Whilst you Dreamt, I Played a Role in Other’s Nightmares

I have been writing stories since I was 5 years old; tales of far off lands, heroes and love. In creating those each one of those stories I used my imagination to create stories I thought others would like to hear about.

The stories I will be writing about today will not be created by my imagination, in some cases they are the stories that people don’t want to hear about; stories that stir feelings and emotions about people whom you have never met, but who are sure to touch your life in the end. Although the images I have seen can never be accurately described in words, I hope that you will use your own imaginations to follow the story as if you were traveling the polluted streets of Kibera yourself.

In Africa, I have said, there are things that I will always remember and some things… that I will never forget.

Jumping off the packed Matatu around 10AM with my camera in hand I was off to make some of the first REAL impact I had made since I had touched down in Kenya 3 short months ago. I was off to visit patients who were confined to their homes due to the HIV/AIDS pandemic that has been sweeping the slum for years now, killing indiscriminately. I didn’t know anything about the patients, where they lived or what their situations were like, but I was sure that this experience would be one of the experiences which would change my entire outlook in life. I prayed that my camera wouldn’t fail me in capturing the images I saw around me as to share them with those back home, to capture the mood and the feeling that is the slum and the people living within it.

I arrived at the Ushirika Medical Center after a short hike up the twisting road which bisects the entire slum and acts as a boarder for the majority of the 9 villages that make up the slum itself. After waiting a mere hour and a half for the rest of my companions and the guides to show up we were instructed that we would be visiting 4 families who had been affected by HIV and who were now struggling to overcome sicknesses such as TB which has been making the AIDS treatment difficult and which had been shortening their lives considerably. After purchasing a few small gifts and food items for the families we were finally off to the first destination, a house in the Kianda-Saweto Village, Kibera Slum, Kenya.

House #1 - Suzanne

As we approached the house, ducking under clothes lines and passing by lines of giggling children our male guide rushed ahead to ensure that our first patient was awake and ready for visitors of the foreign persuasion. We were given the green light, and as I approached the house I noticed that there was a real door, and a light was streaming out onto the darkness of the street. In most of the houses I had visited in Kibera had no power, so I was shocked when I entered and saw a TV shining and a light blanketing the room full of furniture and pillows. Not a common sight for me in Kibera. We all approached a lady sitting on the middle of the largest couch, clutching a little baby in her arms. She was introduced as Suzanne and it was obvious to see that by the way she stood up to shake our hands that she was struggling with her joints and that each time she got up was a labour in itself.

Being that we were quite shy to begin with, the guides began asking her questions in Swahili about her health, her children and various other basic questions, which she was able to answer in English so that we could understand her.

She told us how she was having a good day, but no day was without the sharp pain she felt in her head and in her bones due to the virus. Suzanne has been HIV positive for the last one and a half years, a period of struggle which started shortly after the birth of her youngest son, which she now clutched in her arms. During this period of 1.5 years, her husband has passed away, her family has deserted her, and her neighbours have shunned her. Her husband, who died one year earlier at the hands of the same killer which will inevitably cut her life short, had a decent job before he got sick and was able to provide his wife and 5 children a life with electricity and nice furniture in their small 10*20 house. Now, unable to work, she is forced to sell off pieces of the furniture and the memories of a happier time where both her and her husband could afford to provide for their family.

Suzanne had not lived all of her life here in the slum. At 32 years old, she had been brought to the slum at the age of 17 to try and scrape together a life in the same way that 5 million people do everyday. Now, being often too sick to leave her house, she is completely dependant on the kindness of strangers and organizations like Ushirika to ensure that her family will continue to live on in one of the biggest slums in the world. On good days like today she says that she is able to set up a small shop to sell fruits and vegetables to buy school supplies for her 5 children. Her children have managed to escape the virus and have the opportunity to attend the various impromptu classes put on by the various education centers located in the slums. But, statistically speaking, one of the children will contract the virus before the age of 25 and die before the age of 35.

Suzanne was given access to ARV’s (Antiretroviral treatment designed to slow the progression of the virus and the decay of the immune system) about two months ago in a government funded initiative. While the ARV’s prolong her life, the side-effects make life less bearable in some cases. Vomiting and continual headaches are just some of the consequences of taking a drug which is essentially keeping her alive… most likely just long enough to see her youngest enter the equivalent of kindergarten here in the slum.

As we left Suzanne with the foodstuffs we had brought to help keep her till the end of the week it was clear that she appreciated any help and visitors that she got. Although it was also readily apparent that what we had brought was not nearly enough. While we can provide some hope for her children, her life is sealed to the same fate as all with this disease; to leave those she loves behind due to a disease which has no cure… prevention is our only safeguard.



House # 2 – Hanna

Winding down paths made of dirt and garbage we made our way to our second stop. Past houses of dirt and straw we climbed up hills and down valleys of the washed out village of Kibera-Saweto. Creeping through a gate made of old planks nailed together we approached a house smaller than that of Suzanne’s and awaited the go-ahead nod from our guide to enter the house and meet its inhabitants.

As we waited for our guide to make initial contact I had a look around the street which this house sat. Children slumped down over buckets of coal picking up pieces making their hands black with dirt that could not possibly be washed away without soap. Those same children looking at you with a sort of distant look in their eyes, as if they were existing beyond the flow of time itself, a look that is not common in most children’s eyes. Most children sit with a glint in their eye about the world; the possibilities, the wonder and the excitement. When, at the age of 7, you will usually have a job washing or chopping or carrying something to help you sustain the family… maybe that glint goes away, the reality of your situation sinks in… and that is far too young of an age to have something like that set in…

We entered the second house and you could immediately smell the stagnate air that could only come with a bed-ridden patient. We were greeted, however, by a woman standing with a thin smile across her face welcoming us into her house. We all introduced ourselves and the woman standing waiting to welcome us was introduced as Hanna, the patient we had come to visit. The bed she usually slept in was covered in a bug net, but you could tell that it had been used thoroughly in the past weeks. The house itself was covered with plastic bottles of all shapes and sizes. The bottles were obviously sold off to those who would need them for water or oil storage, but based upon the amount of bottles in the house; it has been a while since Hanna had been out to sell them. Having sat through a meeting quite similar to the one we were about to have, the girls I was with began asking some of the questions that they had regarding Hanna and her overall health.

