Sunday, July 3, 2016

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder


"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it solely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of people and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's life"

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, right? I think yes but so many of you seem to disagree. The “D” word is so intimidating, so detrimental to relationships and so lonely we shouldn't even talk about it. But what is so bad about distance? Distance from familiarity, home, family, your lover, the ones who have passed away… I find that while I am distant from one, I am close to another. So here are my thoughts on “istanceday”.

Ever since I graduated from high school in 2012 and left for college in Southern California, I've become quite the expert on distance. When you're never in one place for very long and personally know the TSA staff at multiple airports, you're more than likely not physically close to the same people or places for very long. When filling out any type of paperwork where I have to fill in my address, maybe at a storage unit facility for example, I usually just ask the person who gave me the paper, “what is this building’s address?” I am almost always far away from family, mates, lovers, and currently my country, my language and my pup. I want to take an in depth look at all of the types distances in our lives and tell you about the experiences I've harvested as of late. Maybe then we can see why perhaps distance can be cherished with simply a different mindset.

I started writing this entry 7,390 miles from my home, Sammamish, Washington, USA. I was sitting in the Dubai International Airport and the distance between myself and everyone I know and love was very present. I had flashbacks to my first dose of real distance when I left home for college. At first I was nervous and excited. I was thrilled to meet new people and to be in the golden state of California. It was difficult saying goodbye to my parents, my friends and my childhood bedroom, but it was also exhilarating. Independence at last! But Looking back, the distance carried so much more than a thrill and a fresh start. The distance I put between myself and my family and childhood mates depicted the strongest loves I know. It taught me who is in it for the long run and revealed who I now only see scrolling through Facebook. It allowed the constant use of my handmade stationary to aunts and uncles, long phone calls to mom and dad, and personal, independent growth. Perhaps most importantly, that distance showed me the most important characteristics I possess, things I couldn't comprehend without distance from the people and experiences who and that taught me to be this way, the woman who I have become.


Freshman year of college!



The distance from my family showed me the intrinsic values that reside in my heart when no one I know is around. These values were fostered and nourished by my faith-filled parents and my Catholic education and didn't have a name until I was truly alone. When I left home, I realized that without living under my parents’ roof, I still have the traits and an inner voice telling me to do certain things. The things I've grown up knowing are “right”. Positivity always. Pick up that piece of litter, love without caution, serve the less fortunate, maintain self-respect, respect my elders, respect my youngers, take vitamin C, do not cheat, do not lie, fuel my body with the foods it needs, don't eat yellow snow, if I have to ask if the shorts are too short, they are, stand up for myself, education is everything, don't let boys treat me badly, what’s meant to be will find its way, don't forget where I parked, stand up for those who don't have a voice, if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, it might be a duck...you can imagine which ones came from mom and which golden nuggets were from dad.The effects of my upbringing were depicted with how I behaved when I was distanced from the reinforcers themselves. This “basic” familial kind of distance is easier to unlock than the dreaded long distance relationship. Oh that LDR. Oh no.

But that's also important to discuss and perhaps this blurb will inspire you to accept distance in your current relationship or maybe go with it in your next one. Now, I've never been afraid of distance in a romantic setting. Warning: I've also never actually had an official long distance boyfriend but I'm still going to give this a go (since I have extremely strong opinions on just about everything). If you disagree with what I have to say, write me a personal Facebook message telling me about it like so many did with my last blogpost (still not sorry).

Whenever I'm dating someone and it inevitably comes down to me leaving, I usually advocate for long distance because I see the beauty in that depth of commitment. Why should something passionate with a potential future end simply because of temporary, physical distance?  No man has taken me up on it, so I leave alone, sad, but eventually ok. My heart has taken on one or two uncommitted lovers from worlds away and I've felt love across the ocean with no mode of communication. I know the magnetic, rare, connection between two souls reaches distances unimaginable. Someone far away without a single text message to send can still make you feel chosen, adored and loved.

How is this possible? If you asked me in person, I would simply say it’s magic, and I do believe that. I've recently read a book that explained human magnetoreception and I truly think it has something to do with it (even though in the book it was used to describe sharks’ abilities to navigate the ocean ANYWAY) I'm not entirely sure how it happens, but I'll tell you what I do know: I've become extremely independent over the years and I have never relied on a man for my happiness. I have found my happiness on my own terms– one of my favorite things about myself. When I date somebody, I also look for an independent soul who doesn't complete me but instead compliments my completeness and in turn, we create something unstoppable. I seek an athlete of a soul worthy of my soul as his opponent, trying and pushing to the fullness of each of our potentials. My belief is that when you find your person, you choose them every day even if you've got miles between you.
The choices are often  independent and I imagine they can be difficult. These choices might have tasks that don't even explicitly involve your partner.

For instance,  You can make the decision to better yourself, to become the best you every day. You can choose to learn something new to tell your person later or to simply day dream of them. You can actively keep your mind on them so when you see certain things during the day, you are easily reminded of your person and those daytime thoughts carry into your dreams while you sleep. Then, you wake up in the morning happy that you saw your sweetheart in your dreams. You can then actively wonder what they dreamt of that night. You thank God for them and then write them a note for later before going downstairs for brekkie. (He does not like that type of bread by the way, it's a good thing he's not here because that's all there is to eat. But he would LOVE this jam! I wonder how I can get some of this jam home to him! Is jam a liquid? How many ounces is this container?) Becoming selfless thousands of miles away, and serving someone with your soul is possible. Those choices make distance special.

Unfortunately you can choose someone in the way I described above but for whatever reason, they will not choose you in return. Sometimes you just can't explain the kind of distance you're expecting or craving and you don’t want to, nor have to ask for the communication that you need. They might love you when you are nearby but will not be ready for your explosion of love through time and space and they will not stay. Whatever their reason is, you still must go. They can love you like you've never been loved before and still might not join you on a journey through distance. You do NOT have to inspire someone to join you on that journey. You never have to convince someone to choose you nor the oceans and mountains and space between you two. There is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen but that God and the universe have in store for you in this wide and wild world. There is the love who will choose you no matter where you are or where you are going. They are ready to give you the love you need when you get to where you’re headed and while you’re on the way too.  The human you're becoming by traveling and leaving is far more precious than the dead weight who cannot handle your movement. I clearly have not found this ready man yet, but it's something I believe in down to my bones.



The two biggest distances we face in our lives might be the distances between ourselves and God (whoever your God is) and ourselves and a deceased loved one. Two and a half weeks into this trip, I left Nakuru, Kenya for a new orphanage. This orphanage was many miles from town, out in the distant, quiet maize fields, up a long bumpy dirt road where the cows are loud and there are yellow labs. I didn't know anyone there and had met the owner of the orphanage one time for only a few minutes. I was distanced from familiarity of my Kenyan haven and I was a little nervous. The first day I arrived to the baby house in Kiamunyi area, a call came in to the home to go pick up a baby from a hospital. A one-month-old infant who was abandoned by his mother at a public toilet. A “public toilet” in Kenya means maybe a roofless wooden hut with a hole inside. We went to go get him within the hour. I carried him out of the hospital and all the way home. I bathed him, clothed him, and fed him. I was far away from my familiar schools, orphanages, and home stay but presented with the task of nurturing a nearly newborn infant; A task that is utterly natural for me. Now I understand that thing they say about mothers being able to lift a truck off their baby...acquiring super strength in the moment. I get it! When we saw the baby laying by himself on a bed in the busy, loud children’s hospital, gravity, magnetoreception, and the Holy Spirit took me straight to him with no questions asked. I knew this was our baby.






