tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6253368875359672552024-03-13T09:56:41.099+03:00Karibu NairobiAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-87156958730660828802011-02-26T15:19:00.010+03:002011-02-28T01:49:12.557+03:00One Night in Bangkok<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNMhyphenhyphen8Zfa2VAHCPdBGU6I-wVJsGRvZBau2O4qiz76_V1sDXRo31wSvEbEmcP_NZU7hArmFlPYICgneBBGABqanK_aN1-gtFb_rKkx9gTZp-3qrftwWLqIjmNVuBZVyZyCPo_xWpd1pfJK/s1600/Reclining+Buddha+Temple+24.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNMhyphenhyphen8Zfa2VAHCPdBGU6I-wVJsGRvZBau2O4qiz76_V1sDXRo31wSvEbEmcP_NZU7hArmFlPYICgneBBGABqanK_aN1-gtFb_rKkx9gTZp-3qrftwWLqIjmNVuBZVyZyCPo_xWpd1pfJK/s200/Reclining+Buddha+Temple+24.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578502877310381842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Well, actually it's been three nights...</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">It took about a day and a half to feel like I understood the lay of the land here. My hotel is in a great spot - adjacent to the SkyTrain in Sukhumvit, an upscale neighborhood. Traffic here is terrible at all hours of the day, so the few miles the train travels east and west is an easy way to traverse the city (or at least parts of it.)</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />My first day, I took the train a few stops to the Paragon Center, an enormous shopping mall. After walking around the neighborhood, I wandered into the mall. Like Singapore, this is a mecca for designer everything. In the market for a Maserati? Third floor. I walked back along the main drag, filled with street hawkers and food vendors. Every stall had trinkets, t-shirts with awkward English phrases (Do It Just, Malibu - Big City California) and fake Viagra and Cialis. Notably different from the hawkers in Africa, Thais do not accost potential customers - they just stand quietly and rarely make eye contact, even if you do express interest in their wares. It's a pleasant change from being manhandled.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />It's very hazy, hot and humid here, and although this isn't yet the rainy season, it has been raining during the night into mid-morning. You can tell the Farang (westerners) because they are sweating up a storm while the locals look cool, calm and collected. The air conditioning in the Skytrain is a welcome respite from the heat. I've been trying to time my adventures to morning/early afternoon before the heat becomes too stifling, and then spending the rest of the afternoon relaxing by the pool.<br /></span> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_MXMqtp5-iqgd1xcP_ghmE-YcTfMlAQEifbTekMRsluVFjatgNJWqBRbVfl_GuHq2yPDU-Zz_a5R1sQShdWvok_gSdISia0iU6f9pkbm_MUQzIsIiTHSlO-WfjlF4bVxXLNCmjpC9OBq/s1600/Golden++Buddha+Temple+7.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_MXMqtp5-iqgd1xcP_ghmE-YcTfMlAQEifbTekMRsluVFjatgNJWqBRbVfl_GuHq2yPDU-Zz_a5R1sQShdWvok_gSdISia0iU6f9pkbm_MUQzIsIiTHSlO-WfjlF4bVxXLNCmjpC9OBq/s200/Golden++Buddha+Temple+7.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578500164948226434" border="0" /></a>The following day I went to three temples - Wat Pho (the Reclining Buddha), Wat Phra Kaew (the Marble Temple) and Wat Traimit (the Golden Buddha). They are all a bit touristy, but still beautiful. Saturday was a holy day, so we encountered Buddhist monks performing ceremonies at each one. I also had the chance to explore some of the various ethnic neighborhoods and attractions (Chinatown, the flower market, the Grand Palace) and see where the Red Shirt and Yellow Shirt factions have set up their respective camps.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">On Sunday, I went to the Chatuchak Weekend Market - over 5,000 stalls winding over 35 acres selling everything from clothing to furniture to souvenirs to food to fighting cocks (I don't think Farang are supposed to wander over to that area - the vendors were not particularly welcoming.) It's overwhelming and I was glad I got there early before it got too crowded.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5HpsjxgLMH0cq3YAs-qo7ng5_UUrXN8b2SYgNuAv-IUfGPyQB4RL3M02peQrFI5TkEKBHOr-_X5XnnZUA5GekLYVxZvGoaMjKpTKjF1j_qbF13vgkKkWCt5vfeT2vHltma2i-o3K0LhuI/s1600/Chatuchak+Market+2.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5HpsjxgLMH0cq3YAs-qo7ng5_UUrXN8b2SYgNuAv-IUfGPyQB4RL3M02peQrFI5TkEKBHOr-_X5XnnZUA5GekLYVxZvGoaMjKpTKjF1j_qbF13vgkKkWCt5vfeT2vHltma2i-o3K0LhuI/s200/Chatuchak+Market+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578503737500765298" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU07SlDT-VstZkfm6eaRuMjVAKJKG9S0o_zFS6TDDSG0kO46DS2SNaWiuyM4Vymp16Tr9Pu56u7nTxGJ3PU00qtRldkSlYk5Rtw3eha3vEKURHjKGU-26SLhl7GqE5porFKkgxSHBUczBx/s1600/Jim+Thompson+House.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU07SlDT-VstZkfm6eaRuMjVAKJKG9S0o_zFS6TDDSG0kO46DS2SNaWiuyM4Vymp16Tr9Pu56u7nTxGJ3PU00qtRldkSlYk5Rtw3eha3vEKURHjKGU-26SLhl7GqE5porFKkgxSHBUczBx/s200/Jim+Thompson+House.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578504730042013410" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">From there, I went to the Jim Thompson House. He was a former OSS expat who is known for revitalizing the silk industry in Thailand, and mysteriously disappeared in the late 60's. Conspiracy theories abound, but his legacy of high-end retail shops remain.</span> </div> <span style="font-family:arial;">The food here has been great. Anything you can put on a stick and grill is available on the street, and I've been alternating between nice Thai restaurants and local soup shops and vendors.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Next stop - Warsaw!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-42782577021236378502011-02-24T13:33:00.010+03:002011-02-24T14:44:06.524+03:00Singapore - Check!<span style="font-family:arial;">My presentation was done, the meeting was over and I had one afternoon to spend in Singapore. It's not much time, but then again, it's not a large island. I asked around at the hotel and was told that the best way to see a lot in a little time was to take the Hop On/Hop Off bus around the island.