you?"

The most common phrase spoken to us Myzungos (white people) in Kenya is, "How are you?" Well, after being here for over a week, I can answer that question honestly. I am uneasy.

One U.S. dollar is equivalent to about 80 Kenyan shillings. The average Kenyan earns 100 Ksh a day. The average breakfast from a restaurant is about 200 Ksh- so a little over 3.00 for eggs, toast, and sausage. Last weekend, we went to Kisumu to see another part of Kenya and experience more Kenyan culture. We treated ourselves to a 400 Ksh breakfast (a buffet of all you can eat eggs, toast, sausage, and tea) and after walking out of the restaurant, I've decided to change my attitude towards money.

With our tummies full (and many of our wallets looking similar- at least to Kenyan standards), we left the restaurant to walk around and see some culture. I may have bitten off more than I could chew. It is hard to spend a Kenyan's weekly salary on one breakfast and walk out to see children in used U.S. clothing from the 90s with broken sandals and dirty feet. The immediate gut reaction is guilt. I'm guilty of gluttony; I am guilty of greed; I am guilty of gorging. It is hard to have the comfort of money and look forwards, backwards, left and right and see people with so little.

So, there is this part of me that feels ashamed. I walked out of the restaurant thinking, "Wow! All of that for only four dollars?!? What a steal!" Then you see these children with so little and you don't feel so lucky...you just feel ashamed for being so unaware.

It's a harsh reality, a slap in the face, but at the same time, it is a welcome wake-up call. One of the reasons I brought myself to Kenya was to help those less fortunate (although, we might be the only ones that feel Kenyans are less fortunate because they are honestly so happy and welcoming here that is it is salt in my fresh "I-need-to-watch-my-money-spending" open wound).

Because I come from a place with "so much more," I can't help but thinking that they don't know what they are missing and I am not sure if it would be good if they did know what they were missing.

In many ways, they are unaware of our position and we are unaware of theirs...I'm not sure which viewpoint is better.

My next blog will be funny, I promise! There have been so many laughs here, I've had trouble catching my breath sometimes!

The Frightened Rabbit

It is funny what fear drags out of us. For some, it keeps us stagnant; it's paralyzing. For others, it is a motivator; fear of failure can actually push us to try harder. For some, it is a catalyst for changes; fear leads us to take leaps we would normally avoid.

In Kenya, I am unsure how fear exists. It might be overpowered by desperation and this is an emotion that can drive many of us to carry out actions that we normally wouldn't do when we are surrounded by comfort and security. There is desperation here and it surrounded by hope and happiness. Students are desperate for paper, but happy with what little they have or need to re-use. People are desperate for money, but happy to earn what little they do. There seems to be so little, yet there is so much.For place where education seems far below par compared to the U.S., and where technology is behind the times, they are educated and advanced in life. They know that family, happiness, and love matters. They understand that it is not what you've got that matters, but that you've want what you've got. I have learned some priorities here already. I may have extra money for my Uggs, extra add-ons for my cell phone (I really do need that App...) and extra time on my hands because I can order those Uggs from my phone while waiting in line, but at the end of the day, you need to have yourself, extras or not. And, here in Kenya, people do have themselves, their beliefs, their endless hope and optimistic outlook, and a sense of appreciation. And, quite frankly, my Uggs and cell phone- no matter what App. I download- can't deliver that. Thanks, Kenya, for putting my priorities in order. Cheers.

So, I have arrived! The journey to get here has been laughs and giggles the whole way, which of course means I have been having a "Classic Melissa Bachler" experience.

I flew out to London and during my 13 hour layover, I toured. It was wonderful, but lonely. I didn't have conversation with anyone for so long that I actually considered talking to myself! I then flew to Nairobi and went to a hostel. I was lucky, the day I arrived at the airport, another volunteer arrived as well, so I was not alone. He is from Sweden and he is studying to be a doctor. I asked him approximately 2 million questions, and I am 2 million percent sure he got annoyed with my American Ignorance. But, I learned plenty in the process, so I am happy with it!