Before we left to pick up the babe that day, I had joined the aunties in their bible study. Not my thing, but I went with it. We were reading from Luke about when Jesus was resurrected and back on Earth in human form. We discussed what it meant to have a lowly body and why it's important that Jesus walked the Earth as a man with a man’s body, different from the glorified father and the Holy Spirit. During the discussion we all giggled about our body insecurities. I complained about the lips I don't have and everyone laughed. I continued to think about lowliness and what it meant to have a lowly body. The true lowly feeling occurred after we took baby Luca (named thoughtfully after Luke who we were reading from) the next day to the hospital. We took him in to get HIV tested (he is negative by the way!). He started to get fussy in the waiting area and I knew he was hungry. Tracy, the social worker, prepared his formula but I felt lowly for not being able to breast feed him right then. I felt lowly several other times during my stay there. When multiple babies needed feedings, I felt lowly for not having the physical strength to carry more than one. When I took Luca to my room during his naps and laid him on my chest, I felt lowly for not being the woman who created, carried and gave birth to him but who gets to bond with this miracle baby. I ultimately felt lowly for being a single graduate student who cannot adopt him, wondering if he’ll ever have a mommy, who she will be, and if she will raise him how I would have. Will he ever play baseball? Will his mommy make his pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse? Will she sing to him, pray with him and let him play in the mud?






It's unbearable to think that some of the 20 babies I met there will go a portion of their life without the incomparable love of a parent. If you were wondering what keeps me up at night, it is that. I felt distant from my abilities, my body, and from God and it really upset me. I asked God why I was chosen to meet this child and fall so deeply in love with him when I would be leaving so soon without him.









As the moments went by however, the distant feeling I had from God and from my lowliness vanished. I suddenly realized I do have the indescribable nurturing abilities to be a mother. To love a baby I just met unconditionally, even one I did not give birth to, and even for a short amount of time. If you think about it, God usually gives parents about 18 years to nurture a child before they go on their way. Right now my 18 years happens to be a few weeks. And that's ok. Do you know how much you can love someone in 2 whole weeks? The ever flowing love I have for life has been funneled from God through me to make a difference in this baby’s life..or maybe funneled through Luca to me to make a difference in my life... Either way, we were able to love each other for 2 weeks. I pray with everything I've got, my thin lips, small breasts and all, that he feels love in his tiny, squishy body and knows he has a purpose on this earth; that he was created by God with love. I hope he felt warm, safe and bonded to me when I fed him in the middle of the night, when there is nothing to hear but crickets and the urgent sucking of his disappearing hunger. I am 22 and single and yet I have carried a baby from a hospital, named him, changed his nappy, fed him, and loved him. I held his finger when the doctor drew blood to test for HIV. I then stared at the test, with tears in my eyes for either result. I ran my pointer finger gently across Luca’s fuzzy hairline as he stared at me. I watched his eyelids flutter during his sleep, wondering what horrors he has already seen in his one month of life. I wondered what strength this angel possesses to stay alive through abandonment. When his thick black, curly head of hair is resting on my chest, there is no distance from God. Everything I could ever want is swaddled under my chin, rising and falling with our seamless breath.





Now losing a loved one brings many feelings: Sadness, alondedom, confusion, release, any kind of feeling is valid. I never met my grandfather Paul, my mother’s father. I've heard stories and seen photos and wish with every ounce of my being that I could have met him. I know that he was a devout Catholic, a respected doctor, a fiery Italian and he liked to eat salty and sweet things together like I do. I know he used Grumbacher oil paints and often got paint on the brush handles because that same paint still remains on his old brushes that my mom and I use. I know that on his death bed he sang Ave Maria to his daughter. Last Sunday I attended the English Catholic mass at Christ the King Catholic Church here in Kenya. I swear the only fast Kenyans are the Catholics! Also half the congregation arrived moments before the gospel and dined and dashed--guess we’re not so different afterall. The mass was the same as I’ve known all my life and very beautiful, but my favorite part was the closing hymn: Ave Maria. At that moment the distance between heaven and earth became a lot smaller and once again I felt God whispering so loudly “You are exactly where you're supposed to be. Grandpa is so proud of you. Eat more, principessa.”





As I finish up this post, it’s my last day here. There's a quiet, distant and lonely feeling in my heart. I feel funny not having a baby on my hip. It's too quiet without water boiling for tea, toddlers singing, or moving or helping somewhere. I'm currently sitting on a tiny bed in Nakuru, Kenya. I'm wearing a full length black skirt and an old t shirt. My mosquito bites...and bed bug bites (oh Uganda) itch. There is no wifi. I am distant from everything. But this type of distance, personal distance is perhaps the most rewarding. I've realized that the way I fall in love with wherever I am, makes distance inevitable. The experiences I've had are generally inexplicable, and even if they were easy to explain, many times people don't really care to know. People want to know about what it was like to be the only white woman in a Kenyan town but not what it's like to meet a child who has 7 brothers and sisters and whose mother is pregnant...oldest sister is a prostitute, and there's no food in the house. No one cares to know about one of the only beggars who I saw whose body was so deformed it was hard to look at him. These experiences hold me back from people...once you've seen some of these horrors, you can't quite shake them and there’s always some sort of distance from the present that remains.

The places I love, the people who make me who I am, the smells, the food, whoever my true love is, will never ever be in one place at one time. I will forever anticipate, accept, and encourage distance because it's beautiful and it is inevitable in my life. I will cultivate loneliness and the inexplicability of my experiences as they push the boundaries of my soul. That lonely, hole-in-my-heart distant feeling is not meant to be filled by another human. Expecting to fill that space is too much to expect and it will drive me mad because an element of loneliness will always be there as I move about and experience the world.

The only thing you can do as a wanderer, is to acknowledge the spaces in your heart, understand yourself and your needs, love endlessly no matter how long you are given, write beautiful letters that paint vivid images, count the rain drops that fall from international clouds and hit your face the same way anywhere, and accept no mediocrity in who tries to love your wandering soul. A person who cannot elevate your ambition, mirror your mindset nor match the way you move about the earth is no person for you. You are a mover, a global citizen and no cattle will stand in your way.

God has explicitly shown me that wherever I am is where I am supposed to be. Distance is my dear friend and I will actively choose to cherish her as she comes.









Sunday, February 21, 2016

We're So Young. We're So Young.

