Matatus and Motorbikes

Have I mentioned my new found love of motorcycle rides? I am quite fond of that form of public transportation… which is odd because I consider them completely unsafe in Canada and question their necessity. But here, I think they are maybe even the preferred method of transportation for me, especially after my Matatu (a van with seats for 15 which has held up to 30 on my count) experience today. But I just gave you the beginning and the end of my day today, so I should fill in the details a little.

Today, Eric (the person who goes around and finds children to sponsor as well as organizing stuff) and I headed off to a remote area where he has been working to collect more sponsor kids. I have previously been to a school in a town called Mithini, which is quite a ways from ‘home.’ Today we went even farther than that. Since it is remote, there are not a lot of Matatus headed in that direction so after waiting for a good long time, we accepted one of the motorcycle drivers offer to take us there at a good price. Imagine totally safety conscious me getting on a small, oldish motorcycle, in a skirt, squashed between two grown men… and enjoying the ride. Granted, I was fairly tense because I didn’t want my body to throw the balance off or anything like that. I was sitting close enough to the driver that if I looked forward, my nose touched his helmet- so I just kept looking at either side and enjoying the scenery. He only had one helmet, which he wore, just to let you know. The scenery was gorgeous, by the way.

We got off and started walking towards our destination. (Having a fairly poor sense of direction at the best of times, I have no idea where we were or where we were going in comparison to where we were so I can’t give you too many details.) On the way, we met up with Pastor Peter Ndungu (I think that is what it was) who was the contact Eric had made who was from the area and helping Eric make contact with the neediest children’s families. He quickly offered or agreed to come with us for the day and off we went. He was quite the guide and took me to see caves and a huge rock where it is believed all the monkeys came from- too bad there were no monkeys though. It felt really good walking with the three of us- kind of like three old friends even though I hardly know either of them.

The point of the trip today was to take me to see two families how are living very difficult lives so Pastor Peter brought us there. The first home was the home of a grandma who lived with her two grandchildren. She lived in a mud house with a thatch roof. When we got to her place, we found her working in the area around her place where maize and beans are planted. You know, she didn’t strike me as impoverished. I can’t quite describe it. For sure she lacked money and resources. For sure she does not get enough vitamins, minerals, and probably calories in her diet. For sure she is lacking- but there was just a warmth and acceptance and graciousness that she exuded (as do many of these people) that made it so that her poverty didn’t strike me. I can’t quite explain it. She seemed happy. In a mud hut. Working all day every day barely making it by- she seemed more at peace than myself, my family, my community or most people I rub shoulders with in Canada. I am hesitant to even say that I didn’t see her as impoverished, because I know she was, but it is more complicated than that. She had so much to teach me, it felt like. Since Eric had told me about where were going, I had time to throw together some stuff that I had in my room that I didn’t need that I thought might be useful to her or her kids. It was pencils, notebooks, socks, little things like that. She was so grateful (according to the translation) and told me to please come again and the corn and beans would be ready.

Life is hard for this lady. She does not own land, and that makes you very vulnerable here. She is squatting with her family on government land where they raise their animals and plant their small crops, but she could get evicted at any time. She lives on the side of a large hill (I might almost call it mountain, but that is probably because I live in the prairies so anything bigger than a ditch seems like a mountain :) ) Where the only way up is a footpath winding between trees and rocks. So I imagine her with a sick child. There is no place even for a wheelbarrow to travel so if her child was sick, she would have to carry him. She is a small lady- about my size. I don’t know where her water came from. I didn’t see any near by places to find water. Her house, that she shares with at least two children, is about the size of two of my upstairs bathrooms. Her kitchen is a couple of five gallon pails. Her belongings could probably fit into those pails… and she seemed at peace.

On to the next part we went, which was actually when we went to see the monkeys. After the monkeys we headed to the second family. Once again, a grandmother was taking care of her grandchildren. She had nine who lived at home, although three were at boarding school during the term. We were there because WWB is hoping to sponsor the two youngest ones who are preschool age. As well as being older, taking care of her livestock (I saw a cow, a couple goats, chickens and chicks), taking care of nine grandchildren and everything that entails, her husband also has some mental issues which makes him run away every once and awhile. At least some of her grandchildren are orphaned, if not all, meaning that she has lost her children. Her face was all smiles when she saw us and right away got us a seat. I had some more stuff to give, which I got Eric to give because I want to stay away from the ‘white person brings stuff’ mentality, and somehow I ended up with a bag of fresh oranges in my back pack. I had gone to give and once again been given to. She was going to send one of the kids to buy us snacks, but the men convinced her not to.

She also told us of another child who just lost mother and father. It seems like the community really looks out for each other. You hear from this person about this situation and then there you get another lead and so on. It seems like what community is supposed to be. So we went to find another family with five children younger than four, one of who was a nephew of the lady. He had just lost both his parents.

After that, we decided to head back- which is good because I was getting hot and tired! We stopped to refresh at the pastor’s home and he showed me pictures of his life and I ended up with a bag of passion fruit- which is a new found love of mine as well. Then came a long, hot walk back to Mithini. Eric and I are starting to figure out how to converse enough that we can have good conversations and it is really interesting to hear how he thinks about things in Kenya and stuff. It is nice to have a friend here.

After stopping at a restaurant for chapatti and beans, we mounted a matatu, which I am also thrilled to say we safely dismounted as well. The driver was crazy! He was driving really fast to start with and the roads are not maintained for fast driving! Then, while picking up a passenger, another matatu passed us. Well, that was not okay! All of the sudden we were careening around corners, causing children to jump off the road in fear as we flew by and trying to manuever around the matatu in front of us. At one point the front matatu moved to the side of the road, at which point the driver whipped around him, floored it, and almost hit a motorcycle! There was a kid in the van who was crying because he was so scared! I was so not impressed. I was looking for a complaint phone number to call or something, but, alas, there was none. Sheesh! I have never been so close to being in an accident with another vehicle!

But this is too long again… I think I am becoming verbose without people here who fluently speak my language. Hope you are all well and enjoy the Easter season.