Hanna is a 36 year old mother of one. She has been HIV positive for two years, on ARVs for around 6 months and has had TB for the last month. Up until today she has been in bed for a month straight. Today is a good day, so she is really excited to receive company. Her husband died 6 years ago because of HIV, and her daughter, 13, is out washing clothes as the sole bread-winner for the house. Her daughter was not born with AIDS and Hanna considers herself very lucky to have a daughter who is able to help her afford to live in the 8*12 room they both share. Apart from her 13 year old daughter, Hanna has no family willing to help her, no income and is dependent on other organizations to pay her rent for her.

She has plenty of medication and says she has been feeling much better with the ARV/TB medicine she has been receiving from the various groups who aid her. She says the only problem she faces on a day-to-day basis is money to help feed her and her daughter.

Just money to feed her family? I guess you can’t survive on government prescribed pills alone…

After unpacking the paltry gifts that we had brought I could see light enter her eyes as she realized that she would be able to feed her child for the remainder of the week. It certainly seemed like we had hit the nail on the head in terms of gifts and as we turned around to leave I asked her if I could take a picture of her.



As we left the house I wondered how many miles the daughter had to travel through the uneven hills to get to a family who could afford her for even one day to help with the washing or other chores… I probably didn’t want to know.

House #3 – Beatrice

As we began the trek to our third house I began to get a sense what these poor families were going through. After years of reading the stories, hearing the ads and generally trying to comprehend what goes through the heads of those dying with AIDS I had finally come up with an answer. Survival.

As a stood atop the railroad tracks, which acts as a transportation route for the people of Kibera twice a day, I decided to take a picture from the best vantage point in Kibera. I wanted to show everyone back home just how many people were fighting everyday for just that… survival. While not everyone in Kibera has AIDS, it is a struggle every day for the type of things that Hanna was talking about, just the money to feed your family for a month, week or even a day. Pictures, sadly, will never be able to capture the faces and stories of the nearly 5 million people living in this small valley, but I hope this can give you a glimpse of the magnitude of the situation.



We trekked down the railroad tracks until we can to a major bar in Kibera, which we quickly walked by much to the chatter and cat calls of the patrons inside. We were told that it was one of the best proprietors of illegal booze in Kibera… which a bit disheartening itself. But not quite as disheartening as the bucket of water they were using to serve their illicit brew from. An old rusty basin filled with a murky white water, the contents of which I could not even guess.

As we approached the next house the guide once again dutifully checked to see if our patient was at home. Meanwhile a curious little girl had seen my camera and started shouting “picture, picture!” The other guide informed me that the little girl would like her picture taken, and as I bent down to start getting in place for the little one the little girl began to scream as loud as she could. Apparently the thought was exciting when it was not being presented directly to her… I got up and slowly backed away as the various other kids just stared at me awkwardly.

The guide came out to inform us that the patient we had came to see was not in at the moment so we pushed on to the next house that they had on their list.

The house which we stopped in front of was a bit more organized on the outside, with clothes hanging on the line and a welcome mat in front of the door. The smell that drifted out from the house was clean and you could tell that upkeep was very important to the residents.

As we all entered the home, I noticed the vibrant colors which covered nearly every piece of furniture. Quilts and throws made from fluorescent wools and fabrics decorated the house giving it a feeling of life. A tired, old looking woman immerged from a bed, which I could only assume was the patient. We all introduced ourselves and our guides told us that this was Beatrice whose husband had died years ago from AIDS… a story that is unfortunately all too common.

Through our conversations we learned that Beatrice has had AIDS for the past 2 years and has been on ARVs for about 8 months of that period. The drugs, which were provided to her by MSF Belgium, have made her extremely tired all of the time. She has a lot of trouble getting out of bed and you can see in her eyes that she doesn’t get much sleep despite the fact she spends the majority of her week in bed. The pain she gets from the side effects of the various pills she is on to combat the sicknesses that run so rampant in Kibera never allows her much sleep.

Thankfully, unlike the rest of the women we had met, Beatrice has some family to help take care of her, which of course explained the kempt nature of her house. Her step mother, the stepmother’s husband and their tiny baby, live in this tiny house with Beatrice and help to pay the bills that Beatrice is unable to pay for. Unlike the rest of the families, her family realizes how HIV is transmitted and are not running away afraid to get the virus themselves like the past two families we had seen. Ignorance to the disease and its causes tear entire neighborhoods apart in Kibera. Neighbours stop talking, family disowns and those who have had the misfortune of contracting the virus live out the short years of their life alone, struggling to feed themselves and the immediate family that they are responsible for.

We then learned that only two short years ago, Beatrice had been a tailor and had created all of the wonderful fabrics and quilts we saw around us. Back when she could support her family she loved colors and creating things with her hands. Because of AIDS she can barely get up long enough to share a 15 minute visit with us.

As we all got up to left I snapped a picture of Beatrice sitting feebly in her chair and left her the gifts which she could use to help support the rest of those staying in the house… a notion you could tell she was proud to do.



The final question posed to Beatrice asked her how old she was. As we crossed the threshold to her little house the guide translated her answer into “28”. This seemingly frail old woman was not 7 years my senior. In 2 years the virus had snatched the glow from her eyes and left her broken and old before her time. I could not imagine contracting a death sentence at the age of 25, at an age which, for most, means renewed life…

House #4 – Patrice

As the final family’s house was upon us I tried to gather my thoughts. Writing notes frantically which I could use to help me write this story. As a walked down streets filled with people, dogs and garbage I searched my brain, my vocabulary, and my emotions to come up with words that would remind me of the things I saw… not only for the purpose of the story, but for my memory when I returned home. To recall this instant whenever I was feeling sorry for myself, ready to complain in my fashion… there was but one word I managed to scribble down throughout the entire last leg of the journey: Perspective.