“We're so young. We're so young. We're twenty-two years old. We have so much time. There's this sentiment I sometimes sense, creeping in our collective conscious as we lie alone after a party, or pack up our books when we give in and go out - that it is somehow too late. That others are somehow ahead. More accomplished, more specialized. More on the path to somehow saving the world, somehow creating or inventing or improving. That it's too late now to BEGIN a beginning and we must settle for continuance, for commencement.” // Marina Keegan




I haven’t written a blog post since I went to Africa. When I returned from my trip I was still in a colossal daydream. I kept starting almost every sentence I spoke with, “So in Kenya…” comparing and contrasting, trying to allow others to understand; gripping and staring at handwritten letters from 23 angel students and 1 Italian lover; smelling one particular wine cork willing it to smell like it did that one night. I wish I could say that my trip has faded into the back of my mind, but it most certainly has not. I don’t go an hour without thinking about my journey and I desperately wish I was still on that misunderstood, perfectly imperfect continent.

But alas, I am here in Redlands, California and a second semester senior in college. How do I feel? I’ll let you know when I can catch my breath. People keep asking me if I’m ready to graduate, how my experience has been, if I’ll miss Redlands. Yes. Unbelievable. Yes. I am baffled by the changes I have experienced during the past 3.75 years at the University of Redlands. I’m in awe of everything that has happened: the love I’ve felt, the people I’ve lost, the places I’ve gone, and how I’ve become prepared for the next steps in my life. The purpose of this post is to share with you my experiences I’ve personally had with change, but more importantly what in my life has stayed the same.

Change. The kind that sucks the air right from you. 

My very first friend I had at my university is dead. The person whom I thought I might marry now repulses me. The boy I first loved just recently had a baby with the young woman whom he chose over me. The boy who’d never hurt me, cheated on me. I got a puppy. There was a terrorist attack 8 miles away from my campus. There was a terrorist attack 5 miles from my brother’s former campus. That brother is married. My dad had heart surgery. Twice.  I watched a woman leave her infant at an orphanage in Kenya. I fell into love at first sight.



Dear class of 2016, In the past 4 years we have experienced so many changes on our own, good and bad. Every experience without our family’s immediate support is heightened. With every change, a blindfold is randomly ripped off on the sunniest day of the year. We are all growing and changing constantly. Our attitudes switch at the drop of a hat after one Beyonce song. Our opinions on love and sex flip and flop based on the attention we are or are not receiving. We have become tough-skinned, elusive, unfocused, refocused, lost, found, broken...whole. I promise most of you will look back and think, “Those shorts were too short”, “Why did I treat her like that?”, “Cocaine is not cool”.  We deserve a pat on the back, a hug and a giant cup of ever flowing coffee. Isn’t change a funny thing?

Change can be devastating, exhilarating and enchanting. Change has become my favorite thing in the world, because without change, how do we recognize what stays the same? Without change, how will the subject of your photo, your core values, stay detailed and in focus if you don’t open your aperture enough for a blurry background of change and uncertainty? While change is constant and crucial for our development (Yes we are still young and developing. No we don’t have all the answers. Stop drinking so much! Our frontal lobes are important and not fully grown yet!), I want to highlight the things that have stayed the same.

-My relationship with my mother 

-My obsession with my major and my field of study 

-My best friendships 

-My love for love

Everything I am or hope to be, I owe to my mother. She is my favorite human on this Earth. Everything I do is to put a smile on her face. The radiant, intelligent, sensitive, kick-ass, hilarious, faith-filled woman is the first to know about grad school interviews, the boy who texted me good morning, the A I got on that one horrible chemistry test, that I started my period, that Bia got new treats...everything. She is me and I am her and we are pretty much one super human. College has made me appreciate her even more than I already did. We text every single day...pretty much all day, and she’s my best friend on snapchat (lol). One day, I will be a mommy and my mother will be my daily inspiration (except maybe not with those purple spandex shorts she wore to the YMCA throughout the first 6 years of my childhood...come on mom, you know the ones). 


So what’s your major?

Many college students feel lost with their studies, which is totally fine. We major in what our parents majored in or what’s easy or what might make money, OR what we are absolutely in love with. For me, it was always Comm Dis. Communicative Disorders has become my life. I am always in awe of how humans communicate or don’t with the world. With a unique and wholesome education at the communicative disorders department at the UofR alongside the various supplemental involvements I’ve pursued, I’ve cultivated so many of my core life values from this field of study. I believe healthy communication is a human right. I believe in freedom of speech, religion and the right to bear arms as well...but how will you stand up for that if you don’t have a voice? Ok ok, that’s a little much, but seriously. For those of you who have “heard of Comm Dis but don’t know what it involves” here’s a quick and dirty rundown:

Communicative Disorders is the study of everything speech, swallowing, language and hearing pathology/therapy. From prematurely born infants with feeding disorders to toddlers with neurological developmental delays to the 8-year-old with a stutter to the 13-year-old boy who has autism, to the 15-year-old young woman who has Down syndrome, to the 25-year-old man with cerebral palsy to the 30-year-old woman who has a traumatic brain injury to the 50-year-old stroke victim who lost her language to the 90-year-old with Alzheimer’s. This field is EXTREMELY vast. It includes exciting research and science, exhilarating technology, interpersonal skills, custom clinical care, creativity and familial support. I could rant on and on about it forever. Undecided? Major in Comm Dis! Just kidding. But not.

This competitive field has been the backbone of my education throughout all of college. I applied to the dear ole UofR because they had the program! I’m currently an applicant for 13 graduate schools. Holy. I don’t know where the future will take me. New York? Nashville? Seattle? Back to Africa? All I can tell you is that this field is my life and I feel so blessed every day that I know exactly what I want to do with my life and that I’m on the path to getting there. My fellow classmates, My hope is that you have found something that you are wildly passionate about studying. If you don't know what to do after college, that's fine! But I hope our liberal arts education has served its purpose in allowing you to cultivate a unique and well-rounded education that will eventually inspire you to do something wonderful. I hope you went to class, and I hope you thanked your professors.

My experience in Kenya has complimented my appreciation for education. In Kenya, if a classroom was occupied, or unable to use for some reason? "Problem nothing". A whiteboard will be brought outside and students will sit around and learn with a purpose while chickens meander behind them and the sun or rain beat down on their uniform sweaters. Education is the beginning of everything. and it's endless. Our brains are magic. Who else is completely thrilled with the capability of being a lifelong learner? This is why I don't text in class. This photo right here is why it can wait.
Ok ladies now let’s get in formation:

Sophia, Marisa, Camille, Alex, Kathryn, Mckenzie, Colie...you ladies are life. I’ve known Marisa know for 20 years now, Camille for 15, Sophia for 14, Alex for 8, Kat & Mckenzie for 4 and Colie for 3. Let me tell you about what I’ve learned about best friendship. Best friendship is not speaking for 3 years and then grabbing a drink, not missing a beat in conversation. Best friendship is devouring sushi then running into Nordstrom together to buy a leotard for your man (you’re welcome, man/you weren’t the first to see me in that).  It’s sitting on the couch drinking wine from your roommates’ “crystal wine glasses that were a wedding present please don’t use them” and watching 50 Shades of Grey. It’s walking around Ted Runner Stadium crying over those we’ve lost. It’s burping me at the bar (the right way). It’s leaving your first college party early to watch A Little Princess in a tiny dorm room bed. It’s girl scout cookie conversations and waiting for me when I had the runs in Office Depot. It’s NYE three years in a row, “Happy Mother’s Day Freck”. These best friends carry us through our years of alonedom. You are my queens.












