I’ve been here for a little over a month now, and it turns out that I’ve actually learned a thing or two.

I’ve learned that if I drink 2.5 liters of water a day, I need to set aside time every four days to purify a new batch of water- and maybe even more often than that because of brushing teeth, washing fruit, and other random needs.  I also actually learned how much a liter of water is, something I never dreamed of bothering to know in America.

My clothes are cleaner now than they have ever been in America, and I have bleeding knuckles as a result of this. I’m not sure if I actually learned how to do this correctly, but whatever.

Instead of bringing a flashlight to the cho at night, I have learned to start relying on my echo location senses.  You can look at previous posts for background info. I definitely will not go in to further detail unless specifically requested.

I’ve learned that if a woman walks down the street here in a tank top, she will either get arrested or someone will assume she is a prostitute. They will also assume this if they see a woman in a bar. Even if she’s only drinking a soda, they are definitely there for only one reason and are most likely sex workers. Lovely.

I’ve learned that inhaling a severe amount of dust in a mountain-town leads to the worst sinus colds of your life. I’ve also learned that this is a very easy way to waste lots of tissue paper because you are blowing your nose constantly. When you have to supply and carry your own TP around, this ends up being a bigger issue than it should be.

I’ve learned that a group of 30 American fans cheering for the US in the World Cup can scare all the Kenyans out of a bar. I’ve also learned that a 6:30 P.M. curfew still allows ample time to have a good time at the bar.

I’ve also learned the true meaning of Obama-mania. I am lucky enough to get my hands on the daily Kenyan newspaper, and I seriously see at least four stories a day that have “Obama” in the headlines. The “International” news consists almost entirely of news about America, and no other country seems to get as much attention as the US does, not even the neighboring African countries. It is just strange to see how much Kenyans pay attention to the America.  When Biden came to Kenya a few weeks ago, I was shocked to read the opinion columns. They basically read the only reason Kenyans cared about Biden coming to visit was because he was bringing the message of Obama. If it was the president that was coming, the country would have literally shut down because there would be mass celebration.  Luckily, it is mostly a positive response, but it is just strange to see from an American perspective. After all, how often do we hear or read about the news in Kenya? How many Americans can even point out Kenya on a map? (Not gonna lie, I couldn’t before I learned I was coming here).  But seriously, if you want an Obama shirt, hat, pen, sweatshirt, or flag with his name on it, I can easily hook you up.

One unique thing about the training is that aside from the other volunteers, everyone we interact with is Kenyan. All of the language and cultural trainers, all of the medical staff, and all of the executive staff are made up of native Kenyans. Their sole job is to prepare us to live here and try to integrate into the culture. It hit me when I realized that the only Americans that are here are each other- everyone we are surrounded by is Kenyan.  It seems like an obvious conclusion, but it freaks you out a little when you think about it- especially growing up in a place like Omaha, Nebraska.  And when I go to my site, it will be just me, alone, in a sea of Kenyans.

Something a little strange is the indirectness of the culture here. You never know whether someone has an issue with you because they would NEVER confront you.  Even if they are extremely pissed at you and hate all of your suggestions, Kenyans will continue to agree with you and act as if nothing is wrong. Everything here is dealt in a very roundabout fashion. Take sex education for example. The direct translation for the Swahili word meaning penis or vagina is “the secret organ of the man or woman.” This will undoubtedly make things like HIV/AIDS prevention education extremely tough, especially when abstinence only is still taught in schools and 90% of high school aged kids have already had sex.

Kiswahili can be summed up in one word: Nimechanganyiwika, simply meaning “I am confused.” This is pretty much how the language is. Now that I’m learning all of the tenses, object infixes, and subjunctives, noun classes, and word endings, each word is like a giant puzzle. By the time I figure out what every prefix in one word means and how to properly respond, I am five minutes behind the conversation. But I’m definitely getting better, slowly but surely. Our weekly, tape recorded, 30 minute interviews conducted in only Kiswahili help reduce the stress (not). But this is the first time in my life that I have had this much intense focus on only one subject, except maybe Organic Chem II. The Kiswaenglish dreams are getting stranger and stranger, and the anti-malarial drug Mephaquin I’m taking definitely isn’t helping.  People in America would probably pay big bucks for the side effects caused by this drug.

I’ve also learned that instead of fighting the never-ending battle of trying to kill the spiders and other critters in my room, it is much more practical to just accept the fact that you are cohabitating with them and christen them with names. I’m got a small family in my room alone consisting of Snow White and each of the Seven Dwarfs. Do I have a lot of free time here? Yes.

So it turns out I’ve learned a few things about living in Kenya. But I’ve also learned that Kenyans and Americans are not as different as they seem. Deep down, they have similar priorities and ideals. Family, loyalty, a sense of welcoming others, integrity, and pride, and above all, dressing well.  But more about that last one next time.