Was this it? Was this the moment in time that I had designed my trip for? Was this the moment that was to help define my outlook on humanity and the strength of human character? No amount of time in my life will be able to tell. Something like that, I realized, is something that others see in you long after you pass away. As they sit around the dinner table discussing your life and its purpose. A little snippet of a blog you wrote in Kenya when you were 21 may come to mind…

As we approached the last house I got an odd feeling. Perhaps it was sadness that our journey was ending, and I would not have enough time in this country to really make an impact in the capacity which I sought… but no. It was something different. As the guide approached the door I realized that something was dramatically different about this house than the rest of the houses we had visited. The guide attempted to open the door. A feat which was taking him a lot of effort. His efforts popped one of the hinges off of the dilapidated door.

We all entered the very tiny house and at around 8*8 it was crammed full with all measures of boxes, crates and old cabinets; the type of stuff you would expect to find in someone’s shed back in Canada.

That is when we saw her, peering through the darkness. Sitting up in her bed which was composed of a few blankets on the ground. Our last patient, Patrice didn’t have enough energy to welcome us into her house, and instead only produced a weak little cough to announce her presence in the darkness.

The house was dark, cold and smelled of all the smells of Kibera. The garbage and boxes that littered the house were soaked with the water that flowed freely through the holes in the roof, and being that it has just rained the day before, the house was soaked giving off a moldy smell which would only spell sickness in the days to come.

Patrice’s children huddled in a corner of the tiny house, sitting on nothing, as there was nothing to sit on. I did a quick count of the children while totaled 5, ranging from 2-10 years old. Being that the mother was too sick to answer some of the questions, the eldest daughter answered questions about her dying mother at the tender age of 10.



Patrice’s husband had abandoned her after learning that she had contracted the virus. Being that he was most likely the source of the virus, it was assumed that he had died some years ago, although he had never taken the time to send money to his dying wife and 5 struggling children.

All of her relatives have abandoned her with her 5 children of which, thankfully, have not contracted the virus from their parents. Being that no one wants to deal with the nearly dead, her neighbours have also stopped visiting, sensing the worse. The guides tell us that they cannot remember a time where they have seen Patrice out of her bed walking around.

Patrice relies completely on the hospital for medicine, counseling and hope. One thing that the hospital does not provide, however, is the money for rent. Her rent is 3 months overdue and she tells us that she will be evicted before the end of this month and her children and she will be out on the streets at the mercy of the neighbours who have deserted her. Just in time for Christmas.

In writing this now I can only recall the blank stare in the eyes of mother and children. The realization of the hopelessness of the situation now brings tears to my eyes. As I write and as I you read you can only begin to imagine the constant pain that keeps Patrice in bed, unable to care for her 5 children, who, upon her death will become like all orphans of HIV/AIDS... totally dependant on a system which will simply perpetuate slum mentality and activity.

It goes without saying that upon leaving that house no one said a word. What could you say about a situation like that which could possibly do it any sort of justice? I’m afraid that even my words now will not give you the full scope of the emotions and thoughts that fill your head as you talk to a person who has nothing but time… and even that is a resource that is running out fast.



Leaving the houses, the slums and the chaos… I rode the bus back to my haven not more than a kilometer more from the houses of Suzanne, Hanna, Beatrice and Patrice. Four single mothers who have a disease which is still growing in intensity. A killer who does not care about color, lifestyle or religion. These women, according to many organizations, account only for a statistic. A statistic for a virus which affects 2 million Kenyans alone. These women I have met are no longer statistics. But people which I can put a face and name to.

Everyone has a different life before they are struck down with this virus; tailors, merchants, carpenters. When you become positive you try so hard to keep up with that life that used to provide you and your family with a sort of life which keeps them fed and happy. But as your body begins to fail and your life slowly become dependent on sleep, medicine and the kindness of others… life changes dramatically. Those dreams you had of seeing your children grow up and get married gets replaced by a nightmare which you cannot ever wake up from. The type of hell on earth of which you can neither escape nor defeat.

There is nothing more to be said that hasn’t already been said about this pandemic. But now I hope that hearing about this through the words of a friend… the situation will be made much clearer and all the more dire.

I will be putting these and other pictures I have about this particular experience together in a 4 part short-video. I hope to have it all shown at NC in Edmonton, Canada this Christmas break.

If you would like to see the video please hound the MC to let me show the videos (all four) so that I can get the whole story across to the plenary.

From these videos if you feel the need to give to the organization who was out supporting these people on the ground level with food and medicine every week, please get a hold of me and I will make arrangements for you to get the contact of the head of the organization and the treasurer in charge of their newly expanding HIV/AIDS project. The Ushirika Medical Center is a reputable organization whose chairman recognized that we were students and therefore allowed us to travel around to these patients’ houses free of charge. He was the only one in all of the NGO’s I visited who did not require something for HIS organization just to see those who they were helping, so I really appreciated this whole experience a lot more.

I leave Kenya in 2 days… and I finally have nothing more to say.

A Rude Awakening, A Quiet Reminder

Hey Folks,

Well it happened again. Friday night I was robbed for the 5th time here in Kenya. This time it was by 4 guys who all jumped me from behind and started kicking me in the chest. They threatened to kill me if I tried to make any noise and didn't show them where the money was. They stole my shoes, my bracelet keepsake from my mom, my keys, my phone and my ISIC ID card (I didn't show them where the money was... some would say I like to live DANGEROUSLY!).

Then I walked away, got on a Mat... Got told I was going to pay 150 shillings (triple the usual) if I was going to get where I wanted to go. When I told the conductor where he could put that idea... I was promptly threatened with my life again but this time, by a busload of angry drunk dudes.