True friendships do not change. Time, location, nor growth can change these bonds. These sisterhoods are golden and they become so rare as we get older. They are the real friendships that could never be compromised by men, drama or anything because they’re so far beyond that. These are key. Thank you ladies for being the ones.




We were created in love



Now love. Hehe my favorite topic ever. Now people, I’ve been cheated on, cheated with (without knowing), dumped, left, ignored, stood up, played, lied to, stood up again, and again and again and oh glory me it’s been a roller coaster! Anything else wrong a man can do, it’s happened to me ha ha. I’ve watched beautiful marriages end and ugly marriages begin. I watch people rush into love and rush out. I’ve seen people use facebook posts to seek social validation for pregnancy and questionable (yet legal) unions. I watch mediocre love, daily with the couple who lives in the house I rent. By the way, Is marriage really just finding someone to split the rent with and who will answer your every beck and call? Someone to do half the dishes? Anyway, none of this has changed my opinion of love. None of it has scarred or scared me into never trying again. If anything, all of the bad will highlight the good when he comes into my life.

I take love seriously. I am the most loyal woman I can possibly be. Maybe I put myself out there too often or I make a fool out of myself  sometimes, but I’ve never regretted opening up my heart and telling someone how I feel.  One day a man will appreciate me for being this way. 
I have a sneaky feeling that love is on it's way. To be honest, this belief lies in my theory that you cannot truly love someone until you love yourself...all the damn way...and folks, I’m just about there! I also believe that God has an extremely special man whom he’ll send at the right time. I am firm in that faith. And if you don’t believe in God, the universe has someone for you too. If my future hubby is reading this, know that I write to you often, pray for you, and I cannot wait to fall in love with you.
In order to reach my destination of love, I have to keep falling in love with myself first. Then I can be all that I am and more for my partner. And what better way to do that than accept the array of changes and challenges that my life has to offer?
Seniors, as we finish our last few months of college, let’s embrace all of the change that has happened, put the Coors Lite down, and reflect on how those changes have solidified our core values. If you slough off your greek letters, GPA, jersey, and ego, we’re just people trying to make it through.  How thrilling is it that as humans, changes we have absolutely no control over can affect our souls? How exciting is it to taste some icky so we can learn about yummy?



Monday, June 29, 2015

Hakuna Matata, Kenya


Jambo!

       Writing a synthesis of my experience in Kenya has been difficult for me. I came home three weeks ago, and since then I’ve been tossing ideas back and forth in my mind about what I’ve wanted to share, and how on Earth I can depict the beauty and struggle of Kenya. Of course there is the classic college girl’s volunteer blog post about how AWESOME everything was, how cute the small Kenyan children I got to take photos with were, how different the food was and how everyone should travel. Yes, those are accurate but there is so much more to this story and not all of it was that simple.
I did fall in love with everything that is Kenya (Uganda and Tanzania)—the culture, the food, the simplicity, the pace (“Kenyan Time”). I fell in love with travel. I gained the self confidence for jumping from airport to airport, city to city, village to village to take it all in. I learned how to bargain and how to ride on the back of a motorbike to get around town (sorry Daddy!). I lived in the moment, and even on a 7-hour bus ride to Uganda alone, I was overcome with gladness and stillness. I fell in love with the people I met, the children I held and the animals I saw. I mean this in the most sincere way when I say that I believe every single moment happened as it was supposed to and I felt God with me constantly. I want to keep this post honest because not everything about my trip was peachy keen and I hope my honesty doesn't offend anyone. That would never be my intention. Many aspects were difficult for me to process and very heavy on my heart and mind. I do want to be very clear about TWO things right off the bat though. In case boredom ensues and you minimize my story, please know: 1) my safety was NEVER once in question. I never felt threatened, nervous or in harm’s way. Even walking into town alone daily, traveling to Uganda by myself and then staying in a hotel room alone, taking a taxi with a male driver at 2am—none of these instances scared me and no one once had me questioning my security. That is something I want to be very very straightforward about because it’s something that worried my peers and family members. Before leaving I was constantly questioning how I would stay safe over there. Which pocket knife to bring, etc.  I was about my wits with my money, passport and everything like that but much of my nervousness was unnecessary.
2) I did not go on this trip for service hours, school credits, or work. I was not paid and in regards to credits/hours, this trip means nothing. I went alone through a volunteer abroad program to personally grow as a global citizen and to visit the lands I had been dreaming about.
















Thank you ELI Abroad 

When I found this trip online through the study abroad organization ELIAbroad, I knew it was calling my name. My long distance friendship with my sponsored daughter Phiona began January 11th of 2014. Letters back and forth solidified my desire to travel to the Africa to experience this part of the world with all of my heart. This was due to how often her family sent love and prayers and best wishes for my life in their letters; I knew one day I would meet them. Secondly, in college, as a communicative disorders major, communication has become a passion and skill of mine and I have quite the knack for language. I am constantly thinking about and analyzing the uses of language I encounter from babies who are just acquiring it to deaf individuals to anyone in between; Language and communication are the heart of humanity and this was also solidified during my trip. I didn’t meet a single American. I met countless Kenyans, sat by a man on the plane from South Africa, taught with a man from Ghana, went on a safari with a family from Canada and a beautiful man from Italy, and lived with a young man from Japan and an Australian couple.
















We were all brought together due to many different circumstances. We are global citizens who believe in travel and wanted to find a home in Kenya. We all were able to communicate with broken English, gestures, smiles and nods. And of course in my school, Kenyan Sign Language was used entirely. There were many language barriers but they did not prevent our human need and ability to communicate. I think even more was said during the silence of a midnight flight from New York to South Africa, or in the soft mutual gaze I shared with the Italian across a table.






Doing My Research

To prepare for my trip (for an entire year!), I researched deaf culture in Kenya and wrote a few papers. Just as American Deaf culture is, Kenyan “big D” Deaf culture is extremely vibrant. Sign language is a beautiful language, globally, and I felt like this program was almost custom-made to be exactly what I wanted. Applications were sent and I patiently waited for my acceptance, which happened in January 2015. I would be leaving April 27th and staying until June 7th volunteering in the classrooms at the secondary school for the Deaf in Nakuru, Kenya.



