Friday, June 12th
Four days smashed into one. Twenty hours awake, cooking, partying, and embracing a culture completely foreign to me. I rose at 4am to a dark sky and an empty kitchen. Kazia doesn’t arrive until 5am. I wrote my blog before it was cut short when the hooligans arrival. As much as I regret putting my computer away before 5 am, it was nice to chat a bit. They don’t generally ask me personal questions but today they felt more curious. It truly does feel like family has developed quickly. I’ve never had a little brother but I think I am starting to get a sense of what it might feel like.
Anyways, they would never be up at such an ungodly hour but the party would commence soon and three goats would be slaughtered. Filled with curiosity, I decided to join. The sky was still dark when two Kenyan man swooped in and said it was time. They walked swiftly to where the goats were tied to a fence. One man took the goat like a dog on a lease. The squealing animal knew its fait, trying to release its neck from the rope. We reached the charcoal area, where two banana leafs were placed under the screaming goat. The legs were binded together and before I knew it the throat was being sliced open. The sound of the goat shrieking like a goose rang through the dark quite night. That sound would ring through my head the rest of the day. I was planning to watch but I couldn’t help but cover my eyes as soon as the knife touched his throat. The Kenyan men hung the goat and began skinning the animal. Testicals and penis first.
Before they could remove any more limbs, I headed out on a stroll. With no destination in mind. I walked towards town. As I approached a body of water in the valley, a Kenyan woman came to met my stride. She was quiet at first so we walked in silence for a few meters but slowly we began to have a conversation. She told me that her son (14) and daughter (11) had met me the day before playing soccer. We went on to discuss various other topics but the depth of conversation was limited considering the language barrier. Once we reached town we passed other housewives headed to work. She seemed to know so we greeted them as we walked by giggling and laughing. As we passed buildings that looked like abandoned buildings along a country road. She went on pointing out the hospital, bank, church, and school. After a half mile on the main road, I decided to turn back, knowing I would have to walk the same path alone.
As soon as I reached the dirt road, there was a motor bike parked, at first I felt intimidated so I stated a light jog but the man had the kindest smile. I felt he had no malice intentions I slowed down a bit to say “sa sa,” at the same time a woman came running out of the house. She seemed in a rush but as soon as she saw me she light up with joy. The motor bike driver laughed at her enthusiasum. She held my hand tight and said “you must meet my son! Come come!” She turned and ran back through her house gates expecting me to follow, so naturally I did. Behind the gates were multiple doors lined along a brick building. We stoped at the second to last door and seated on a chair naked from the bottom down was her son. I felt he was much too old to be naked with company but no one seemed to be alarmed to I proceeded to shake him and greet him. It was a short visit since I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say to a half naked 14 year-old I’ve never met and the mother also had to leave for work. I walked her back to the motor bike, said “have a good day” and we set out on our days. Both leaving with big smiles and a good laugh about the unexpected interaction. I continued my walk back to the DNRC where the party had began!
Soon after my return, the students joined in on the food preparation. I rolled many chapati, little flat breads thinner than a naan and thicker than a roti. They will never be as perfect as the Kenyans but I reached a point I felt proud of. When the rolling pins were occupied I wondered to find a new task to learn. I joined a group of women, dressed in colorful attire, free cutting the tomatoes around the fire. It was far more challenging than using a cutting board but much more enjoyable seated outside. I also tried free cutting greens, but unfortunately the greens won that battle. I walked away with a finger full of knicks.
The woman were eager to teach and quick to correct your work. I felt like I was cooking with my family in Argentina. Life is light, loud, and kind but be prepared to laugh at yourself. You will always have eyes watching over you and hands correcting your imperfections. Your empanadas are never good enough.
At this point, I was jacked up on caffeine wired and ready for the day. I took pictures with some of the DNRC staff my age before joining the party. I was called over by Rita to serve the US team’s contribution to the indigenous foods, cornbread and guacamole. I stood between John and Rita as a long line of Kenyan farmed weaved along tables filled with indigenous foods. I explained to many of the Kenyans what we were serving.
Serving food, indigenous dance, skit
Walk to the river with Hannah and Blaise
Speakeasy, goofing around
Dance party
Dinner and cards
Wired to Wonder 