Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Last weekend, I went to a co-worker's village. We did two major things during this period. First, this is Kenya, so we had a big meal prepared by his mother. Second, in very unKenyan fashion, we climbed one of the foothills of Mt. Elgon.

One of the neatest things about visiting Geoffrey's village was meeting people that knew him on the street every two feet. It made me realize that in a village it really is possible to know almost everyone. Since I've always lived in a city, I have never experienced this phenomenon. The second thing that proved fun was addressing everyone using "How are you?" in Bukusu (the local language). I also aided Canada's reputation by telling an old Kenyan man in the local bar (owned by Geoffrey's brother-in-law) that Canada was not part of the United States. I think I've done my patriotic duty.

While climbing the little foothill, I found out that I am quite out of shape. As always, I was amazed by the Kenyans who live in the area. (Quite comfortingly Geoffrey was also panting on his way up the hill). It was our impromptu guide who amazed me. He was a young man who turned out to be a old neighbour to Geoffrey. He met us half way up the hill as we were resting on some rocks. Mt. Elgon and area are ancient volcanos. If the big rocks with characteristic volcanic bubbles didn't convince me I was looking at an old volcano, the dark, almost black soil caused by the volcanic ash would have. But Geoffrey's neighbour amazed me because he climbed the rocks AND nimbly skipped down the hill in FLIP FLOPS. As you all know I'm a complete klutz, I managed to fall down the hill at one point in my expensive Canadian hikers.

All that being said, it was incredible to climb up a hill that people were using to grow corn and graze their cattle. How they made it up the hill I'm not sure. We even bought sugar cane for a quick snack on the way down. Yes, we used sugar cane bought from a local villager in much the way I would have eaten a granola bar at home. Admittedly, it was probably organice and environmentally friendly since it just came as the cane without any packaging. We also heard drums from church services throughout the rock. Between the Kenyans peacefully tending their cattle, or hanging out on rocks, and the church music it was a positively idyllic African afternoon.

The only thing to mar this picture was hearing an female genital mutilation (FGM) ceremony. The Saboat in Mt. Elgon still practice FGM although it is technically illegal. One chief at our training told the participants that he didn't want to see any of that in his region. It is considered a harmful cultural practice in Kenya, and therefore, unconstitutional with Kenya's constitution. So hopefully it will be ending soon. On the bright side, one girl told me that men in some areas were starting to refuse to marry girls who had FGM because they weren't very good in bed for obvious reasons. I think this turn of events might be the most useful thing in stopping FGM.

Anyways, onto a more pleasant topic. I ate some of the best chicken at Geoffrey's house. There's something comforting in knowing that just hours before someone had personally slaughtered that chicken. Bizarrely we had to keep chasing away the chickens from the table where we were eating outside. You'd think that the chickens wouldn't want to be around people eating their brethren. Actually, I think that would be grounds for a revolt in my world, rather than a cause to go and say hello. I suppose it's chickens proving their stupidity. I have to admit that my animal rights activist self has become a great deal less strong since moving to Kenya where livestock is always around and always safely in the food category.

My visit to Geoffrey's village does provide an opportunity to describe what most, although Geoffrey's was nice, look like. They have a main house and a separate house for cooking. There's also always a portion set aside for substitence farming. However, the most interesting phenomenon in Bukusu culture for me is something called a Simba (meaning lion in kiswahili). After circumsision, boys move into a Simba. It is a separate sleeping quarters from the main house. Geoffrey has built himself a very nice simba that his younger brothers now live in. I thought it was a little cruel to make boys between the ages of 10 and 14 basically move out of their parents house. However, since the parents house is mere meters away and the kitchen is not even in the house it seems like an okay system. It reminds me of moving to the basement where you get your own space. The boys I talked to seemed to like having a simba. I have to admit I'm still rather confused where this practice comes from, but I guess if it works.

Welcome to a slice of village life.

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