First Leg:

I am an extremely impressionable young woman. I am influenced easily by the world, by people and by my experiences. I am confident, fearless, smart and compassionate. I flew to Africa alone to teach English in a Deaf high school in a new language that I taught myself, to live with strangers, to learn and entirely new independence that I never knew I even had the ability to learn. I had no expectations going into this and “I grew in unimaginable ways” another clichĂ© blog quote from the last study abroad student. But I didn’t change or grow because I went without wifi for two weeks but instead because I saw the depth of raw humanity without the clutter of wealth.
I will begin with my first leg of the trip. The 14-hour flight to South Africa from New York was a blur of anticipation, decent airplane food and a few movies. I sat by a young woman headed to Johannesburg to work at an elephant sanctuary. We chatted briefly but generally that flight was a constant rhythm of not knowing what time it was, sleeping, eating and watching American Sniper, Mama Mia and He’s Just Not That Into You, three movies that actually run very parallel to my life. The airport in SA was dark, confusing and I briefly felt lonely until I asked for directions and made it swiftly to my next 5-hour flight to Nairobi. This time, I sat by the window and in the aisle was a South African man named Kolanzo. We got to talking and it turns out that his wife is a speech and language pathologist and audiologist. We talked the entire flight about Sign Language, deaf education, speech therapy, Africa…everything. Suddenly I felt God sitting in the middle seat telling me this is exactly where I should be. He helped me navigate the bus to customs in the Nairobi airport and also stood with me until I made it through—a blessing and a half. I have his wife’s email, but I’m really not sure there are enough words of thanks for this man’s presence as I entered Nairobi, for the final leg of a 26 hour journey before being taken by car to Nakuru, 3 more hours away. Immediately I saw my driver, Kevin, with a sign that read my name and we drove on an unimaginably bumpy road to my Kenyan mother’s house. It was 9:00 pm by the time I got there. She fed me lentils and rice and I slept like a baby in my bright yellow and blue room.







Kenya is not a UNICEF commercial…

An interesting point that I’ll make about my feelings while I was in Kenya is this: I never felt sad. It was not a UNICEF commercial. I spent days at orphanages with children who take care of themselves, who wear mismatched, urine-stained clothes, who have dirt and grime in their hair but none of this made me feel sad. The reason is because no one looked miserable and no child complained or cried. No child complained about his cleanliness, her outfit, their desperate parents who couldn’t take care of them—I only saw joy.
These children laugh and pray loudly with exuberance for life. They want to receive and give hugs and kisses constantly. They want to be held. They want to hold you. They want you to braid their hair and to color with them. They have the same innocent glow that any other child has; the same desire to learn, play and love. Their lifestyle is not less than the lifestyles of Americans, Canadians or Japanese. It is simply different and it is spectacular.  Walking into the orphanage set my heart on fire in the best possible way. Blessing, a three-year-old little girl with tiny sparkling earrings and bald little head would come running to me, throwing her arms in the air, jumping into my arms, kissing my forehead, hugging my neck, trusting that I would catch her. This began on only the second day I went there.
Looking at her jumping with no fear was like looking into a mirror when I thought about how I jumped into the world’s arms to find out what it’s really like. Her little twin friends Kelly, Chantel would come running next, grabbing at my hands just to walk with me. Having a giant bag on my shoulder, a three year old in my arms and two more on my left hand made me feel like a mommy. I’ve babysat so many kids, but this instant love that I felt showed me that I really do have the nurturing capabilities and the strength to be a mother.




I skipped, jump-roped, cooked, ate, played futbol, held babies, and felt complete and utter joy throughout the entirety of my visits. Toddlers would wander the yards of the school and orphanage. As soon as I picked them up, they fell asleep on my shoulder. I never felt sad while I was there. Maybe this is because I didn’t see the parents leave these angels or because the ministry that’s there provides such a foundation of safety and care, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the community of love that the children have built but whatever it is, it’s beautiful and I know God gave extra blessings to them simply because they know how to love without question and live joyously in such simplicity.
At the first orphanage, I met a child named Asha and we immediately bonded. Her name is even the acronym of an organization that I am a member of: the American Speech and Hearing Association. That was the first thing I thought of.


She is such a beautiful girl, in grade 2, sponsor-less. I am thrilled to tell you that in a few short weeks once everything is processed, she will be my second sponsored daughter. Asha instantly trusted me. She taught me Kiswahili, the most prominent language of Kenya and I helped her with her English. I still have every note she wrote for me with diagrams and Kiswahili words. I braided her hair and she braided mine. I held her and she held me. She would hold my hand and walk around outside as if she were showing me off…I was hers. I thought that I wanted to take her home with me, to save her. But reflecting now, Asha doesn’t need to be saved; these kids didn’t need to be saved. I didn’t need to buy them new shiny things to make them happy. I didn’t need to teach them the “American way”. All I needed to do was simply love them and let them love me in return. I could only show them that I care and maybe if they know I care, they will think all Americans care.













What is wealth?

I lived in a 3rd world country and saw the opposite of poverty. Abundance was everywhere. Wealth of spirit filled the Kenyan streets. When Kenyans greet each other, they grasp hands and shake them while talking; it’s personal and respectful. Children are taught as infants to reach for hands and shake them. When you walk by a child on the street, they will typically reach their hand out just for a little squeeze. Everyone’s got a hand to offer—there is no discrimination. I would see old people in the crowded town streets laughing and holding hands, school children maybe 4 or 5 years old walking home from school hand in hand in their adorable plaid uniforms. Of course one of my favorite faces was that of the old man I saw every single day sitting outside his shop sewing shoes. We’d smile and wave while I walked by and sometimes we’d exchange fruit. My students brought me joy in so many ways also. I’ll never forget standing in a circle after school passing a volleyball around laughing hysterically when the ball would hit a wrist and go flying the opposite direction of intention. I saw happiness, meekness and pure humanity and I bathed in its glory. My students played soccer in their school uniforms, beat up shoes, with a ratty non-soccer ball in the rain or shine. I breathed this simplicity in along with the salty, sweet, dense Kenyan air.





















           

















Maybe I didn’t feel sadness in Kenya because these people were so beautiful and innocent and the children reminded me of the children here. Children of the slums smile the same way American children smile. Children in America play, and make up games and run wild. Children from the slums do the same. Maybe ignorance is bliss for these children but I do know for a fact that wealth, clutter, and material items are not necessary for happiness and love.



Being in Ngala is not a mistake
 

The orphanage was the first place I worked because when I arrived in Kenya, the Ngala School for the Deaf was on holiday. When I started working at the school, it was equally welcoming and intimidating. The principal is a short, plump Kenyan man with tinted glasses and gleaming teeth. He accepted the donation of the projector and MacBook laptop with open arms the first day I began teaching. He threw me into the classroom without even telling me exactly what material I’d teach. It was incredibly unorganized, unprofessional, and haphazard. I’m not even sure I was qualified to teach some of the proper English I was teaching! But I did my best. I fundraised extensively for those items and so many of my peers, family members, and friends donated for the purchases (about $2,000). The school is still lacking in technology. They have two dated desktop computers that they shift around the teacher’s lounge to share. They use a scanner for scanning photos and diagrams from the books but a majority of the teaching is done on the white board. In my classroom experience as a student, projectors are at our fingertips and visual learning is engaging and necessary to supplement learning. This is even more so true for deaf individuals. I am so thrilled for the school that they have another sustainable piece of teaching equipment that will provide the necessary visual learning processes for the students. They thanked me multiple times and the kids were so impressed by the new (to them) technology. Thank you EVERYONE who donated. Please know that this donation will last a long, long time and will bring about better learning.




The Ngala School for the Deaf is divided into two halves, primary and secondary. I was teaching in the secondary side. The school is right across the street from where I lived so I simply walked there every morning. Walking through the guarded gate was refreshing. My students are so beautiful and each has a unique personality, some sweet as can be and some ultimate troublemakers. It’s a boarding school so I would come early, stay late and visit on weekends to hang out.  The dorms are simple. Metal bunk beds with thin mattresses line one-story dorms, one for boys and one for girls, separated by a grown out field that the boys “mow” with machetes. Chickens run freely with their babies, cows visit the primary school side and it always smelled like the delicious lunches of beans, rice and cabbage that were made in the outdoor kitchen. Being in Ngala was peaceful, teaching was not nerve wracking at all and my fellow teachers were mostly welcoming.