Mmm HM! Sounds like a good time hey?

Enough to make me want to leave the country curse it all to hell and completely forget everything I have done here.

... But I'm still kicking.

In fact, it makes me want to get out and help the street kids more. Maybe because it will make me feel like a bigger person, willing to turn the other cheek. Maybe because it will make me feel more like a man for getting back up and showing those bastards they can't keep me down. Maybe I don't want to let my last week, where I intended to make that impact I was looking forward to, go to waste with anger.

Maybe it is because of the other people here in this country. The ones who, while aren't out peddling my goods and getting drunk on my dollar, are real human beings about things. SO how could I refuse to be a human being in the mean time?

Today was awesome. It was a regular "forgetting where you are" kind of happiness I needed after a traumatic Friday. My two roommates and I hit the theatre to check out the new James Bond (and they bought my ticket, those big sweethearts!). The show (which was the BEST bond I have seen, and I have seen them all) was pretty good... the meal afterwards was even better! Possibly the best meal I have had here in Kenya. We got ice cream from the McDonalds wannabe here called "Steers" and basically took it easy. Easy enough until we tried to take the bus... and in my own words: “Hey guys… what did you do Sunday night? We went to KENCOM, and phew… it’s a JUNGLE out there!” (KenCom is the main bus stop downtown). The bus station was PACKED so we decided to move to the side where people get dropped off on our bus route and try to snag it before it could pick anyone up. Us and about 80 people had this idea... all for one bus.

SO as people tried to get off the bus AS people were trying to get on... there was literally about 10 people knocked down as the bus nearly ran them over, a conductor who just about stroked a guy trying to get on the bus, and a HELLA load of throwing of elbows and pushing trying to get on the bus. As the three of us whitey’s tried to push our way on, there was a little family (about 7 or so little ones) trying to get on, and they were having a go of it. We made a little path for them so they could get on without their 1 year old getting squashed, and then boarded the bus as the last 3 to make it on before the conductor slammed the door on others trying to board. As I took my seat I happened to be beside that “little” family and all 8 of us crammed into the 3 seater (as the dad had made a spot available by stacking 3 kids on top of each other. The smallest of the children, around one, was then TOSSED (literally) by the conductor to the dad who caught the kid and plopped him on his lap.

Then the dad asked me to plop the 3 year old on my lap to complete the pile up on the seats. I was having a hoot as I just about saw nearly 3 fights so I happily did so.

Now while this doesn’t sound like it adds much to my day, it’s the things that followed that really make the story.

While I sat there with a 3 year old on my lap smelling something FUNKY I kept looking the bus, with everyone staring at us… I didn’t know why until I heard someone say… “I have NEVER seen a “Muzungu” (white person) pile on the bus the way those three did.” I just laughed and knew that they had no idea we were residents in the country, not just tourists… but I noted something odd in the way they said it… could it be ADMIRATION? Noooo couldn’t be!

The kid that was sitting on my lap kept smiling and looking at me calling me white boy over and over and looking quite excited to not only be talking to me.. but sitting on my lap!

The baby (of the thrown variety) started to cry, a sure sign it is going to be a bad trip… But I decided to do my best to get it to stop. So I just looked it with a goofy look in my face. And whether through sheer terror or excitement… it stopped mid-wale. Just looking at me. I offered it my finger to hold and it just looked at me and then my finger, and then finally took it. I spent the rest of the trip being stared at by the people on the bus, a 3 year old on my lap and a baby; who was particularly interested in touching my arm to make sure it was real.

I just kept laughing... what else could you do in the situation.

Our stop arrived. I told the kid that I had to go, and tried to pay the conductor. Who said something to me (and the bus) which made everyone laugh, which I can only assume was having to do with the fact we all barged on the bus just like any normal Kenyan (were they expecting different?). Handed me my ticket and asked me where I was from. I gave my usual excited “CANADA” (as I have become quite fond of telling people where I am from) and was on my way. As I walked down the line people followed me with their eyes as per the usual, but this time was followed with a “you have yourself a great day!” I questioned in my mind... but thanked them all and wished them the same… weird.

On the walk back to the house I told the roommates that we could have gotten lost in the day forgetting where we were until that bus ride reminded us of the reality of our surroundings. They laughed… but I just thought. Thought about the fact the bus ride not only reminded me of my surroundings… but something else as well.

And I as I sit here writing this update on my computer... a song just popped up that absolutely captures the moment perfectly. "Good People" - Jack Johnson.

Where did all the good people go? Sometimes you have to look around to find them... which is sad... but sometimes when and where you least expect it... one little boy's smile, the ability to make a baby stop crying just by looking at them... some dude saying "Have a great day" on that same bus...

Those things can make all the difference.

So when you think that your life sucks it big time... Ask yourself: "Did I get jumped by 4 guys who threatened to kill me and stole everything that I had on me (except for my money in the SECRET hidden compartment in my jeans)?"

If the answer is in the negative... then I suggest your day isn't nearly bad enough to keep trekking.

If you DID happen to have that very thing happen on the streets of Saskatoon... ask yourself: "Was there someone who presented a ray of sunshine that broke up those clouds surrounding me? Some thing from someone which I could not expect?

If not… then maybe YOU didn't smile at someone when they were having a bad day... for people like us… karma is a bitch.

But some day soon, a little dude will yell "WHITE BOY!" at you and smile as he sits on your lap looking at you like you are freaking Santa Clause just by being there... and life takes a turn, one you weren't expecting… You’re reminded that the good people are out there... you just have to look for them. Just not at 230 at night. Those be some BAD mamma-jammas!

Jeez.. I am NEVER this positive.. What is wrong with me?

An Abrupt End

Hey Everyone,

After leaving some time for that last update to settle in, I think its about time to give you the skinny on what has been up with me.