<br /><br />I walked about a mile to Orchard Road, the main shopping district to the nearest stop and decided to poke around a bit first before boarding. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">If you are a shopper - a high-end shopper - Singapore is for you. Gucci, Prada, Chanel - every designer you can think of is here. The sidewalks are filled with fashionably dressed people carrying bags, so people are buying things. It's really quite overwhelming with such a high concentration of stores and it seems like every neighborhood is known for its mall or galleria, rather than an historic aspect. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It took a few wrong turns before I finally found the bus stop - the signage was terrible - but once on in air-conditioned comfort, I was able to get a feel for the place. If you are an architect of modern buildings, Singapore is your playground. There is construction everywhere of angular glass towers and sleek stone office buildings. Every once in a while, we would pass by a small neighborhood of older homes, but it seems like most have made way for more contemporary buildings. The only area that appeared to still have the flavor of "old Singapore" was past the botanical gardens along Embassy Row. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I got off the bus at the La Pa Sat market, known for food stalls and satay sellers. It's an old Victorian iron building, now filled with rows and rows of vendors with everything from kimchi to pig organs. I settled for a lunch of noodles with greens, mushrooms and fish dumplings. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Back on the bus, we drove through many more shopping districts before coming to the west end of island that is home to the botanical garden. It had started to rain, so I just took a short walk before hoppin</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzqtQaYBuObieU1Cen-K2CrYz1v0HswUF1xzEPOOHkiLzcLafmaGmNXTNnFs_5mEOMumQo5TLrRvAEk4Zk22mUA2oh4GgOvz6XLIqAYoSLF26kMkQUnQT2xfQYy2DnmjTcKG6RpAhkyWg/s1600/La+Pa+Sat+Market+1.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzqtQaYBuObieU1Cen-K2CrYz1v0HswUF1xzEPOOHkiLzcLafmaGmNXTNnFs_5mEOMumQo5TLrRvAEk4Zk22mUA2oh4GgOvz6XLIqAYoSLF26kMkQUnQT2xfQYy2DnmjTcKG6RpAhkyWg/s200/La+Pa+Sat+Market+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577218431658023698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">g back on. It's rained heavily each afternoon, but it doesn't seem to break the heat.<br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpHnl1fAuaXNi9L9HO1aqsnE-7BmBsHSR-WM2GzD0mflub0vQtX3vlE05wzUYmTnBUxpSlTfmbTGb55r4OiuI0WZqZCm-RkCsuXaD_eiTmhWYC0zBEemsECyB4pe_KZeUD-whHSD9beAA/s1600/La+Pa+Sat+Market+2.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpHnl1fAuaXNi9L9HO1aqsnE-7BmBsHSR-WM2GzD0mflub0vQtX3vlE05wzUYmTnBUxpSlTfmbTGb55r4OiuI0WZqZCm-RkCsuXaD_eiTmhWYC0zBEemsECyB4pe_KZeUD-whHSD9beAA/s200/La+Pa+Sat+Market+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577218727556127442" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC_lU4SFl1-xPiEq3aSzcgV5chVasVFuHt2Jrhp2-LV6LpFSfg8pSvkVJxOLgahBAJjGXIZN69PLcCe2SBP9WxurRFH-OPvJeRbyhc1x75ijkIv_IJnZ0KQLlwRnHEyhs1Mx3O_n96hWgp/s1600/Lunch.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC_lU4SFl1-xPiEq3aSzcgV5chVasVFuHt2Jrhp2-LV6LpFSfg8pSvkVJxOLgahBAJjGXIZN69PLcCe2SBP9WxurRFH-OPvJeRbyhc1x75ijkIv_IJnZ0KQLlwRnHEyhs1Mx3O_n96hWgp/s200/Lunch.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577220278355326306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">A short trip back to Orchard Road brought me back to my starting place. I tried to wait out the rain in a few shops, but it wasn't letting up and eventually I decided to make my way back to the hotel.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">I don't mean to sound ungrateful, as I am extremely appreciative of this trip, but Singapore is not high on my list of favorite cities. It's too modern and commercial for my taste and reminds me of Miami, without the benefit of drag queens.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-12122671787987316252011-02-23T00:23:00.003+03:002011-02-24T14:49:21.366+03:00Deja Vu All Over Again<span style="font-family:arial;">After spending the day in the British Airways lounge, we finally reboarded the plane. It was somewhat chaotic - none of the, "Rows 36 - 28" kind of thing - it was, "Get on the plane. Same seats as yesterday."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Business class in BA is comprised of individual pods where a pair of passengers are separated by a low wall with a retractable window in the center. My traveling partner was an interesting British gentleman who was extremely widely traveled, particularly throughout developing countries. He knew the crew by name and they made it a point to share the real story of our previous situation with him. It turned out that immediately after take-off, some of the landing gear would not return to the unde</span><span style="font-family:arial;">rcarriage of the plane. Nor, would the rest of the landing gear go down. The plane could not continue as it was and the decision was made to do a belly landing with limited gear at </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Heathrow.<br /><br />Apparently, when the pilot summoned the entire crew to the cockpit and they went running through the plane, that was the signal that something was seriously wrong. Having never experienced that before, I didn't think much of it and continued to read my book (thanks for the good read, Anne.) My pod partner said he was impressed with my calmness - ignorance is bliss! It finally dawned on me later that a little girl sitting a few rows away had been crying inconsolably. All I could think of at the time was, "What does <span style="font-style: italic;">she </span>have to be crying about? </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Who wastes a business class seat on a kid?" Clearly, she was much more aware than I was. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">All's well that ends well, and 24 hours later, with a new plane, we landed in Singapore. I haven't seen much aside from the </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.raffles.com/EN_RA/Property/RHS/">Long Bar at Raffles</a><span style="font-family:arial;">, home to the Singapore Sling (the Brits sure do know how to colonize a country and I quickly fell into my Kenyan G+T habit) and the inside of my hotel. The little that I have experienced has been clean, modern and very humid, but it's a welcome change from snow. Hopefully, I'll have a little time Thursday to explore before I go to Bangkok.