My favorite part of being in Ngala was pulling out my 5 students who have hearing aids and giving them speech therapy. Sandra, Grancy, Joyce, Emmanuel and Hellen are used to signing so much at school, they don’t use their voices often but every day we did short intensive speech intervention targeting the sounds used most in their day to day lives. The tools I showed them are applicable across the board and they will be able to practice on their own using them. My fellow teachers were also able to ask questions about special needs education in the US and I was excited to inform them about the knowledge I’ve obtained in Autism Spectrum Disorder and Down syndrome and the effects on speech. When I first arrived, I didn’t understand how attached I would become but on my last day, it hit me and there I stood crying like a baby in front of 21 students who didn’t want me to leave either. I have an extremely difficult time saying good-bye to those who I may never see again.
















I’m still very proud to be an American and a global citizen

My fellow teachers were easy to get to know and I really enjoyed hanging out with them but I did find myself having to stand up for America on a few occasions. My American pride came through naturally. One time specifically was when an older female teacher told me I eat my lunch so fast because I’m American and that Kenyans eat slowly. It was a silly thing to get offended over but I did get defensive! I told her, yes I’m American but so is my dad and he eats so slowly it’s almost painful. Teachers would say, “You look American”. I would say, “No, there’s no such thing. I actually look a quarter Italian, a quarter English, a quarter Cherokee and a quarter French!” It turns out that many Kenyans don’t understand the US just like many Americans don’t understand Kenya. My students constantly asked me how much things cost in the US and what I eat here. They were obsessed and seemed to forget that I’m just a person too. They were surprised and in disbelief to know that it’s actually very similar…
Homosexuality and gay marriage were probably the biggest arguments I got in over there (and I wrote this before the beautiful and historical day we had!). The culture is very…dated in those regards. One teacher singled me out to argue about “America’s stance” on gay marriage. I couldn’t tell him “America’s” stance. I couldn’t say that all Americans have a uniform belief because we all know that isn’t true. I told him my feelings, why I feel that way and tried my hardest to word it in a way that was calm even though my blood was boiling under my skin. The law in Kenya reads as: “Kenya’s Penal Code criminalizes sodomy.  Under this law, a “person who … has carnal knowledge of any person against the order of nature … or permits a male person to have carnal knowledge of him or her against the order of nature” commits a felony, punishable on conviction by a fourteen-year prison term.[40]  An attempt to commit an unnatural offense, also a crime, is , punishable on conviction by a seven-year prison term.[41]”
In Gambia if you show any sign of being gay you will “get your throat slit and the West cannot stop it.” That is a direct quote from the president.  I could throw up. 

Assumption causes conflict, the world needs education

This type of thing scared me because as an incredibly opinionated and passionate woman, I had to bite my tongue and I became upset when I knew many of my core values were the opposite of my new friends there. These particular instances bothered me but I have to stop and reflect on why they might take this stance.  Maybe it’s rooted in religion. Or maybe that the times don’t change as quickly in Africa as they do in the Western world, I don’t know. I was scared to know 37 African countries still have these laws in place when it’s 2015, but nothing I said could change anyone’s mind so instead of continuing the arguments. I let them go and prayed about it and was thankful for our strong democracy.
The knowledge and empathy that different areas of world lack for one another is literally frightening. I believe THIS the source of conflict. I cannot tell you how many stereotypes I heard about Africa before leaving and how many American stereotypes I heard while I was there! Everyone, everywhere needs to do some research and open their eyes to other parts of the world with an empathetic lens. Some of the common misconceptions that I heard from my fellow Americans:
1. You will get malaria: I took my malaria pills daily and correctly, hardly saw any mosquitoes and the ones I did see, I murdered viciously. Students at my school use malaria nets and there was a net above my bed, but I never used it. While camping in Masai Mara for the safari, there were no mosquitos due to the high altitude.  Mosquitos did not come in huge swarms and like I said, I became quite the mosquito huntress for the ones I did see.

2. You will get Ebola: This really grinded my gears. Ebola is in WEST Africa and the distance from those areas is actually closer to the East Coast of the US than from Kenya. Kenya is Ebola free. We cannot say the same about our country. I never felt sick, not even once. No fevers, no nothing! No Kenyans said anything about Ebola in Kenya and I’m glad I didn’t mention it because it would have been an uneducated comment.

3. You will get diarrhea: This is one I chuckle at and ponder regularly. I am gluten and dairy intolerant and was actually terrified to eat the food before arrival. However while almost everything I eat here at home hurts my tummy, absolutely nothing in Kenya bothered me. I was completely regular and didn’t cut out anything from my diet. I ate the fruit, I ate the meat, I drank the milk and literally nothing happened, not even a cramp. It was unbelievable. Perhaps the GMOs and pesticides used in the US really are to blame for these newfound intolerances that people are facing because everything I ate was locally grown and pesticides are not prevalent.
















4. Are you sure you want to go there as a blonde?: My hair meant nothing to the Kenyan people, my white skin was enough. I would walk into town and not see any white people. I would go a week and not see any white people. The fact that I was blonde had nothing to do with it, I stuck out like a sore thumb just because of my skin color.

5. You will come back the queen of a village: This one makes me extremely disturbed and upset due to the naivety. No I didn’t get married in Kenya and yes, of course I saw tribes. Everyone in Kenya is from a tribe! We visited Masai Mara where the Masai Mara tribes’ people still live very traditionally. They did not want to marry me; they simply wanted to sell me their “handmade” jewelry.
6. You should be nervous about visiting a terrorist country: I’m going to discuss this one later.

My own Lion King adventure

On my first weekend I went to Masai Mara park with a group of other volunteers because my school was on holiday until the following Monday. On my safari was Phillip the driver, a Canadian family of 3, Omar, a wonderful Italian man and Fugimoto, my Japanese housemate. The safari was simply spectacular. We headed out on a Friday, went on an evening safari, spent the night, full day safari Saturday and a morning safari on Sunday. It was unbelievable. I highly recommend a safari for anyone traveling to an African country. Once you go you will understand why zoos should be outlawed. We saw 21 lions, 3 cheetahs, a leopard, countless elephants, giraffes, hippos, crocs, water buffalo, warthogs—everything, in the WILD. The birds were beautiful too and I was constantly wishing that my wildlife-obsessed parents were there. My long lens for my Canon camera REALLY came in handy and some of the photos I took are just breathtaking. The energy in our safari was awesome too. Everyone was so kind and funny; we were all instantly a safari family. I couldn’t believe we saw the entire cast of Lion King and the depictions of the characters are so realistic! Take Pumba, the way he walks in the movie is exactly how warthogs do in the wild. Waddling around like they own the place. Stirring up trouble. We watched one warthog tempt a lioness many times teasing her pride by approaching and scurrying off multiple times, trying to get her to chase him. It was hilarious.










































We stayed in huge tents with bathrooms and real wood beds. It was pretty nice! There were only a few spiders inside, but who could blame them?! I wouldn’t want to sleep outside with lions around either! I shared a tent with Fugi and Omar…We fell asleep to the harmony of cows, chickens, wild dogs, snoring men and other mysterious sounds that we couldn’t quite decipher. Fugi had a nightmare in the middle of the night on Friday that shut the whole campground up suddenly. His malaria pills gave him bad dreams so at about 3am he jumped out of bed screaming in Japanese. We were thankful because it provided enough silence from our symphony to get a little shuteye.