First, India is finally a real go! The tickets cost me a fortune, but I am EXTREMELY exicted to be given the full tour with actual residents when I get there! I leave for India on the 12th, which means i have a week more than I had expected to be here in Kenya. A prospect which really excites me for several reasons. First of all I can start to get my start stuff packed up, decide what to do with my african drum (which at last check will cost me 200 CAD to get home) plan for some of my indian/european experiences and MOST importantly get out and get some more experience working within the slums and with the people who really need the help!

I am heading out to several locations with some of the other interns to see what we can do, and after that I will be selecting one of the NGO's we work with and give them my full attention up until the time I leave (And for the week when I am back in Kenya before I fly out to London). I am really excited to head back out and get with the people who I really came here to impact.

I have been talking with a lot of REALLY awesome people who have reminded me once again about creating positive impact in the things I do. With my final report done for Kenya, I have realized that despite the way I have been feeling about the whole job I have done everything that was requested. That made me feel really good, but made me understand the importance of ensuring that a solid plan is in place before you take any job. As well, if it isn't set by your boss in the first place, you should always set some form rewards system for yourself when you take on a specific task. Take yourself out for dinner, take a short holiday, do something that recognizes your achievements, because even when others don't recoginize what you have done... you still need to have a reward at the end of the tunnel to keep yourself truly motivated to take the past to and PAST fruition!

But the impact I have had here hasn't been the one I had intended it to be. When you go to Africa you have these aspirations of getting out to the slums everyday and making a solid difference in peoples lives... but sometimes that just can't be done.

I have been trying to put my finger on just why I wanted my impact to involve the slums and why, even though I have made an impact here in AIESEC, I still feel like there is a great void in my experience here in Kenya (and how I believe that this void will be filled when I spend these next weeks out with the street children).

My reasoning came to me last night as me and my two housemates sat down and talked about the amazing things we have seen in Kenya and the visible progress that is being made everyday here. The government seems to have a solid head on its shoulder, the economy is booming due to tea and coffee profits, and people seem to be extremely eager to be self sufficient and less reliant on the IMF and UN.

The reason I have wanted to be out in the slums has to do with this: Those in the slums NEED the aid, the other projects I have been working with thus far are those who APPRECIATE the help.

Everything I have done here has touched on some of my skills: Finance, planning, creating structures for programs and creating proposals. When you walk into any NGO here in Kenya, the first thing that the director will reccommend might go something like this:

"We have an AMAZING golf-day in the works and we would really appreciate your help in organizing the details!"
You: "Hmm... not quite my bag of tea, I could organize a golf day for HIV/AIDS at home... I was looking for something more hands on.."

It feels like few things I have done here have went to the people that actually need the help. Sure, in some indirect way you make that impact. More money in the door, more aid workers available. However, the work here in AIESEC I have done has certainly made me feel like I have only impacted the people who appreciate the help, not who needed the aid.

I wish now that I had taken the chance to go on an internship. More and more of the chats I have with the interns who are here to specifically work out in the rural areas have made me realize that I may have made a choice that did not offer me the type of impact I was looking for. I made the mistake of thinking that any trip to Africa would offer that direct impact that I was hoping for. As I said in the last update I would still change nothing about the experience I have had here. The experience here is something that cannot be replaced. However, if I was given the chance to go on ANOTHER experience to Afirca I would certainly seek to work out in the bush helping those who require the aid!

What did all of this have to do with the original title "An Abrupt End"? Regardless of how long you spend in a country, you cannot do everything you had your heart set on. There will always be more changes you will seek to make as you cross one change off of your list. And no matter how long you have spent in the country, how long you have known that the end is approaching... it still feels like an abrupt end. A time when you are scrambling to get all of those experiences in before you leave, possibly forever. Makes me laugh now... because all of the days where I sat in a bus thinking "REMEMBER THIS MOMENT... THIS IS AFRICA... LOOK OUT THE WINDOW! SEE THE BEAUTY!" and it still wasn't enough.

Remember your camera folks, the intense images you see when you are away will be lost in memory a short time after you leave no matter how much it affected you at the time. The pictures you take will not only be awesome to show your friends, but it will keep that ideal, that concept and the feelings you had at the time alive long after age and time strip your memory away. Sadly, and inevitably, the trip will come to an abrupt end... But take your pictures, make your friends and the multiple abrupt ends you will go through in your life will be overcome with the rush of a new adventure beginning.

Looking forward to living that positive impact that I always thought I would before I left and living up to the expectations all of my awesome friends have set for me...

Sincerely.

The Post Which Might as Well Be the Last

Hey Everyone,

As I can already see the end approaching as this internship winds into its final 3 weeks, there is already so much to reflect on.

I write this as I would write a post to sum up the entire CEED as when I reach the end of my time here... I will no doubt be swamped on partners meetings, parties and goodbyes.

The things I have to say here touch on the very fabric of internships and I have put an enormous amount of thought and time into considering what exactly I should write here. If you were to only read one post, if you were to only understand one tiny bit of my experience (of which some who are still making comment do not grasp), if you were to take one sentiment from my entire AIESEC Adventure I implore you to take this post as my final word. The final few posts during my time here in Kenya will focus on other aspects, totally outside the realm of AIESEC and internships and my feelings surrounding my time here… so read this like you would read my will because this will be my last testament to that regard.

Arriving to Kenya was just the eye-opener I was looking for. When I decided that fateful night in a shack in the northern parts of Saskatchewan to take on this particular challenge I knew what it would spell…

I was tired of having everything go my way; tired of the life which I had calculated out since the beginning of my scholastic career leading me down a path of seemingly pre-determined outcomes.

I needed that change. The alteration of perspective which would shove my life one way or another… to change. Having never been out of North America I knew that the changes I would experience would be difficult no matter where I went. So I decided to give my self the “full on” test. Africa, I decided, would be the best testing ground to see what I could take, to see what sort of stuff I was made of; to determine if all of the praise I had given myself to being adaptable to change in my environment had been well-founded. If I was going to be challenged, let it be the biggest challenge I could face. Skip that middle step of venturing outside to get a taste of a slightly new culture and jump both feet into the radically different world I thought existed.