<br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk9t2WxZHD_XRvnKm3d5MBbthjv7-QHxlHttZAFae5qto0K3Dc0GYpkRu0IiyWGqiBfQv0hqmCKbepT7rAzvInYBQZd7bG2eUdbl2-KHWj4cI3AL3VrOaKzn1Um1x7VNUa570Ro1fb8yBU/s1600/Raffles+1.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk9t2WxZHD_XRvnKm3d5MBbthjv7-QHxlHttZAFae5qto0K3Dc0GYpkRu0IiyWGqiBfQv0hqmCKbepT7rAzvInYBQZd7bG2eUdbl2-KHWj4cI3AL3VrOaKzn1Um1x7VNUa570Ro1fb8yBU/s200/Raffles+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577221269030998898" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgJZgjxTu0bcoskB8IRjb4PvlE1q1m4ilDplGhI0-D6uGqgmJJZxkq96K04s_HP9kZgLGgsvyYQ-hxJo8Q7pAKAYBLuWIaXzIr1QQuIE96vNzW8C_tvg1kOQzPNOGePzG9N8BukT922at/s1600/Long+Bar+1.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgJZgjxTu0bcoskB8IRjb4PvlE1q1m4ilDplGhI0-D6uGqgmJJZxkq96K04s_HP9kZgLGgsvyYQ-hxJo8Q7pAKAYBLuWIaXzIr1QQuIE96vNzW8C_tvg1kOQzPNOGePzG9N8BukT922at/s200/Long+Bar+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577221272924173298" border="0" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-38983672857613422472011-02-21T16:44:00.007+03:002011-02-22T20:10:29.462+03:00A New Adventure - Asia<span style="font-family:arial;">I wasn't going to blog this trip because it's not like I'm the first person to ever go to Singapore, Thailand and Poland (although most probably do not do that itinerary), but it's already shaping up to be slightly eventful. <br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My plan was to leave Boston early Sunday morning and arrive in Singapore Monday night, leaving plenty of time to get to a meeting at which I had been invited to speak. My portion doesn't start until Wednesday, so it gave</span> me a day to get acclimated. Unfortunately, the plan isn't working out that way.<br /><br />The connection from Heathrow to Singapore was tight and a few other Boston passengers and I were whisked off the plane in London and quickly escorted to the Singapore flight. We had been in the air only a few minutes when the pilot announced that the "undercarriage was operating improperly" - how understatedly British! What had actually happened was that not all the landing gear had retracted, creating drag on the plane (and using more fuel) and leaving the question of landing with partial gear. The pilot told us were were returning to Heathrow, but it would be about an hour as 80,000 gallons of fuel had to be dumped before we could land safely.<br /><br />Upon hitting the runway, we were met with a fleet of fire engines and ambulances, but it was an uneventful landing. All the passengers were given vouchers for a night at the airport Sofitel, as well as dinner, breakfast and lunch the following day as the next flight out wasn't until 6:00 pm. As we all waited by the baggage carousel, it was clear that the only people still hoping to see their bags were the Boston passengers. We were reassured that although it appeared that our bags had never made it on the Singapore flight (and we wouldn't see them that night), the delay would give them a chance to catch up with us. Supplied with overnight kits and our vouchers, we headed to the hotel bar.<br /><br />I considered spending the following day in London, but since my coat was in my luggage and it was a cold, rainy day, that seemed like an undesirable option. Instead, I've spent the day at the British Airways executive lounge (a reason why it's really great to not fly economy) catching up on work and watching planes and people. Hopefully, we will get off the ground tonight and stay there for 12 hours until we land in Singapore.<br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-91007527187389706122009-03-03T15:31:00.012+03:002009-03-03T16:03:51.657+03:00The End of This Adventure<span style="font-family:arial;">My final week in Nairobi was filled with last-minute errands, a speech at the US Embassy and farewell get-togethers with friends. The speech went very well, with about 25 local information science professors, librarians and government and NGO representatives attending. They were extremely attentive and asked great questions. The key point I had wanted to get across was that information professionals - whether in knowledge management, library science or competitive intelligence - need to provide value-added analysis, rather than just point clients to information repositories. The group took it to heart and gave some great examples of where they could start employing that strategy immediately within their organizations.<br /><br />I also picked up my custom made shirts (ugly, but well-made and carry fond memories) and ran a gauntlet of going-away dinners. It was great fun, and hard to say goodbye to a group of very kind, interesting and welcoming new friends.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKPeJAx2ImjAIgIIkn52UhVn7apf9dV-oVlME3arRpqyN9C8Phv8c7WHE04ZOC-G8NipMzwepwgeOwhh9wjFTMRt4DX4qwCYZ02cTeuxBRXofKAnmwPEwNW4SvJr3q4IbwERCZvWgEEt7T/s1600-h/Nairobi+PSI+Gang.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308943158102454754" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKPeJAx2ImjAIgIIkn52UhVn7apf9dV-oVlME3arRpqyN9C8Phv8c7WHE04ZOC-G8NipMzwepwgeOwhh9wjFTMRt4DX4qwCYZ02cTeuxBRXofKAnmwPEwNW4SvJr3q4IbwERCZvWgEEt7T/s320/Nairobi+PSI+Gang.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR2CnzP-xiZcORNk4IYEhlzsYLwP4s72y1F82esNY8wzcGQ89FGVlMoyIBTP4VJoVhPy22SDT2qO3Oxfga5KbLrA-1ShCtwzR0rhKrxDvRX-31jL42l-VYL5w177JH5r6bgUWCufbgMiIE/s1600-h/Risha+Hess,+Emily+Harris.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308943690731448386" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR2CnzP-xiZcORNk4IYEhlzsYLwP4s72y1F82esNY8wzcGQ89FGVlMoyIBTP4VJoVhPy22SDT2qO3Oxfga5KbLrA-1ShCtwzR0rhKrxDvRX-31jL42l-VYL5w177JH5r6bgUWCufbgMiIE/s320/Risha+Hess,+Emily+Harris.