I have since toured the school and gotten to meet the children. We gave high-fives and they were all very friendly. On Monday I will officially be in the classroom, so as more happens there, I will blog about it.

Transportation here is interesting. I took my first piku-piku ride. Basically, you hop on the back of a motorcycle and pay 50 cents to get to town. (Mom, it really is one of the few forms of transportation, so I am sorry I am living dangerously!) On my first ride, my driver's piku-piku ran out of gas. No need to worry, however, they just put me on the back of another motorcycle with another person! Also, the piku-piku drivers carry their extra gas in a plastic baggie. NO JOKE! One driver pulled out a plastic baggie, got it filled, and then was trying to find a pocket to put the baggie in. It was a little funny.

Another aspect that has been interesting is how people stare at you because you are white. We get lots of looks, but we get lots of smiles too. Today, on the way back from Kisumu, I tried to smile and wave at anybody who looked me in the eye. The children always have the best response- a HUGE smile with an over zealous wave. It's comforting to know (and now fully understand) that a smile and a wave are universal. And, as I have also come to find out, so it Coke- it is everywhere!

So, for now I am safe and learning a lot! There's been quite a bit of reflection, so next time I will bring my journal with me to the internet cafe and write about some changes I've noticed in myself and with my thinking! I hope all is well in America, and HAPPY 4th of JULY!!

P.S. Sorry for the misspellings, I am typing fast!

Celebrate Your Little Ones

I've had quite a few people tell me that going to Africa is an achievement and they are proud of me and wished they could do something as important. Thank you all for these kind thoughts, and I before I go, I want to let you all know I am thinking of you and that not every victory needs to be a trip halfway around the world. You are all completing inspirational acts everyday, so keep it up and pat yourself on the back! This reminded me of an email I wrote a while back, and I hope you look for your own victories while I am gone trying to achieve a victory of my own.

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Victory is a word that often carries a heavy meaning as we older. You need to be the Valedictorian to be victorious in high school. Your college football team has to win the Rose Bowl to victorious in college football. Many even feel that to be victorious in life, you must make extensive amounts of money and be the best in your field.

Well, as I waded through the baby pool the other day with the little girl I babysit, the sun warming my back, the pee in the pool warming my feet (and killing any athlete’s foot), I looked around and got a true peek into a part of our lives that, as we get older, I feel we often forget or at least overlook- our victories.

My eyes noticed a little girl who scanned the pool with her eyes opened so widely, I swear, the whites were larger than a full moon in summer. She proceeded to inhale a large breath of air that could have easily allowed her to stay under water for twelve minutes. Her arms shot up in the air at 90 miles per hour, and suddenly she went under. I can only imagine the scene under the water, but above the water, two skinny legs flailed wildly, and a hazardous foot almost took out a child's newly earned front tooth. Approximately four seconds later, the half of her body that was underwater came up for air. With dark hair matted to her face, outlining her eyes and tickling the corners of her mouth, her lower jaw dropped and she caught her mother’s eyes from across the pool.

“Did you see that?! I just did a HANDSTAND in the pool!” she shouted excitedly to her mom across the pool, her voice full of pride. I don’t believe the smile ever left her face that day.

Victory.

I also noticed a little boy near the diving boards. I noticed him because he was both in line and out of line- just kind of hanging out and confusing those who actually wanted to get in line to take the plunge. He was there for a while, eyeing the diving boards with fear, confusion, and defiance in those small eyes, whose lashes were so saturated with water, that he looked as if he were wearing mascara. He finally stepped in line for the high dive, and his steps were a little smaller and a bit slower than the other diving dare devils waiting for the chance to be falling airborne for a brief moment. His chest was moving up and down at a pace that reminded me of the speed of a strobe light. Finally, his number was called, and he climbed up that high dive ladder with white hands and toes that appeared to curl completely around each rung. By the time he got to the top, his belly was scratched and bleeding because he practically shimmed his way up the ladder. Having reached the top of his own Mount Everest, he ran the marathon (I am positive it felt like a marathon to him) down the length of the diving board (I am also positive his sweaty feet made that experience even more delightful), and jumped- well, ran- off the board. The entire way down to the pool, his feet kept running, only to have his arms flap widely as if he were trying to fly back to the edge of that high dive. All of these efforts on the way down only led to the inevitable- a belly flop. I worried that his high dive experience might scar him for life (figuratively and literally, based on his scratched up belly). A head bobbed up to the top of the water and moved via doggie-paddle to the ladder. The boy got out of the pool with nothing but a smile on his face. He turned and looked at that high dive again with his mascara eyelashes and the look of “Hello, old friend” blanketed his face. He ran (and got yelled at by the lifeguard on duty) and this time clearly took his place in line for the high dive.

