on the farm

So far, during my three weekends in Kenya, I have spent exactly one night in my bed at home. I kept with the trend this weekend: Friday night at a farmer's house in Muyekhe, an OAF site outside of Bungoma; and Saturday night in Kisumu, the third biggest city in Kenya located on beautiful Lake Victoria.

Saturday was great - a total of 8 hours spent eating/drinking during the day, including a baked-fish lunch overlooking the hippopotamuses of Lake Victoria; an almost-American-style supermarket where I got Nutella and shampoo and conditioner for mzungu hair; a club where we spent the evening dancing - but the stories pale in comparison to my farmer homestay. So although Kisumu is a terrific, exciting, blogworthy, I'll save it for later. It's only 2 hours away and I'm sure I will return.

Friday night farm life.

Hut, surrounding farms, and beautiful views of my overnight adventure. And Robinson and chickens: my roommates for the evening.

Spending a night in a totally foreign environment is bound to be an adventure. Mine had even a bit of extra spice.

On Friday evening, I was dropped at a site with my backpack and a bag of sugar as a thank-you gift for my host farmer. A farmer named George Wafula came and introduced himself and shook my hand. I responded as best I could in Swahili, and he replied in rapid-fire Swahili of which I understood virtually nothing. "Sawa sawa," ("okay") I replied, without knowing at all what I was agreeing to.

As we wandered down the path to his farmhouse, it became apparent that not only did George not speak any English, he was also completely drunk. He introduced me - sort of - to his six children in the yard. His wife was nowhere to be seen. Awkwardly, we sat down at his kitchen table together. It was already starting to get dark, and with the flicker of the candle (photo right) I began to think worried and sinister thoughts.

It was obvious that George and I were going to have some trouble communicating, and in a stroke of brilliance he went and fetched the couple who lived at a nearby farm - also One Acre Fund farmers - who spoke perfect English. The farmer first acted as a translator for George's ridiculous comments directed toward me ("You cannot leave until we slaughter the cow." "When?" "Next year.") and eventually ceased translation. In the ensuing silence, I explained to the new farmer that I was supposed to spend the night at George's farmhouse. He looked at me in surprise, and then explained to George, who also looked at me in surprise. Suddenly all three of the farmers were laughing, and hard. I wasn't really sure what was going on, so I excused myself and - thank God for cell phones! - stepped outside to call Andrew.

Andrew said that he wasn't surprised; his farmer also had no idea he was coming, but it was okay - in African cultures, guests are seen as good omens and it was an honor for them to host us. Unless of course, I was feeling uncomfortable? I said no, I was okay - not wanting to explain the situation at hand - but added that I would call back if things took a bad turn.

Shortly after I returned, the two men started an argument, and then headed outside to discuss. The mud hut walls aren't exactly soundproof, so I heard every bit of them yelling at each other. Eventually they returned, at which point the sober, English-speaking farmer explained to me: "This is our village elder, and we cannot disrepect him. But tonight, he has had too much beer, so you will stay with me and my family." (Right: The family I stayed with.)

The evening shaped up from there - leaving the introduction a laughable memory instead of a serious threat. The family didn't have food for me, as they normally do not eat after lunch, but the woman roasted some ground nuts and served tea. She apologized repeatedly for the lack of milk, which is a scarce commodity, but I assured here that I didn't mind; to prove this, I ended up drinking half a pot and losing quite a bit of sleep.

We sat at the kitchen table in the dark for about three hours just talking. Considering the extreme poverty of the family, who in March was already beginning the several-month-long hunger season, they appeared quite well-educated and articulate. The father in particular offered great insight into Kenyan and American cultures.

A few of the highlights of conversation:

• They had only one child, Robinson, an adorable boy of 1 year and 8 months. I asked if they would have more - most farmers have around 10 - and the man said no, explaining "family size is a serious problem in rural Kenya. It creates overpopulation and hunger and it is bad for the Kenyan economy." Wow.
• The only wall hanging in their hut: an Obama calendar. What else?!

• I guess this would classify as a lowlight: The man explained to me that without the income from One Acre Fund's passion fruit program, they would be so hungry already. Ironically, since our passion fruit program has proven to be very expensive and unsustainable, I had spent the morning calculating the margin where farmers would be cut from the program - essentially identifying those who did not produce enough to make it worth the cost of fertilizing and spraying. I asked how many kgs he had harvested last year, and quickly did the math: he was "inefficient," and in just a couple weeks he would no longer have his passion fruit stems. I am still hurting over this realization and am struggling to find ways to improve productivity without increasing costs. But in the end it's an economic reality: where you do not have the comparative advantage, you cannot compete. Maybe we could transfer the subsidies to the US auto industry to my Kenyan passion fruit farmers...?
• My headlamp and flashlight: they could not believe that something so bright would not be too hot to touch.
• Learning about schools. They were astounded that I was only 22, since that is the age when those who finish secondary school (high school) in Kenya usually graduate. It takes longer here to complete the same grades, because with an average enrollment of 120 students/class, teachers simply cannot reach kids who are falling behind. This means that many students end up repeating grades - sometimes several times - before they move on to the next level.
  
• Talking about corruption. The couple agreed that corruption of people in power was the major block keeping poor people from advancing out of poverty. "You have no access to good education, no good jobs. They can take everything from you. And how can you win a case when you do not have money to pay a lawyer? The rich will always win." (They actually knew about my law school plans when they addressed this; I'm sure they hoped I was listening. I was.) But the man also said that corruption is not only in Africa; in the US there is plenty of corruption and now that is hurting our economy.
• The wife staring at me in disbelief after I told her that in America, Swahili is not a compulsory subject.
• The man repeatedly referring to "Canada" when asking questions about my background. After I clarified that I was actually from the United States, he asked, "Isn't Canada in the US? No? How about Argentina?"
• Robinson. I was the first white person he had ever seen, and at first would cry and run away at the sight of me. However, gradually he took an interest in my fingernails, hands, face, and hair, and soon enough he was sitting on my lap and "greeting" me - shaking my hand over and over, calling me "auntie."
  

Robinson taking a bath. He actually just sort of fell into the tub and his parents decided to bathe him. Thus the failure to remove clothing...

At 11 pm, when we finally headed to bed, the couple insisted that I take their only bed while they slept on the floor. I protested, even showing them the sheet I had brought so I would be comfortable. Eventually I gave in, and when I awoke with the roosters at 5 am, the family was already rising to go get water (2 km to the nearest well!) and begin other morning chores.

I headed back to my place later in the morning, smelling like the chickens that shared the house with us, my mouth still burning with chai tea, my stomach feeling empty after eating only peanuts and a little bread for dinner and breakfast. Now, two days later, I'm showered and clean and full, but the memory hasn't faded a bit. I have the sense that it never will.