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQAM6QQgbd4lyGqFvNc8bj5QWh1git3-hkaHWdlwG8YJjcR1INCt7PrStdzX7a5Psd8cjymBzafjlLStVcSSownZA8suJondtcLcqTCYpvyGPfKXn3wAo_MVS8qOu2Xxo-DbUaxSfqXAL/s1600-h/Tsione+Solomon,+Mary+Ann+Seday+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308943677070936850" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQAM6QQgbd4lyGqFvNc8bj5QWh1git3-hkaHWdlwG8YJjcR1INCt7PrStdzX7a5Psd8cjymBzafjlLStVcSSownZA8suJondtcLcqTCYpvyGPfKXn3wAo_MVS8qOu2Xxo-DbUaxSfqXAL/s320/Tsione+Solomon,+Mary+Ann+Seday+1.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVERLchUz2NJthIs5kaoCdqgcG-1_YjWG4mbn0onoCp8S8Yzw3nMAd6sDUt6urOgxZAX3tbN4MQs9Gv25cO7lovP24YJ36jGier7cOm8VD6qDCssO23rnmFzMIEO9k0CaI95WKftFehw7/s1600-h/Erik+Munroe,+Kate+O"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308943686706000018" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVERLchUz2NJthIs5kaoCdqgcG-1_YjWG4mbn0onoCp8S8Yzw3nMAd6sDUt6urOgxZAX3tbN4MQs9Gv25cO7lovP24YJ36jGier7cOm8VD6qDCssO23rnmFzMIEO9k0CaI95WKftFehw7/s320/Erik+Munroe,+Kate+O%27Connell.JPG" border="0" /></a></p></span><br /></span><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNezVJWKQEgPOwppXQvlXtJkaR8Hk5iMeHUASze4HvlVjw8hLzfnEkeqQtKsMsFQ_dkQMoxEs_SD-OZpCYFCmf_HBGNZlARXfUfPMONL9-o9UPujHznE3TkEzQxlDF2giIynuCWR-29mYb/s1600-h/Manya+Andrews.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308944677927258626" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNezVJWKQEgPOwppXQvlXtJkaR8Hk5iMeHUASze4HvlVjw8hLzfnEkeqQtKsMsFQ_dkQMoxEs_SD-OZpCYFCmf_HBGNZlARXfUfPMONL9-o9UPujHznE3TkEzQxlDF2giIynuCWR-29mYb/s320/Manya+Andrews.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqUFuMRj8rpdPllYiJlf1XYhGmUS_z4MXdcqkOf1WhyQwFJ7eqiMa8yNmf31gaxAIw2UQOQQkQ0Qz8QBa4zdLSOToNNwa2CDtRDBRRTChQnu2vSvNBySAkvSmlnBsU89Lqz7PFoDo6soNP/s1600-h/Ricki+and+Jennifer+Smith+Orford.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308944673940342690" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqUFuMRj8rpdPllYiJlf1XYhGmUS_z4MXdcqkOf1WhyQwFJ7eqiMa8yNmf31gaxAIw2UQOQQkQ0Qz8QBa4zdLSOToNNwa2CDtRDBRRTChQnu2vSvNBySAkvSmlnBsU89Lqz7PFoDo6soNP/s320/Ricki+and+Jennifer+Smith+Orford.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><br /><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZPu4ujIHb2yNR8Jk7GoqAXTKbJYktid1ZMp8YpIvWvxq6shPiLMqZkEXbkuou0sp6xYgFPaC7_dmMiL231Zkkfrif0reL6U7GtprA7EZAwlx807oPN6Wt5ACdbaBEkuA-n0mtyUNYbje2/s1600-h/Emily+Harris,+Henri+Allen.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308944670224591074" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZPu4ujIHb2yNR8Jk7GoqAXTKbJYktid1ZMp8YpIvWvxq6shPiLMqZkEXbkuou0sp6xYgFPaC7_dmMiL231Zkkfrif0reL6U7GtprA7EZAwlx807oPN6Wt5ACdbaBEkuA-n0mtyUNYbje2/s320/Emily+Harris,+Henri+Allen.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUGhQQ0Gd2Z1U5JU243BmbmNEr5c5hHnQrq5lM4jZZk5bGQg83l6cxxauSJL4LoiKtb5URiLcnciDCIrzaL8XYiJ56kknez9-US253zi1JcKXqLP5bs_pr8F-aLXM4bXo2H73bONtIUiF/s1600-h/Fiona+Cassidy+and+mum,+Bridie.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308943161036028002" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUGhQQ0Gd2Z1U5JU243BmbmNEr5c5hHnQrq5lM4jZZk5bGQg83l6cxxauSJL4LoiKtb5URiLcnciDCIrzaL8XYiJ56kknez9-US253zi1JcKXqLP5bs_pr8F-aLXM4bXo2H73bONtIUiF/s320/Fiona+Cassidy+and+mum,+Bridie.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><span style="font-family:arial;">I arrived in Boston on Saturday, after an uneventful, but long, series of flights. My plane actually landed nearly an hour early and I sailed through immigration and customs with merely a “Welcome to Bahston, Mahjorie,” from the Immigration Officer. Friends (and dogs) cheerfully met me at the airport and we headed to my sister’s house to meet my family for lunch. It was nice to catch up in person, after months of instant messaging and a few phone calls. Returning to Connecticut, I found my house to be in terrific shape, thanks to a great friend/house sitter.<br /><br />Even though I had been warned that “re-entry” would be challenging and difficult to absorb, at this point, I haven’t experienced it (aside from having to shovel a foot of snow.) My time in Nairobi was eye-opening in terms of how governments and NGOs operate, but in fact, I lived a very easy, modern life there. For ex-pats and those with money, it can be a charmed life with great housing, household staff, and trendy restaurants and shops. On the work front, having had no prior exposure to NGOs, my limited time and contact with the NGO world has left me quite disappointed and frustrated. From what I can see, NGOs have created infrastructures that do very little capacity building, but rather create institutions that will remain in-country in perpetuity. If NGOs were doing their jobs well, they would be working themselves out of jobs, but I did not see that. I strongly believe that if all aid funding were cut, there would indeed be dramatic and terrible results, but ultimately, it would force local governments to stand on their own and eliminate the reliance, complacency and corruption that constitute the current status. It’s a harsh stand, but the existing co-dependency will never be resolved if neither party has any incentive to do so.<br /><br />Although my visit to Africa was enjoyable and hardly all-encompassing, I think it unlikely I will return to the continent. The people, culture and scenery were wonderful, but there are many other places I now want to visit. Living and traveling in a new place has rekindled my desire to travel and finally use some of the vacation time I’ve accumulated over the years. Stay tuned for the next adventure.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMsQZU8LjSGxUP8POedogKKPykQncNl82w_PmX-WweYXEn67NgOOq37PoQjsRNDYUePTSCu_g0kb06eRbYb8EQHd3MjxjSj8bHsEihY0pYFFgWUV4jfIap7ZRxdsbIBJIbfrQwXhPRJ5n/s1600-h/Towing+Motorcycles.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308943152672864690" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMsQZU8LjSGxUP8POedogKKPykQncNl82w_PmX-WweYXEn67NgOOq37PoQjsRNDYUePTSCu_g0kb06eRbYb8EQHd3MjxjSj8bHsEihY0pYFFgWUV4jfIap7ZRxdsbIBJIbfrQwXhPRJ5n/s320/Towing+Motorcycles.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-80490495793606920672009-02-23T21:20:00.002+03:002009-02-23T21:27:06.623+03:00Count Down<span style="font-family:arial;">This is my last week in Nairobi and I’m trying to make sure that I don’t leave any loose ends at work, as well as complete any last minute shopping and say goodbye to friends. The week is shaping up to be busy, but it will be fun, too with some interesting events.