Victory.

I saw others as well. To the kid who talked his mom into a quarter for the snack shack; to the girl who stared at the boy from across the pool and finally said hi; to the little kid who stuck his/her head under the water for the first time and discovered they wouldn’t die- victory.

As we get older, the victories may not become easier and they may seem to come far and few between, but that doesn’t make them any less important or meaningful in our lives and who we are as people. Take a moment to think of any victories you have accomplished recently- big or small- and pat yourself on the back. You were once that kid at the pool whose chest puffed up because you actually jumped off the high dive, swam underwater, or did an awesome handstand, and you took pride in that accomplishment, so take pride in the ones you achieve now- no matter how big or small.

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See you soon, America! Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers! I look forward to returning with stories to share!

Being Prepared Means Being Unprepared

Preparing my toilet paper for my suitcase. Gaye taught me how to take out the center roll to make it more pliable for packing. If you look closely, you can see the toilet paper is smiling...ha ha ha! I am (physically) prepared for the Kenyan bathrooms (not sure about mentally)!

If I count today and Monday, there are exactly six days left until I go to Africa. Six days until the journey of a lifetime. Six days until a life changing journey. Six days.

I am not sure what to expect, so I am not sure how to feel. It's funny how you can prepare for all these other aspects- if you get sick, cold weather, warm weather, staying in touch, eating- but it's impossible to prepare your emotions. Even when you do prepare your emotions, it doesn't work. You never know what your heart is going to do, so maybe trying to prepare my emotions is a waste of time. (And trust me, I am a melting pot of emotions! I've been unable to sleep because I am too excited or worried. I've been scared too the point that I can't think about Kenya. I've been upset to the point where I've cried. I've been hopeful, overwhelmed, disappointed, angry (yes, angry), shocked, elated, confused... ALL OF 'EM!) I think I am just going to go with an open heart and let it do as it may. So, that's my preparation for my heart while I am there- to have no preparation.

Another aspect I can prepare for- packing my suitcase! This was the beginning of that "journey."

Another moment I wasn't prepared for- my students teaching me a lesson before I left! As we were rounding out the end of the school year (believe it or not, one of the most difficult times for teachers) and stress levels were running high, I had a moment that immediately put me in my place and reminded me that we are all innately good people. As we were cleaning out lockers, one student turned and said, "Ms. Bachler, do they need paper in Kenya?" I said, "Well, if you were just going to throw it out, then you can donate it. As long as it was going to be trash." There was a flock of paper emptied from lockers and stacked on desks...yes DESKS! Then, the students, being the thinkers that they are, starting looking at all of their supplies in their lockers- scissors, markers, pencils, colored pencils, etc. and were asking, "Do kids in Kenya need ______?" And again, desks were filled with supplies. One of my favorite times in life is when people teach you a lesson when you least expect it but most need it. Believe me, children do that a lot. I am thankful for the gentle nudges and reminders that children provide adults with or else many of us would be so aloof in our "adult world" where we often overlook the simplest, yet most worthy, moments.

Below are pictures of me packing my bags (I LOVE my space saver bags!), the Chicago gear I intend on giving my host family (notice how the Sox shirt almost dominates), and what 'Africa for Month' looks like when it is all packed up and ready to go!