When I arrived here for the first two months I was miserable. In a combination which I now see amounts to a heavy dose of culture-shock a touch of a superiority complex and a sprinkling of insecurity I let the feelings of isolation, dependence and depression take hold of my life. All that I had imagined the world to be was different than anticipated and the unrealistic expectations I set for myself and my new country had been shattered. Even while I was exploring this beautiful country I was still plagued by a feeling I can’t explain… even now that I am recovered from it… that I was empty as an individual and therefore forgot about my reasons for leaving the familiar comforts of my continent. As a product, manifested a sort of view about Kenya that was as inaccurate as it was negative; demonstrating that view in my blog. While my recovery has been enhanced by having a house, regaining my independence and becoming involved in my work… the real recovery has taken place in the way I have rebuilt myself.

In ultimately realizing I was not the person I had imagined or made myself out to be, I had been destroyed. Devastated as a human being it was then time to recreate myself. They say, "You cannot learn anything about yourself until you let go of everything you knew" (well… Fight Club said it). That was it.

Having been across this country, seeing things that even those living here have not and seeing those who have nothing but are still willing to give you everything… I could not think of a more ideal place to learn the things I have. What I have learned… I will not begin to touch on. My perceptions of people, my ability to show patience, the definition of generosity… all taking cues from this experience. There is no point in including any of that on here anymore.

Now, after realizing that I have essentially ruined the first two months of my time here with my negativity, I have taken every opportunity to do what I imagined what I would do the first two weeks I was here. Getting to know the people, embracing the culture and understanding the REASONS for the differences I have been pointing out on this blog.

I thought: “Those in North America know not what it is like to suffer, to be devoid of opportunity and privilege due to the circumstances of their birth… we are lucky”. That sentiment has not been changed by my experience here, everyone who is seeking to be a leader in their own communities has to know what it is like to be devoid of choice. What has changed has is my thought on my original statement. It makes it seem as though in some way we have to see that which is WORSE to understand something… It is now my perspective that we need to something DIFFERENT to better understand ourselves.

Was it fun? In more ways than can be described. Was it educational? The learning points I have gained have been, and will be echoed throughout my remaining posts. Was it worthwhile? If I was offered a chance to go anywhere else in the world to gain infinite amounts of leadership experience… it would NEVER replace the self-reflection/realization session I have dumped myself into.

Was my time here ideal? Absolutely not. Was it difficult? You betcha. Would I change anything? In no way shape or form.

If something can be so enlightening, so enriching, so exciting and so fun and yet still rip you down to a stump of a human being, allowing you to display your private faults on an open forum in a manner which can only leave questions in the minds of those reading… Was it a success? Hell ya. Hell ya.

For those of you who look on this and think that everything I write here is jaded, short-sighted and inaccurate: you are free to contact me via e-mail… you have my contact and I will respond… but for those of you who will look back on this blog at the beginning of your own internships wondering if your experience will be like mine… worry, stress and vex that you will end up a shattered human being who has had his basis of understanding of the world altered… I encourage you to forget everything you have read in an effort to ENSURE your experience IS like mine. If you go home without being shaken to the core, being forced to re-evaluate your entire life and your thoughts throughout it: You have NOT had an experience which will shape your life forever. You have had an experience which you can mark on your world map under “places I have been” rather than “places which have impacted me fundamentally”.

The things I have learned here will be applicable for years to come, and I still have 8 countries of lessons left, each one having the capacity to not only teach me something about that country… but more importantly, teach me something about myself in that never-ending process of self-discovery.

I hope that this gives a clearer picture to those haters out there who read my blog, seemingly religiously, to pick out logical and emotional flaws from the comfort of their home… hopefully it has impacted YOUR view of ME. While normally I wouldn’t even blink an eye before responding in a most condescending manner defending myself, it has been a realization of mine that UNDERSTANDING is more important than RESPONDING and I have a lot to learn from the world, even those who would pass judgment on those whom they never met or never had took the time to really get to know. To be a REAL AIESECer is to be a leader in the process of change. If a leader was expected to be knowledgeable, culturally understanding and globally ready… no one in AIESEC would be ready for a leadership position and AIESEC would lose its purpose. “AIESEC is the international platform for young people to DISCOVER AND DEVELOP their potential to have a positive impact on society.” Hmm… Seems like an organization for those who are looking to pass judgment on others going through a difficult learning experience… sounds like an organization for the socially repressed in our world to tear into those who are in the midst of expanding their horizons… If this was the case, to “discover and develop” would just be words to be recited by those who would preach their “open minded”-ness on one hand and hand out cut-downs on the other. We can see, of course, we don’t live in a world without flaw. There would be some who would see this organization as a stepping stone to enhance their own “superiority”. While it may have been that way to me before I left… it has certainly become “the international platform for Devan to attempt to discover and develop his potential to finally become a well-rounded human being”.

Put that in your comments,

Devan

The Most Important International Factor

I may have come up with the most important cultural learning of all time. That key to conversation, business and intimate relationships abroad.

Humor.

I have been thinking about those I have come closest to in the least amount of time and the factor that has been at play the most has been my sense of humor. Humor IS an international language, but it is certainly not internationally transferable. That which is funny to me is certainly not funny here in Kenya (without going out of my way to speak to their humor).

Think about anyone you have met from abroad... what is the first icebreaker you tried? Perhaps a short anecdote? Maybe a joke about a computer salesman? Did it flop harder than a fat kid off the diving board? No doubt the awkward silence that followed your witty little whimsy made you think twice before dishing out some of your patented fart jokes.

While humor can be a HUGE tool of influence and communication, it is really tough to decide what sort of jokes to use.