Il Mio Mucca Preferito

Like I mentioned just before this, on my safari was a young Italian man named Omar. We quickly became friends on the safari and as soon as we were back in Nakuru a fiery romance ensued. If there’s one woman who would find the perfect man in the middle of Kenya on a random safari the first weekend she was there, it’s me. He was everything. We went on dates to fantastic little Kenyan restaurants, we ran wild through the raining streets of Nakuru wearing hideous rain jackets, we drank a lot of wine, we bargained for a lot of fruit and we truly enjoyed each other in a wholesome way. He taught me new things everyday (and not just the Italian names of the animals we saw in the streets!). He taught me that the world should be trusted, that people, no matter how different from me could be trusted. He taught me that it’s ok not to have a plan and to just…go. He taught me that I could feel beautiful with no make up on, wet hair while slurping down an overripe mango. He reminded me that money isn’t impressive but instead, the hard, honest, selfless work he did by building a kitchen for a primary school, by himself, for nothing in return is. Awful tan lines developed over the weeks on his arms and neck and they were a testament of his dedication to that school. He showed me the kitchen he built, his “mama” the head cook at the kitchen and the babies of the primary school. We walked through the slums near his project while countless children followed us. He picked me a tiny flower that was pink and yellow and I tried to hold onto it while also holding the little dark hands reaching for me.






              Omar never wronged me, never stood me up, never ignored me and never doubted me. There were no games. His mom, Mama Adri, raised him right. Even when he left Nakuru before me to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro and his phone didn’t work, I knew he’d be waiting for me in the airport of Zanzibar where I’d meet him a week later. And he was there! Holding mangos and chocolate! Zanzibar, that was another thing. Omar invited me to go there with him…it wasn’t in the original plan. My parents told me not to go, but I had to disobey them and follow my heart. Mia decisione preferito.

Long Live Buyengo



Two weeks before I left Nakuru for Zanzibar, I traveled across the border to Uganda to meet the child I sponsor through Child Fund International. My housemother Rosemary was extremely unhelpful during the travel planning process so I decided to just take care matters into my own hands. I took an Easy Coach bus for about 7 hours to Busia, Uganda. There, a representative (the nicest human I have ever met) from Child Fund picked me up at the bus stop and took me to my hotel. I stayed in a run down hotel by myself in a one-bedroom room. Nothing worked. No wifi. No TV. No hot water and the power went out at 8pm. I didn’t care. In the middle of the night I heard a mouse scurry across my floor…I didn’t sleep after that. In the morning Ukumu picked me up and took me to the Child Fund office. They fed me a delicious Ugandan breakfast of Ugandan pancakes, boiled peanuts and coffee and I met the other staff members of Child Fund. There I got to ask them the questions that we all want to ask: Does my money really make a difference to this child? Where exactly does my money go? Does her family really write the letters to me? I learned the answers to all of these:
1. YES! At Child Fund International, if a child is sponsored he/she receives services throughout his/her life in different stages. As infants, sponsored babies receive regular health screenings from Child Fund professionals, nutrition supplements, parenting courses etc. As they get older they receive different services like schooling through CF built schools, family medical support, continued health screenings etc.
2. My money fuels these programs that directly serve the children.
3. YES! My daughter Phiona is only 3 years old but her uncle wrote all of the letters himself. He is a wonderful man and a great uncle to Phiona. I met him and Phiona’s parents. Unfortunately the relationship between her parents is rocky—I learned that Phiona’s father has hurt her mother in the past and her mother has mental disabilities. Fortunately however, CF checks on this situation regularly, makes sure Phiona is safe and has provided medical attention to the mother. This care provided is because Phiona is sponsored. I watched children write letters to their sponsored families and I felt utter joy because it IS real. Sponsoring a child really does make a difference! I pay $28 a month and I write letters every few months. CF keeps track of EVERYTHING and has a binder for Phiona with all of our letters and photos exchanged! If ANY of you would like to sponsor a child, please contact me. Child Fund Uganda has sent me a list of children who need sponsors and I would love to connect my peers/family/friends to this awesome foundation. Let me tell you, when I met Phiona I cried and cried. We were finally united. I put her chubby little body on my lap and held her and taught her how to say my name. She is just a baby but I know she understood who I am and when I left she was sad and confused. She let me hold her like we had known each other a long, long time. I told her parents about how much she means to me and how I pray they will keep her safe and healthy.
I hope this inspires you all to sponsor a child. It’s so easy and it really has changed my life and Phiona's.
































Zanzibar, Tanzania

Now for the romantico part of the journey that I’m sure you’re all dying to hear about. We all know I'm dying to fall in love bu I just want to say NO I am not engaged or married, and I did not have a honeymoon in Zanzi haha.
So Zanzibar is a tiny island off of the coast of Tanzania, Africa and it’s a dream come true. Like I said, I flew there just before I was flying back stateside on a tiny plane from Nairobi straight to Zanzibar. The flight is about an hour long and the airport in Zanzi is a tin can. I told the man at customs I would only be there a few days. He put my expiration date to a year from now and said I could marry him haha.
        My Italian waited for me outside the little aiport holding mangos and chocolate, he already got a taxi and we just had to decide which town to go to. We decided on Nungwi, a northern town on the Tanzania side of the island. Omar and I stayed in a grass hut on the beach. We walked out of our door and could see the bright turquoise sea. The trip was simple: We woke up at 6am in the mornings to walk by the Indian Ocean and to collect the exquisite shells that people buy in souvenir shops. We drank fresh mango juice for breakfast, and fell asleep in the sun during the afternoons. We had nowhere to be, no wifi, no cares. It was unreal. We ate candlelit dinners in the sand, drank wine and devoured the seafood catches of the day. We took sunset cruises where we could see nothing but the vibrant orange sky. Omar went snorkeling while I watched (I don't do middle of the ocean swimming). We explored Stone Town, the tippy top capital city of Zanzibar where the spices are abundant and the market place over crowded. The smell of nutmeg, red curry powder, garlic, seafood and exhaust filled the air. It was warm and the ocean air was thick.








































































The Muslim population is enormous in Zanzibar, 98%...you know what that means! Beautiful mosques, exquisite fabrics and AMAZING food! Curries, rices and stews for lunch hit just the spot…we were obsessed. Stone Town was hectic and the streets were winding but somehow my Italian knew his way and guided me around. I never questioned him. We drank iced coffees on a ledge cafĂ© overlooking the most beautiful bay. We walked and walked and walked and every sight I saw amazed me.
    But then three short days later, it was over…just about as fast as it started. One long good bye and I was on my way back to the states. Omar is a wonderful human and saying good-bye was extremely difficult. All I could do was thank him for encouraging my hunger for adventure, for carrying my flip flops, for bargaining this one old lady for her basket because it’s the one I wanted, then helping her dump out her belongings into another bag so I could have it.
Most of all, I want to thank him for teaching me that there are men out there who are decisive, mature, loyal and sincere. Anyone who gets to meet Omar is lucky. He painted my world with more vibrant colors. I didn’t think that was possible. My mom and I are going to Italy and Greece next summer. I don’t know if I will see him then or ever again but he holds a special place in my life for the lessons he taught me in loving and trusting this Earth. I would proudly introduce him to my father as a man who protected me, respected me, loved me and showed me the world.


