Bute Moments

"That baby was just born three days ago." I asked Hersi how he could tell. "The young ones like that are very dark." He answered. "Alicia, do you want your picture with the baby?" "Won't the mother be upset if I walk over? Look, she is looking at us." I asked while peering out of the window. "No! Go ahead! I will take your photo!" I hesitated for a moment and then slide out of the truck. The wind blew off my head wrap (again) so I wrapped it around my head while I walked towards the baby who was lying under the tree; beautiful green mountains surrounded us. When the baby saw me he started screaming! I heard Abdi; the driver, get out of truck. He was laughing at my hesitation and my fear of the mother. He passed me, walked over to the baby and placed his hands on top of the baby's head, but it didn't stop the screams. The young one didn't even notice Abdi; instead he was looking straight at my face and screaming. The mother stood by and never took her eyes off of me. After a few moments, she finally walked over and placed her neck on top of the baby's head, which stopped the cries. She stood there and watched me as I walked up to them. When I touched the baby's hump I could feel the matted hair of a newborn. I thought to myself, "Not only does my white face make human babies and young children scream, but it also makes baby camels scream!" A lot of young (0-6) African children that I have met - who are not used to seeing white people - scream when they see my white face. It does NOT feel good to see such fright on a young child's face, knowing that you are the reason. It is horrible. I specifically remember the day that Kati and I finally reached Kunuga's (a Maasai friend) family after walking 5 hours through corn fields and bush in Tanzania. We came across the Maasai women, dressed in blue cloth and beads, standing in the bush with some small children. The children instantly ran behind their mothers and hid their faces in their blue cloth. After greeting the women, a mother sent her daughter, who was about 5, towards us. I know the mother told her daughter to greet us with respect and not to cry. I will never forget the young girl's trembling lips as she walked to me and said "Shikamoo." Her little arm, dressed in beads and metal bangles, reached up and I bowed, allowing her to place her hands on my head and I replied, "Marahaba." And one by one the children walked out behind the security of their mothers' blue cloth and repeated the greeting, all with trembling lips.

Hersi took a picture and I got back into the truck. We waited for a few minutes while he finished his calabash of fresh camel's milk. I took one sip and Hersi told me, "Drink more! You won't have any problems with constipation!" I reassured him that I was fine. As we drove off, the herder hit the baby camel with a small stick. The baby stood on shaky legs, took a few steps, and then laid back down. The herder allowed the baby to rest for a few seconds before hitting him again, and again the baby took a few steps before laying back down. I imagine this routine went on and on the whole day and wondered who would be more tired by the end of the day; the herder or the baby?!

After a few hours we came upon more giraffe. "You know, I can't get over how beautiful these giraffe are!" I have never seen the reticulated giraffe before (at least not in the wild). "Yes! That is because they are Somali giraffe! The most beautiful in the world!" Hersi replied. "My god, you guys kills me!" I said laughing. Hersi turned to look at me, "What? It is the truth!" And wouldn't you know it. Several days later, I googled reticulated giraffe and discovered that they are also called Somali Giraffe!

"Ni, Ni! What is this? Look at all of this land! And the dark soil! Why isn't this land being used?" And this was the beginning of Kimathi's questions and break through, this was day 3. Kimathi had never been to NEP. He was just recently moved to the Garissa office, as a provincial education officer for the entire NEP. Our trek was his first exposure to the province. "Because your people have named it a low potential region! So there is no money for agriculture here! And this land that you see goes on for an hour! It could feed all of Kenya!" Kimathi grunted at Hersi's reply. And the conversations began, among all of us. Many times I gasped at how frank and direct they were.

After a few hours we began our drive in the mountains. I was amazed at the beauty. Kenya is a beautiful country. We stopped several times to take our picture in front of the mountainous landscape, even Kimathi! Just outside of Bute, our destination for the day, we got a flat tire. I watched the sun begin its decent over Bute, a small village that sits at the base of the Ethiopian foothills, while Abdi, Kimathi, and a stranger who appeared out of nowhere, changed our tire. I admired the glowing red rocks of the mountains, the giraffe in the distance, and rolling green hills of Ethiopia.