For instance, I have noticed that Kenyan's seem to really love slap-stick humor. I remember sitting through a kung-fu movie called "Kung-fu Hustle" with a buddy of mine here. While it was mildly humorous, I couldn't see why he was losing his mind at parts where someone was hit in the privates or where someone got hit with a flower pot after they fell from a building window.

Not only those, stories about weird encounters or sexual follies seem to be hot topic in the humor circles here in Kenya.

While it is extremely difficult to determine this sort of thing without sitting through a MINIMUM of a month of jokes and stories, there are some sure-fire ways to improve your chances of not insulting a business partner or destroying a hook-up opportunity with a few quick words.

Topical Humor: A BIG no-no.

Is your president a big monkey-face? Did a blond throw a bird off a cliff to kill it? Is your grandmother SO old she thinks hip-hop is a rabbit?

No one cares or gets it. Especially if you are trying to use humor that applies to a certain region. If you were to tell someone here that your cousin once had to be rushed to the hospital because he rushed to 50 in WoW, or if someone here was to tell you that the Matatu driver was going so fast that he made the road seem smooth as glass... you just won't get it. SO just take all of those Chuck Norris jokes you have been saving to tell people on your trip to Thailand and throw them out the window with that old bum who was causing trouble at Central. (Note not funny as you have no idea what I am talking about).

Perhaps even worse than topical humor lies the inside joke:

You know.. no matter how many times I have used lines like "Arrr... I'm not attractive" or "You know what??? I feel like partying right now!" no one seems to laugh.

WAIT a second.. that is because it is only funny to the 2 other people who know what the hell is going on. I find myself quoting my favorite inside jokes at the most inappropriate moments. So now that we have cleared our humor banks of Rick James and Family Guy.. we should be ready to move on to some more complex humor lessons:

The when and where of humor:

It plays a serious role in every country. Where IS it appropriate to bust out your newest "Yo Momma" joke?

The answer is so different depending on the country. Here at the dinner table, humor seems to be off the table, especially if you are staying with a host family. It is a time for reflection and eating, and jokes will usually get shot down regardless of how good they are.

Parties are a MUST for humor, if you think that drinking a beer in a second or bouncing quarters with a fury will get you props.. think again. You better bring your A-Game if you think you will be a hit at a party here in Kenya.

Back home I have heard jokes being busted out at funerals, so I think that it is safe to say that we are pretty liberal with humor in regards to timing... of course it depends on the people you are with, but speaking in generalities...

Anyway, as a rule it is best to speak to someone who has been to a country before you leave for it. But make sure you include the type of humor that works in that country in the questions you ask about. If you can think of any social situation you could find yourself, humor will play a huge role. I am finally getting the type of jokes to use here in Kenya down, and let me tell you that it is paying DIVIDENDS in relationships here!

Stay amusing,

Devan

PS: Check the leadership blog! The conference kicked some serious behind and it was a big learning experience for me on SO many levels!

The Big Time

Hey Everyone,

After reading back through my last few posts I see that I have been being a baby. I was going through what amounted to the most mentally difficult time of my entire life, but it was because I was letting the little things pile up on me. Being so far away from everything that I knew and having little to no contact back with the people and things that I love was more difficult than I could have prepared myself for. In all actuality I truly appreciate the comments I have been getting, regardless of how random, because it makes me realize things about myself that I couldn’t see without bouncing ideas off of other people, regardless of how little said people actually know about me. Besides, I wouldn’t put it out there if I didn’t want people to read it and think about it.

Last night kicked ass, in fact nearly everything is starting kick ass. Work is really starting pick up as I start to prepare for the pioneers conference and actually begin having meetings here in Nairobi to start getting the ASK project in line. Ever since I have gotten into the house it seems like things have started fall into place.

Now that I am feeling in control and the sanest I have felt in ages, I think it is time to start concentrating on the great, amazing, truly life-changing experience that it has been here in Kenya. Instead of concentrating on venting frustrations, I will return to writing things that will remind me of the good things long after I leave this country.

To begin, let’s talk a bit more about the coast trip, which was amazing in both experience and weather.

The first stop was Mombasa for about a week. Let me start by saying that the coast is HOT. More hot and humid than any other place I have ever been in my life. Being that it is on the equator it is easy to understand why, but words can’t describe the sort of feeling it is to be hot and sweaty even at 2 in the morning. We are talking 2 showers a day, dripping hot both on and off the beach area. For a walking furnace like me it was an experience in moisture that I will not forget. You really find yourself losing your self-consciousness about the sweat and just learning to live with the fact that despite the showers you will still feel like you are the community rag at a downtown gym.

The beaches themselves in Mombasa were a bit dirty, but it was good to see the police were out making sure people weren’t littering to their usual capacity. Possibly the biggest polluters were not even human. The beach featured about 17 camels who gave people a rocky ride along side the ocean. So that means you could grab a towel, push aside the camel feces and have a nice relaxing rest in the pounding sun. No man with a towel serving mohitos, but it definitely hit the spot!

Malindi featured a snorkel trip in a national reserve park where I got to see types of fish and marine like that I had only seen on Finding Nemo. Being that I was recovering from the sunburn that was mentioned in the past blogs it was a shirt-required affair, but I still hopped in the water to be surrounded by Zebra fish and various other species. While sharks are not very common in the shallow areas by the coral reefs, some fisherman did manage to catch what appeared to be a great white shark the next day. They hung it from a giant hook and began to disassemble it. The girls managed to get a few pictures of the shark hanging, which I will try to get up on the blog as soon as I can.

The last stop was to Lamu, of which I have written about a bit in previous posts, so be sure to check those out after you finish up on this one.

AIESEC Updates:

So much has been happening here I will just briefly head into the details and then touch more on exactly what the impact of AIESEC is here in Kenya.