Withdrawls

        I had an extremely long journey back home. First I went from Zanzibar to Nairobi. Stayed in the Nairobi airport for about 4 hours before getting on a flight to South Africa. I still had Zanzi sand on my toes and was extremely sunburnt--not the most comfortable flights but I didn't mind; my head was not even there. From South Africa I went to New York and from New York, Boston. I stayed overnight at my brother's house then in the morning my last flight went from Boston to Seattle. My students wrote me letters before I left. I read them over the course of my flights and was touched by each one. Terrible grammar-ed sentences of love and best wishes. My favorite was from a girl I gave speech therapy to. She wrote that she was going to become a track star and once she was famous she'd meet me in America. I just love that. I finally got to understand what "culture shock meant" and it's funny that it didn't occur when landing in a 3rd world country but instead back stateside. 
        I was culturally shocked by variety, by infrastructure, by order, by everything. Lines moved quickly, things worked, I saw so many white faces, and clean children with their parents. I became angry. I called my dad crying in Boston because I watched a little boy scream at his mother because he wanted a toy from the gift shop. Then I saw two teenage girls count calories of power bars that costed more than two Kenyan dinners. I couldn't take it. This upset me very much and I felt a surge of embarrassment. I went to Starbucks for a coffee but it didn't taste as good as Kenyan coffee. It took me a while to snap out of it...being at my brother's helped. I was able to decompress and get a long night's sleep. I still have these surges of culture shock and I think to myself, "What am I even doing? Why am I even spending this money?" Perhaps parents of young children are reading this and if you are I hope one day you teach your little ones that they were born into a bountiful circumstance and that not all children have the luxuries we do. Help them to be stewards of the earth and to understand that little boys and girls in other areas of the world do not need material things to be happy. I am not going to write that we Americans are "blessed" or "lucky" to have what we have but instead our lives are simply...different. I believe children raised to be grateful and happy, without material items, are the lucky ones. Also, please teach your children (and work on this yourselves) to be judicious with the word "starving". If you eat lunch at 1pm instead of 12pm, you are not starving.


Hakuna Matata Kenya

In Kenya, people really do say, “Hakuna Matata Kenya” and it really does mean no worries. I mentioned in the beginning that I would explain why Kenya is NOT a terrorist country and maybe even why I believe no country is a “terrorist country”. The act of terrorism is definitely a scary thing, that’s why it’s called terrorism. That’s what it’s for—random acts of hate and violence to strike terror in innocent hearts. What happened in Northern Kenya a few months ago was terrorism, yes, but it wasn’t Kenya that was at fault and it wasn’t going to stop me from going. That event could have been aimed to stop travel, to frighten students, whatever, but it didn’t work on me. When I found out about the Garissa attack, this was my thought process:
1. Where is Garissa? North, across the country from where I’ll be.
2. Is this going to affect my decision to go to Kenya? No.
3. Has my flight been affected? No.
Onward.
I refused to be a victim of terrorism. I refused terror and I chose love instead. People texted me, called me, and questioned, “why I would want to go to a terrorist country” and that is damn sad. In May 2013, two terrorists bombed the Boston Marathon. My brother was at the race working as an EMT. The United States is not a terrorist country, and my brother continued to live in Boston. If we let terrorism terrify us, we let it win. Kenya was a victim, the country is not a terrorist.

New found confidence

I’m grateful for how confident I was in my own decision to make this trip and my relentless faith in God. Without my own trust in the world and confidence in myself, I may have believed the words of my peers when they told me not to go. I may have listened to the absent minded comments of my family and friends who offended me by calling one of my new homes a “terrorist country”. I would have missed out on the best experience of my life—watching a lioness hunt a water buffalo and return to lick her tiny babies. I wouldn’t have met the child I sponsor and love in Uganda. I wouldn’t have run wild with an unruly, ever-adventurous man who trusts the world as much as I do, if not more. I wouldn’t have danced to reggae all night long with strangers. I wouldn’t have seen Kenyan sunsets and sunrises. I would have missed out on educating the minds of my high school students with more than just education, but also care for knowledge, the importance of an education and a mother’s love that they miss while at boarding school.
If I would have given up and believed in those who told me not to go, I can’t imagine myself because Kenya changed me and lit a fire that isn’t going anywhere.





The Truth

I learned what I believe to be the truth about Kenya as a country and the importance of experiencing a new part of the world with my entire being and trusting it along with the intuition I’ve been cultivating in my heart to grow in a profound way that is almost inexplicable. After coming back to stateside, I realized that I don’t need material items. How could I get upset that a restaurant got my order wrong when a child in the slum of Kenya has a swollen belly from starvation? How can I spend hundreds of dollars on a new “date outfit” when that money could buy shoes for a whole school? Putting it into perspective, my standards for everything have changed. When I see a homeless man on the street in Seattle, I think to myself, “he has all of his limbs. He is clothed. He will be safe tonight”. In Kenya, I saw only three people begging (other than children often beg anytime they see a white person). One man had no legs, he sat on the sidewalk, dirty and quiet with a jar. One man was severely crippled, his legs contorting behind him from a disease that I don’t know. The last was shockingly skinny, dirty and looked extremely ill. Clearly people do not beg in Kenya like they do here. Here it’s out of convenience, there it’s absolute desperation. My standards for bathrooms are also extremely low now too. I went hiking last weekend with my mom and a woman in front of me in line for the port-a-potty told me how terrible it was inside. When I got in, I realized, families who live in the slums might not ever see a bathroom that nice.

Yes, Kenya is a third world country. There is extreme poverty that literally takes my breath away. When I was in the slums, I felt like it wasn’t real life, I began to feel guilty and embarrassed for the lifestyle I was raised in. When I saw happiness even in the most grotesque, wild dog infested, dirty shack lined slums, I broke down and decided that from then on my happiness would not be rooted in material items or money. Before traveling to Kenya, I wouldn’t necessarily call myself superficial or addicted to money but now, even more so, I’m just not impressed by either wealth or material objects. Instead I am impressed by the relentless happiness that erupts in even the most desperate circumstances. I am joyed by fearless love, raw humanity and faith.
I experienced two extremes clashed into one: the poorest people in the world living the richest lives I’ve ever seen and that is why I am forever inspired and forever changed by Kenya.

        I cannot speak for all of Africa. We forget that Africa is enormous (its size misrepresented on maps). I cannot tell you to “travel to Africa because Africa is amazing.” But the three countries I did go to were each unique and special. Here are my tips and suggestions for traveling to Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania:
1. Go