We found a place to stay for the night, small rooms inside of a family compound. There was one pit latrine and one shower stall for everyone. As we were settling, Kimathi shouted, "Ni, ni! Please, take a photo of this room so that I have proof that I slept here when I tell my friends and family!" I couldn't stop laughing when I walked into his room, "Kimathi, where is your bed?" "Under all of these mattresses!" His room was full of mattresses and the bed was tiny! I told him that mine was full of prayer mats and boxes of food! That was our first laugh together...many more would follow.
I told the group that I was going for a walk. Hersi told me to wait until he was done praying and he would accompany me. I told him I was fine to walk alone. "It is safe, right? I won't be kidnapped here?" "No! No! You are safe here. I just thought you might be more comfortable with someone else." I reassured him that I was fine. I left the compound and realized quickly that the town was not used to foreigners AT ALL. I heard shouts and women gathered in front of their compound gates to look at me. School children, dressed in uniform walking home, stopped to stare with wide-eyes and open mouths. Old men stopped in their tracks and starred as I passed. They exclaimed when I greeted them, "As salaam Alkium." I greeted people as I passed, but what I was really looking at was the brilliant sunset over the mountains. The sky was streaked with vibrant oranges and pinks and the red rock mountains were glowing.
When I reached the edge of the village, a school boy ran up to me, "Go back now. Please don't go any further. You know it is getting dark. The lions are out there. Please." I turned back and slowly made my way to our compound. A group of young people sitting in front of a store asked me to come over. After greetings a young man said, "We just want to thank you for respecting our culture by wearing the beautiful Somali dress and covering your head. Thank you. We hope you enjoy Bute." I continued my way back and before I entered the compound and young boy, probably 16 - who later served us dinner - stopped me at the gate and asked, "You from Japan or China?" I smiled at him and told him I was American. "Ah German, yes!" I didn't know what to say, so I just smiled and walked in. Kimathi and Hersi were seated in plastic chairs in front of our rooms. "Ni, Ni, lets walk. Let's find the school that we are going to visit tomorrow." So Kimathi and I walked out of the gate and turned right, opposite of where I just came from. I can't remember what we talked about, but I think the two of us together drew more onlookers than I did alone.

When we returned to the compound, I pulled out one of the huge plastic prayer mats from my room and laid it down next to Kimathi and Hersi. I laid on my back, my head propped on two pillows, and looked at the stars while the men talked. I could hear the donkeys, children laughing and crying, and the occasional metal lids clanging on the cooking pots. The sounds of night in rural Africa...
Adbi returned with the repaired tire and joined me on the mat. I gave him one of my pillows and he laid down as well. Later, the young boy brought us dinner, cooked by the compound Ma'ma. It was a mix of pasta and rice with a red tomato paste sauce. Before she cooked, she apologized for the absence of meat; she told us the town hasn't had meat in two days and there were no vegetables at the moment, nor salt. I took a handful of rice, formed it into a ball with my hands and threw it in my mouth. All I can say, is that the taste was strange. There was something strange about the rice. So I went for the pasta. "Hersi, show me how to eat pasta with my hands." Hersi showed me back and forth wrist motion that actually piles the pasta into an organized line that can easily be thrown into the mouth. "That's it! I haven't been able to figure it out!" I ate pasta for lunch and dinner for the remainder of the trip. I could NOT eat the rice. I later found out that the rice (north of Wajir) was the relief food from the World Food Program.....

I declined a shower (a bucket bath) after dinner. Even though I was covered in a red dust. I just didn't think I could do it; knowing that it was late enough for the 3in cockroaches to be out and no doubt crawling on the walls of the narrow shower room. I can still eat with my hands and sleep anywhere, but I'm not a Peace Corps volunteer anymore. I can't intentionally face cockroaches at night while showering (but I was wrong, I did two weeks later!).

In the morning we drove to the school. Kimathi made the introductions, "Headmaster, I would like to introduce myself. I'm Kimathi ________ (I have no idea what his surname is) and this is Alice, and this here is um..um..Hersi. And we are here doing a research on girls' education..."