<br /><br />Last Thursday, I went to the US Embassy to meet with a woman I had met in the Fall who is the head of Information Services. She wanted me to speak with her colleague about giving a talk about Knowledge Management and Competitive Intelligence. Going to the Embassy is always an adventure because most of your possessions are taken from you - cell phone, camera, hand sanitizer, lipstick - before you can enter the compound. Even my pen and pad of paper were considered suspect. I wish I had visited the Embassy library earlier in my time in Kenya as it is a beautiful space and is a full-service lending library. I had run out of good books to read and had been swapping with friends, but access to a library would have been terrific. <br /><br />The purpose of Embassy libraries is not only to provide access to resources and services to Americans, but also to promote America to the local population. The library is open to the public, but in the case of Kenya, it does not attract a large crowd. When the Embassy was relocated to a suburb after the 1998 bombing, it made it relatively inaccessible to the average Kenyan. First, it requires many matatu rides that can be costly and time consuming. Secondly, the library is only open during Embassy business hours which are relatively short, closing at 4:00 pm on Monday, Tuesday and Thursday and ½ days on Wednesdays and Fridays. Makes me want to work for the State Department! Finally, the security process can be daunting even for the most law-abiding American, let alone a young Kenyan with a big desire to learn and little documentation to get him in the door.<br /><br />It was decided that I would give a talk the following Thursday to a group of invited professional librarians, knowledge management professionals, professors, business leaders and members of the diplomatic corp. I have an entire morning to fill, but have been assured that it will be a lively group who will ask lots of questions so little preparation will be necessary - my favorite kind of speaking engagement!<br /><br />On Saturday morning I went to an Indian marketplace where I was persuaded to have some shirts custom tailored. I’m not confident I’ll like them, and I have to remember to pick them up before I leave on Friday. On Sunday afternoon, I met a new Global Health Fellow who will be working in Eldoret, in the Western Province of Kenya. I also met my replacement Fellow at the airport on Sunday night and am getting her settled into her new job. The time is going fast, and I’m looking forward to returning home this weekend.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-80326806061761348182009-02-16T19:42:00.001+03:002009-02-16T19:46:05.729+03:00I Got Nuthin'<span style="font-family:arial;">It’s been a relatively quiet week and I don’t have much to show for it other than some bags under my eyes from lack of sleep. As I start to wrap up my work here, the pace is picking up. After many fits and starts, interviewer training began in Uganda this week, which meant that all the training materials for the Outlet Survey had to be finalized prior to the start. It was a long haul, but we got everything together just in the nick of time. There is another deadline this week in making sure we also have the training materials for the Household Survey ready in time. There’s still plenty to do, guaranteeing that my replacement will be busy throughout her Fellowship.<br /><br />Other than a few dinners out and the weekly Perudo night, I haven’t done or seen much. The news here is the same - corruption probes, MPs trying to avoid The Hague and teacher strikes. The news that has hit home hardest is that one of the local cable TV companies went bankrupt, leaving a good portion of East Africa without the Premier Football (soccer) League. Personally, I was more upset that I would no longer get The Daily Show, but we all have our priorities.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-53592535777846960752009-02-10T23:26:00.016+03:002009-02-11T20:18:38.600+03:00The Resort Life<div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lk5fYapK2uZpmE0gW2iH55jEpHeXrEGsKDtW6HJzevFgpAcjXUQNX3QFl5XXgxN_JWaEqydNchffDTgxVKnTr3EqX-32BTTCu5ZHrPMfLzUUaGLMj8H_AnIsCrOwFiDN__eD2it08sRG/s1600-h/Indian+Ocean+Dhow+4.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301585257335305618" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lk5fYapK2uZpmE0gW2iH55jEpHeXrEGsKDtW6HJzevFgpAcjXUQNX3QFl5XXgxN_JWaEqydNchffDTgxVKnTr3EqX-32BTTCu5ZHrPMfLzUUaGLMj8H_AnIsCrOwFiDN__eD2it08sRG/s320/Indian+Ocean+Dhow+4.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Greetings from Mombassa, off the coast of Kenya. After a few extremely busy weeks at work, I welcomed a trip to the beach. I flew out Friday morning, landed at the airport and was not only greeted by my hotel driver, but also with a blast of hot, muggy air. I’ve been spoiled in Nairobi because although it’s warm and sunny, it’s almost always breezy and never humid.<br /><br />We drove through the city of Mombassa, a port town most recently in the news due to the Somali pirates who have been hijacking ships just outside the port’s entrance. The city appeared to be no different than many of the other cities in which I’ve traveled. Mombassa is the main entry point for goods shipped from all over the world, supplying many inland countries such as Uganda and Rwanda with food, fuel and everything in between. Mombassa Road, stretching between the port and Kampala, is heavily trafficked with tractor trailers and is easily one of the bumpiest, most poorly paved roads on which I’ve ever been.<br /><br />After a short ride, I arrived at the Serena resort - a 5-star property directly on the beach. The hotel is styled in traditional Swahili style - arched doorways, stained glass windows and fountained courtyards at every turn. The view across the property was magnificent - first I noticed the pool and palm trees, then the rolling green lawn dotted with chaise lounges and finally, the turquoise water of the Indian Ocean.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VjwNKhQLQSTk0U4C6DkofmcDNUNyeRzAFJrUDtrMpWHn7ehF72tI1M3q_brFtytzJVgHNNbJ9fvUrBOjgLTSOAVqifspRzYxiL46K8Mk-eIRA00N_YZ_xYDEBCdBjNPyDJeRTci_b9ZZ/s1600-h/Serena+Pool.