From the Field

Let me summarize this post in the introduction: “Field Work was an interesting tour of Western Province”.

Background
I toured the interior of Western Province in the name of work, traversing the rural hinterland. Some places have no real roads, where most mud huts are grass-thatched, and their owners till the soil by day. Barefoot kids ran behind our motorbike, cheering wildly, which suggests just how remote those areas are.

Culture
Entering Western Province, I had high hopes of interacting with a different culture from my own – which I am out of touch with. This “exchange program” was disappointing: the only remnant of culture in this corner of the planet may be their language. Blame it on global villagization. As far as I could see, Western Kenya has become uniform with the rest of Kenya: conformed to the rigors of the money cycle. Just like the rest of the world, Western Kenya aspires to Westernize. It may be time to ask “Why? At what cost?” But it’s too late. Whatever cultural artifacts and rites remain are reserved for seasons and sales, but they have largely lost their communal essence.

Travel
I enjoyed and/or suffered many Chinese Motorbike ( aka bodaboda/okada) experiences. The rider would frequently overtake ten-wheeler trailers on narrow dusty all-weather roads at breakneck speeds as I held on to my perch at the back. We would hit potholes and fly over bumps like Motocross champions, so that the motorbike’s suspensions would complain with alarming grinding creaks. A lot of the time I feared for my life as I passed inches wide of a series of gigantic trailer wheels bouncing heavily along the murram. But our rider seemed to know what he was doing, which assurance was a regulating influence on my frightfully frequent bursts of adrenaline. Ultimately, our Chinese Motorbike thrills climaxed in Mount Elgon area. The road was muddy, so we got along by drifting - moving forward by skidding sideways. There was a lot of legwork involved to maintain balance. The wheels spun furiously in search of grip, the bike engine alternately roared and wheezed; the stench of burning engine oil assailed our nostrils. Inevitably we fell in the mud, rider and passenger together, after which we had to carry the motorbike for a bit. Luckily we could laugh about it.

Diet 

My vegetarian conundrum (elsewhere mentioned) persisted: Green farms everywhere and not a vegetarian meal to be had! It was truly puzzling. One often found oneself relegated to junk food for supper in the name of avoiding flesh. One nearly opens an NGO to champion vegetarians’ equal representation rights.

Sport 

I took extra effort to identify and play soccer with the locals wherever I went. After a whole day on the back of a Chinese motorbike, which makes the lower back rigid, a fast and vigorous evening game of soccer is just the thing to set one's anatomy straight. That was always exciting. I particularly liked the team at Bungoma’s Kanduyi Stadium.Fun and talented lot.

Conclusion 

I took a brief detour into Uganda when I was in Malaba, the border town, because I harbored delusions of international tourism. However I barely went a kilometer into Uganda. But that one deserves a whole other post.

More Field Notes

Western Kenya; The scenery is beautiful. Picture hills green with lush grass and plains carpeted with lime-green sugarcane and tea farms. Incidentally, the spiky look of sugarcane plantations reminded me of one girl in my university days who colored her spiky hair electric-green. Maybe she's from Western and she got homesick.

The people here are so polite that it is amazing. Ask someone for directions and in a jiffy, every passer-by who heard your question will engage in a noisy chorus of instructions. They argue heatedly between themselves at the slightest difference of distance or bearing. All the while I'm smiling and wondering how there are still some helpful people alive for free.

In related news, I've spent the first week in the field on motorbikes for the most part. now I know travel writers who go the whole powerbike way and tear along highways for adrenal floods, but in my case, for the most part, the pace was, let us say "civilised". And my view was obstructed by the riders' big round helmet. Spending the whole day in the back of a Chinese motorbike does things to your lower back that a weightlifter would shiver to contemplate. But I'm not complaining, coz in Western Kenya, Chinese motorbikes mean access. And they're not so sophisticated that repair takes much more than pliers. Often I passed masses of youths with their Chinese motorbikes waiting for passengers under trees. Those machines could be the main economic activity quite soon.

Nothing beats travelling the countryside on an open bike. Another plus about Western Province, the roads are smooth and they roll and swerve over hills and turns, so the element of surprise is sure to keep the traveller awake as each bend unfurls a new vista. There are many odd rock formations that engage the brain, for example, "How did that giant rock manage to get atop and balance above that tiny rock?" You can try to figure such a thing out for hours.

Mad props to the Constituency Development Fund people in Butula, Nambale and Hamisi. Good work is happening especially in education, roads and electrification. That CDF stuff is changing lives and you can quote me.

Still, there's an all-pervasive rural feel to Western Kenya that often gets funny. Like seeing a ten-year old boy playing barefoot soccer in a pink fluffed-up ill-fitting "Barbie and Friends" shirt. One Riley would have said "That's gay!" but the kid probably wouldn't understand, or care. And I only thought it strange unti I saw the school uniforms! HAHAAAAAH! Clowns. Generally, people dress to conceal nakedness. The fashionable ones are the exception rather than the norm. Patches cover tears. Life continues.

The only let-down was in the meals. All over this here Kenya of ours, vegetarians uniformly attract a raised eyebrow from waiters and waitresses. You'd think we are third-class citizens.

Hungry Me: *ignoring menu if any* "What do you have? I don't eat meat."
Comely Waitress: "We have fish and we have chicken."
Hungry Me: "That's meat."
Comely Waitress: *sneers* We have matumbo. (Direct translation = stomachs)
Hungry Me: "That's meat."
Comely Waitress (exasperated): "We don't have chips!"

Seriously?

More good news, I managed to play some soccer. :) In Butula. :)

More field notes to come.

From the Field

Professional pursuits dictate that I prepare to travel to Western Province of Kenya for field work.

As I write this I should be packing up and heading out to leave for the field, but I have to take the time to forewarn blog visitors of my potential absence for a while to come. Feel at home, feel free to read old posts! And comment! Still, I pledge regular updates.

Little Sister is giving me those "sad you're leaving" looks. Awwww.

Ah, Western Kenya. My idea of ample preparation is brushing up on my Luhya accent - not the actual language, just the accent will do. The eve of travel is too late to start learning a whole new language in any kind of depth.  I'll just refine the accent, misapply it to Swahili, unfold my map and it should go swimmingly on from there.

Roaming countryside villages in public transport appears in my head to be an idyllic pastime, historically reserved for Western Missionaries given up on their West. But I'm working here. It won't be all fun of course. Some people I know value an internet connection and cable above their own well-being (Good bye Twitter! Adios Facebook! yeah right!). While I'm out there in the boondocks I plan to be plagued by thoughts of my friends and worries of events in the big bad world and self-conscious of my perceived ignorance.

I'll try and get some soccer played. Also, I have to confirm if Western Kenya's famed night-runners-cum-witchdoctors really run naked at midnight. Which might take sleeping with my running shoes on. Yes, I'll try to give chase.

Adios, y'all.