With Pioneer’s conference only 3 days away I have been FRANTICALLY trying to get sessions drawn up in 2 days of work. This will be the first time I have not had ample time to really put into sessions (as we just got the outline for the conference on Saturday afternoon) but I am really looking forward to the challenge. I get to run the first session with the newbie’s which will really just involve a lot of energy and cheering, something that my peeps in Canada know I can throw down.

ASK is really starting to pick up as I said with meetings nearly everyday with locals looking for advice on budgets, fundraising and coordination, which is awesome. I should be able to get everything in line nationally in two weeks, which means that I can hand off this project to the LC’s and see that they know how to create a sustainable program after I am gone. Next week I will be meeting with companies attempting to raise partnerships and internships for HIV/AIDS like a good little boy.

Promotional activity for AIESEC Canada and interns looking to head out to Africa will be done in about 4 hours, which means that I can start looking into direct matching some interns as soon as I hear the word that interns are in the system! So things are really starting to come together.

It is amazing to see the impact that AIESEC can really have in a country like Kenya.

Over the weekend AIESEC Kenya hosted a golf tournament that brought out more CEOs than Saskatoon could bring out in 10 golf days. Around 150 people were out supporting AIESEC and the ideals that the organization has and helped to raise some much needed funds for the National office. High level sponsorships and high-profile attendees seemed to roll in all at the last second in a phenomenon that I would like to call the “Kenya Puzzle Piece Process”. That is, they have a project that would normally involve months of planning (take for instance a conference) and they start thinking about it about a month before the even takes place. The planning is done over the first two weeks and then in one magical week things seem to fall together like pieces of a puzzle. Money, support and people seem to come out of the wood work all at once and despite of how dismal the outlook looks initially in terms of planning and organization things just come together. Amazing really. A cultural difference that is unnerving at best for long term planners like me, but it seems to work brilliantly for the people here in Kenya.

It is also very easy to see the impact here that internships have on individuals. It is very, VERY difficult for the educated students of Kenya to leave their country and find work else where. For us in the Western world most countries are excited to receive us and therefore visas and permissions are easy to get. However with a government whose concern surrounding brain drain is increasing with every student who leaves the country and an extremely bureaucratic system for visa processing it is nearly impossible to take on an international experience. While AIESEC is doing a good job in some countries in speeding visa processing along, it seems that our governmental ties are letting people in the developing countries down giving them little option but to stay waiting for 8 months in their country for the visa process to finish. This absolutely pisses off every employer looking to get interns in the foreseeable future, an issue that I personally have dealt with back in Saskatoon. Despite the fact we are non-governmental, I would really encourage more government involvement by the national teams to start making headway in shorting visa wait times. It is a serious bottleneck for countries like Kenya to get interns in and out and through that directly affects the level of impact that AIESEC can have in countries like Kenya.

Things are going well over all here; I am really looking forward to making my first real positive impact here in Kenya over this next week. So stay with me, updates (both on this one and on the leadership page) will be coming on Monday of next week!

Have a great one everyone and try to stay warm!

Devan

How could such a small place make such a big difference?

Hey everyone...

Well this is it, that turn around point in any trip. That day where it seems that magic has happened and that the winds of fate have finally began to blow in your favor.

I have a house.

With that simple phrase you may think... all that wait, all that pissing and moaning for 2 months for such a simple sentence.

Ok.. Good point, but lets go through a list of things that have happened in the 12 short hours since I have took possession of a room with a door:

- Had my 4th hot shower in 2 months
- I cooked my first meal for myself since arriving in Afirca
- I Hung my dress shirts up for the first time in 2 months
- I have a place to plug my laptop in which I can leave there without tampering
- I have FREEDOM to be independent for the first time in months.

Good god it is that last one that you really start to feel, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders that the prison you had been in for months has just had the walls pounded down and you have been released.

I can now go out for drinks with buds and leave when I want.
I can now save SOME money on food buy cooking it for myself
I can purchase fun things for my room to make it feel like home
I don't have to worry that much about safety as FINALLY I have a place where it is completely lock and key in an area with guards and a bus that takes me up to the door (basically).
I can freakin watch MOVIES and EAT POPCORN in peace.

Wow. I am in a good mood. I even wore "normal clothes" (read: dressy clothes) because I am not worried about being robbed as I am not carrying anything expensive because I have a place to lock that stuff up.

It has seriously changed the way I see things on the street.

Haha I will now bust out with some quirky differences I have noticed while down here... not so much quirky as copy-right infringement!

You can buy a 5 in 1 DVD of the newest movies JUST in theatres on the street for 500 shillings... while that is strange in Canada, it is not strange in several other countries. What IS strange is that you can buy these pirated DVD's in NAKUMATT. Nakumatt is like the Wal-mart of Kenya. Seriously. A major chain pounding out pirates.

Nearly every business has names like "Comfort Inn" and "Midas" for break pads and VARIOUS other names of huge chains in the states. Even in the company colors most times. But having nothing to do with the original company in N.A.

I find it interesting first of all that a country which is openly anti-american is so willing to start associating itself with every business venture. Not only businesses.. but I have even seen American slogans which hit the major news centers like "No child left behind" plastered on the sides of Matatu's.

If the people here hate America so much why are they always using their sayings? I think the answer lies again in the way that America has been marketing itself for years. Everyone I talk to hear still really views it as the promised land of opportunity, despite their hate for it and the capitalism for which is stands.

But if you wanted to make a COOL 20 dollars you could sue all of the companies here which are infringing copyright.. so all you blood thirsty lawyers (As I will be one day)... think about it!

Ohh the redness has nearly cleared up 100%! The itchiness and the flakey skin is almost gone too! I am refering to my SUNBURN. I don't know what you were thinking about.

Today or tomorrow I am off to Kareoke with a Japanese girl! She is an awesome singer.. So Shirley isn't the only Asian girl I have met who can sing up a storm. Both of course put me to shame. I am looking forward to singing something where I can just mumble really loud. That is how I roll.

Peace out with your piece out.

Adios.
Devan