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301585262152648274" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VjwNKhQLQSTk0U4C6DkofmcDNUNyeRzAFJrUDtrMpWHn7ehF72tI1M3q_brFtytzJVgHNNbJ9fvUrBOjgLTSOAVqifspRzYxiL46K8Mk-eIRA00N_YZ_xYDEBCdBjNPyDJeRTci_b9ZZ/s320/Serena+Pool.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Things were going well until I was shown our room. I was traveling with two friends, and we had planned on sharing a triple room. Unfortunately, the hotel had a different view than we had of what a triple was. The room was a small double in which a third twin bed had been placed. One couldn’t walk from one end to the other without banging into either a wall or a bed. Even though we had received an amazingly low room rate through our Nairobi cab driver/travel agent/fixer, this was entirely unacceptable. After making a fuss, we were finally shown to a new room - a two-room suite with ocean views. This was much more to our liking!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqW-k_j1nU32zw7j0i69RhzjsD69Mg3pgqBWu-EQjK_PDDvVuztQZOSpuoddYTp63uuh2gTlx1HLFg5feQ-qNSpf_JNTxU5DIEZLlklPUWjT5S1eA52gNsP3e2civw89OjyQh0ADuPshkT/s1600-h/Marge+in+Princess+Suite.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301581280286931202" style="WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqW-k_j1nU32zw7j0i69RhzjsD69Mg3pgqBWu-EQjK_PDDvVuztQZOSpuoddYTp63uuh2gTlx1HLFg5feQ-qNSpf_JNTxU5DIEZLlklPUWjT5S1eA52gNsP3e2civw89OjyQh0ADuPshkT/s320/Marge+in+Princess+Suite.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I’d like to say that we spent the weekend windsurfing, diving, riding glass-bottomed boats and taking advantage of all that the resort offered, but the furthest we ventured was to the beach and back to the pool. We were there to relax and felt that we had over-exerted when a stroll on the beach turned into a jog as we tried to avoid the beach boys who follow tourists and attempt to sell their wares.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNeob2YHZmcNWn2nOoB6YlKbA6HtIH5kQz5FSTfpHMQWlvHO-ixF-V3Yc0MLFmZtB-ZlEeZ-tSGr3oYee9J4w86n-eqA6NnprV-nArGlUXozPJdYwCrXHbK9RVwovWd2oCCmeqgLYSAxJ/s1600-h/Camel+5.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301578939462253426" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNeob2YHZmcNWn2nOoB6YlKbA6HtIH5kQz5FSTfpHMQWlvHO-ixF-V3Yc0MLFmZtB-ZlEeZ-tSGr3oYee9J4w86n-eqA6NnprV-nArGlUXozPJdYwCrXHbK9RVwovWd2oCCmeqgLYSAxJ/s320/Camel+5.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEIJo5JrBofwrcU0haUfQGKK3wMXfwwfrwGg8tzctCsYnpIOplJKVcXGsqXGRg-8jeF3fx9RpxQmbcjUCxTMo9ds8rs0xBQV34SgrEjGwql1saF_pApTeJq1c94Zabazo9gHKUK6ABFO6P/s1600-h/Camel+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301578935489018178" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEIJo5JrBofwrcU0haUfQGKK3wMXfwwfrwGg8tzctCsYnpIOplJKVcXGsqXGRg-8jeF3fx9RpxQmbcjUCxTMo9ds8rs0xBQV34SgrEjGwql1saF_pApTeJq1c94Zabazo9gHKUK6ABFO6P/s320/Camel+2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The Serena lived up to its reputation with attentive service and terrific food. The people-watching was fascinating, too, as we were likely some of the youngest guests there by a good 20 years. Most of the guests appeared to be wealthy Europeans who make regular visits to the resort - a very appealing lifestyle!<br /><br />Unfortunately, my peek into how the other one percent lives came to an end Monday night when we returned to Nairobi. I have a little over two weeks of work left before I return to the states. Hopefully, my tan will last.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3HZjauE-xP53nx4VMWKSrCmy0rurSYl4wPUPSDzw8c1u1aV6pa4HxtnzwgOFXLXadong78lAxwP62xB3cC5Y_TIkuH3kphvfVOQfqrH5RBQ0mPdzt2n2U_IeB9XSa47TDMxDzCnnRe1QY/s1600-h/Sunrise+over+the+Indian+Ocean.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301585267374150882" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3HZjauE-xP53nx4VMWKSrCmy0rurSYl4wPUPSDzw8c1u1aV6pa4HxtnzwgOFXLXadong78lAxwP62xB3cC5Y_TIkuH3kphvfVOQfqrH5RBQ0mPdzt2n2U_IeB9XSa47TDMxDzCnnRe1QY/s320/Sunrise+over+the+Indian+Ocean.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></div></div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-49557826345162797812009-02-01T19:01:00.000+03:002009-02-02T22:31:08.640+03:00A Sad, Frustrating Week<div><font face="arial">I was going to write about Perudo night, a pizza-ordering incident at the office which demonstrated that no good deed goes unpunished, and a fatal car accident involving Alex the Driver (he’s OK, but killed a pedestrian), but amazingly even that incident paled in comparison to some larger events this week. <br /><br />This week has been filled with both tragedy and anger in Kenya. On Wednesday, the Nakumatt supermarket in the downtown business district caught fire mid-afternoon. Nakumatt is an Indian-owned East-African chain that has been changing the way Africans shop. I’ve mentioned before how the store sells everything from motorcycles to milk, and caters to the rising middle class. Due to the location of the downtown store, this store gets a wider variety of shoppers.<br /><br />When the fire broke out, crowds gathered to watch and to loot. The small police force was unable to hold the thousands of people back, and they swarmed the scene. It has now also come out that guards inside the store bolted the doors to prevent looting, but also preventing employees and shoppers from escaping. The death toll is over 30, there are still many people missing and unaccounted for and there is a rising tide of anger toward the Indian community.<br /><br />The Kenyan government has been criticized for its lack of infrastructure, slow response rate and inability to handle incidents such as this. There is only one fire station for the entire city of Nairobi - 5 million people. It is less than ½ mile from the fire site, but it took over an hour for the first engine to arrive. Equipment on the trucks was not fully operational. Fire hydrants had been vandalized and were not working. Tanker trucks ran out of water. Pretty much everything that could go wrong, did. To make matters worse, the crowd turned on the looters and administered vigilante justice. Police then had to expend energy saving the looters from the crowd, rather than holding the crowd back from the burning and exploding building. It’s a tragedy that is still unfolding, and nothing prepared the people of Kenya for what would happen next.