End of Orientation

I am crazy about my cohort of volunteers.  Tomorrow Shira and I depart for Kampala, another volunteer goes to Kisumu, Kenya, and the rest of the team scatters across Nairobi.  We have ventured out of our hotel for two group dinners sponsored by AJWS, a site visit to one of the local NGOs, and two visits to local malls for dinners on our own.  While I have been relieved, given how minimally I’ve traveled the world and my limited knowledge of foreign language, that one of the official languages of both Kenya and Uganda is English, I didn’t realize how diffuse the impact of colonialism would be.  Most visibly, Kenyan roads and cars are set up like their British counterparts—they drive on the left side of the vehicle and the road.  They don’t, however, have traffic lights, and the narrow roads we traversed on our way to YaYa mall seemed to be at full capacity and chaos, with cars careening so close to us as we trudged along the pavement that we often grabbed each other and gasped while or after a mutatu (public taxi/van) drove by, nearly sideswiping one or all of us.  The malls were both very similar to American versions, if not identical other than the people passing through them.  Shira and I split from the group, many of whom were seeking cell phones that she and I will wait to buy until we reach Kampala.  We went to a fruit market to purchase fruits with skins or peels, so we know they weren’t affected by water that would make us sick.  We bought passion fruit (which until now I had thought was the Dole equivalent of Mother’s day for Hallmark—a fabricated juice produced only for the opportunity to sell another product—I was mistaken), which is native to this area and came in small, round, squishy fruits.  We bought an avocado as large as my face.  As we were wondering out loud (though hopefully discretely) at fruits we hadn’t seen before, another patron approached us and explained what some of the unfamiliar varieties were.  He went on to answer all of our questions about the assortment of fruits in the store, even giving us cooking ideas for what looked like a  palm-sized lima bean (to slice it and serve it with cilantro and tomato as a salsa.)  We bought mangos, paw-paw (which we determined was akin to if not the same as papaya), and mini bananas.  We ate dinner all together at a restaurant in the mall that served quesadillas, burgers, and “chips”—which were actually French fries, to an American eye and tastebud, but labeled as the British would. 

The neighborhood surrounding our hotel could almost be in any American city.  It is covered in fancy gated apartment buildings, made of stucco and painted shades of pink and beige.  The elements distinct from the States are nuanced and subtle: scaffolding outside one of these upscale apartments in the midst of construction is made of trees rather than metal; alongside one of the gates sits a furniture shop made of scrap metal walls, and the vibrancy of the vegetation far exceeds the beauty of Kansas City’s untended gardens.  Once we veered off the road and into an NGO’s site, we also saw animals we weren’t used to seeing at our American workplaces—small monkeys!  One of them climbed over the roof as we sat in a circle, talking with the talented, passionate staff team who hosted us at the site of their program for refugee women. 

I need camera advice—I’m not adept at capturing what compels me in a rectangle that anyone else would want replicated.  Here are some of my less unfortunate attempts to document the things I just described:

Over the last few days we’ve been inundated with information.  Our trainers, two representatives from the New York AJWS office and country representatives from Kenya and Uganda, have led us in conversations and workshops across a large gambit of topics.  We’ve discussed how to explain certain tenets of Judaism, security and safety in East Africa, Ugandan politics/history/culture/economy, cultural dos and don’ts, responsible blogging, perspectives with which people volunteer, and many more.  It has been incredibly useful, although a bit philosophical, given that we’re sitting in a room at a hotel, discussing our volunteer placements or Ugandan street venders serving fried grasshoppers from quite a distance.  Yesterday, however, the content of our orientation began to have context: representatives of our NGOs arrived! 

The eight of us are each volunteering for unique organizations, each of which requested a volunteer with a particular set of skills. My organization is represented by two 25-year-old women, who presented on the state of the Ugandan education system and underwent their own inundation from AJWS on Judaism and what they can expect from me, their volunteer.  These two women are the youngest of the NGO partners, and each spoke to their passion for children and the work they do around and in Ugandan schools.  They were both exceptionally warm to and receptive of me, their volunteer.  I am a bit nervous that they see me as more talented than I truly am—but I hope we can find ways for me be supportive of the work the organization has already and continues to excel in accomplishing.  They both happen to be just about my height, which adds a slightly superficial sense that we were meant to work together.  The group of NGO partners and volunteers ate out together at an Ethiopian restaurant here in Nairobi.  I love Ethiopian food, and have eaten such at restaurants in Cambridge and Kansas City.  One of my counterparts at my NGO sat next to me and picked delicately at the platter five of us were sharing.  She hadn’t eaten much Ethiopian (if any at all) and wasn’t sure she liked it…   

The conversation turned political and a bit heated during the meal—one of the NGO partners is a fiery, articulate lawyer from Uganda who spoke sharply about her perspective on the Ugandan election, coming up this March.  I wonder how many such conversations will occur that I’ll be privy to? 

Signing off so I can get a moment of exercise before our final day of orientation begins…tomorrow, Kampala here we come!