Connections

The man in a white chef's hat asked me, "Chicken or fish?" When I didn't answer he said, "Lady, what's happened? You looked stunned." I think I continued to stare at him and then he said "Don't worry. You shall recover from the ride. Now, do you want chicken or fish?"

And he was right. I "recovered" from the ride from Nairobi to Garissa, but it took two days...

At 8:02am, Friday, I was standing in the doorway of my Nairobi hotel when a short, frumpy, man, whose shirt was only half tucked into his pants, stopped in front of me and shouted quickly, "You from Mombassa?" I laughed and said, "No," and then looked over his head to see if I could see an Aga Khan vehicle coming down the road. Then, noticing that he was still staring at me, I asked, "Aga Khan? EMACK?" And Mohammed laughed and said, "Alicia?"

After drinking tea and going to the grocery store, Mohammed, the driver, and I left the center of Nairobi towards Garissa. We picked up Farrah (the dept. chief of party) at his family home on the outskirts of the city. We greeted each other for the first time, in the rain, outside his compound wall. As we drove off, Farrah leaned forward, towards my front seat and said, "I need to tell you two very important cultural things. 1. Never extend your hand to a man, but if he does, sha'? Shake it. And 2. Please cover your head. I know you aren't Muslim, but it will show re? Respect. As for me and my age mates? We don't care, but our fathers do. Now, you can do as you wish, but this is my ad? Advice. Ok. Now, we have covered the cultural things and we will continue to talk about the research, the history of the area, the history of education in this area for the pastoralist and nomadic people, the marginalization of my people, the work of E? EMACK, and along the way I also want you to take notice of the conditions, the people, the environment and how it will change. And please, ask questions. And I will point out the different types of Pastoralists communities we have along the way." I believe it was at that point, when our vehicle hit the road. For the next five hours, Farrah and I talked about all of these things and more.

The further North we drove, the clearer the sky became and eventually the rains stopped. And they stopped where the land needed it the most. The lush green surrounding area of Nairobi was replaced by sand with the occasional grass. As we continued, the acacia became more dominate until the grass disappeared, leaving the acacia standing alone in the red sand. Then the camels appeared, hundreds, lead by pastoralist moving to watering points. Small (waist high) round grass huts, some with UNHCR tarps as roofs, spotted the land. I watched all of this, the changing conditions, while Farrah and I talked. His passion for his people and for education overwhelmed and excited me. While we talked, I took notice of the young children holding out empty blue plastic water bottles, begging for water along the side of the road...of the lorries that carried water (as a relief service) to some of the settlements...of the women (now veiled) walking over a land which gave no hint as to where she came from and where she was headed, at least not to me-an onlooker.

Somewhere in our conversation, Farrah asked me if I saw Obama's speech the night before. I told him that I only seen parts of it. He told me that Obama had cited the Holy Qur'an many times, but one sentence that stood out was; "O mankind! We have created you male and female; and we have made you into nations and tribes so that you many know one another."

Soon after our discussion on Obama, Farrah asked about my past work experience. When I told him that I lived with the Fulani (also pastoralist/nomadic people) for two years, his face lit up and he said, "Did you know that the Fulani are our relatives? We believe that we were once one and then split. They are tall and fair like us Somalis! Did you know that?" I did know that there was this "split" belief but I didn't know if it was commonly believed/accepted. He then told me that the Nigerian Fulani visited Garissa a few years back and they had a forum on pastoralist education! Farrah referenced Obama's speech again, and I shook my head and smiled...

Towards the end of our journey, Farrah told me about his first career as a classroom teacher, a multi-grade teacher in fact. He then continued to tell me that the government does not provide any training on multi-grade, and that he has been "looking" for a good training manual to assist with the EMACK trainings in the pastoralist schools. Oh.. the irony....so naturally I told him about the work of LIRE in The Gambia and Senegal and that a week prior we held a West African conference on multi-grade with the World Bank! I also told him that I knew of a great manual and teachers' guide! We discussed this for a bit and then he said..."The Gambia! I have heard it is a wonderful country! I have never been, but I met one woman from there a few years back at an Action Aid conference in London." My jaw dropped and I turned around to face to him and I said, "Let me guess, the woman was..." and at the same time we both said Khadyjetou! We burst out laughing and he grabbed my hand. I informed him that I was just with her a week earlier in Senegal and that she was a member of our advisory committee for LIRE! Farrah laughed and said, "You see...your President is a very intelligent man! Please tell Khadyjetou I send my greetings and that you are here with me now."

After our five hour journey and continuous chat, we arrived in Garissa at a hotel called, "The Nomad Palace," to take our lunch before continuing to my hotel. And as I walked up to the man in the white chef's hat, who was standing behind the buffet line, visions of our ride flashed before me...the extremely harsh environment-home to the people walking to water, and the settlements-developed because the drought has taken the lives of the pastoralists' animals-which are points of food and water distribution by the Red Cross and the World Food Program. Naturally I felt odd to be in a place like the Nomad Hotel...where members of the local government and NGOs sat eating under the palm trees in the manicured grounds of the fenced property. I took my plate of chicken and rice and joined them, my back to the fleet of white Land Rovers behind us....

After lunch, we entered Garissa town. When I stepped out of the vehicle in front of my hotel, all the men and women on the street stopped and stared. The eyes of the women, the only part of the body visible, followed me, and the tall, slender, fair skinned men, dressed in modern shirts and wrap skirts, silently watched me as well. A few old men, with henna dyed beards, leaned on their wooden sticks and stared with crinkled faces.

The wind kicked up sheets of sand around us while we removed my luggage from the truck. Red Cross, IRC, Save The Children, CARE, UN, UNICEF, WFP, local taxis, and lorries passed behind us on the busy road, but everything in front of me seemed oddly stagnant, still, motionless...I looked up at the the 5 story yellow building that housed my hotel, squinting from the windblown sand that filled the space between me and the people around me. I followed Farrah and the driver. They greeted some of the men who very quietly responded while never taking their eyes off of me. I quietly walked passed the people, to the place where I would call home for two months...and I think it was at that moment, in the one minute walk to the open flight of stairs to the reception desk, in which I realized that I was no longer in Kenya...or even in East Africa for that matter. I very well could have been in Somalia.

After Farrah and Mohammed left me, I closed my hotel room and sat on the bed. Unsettled by the scene in front of the hotel, I jumped up, washed my face, and headed out the door. I bought a bottle of coke and sat on a wooden bench in front of a shop that was in the middle of the scene in which I arrived in. And this is how I began to know the Somali people of Garissa...