<br /><br />On Saturday afternoon, a tanker truck carrying gasoline overturned on a road about 2 ½ hours outside of Nairobi. Local villagers flocked to the scene to gather free fuel while police tried to keep them away. There is still some dispute as to what exactly happened, but either a careless cigarette or a match thrown by an angry villager ignited the gas and the entire area went up in flames. At present, over 110 people have been found dead and 200 are in hospitals with severe burns, but they are ill-equipped to handle the volume and severity of the injuries. <br /><br />Again, much of the issue is the inability of local law enforcement, fire and hospitals to handle large-scale disasters and it brings up the issue of governmental corruption and misappropriation of funds. In a country where the members of parliament monthly salary is a tax-free $11,000/month (excluding housing, auto and other allowance) while the average Kenyan lives on $1/day, it is clear that money coming into the country’s coffers is not being spent in a way that benefits the nation. </font></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-64196200876683564282009-01-26T22:25:00.006+03:002009-01-26T23:14:31.661+03:00Random Photos<span style="font-family:arial;">It's been a quiet week, and I don't have anything particularly blog-worthy to report. Instead, I thought I'd post a few photograhic odds and ends.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Pharmacy" in Lusaka, Zambia Slum</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7CAFrwxNH807zUEXxixk3FeG79tTY9nzjvg27EiTQqx4rd7RkS1hFZSsr98wl28k5lH4iHQfrtoq4dTx0mMtAfmR-2eq5bqDIL_fugQY0z_Z8wElP5OaQKbX4g7nqHTHN7uzSFNCftZiu/s1600-h/IMG_0821.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295697045630360722" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7CAFrwxNH807zUEXxixk3FeG79tTY9nzjvg27EiTQqx4rd7RkS1hFZSsr98wl28k5lH4iHQfrtoq4dTx0mMtAfmR-2eq5bqDIL_fugQY0z_Z8wElP5OaQKbX4g7nqHTHN7uzSFNCftZiu/s320/IMG_0821.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Mind the Driver's Instructions</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZ_QvK-UmtOzLjanYyQfiddFpr4yIVYnu57g7P6EmE0zhoXFNvJ8lkXfFLmuaWgua-d3Nsvz6JZhobxqJ0CCsi_llsirylPgcz1LMrrZtbCEOhRdtKfkcRteNHfvfIUVLOnscO3f9VqOB/s1600-h/Phonetics.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295697039316704850" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZ_QvK-UmtOzLjanYyQfiddFpr4yIVYnu57g7P6EmE0zhoXFNvJ8lkXfFLmuaWgua-d3Nsvz6JZhobxqJ0CCsi_llsirylPgcz1LMrrZtbCEOhRdtKfkcRteNHfvfIUVLOnscO3f9VqOB/s320/Phonetics.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Weaver Bird Nests<br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjND_s1-npQoYAH1JXAWD6nol288KXR9a53R23yU68ao-prVpzUyuQyM6_0jooqc4yrevlbnVUaSp6VIY1iypKWYqYqkLHGQE0x8IzIC1wPRpPrAmyZpt0-DVO_zDk19IuacP4_7oOcrcrr/s1600-h/Weaver+Bird+Nests+1.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295697033690271682" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjND_s1-npQoYAH1JXAWD6nol288KXR9a53R23yU68ao-prVpzUyuQyM6_0jooqc4yrevlbnVUaSp6VIY1iypKWYqYqkLHGQE0x8IzIC1wPRpPrAmyZpt0-DVO_zDk19IuacP4_7oOcrcrr/s320/Weaver+Bird+Nests+1.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />ACTwatch To-Do List<br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsOeij4k4GXN4XAXVoNGqTjtg_7KhSADZg0WfPrudvGVnyjOMGGYlrAAkBl74gcZQrvRHnIAxcEQyITQU5Tz44lfc4vb7yXdERKyhkBUEi9xKa35cSKP0wJiEjn0I5Ip6A_cjxhaw3NN0/s1600-h/Action+Item+Board.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295697012996865186" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsOeij4k4GXN4XAXVoNGqTjtg_7KhSADZg0WfPrudvGVnyjOMGGYlrAAkBl74gcZQrvRHnIAxcEQyITQU5Tz44lfc4vb7yXdERKyhkBUEi9xKa35cSKP0wJiEjn0I5Ip6A_cjxhaw3NN0/s320/Action+Item+Board.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Home can be Anywhere<br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9zB8oPVchRUSveIwuvnL0ICKHK4z5gRlvkNylZ8jyqCd_dQopSxZEXckuw6ba_WQwP8Tqxucu-QVDOkkojNdsVacNfYW-G5lp-USnsWGFhqtCy9x0F31e59IM98o1bbO5LL10q0Go59y/s1600-h/Tree+House.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295691722051337202" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV9zB8oPVchRUSveIwuvnL0ICKHK4z5gRlvkNylZ8jyqCd_dQopSxZEXckuw6ba_WQwP8Tqxucu-QVDOkkojNdsVacNfYW-G5lp-USnsWGFhqtCy9x0F31e59IM98o1bbO5LL10q0Go59y/s320/Tree+House.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon<br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_pb7R0wYPSTmzTWi_GEYLoF_yUPOqQqEqfwXb7oIbAdAwqYV2QnPetO2-ma2vpTQ5iVLWaCvgBKUhzcqaAz_LgMRKDJpu46P_0J5FkVLsn95dOZzote7jRI61Ig7UWi3eD8jzds9hDeIU/s1600-h/Lazy+Sunday+Afternoon.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295691719724498994" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_pb7R0wYPSTmzTWi_GEYLoF_yUPOqQqEqfwXb7oIbAdAwqYV2QnPetO2-ma2vpTQ5iVLWaCvgBKUhzcqaAz_LgMRKDJpu46P_0J5FkVLsn95dOZzote7jRI61Ig7UWi3eD8jzds9hDeIU/s320/Lazy+Sunday+Afternoon.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Daily Lunch Spot<br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2GKcrkDmkshKk2VsnZMNEZqMCvsbu5i9OcFSjy2PF459qvBXc9rM01vQ2iTiCwsw1fwMJ9Jgzv84CCywJg7v8U5HeBkW8dxAwleJSRWNhdlL1bLIioGQUkd-3qCmYCIkSY_81_UtohyphenhyphenVE/s1600-h/Lunch+Katemba.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295691699405585810" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2GKcrkDmkshKk2VsnZMNEZqMCvsbu5i9OcFSjy2PF459qvBXc9rM01vQ2iTiCwsw1fwMJ9Jgzv84CCywJg7v8U5HeBkW8dxAwleJSRWNhdlL1bLIioGQUkd-3qCmYCIkSY_81_UtohyphenhyphenVE/s320/Lunch+Katemba.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Bouganvilla<br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl-6m8ABIrOArbEYlEoaF72pegqzqsT1hLJLXQdIavcPupVxHbS7svOPUMNDmsCMVa38CQzW1EMOoKL3nH4XD6kzm0wC7b5dJXDbS_wdgngcgPocEFQV4ymj_-dAu9ke5FyKjwVlcnMTyc/s1600-h/IMG_0578.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295687641771493394" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl-6m8ABIrOArbEYlEoaF72pegqzqsT1hLJLXQdIavcPupVxHbS7svOPUMNDmsCMVa38CQzW1EMOoKL3nH4XD6kzm0wC7b5dJXDbS_wdgngcgPocEFQV4ymj_-dAu9ke5FyKjwVlcnMTyc/s320/IMG_0578.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-68355241306123597862009-01-22T09:59:00.002+03:002009-01-22T10:05:15.936+03:00More Popular Demand<span style="font-family:arial;">I’ve had a lot of requests for the Kenyan reaction to the inauguration this week. I wish I could tell you more, but I, like many others, watched it on TV. Nearly all the TV stations carried CNN live, starting on Monday and continuing through Wednesday. Shortly after Obama took his oath of office, I heard loud noises outside. I’m not sure if they were fireworks, exuberant gunfire or just trucks backfiring as I couldn’t see anything outside my window.<br /><br />Perhaps the most poignant moment was when I was approached by Antony, our young IT guy on Tuesday morning. He came over to my desk to congratulate me on being an American, and the country’s choice of a President. It was very sweet and entirely sincere. He said he was excited to go home that evening and watch as much coverage as he could. When I saw him the following morning and asked if he liked the ceremony, he said it exceeded his expectations and he was really proud to be both Kenyan and work for an American organization. He’s got all his bases covered!<br /><br />This morning my favorite news show featured an interview with a local lawyer. The topic was what Obama would do for Kenya, and for once, I heard a realistic view that he thought not much would happen. The gentleman was very articulate and quite informed on American politics and the myriad of issues that Obama must handle first on the home front. However, he did state that he hoped that at some point, Kenya would become the 52nd US state. I wonder which state is Number 51.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-55381750229910994282009-01-19T21:03:00.027+03:002009-01-20T08:36:33.260+03:00Sunday in the Park with Glass<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdy9QQ5WRsUKKYO6B5KY3VxvJg8UrR8nVZhrt2qibisFbPQZbSLHZcXLlLHbtahXsczdtHtuX0Y7dIy6mbcb8xgeO6TS7ip0fkX22nbi83GHGql54Wla64Spb0kSg6sC5OWp0NgOd9PcNj/s1600-h/Kitengela+Glass+Works+14.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293243375840705474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdy9QQ5WRsUKKYO6B5KY3VxvJg8UrR8nVZhrt2qibisFbPQZbSLHZcXLlLHbtahXsczdtHtuX0Y7dIy6mbcb8xgeO6TS7ip0fkX22nbi83GHGql54Wla64Spb0kSg6sC5OWp0NgOd9PcNj/s320/Kitengela+Glass+Works+14.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><div><div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">This week, I spent time visiting with local advertising/PR/graphic design agencies. One of my colleagues in the Malaria Department was leaving for southern Sudan on Monday, and before then, she needed to find a firm to help advertise and promote a malaria bed net usage campaign. We met with a variety of agencies - small, large, local and international, that each had a different focus. The larger firms like Ogilvy and Leo Burnett were what you’d expect from global companies - professional, but a broad-brush approach and little experience in this particular market.<br /><br />The local firms were more interesting. One company specializes in educational messages to children and illiterate populations. The firm produces a magazine for school children that covers health, cultural, ecological and other issues. It’s designed to follow along the Kenyan approved school curriculum so that the kids can use it as an exam study guide since they often don’t have books. The firm’s principal also explained a successful literacy campaign geared toward rural women. Women in remote villages don’t have much incentive to learn to read as there aren’t libraries, newspapers are few and far between and there’s no need to know how to read a street sign. This firm determined that women were interested in learning to read so that they could read recipes, health information and were most excited about reading about business. Once they learned to read, they were often able to get micro-financing for their small businesses. My colleague hasn’t yet decided on an agency for her job, but it will most likely be one of the home-grown ones.<br /><br />For fun this week, I went to the Kitengela Glass Works, just outside of the city. The factory sits along the edge of the Nairobi Wildlife Park and is accessed by narrow, bumpy dirt roads. I was told that there are two ways to get to the factory. One way is to take the road that leads directly there. The other way is to go to the Masai Village, walk across a few acres of field (watch out for lions!), pick your way down a steep, rocky slope and cross a string bridge decorated with glass beads. We chose the latter.<br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDWWWX4NVIr3Lz9RtwEpdwEi7lyY806OUf7Jk9TKjQZaYSqoKwF8xkz7OrynTXI0cL-WpOmYoWNr5Tiiu7f7Id9fDF1NcskY6TyznFvpHmDw-Ivbf-CAphf8GFX88ZuakXJb5ObyupIjy2/s1600-h/Kitengela+Glass+Works+3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293165442394301986" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDWWWX4NVIr3Lz9RtwEpdwEi7lyY806OUf7Jk9TKjQZaYSqoKwF8xkz7OrynTXI0cL-WpOmYoWNr5Tiiu7f7Id9fDF1NcskY6TyznFvpHmDw-Ivbf-CAphf8GFX88ZuakXJb5ObyupIjy2/s320/Kitengela+Glass+Works+3.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></div>When we got to the bridge, there was a group of people from HomeBoyz radio, the local hip-hop station who were on a team-building exercise. A group of five had just started across very s l o w l y. The woman in the lead was petrified, and was barely able to move an inch at a time. I hadn’t thought to be scared until one of the people waiting their turn mentioned that the danger wasn’t in the bridge collapsing, but rather in flipping if it started to sway too much. That hadn’t occurred to me until that moment, and when it was our turn to cross the bridge, I could understand - and feel - how that could happen. The bridge crosses over a ravine, and it’s hard to say how high up it is, but if you’re plunging down, it doesn’t really matter how far down you go.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5EPR3XbZTMTKUyJ_btCa7-uDMjseS9gR7EEv0yoARP-eYVnVR1DLKwDT3atpVRFJ1SEpkteMqMXSgFN0K6QSCgestrSlS_sMOgQIccc9VwKS5j4eaNKBHuUbrcTSy2X1CzzrSMuFCMeCy/s1600-h/String+Bridge+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293217990112252434" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5EPR3XbZTMTKUyJ_btCa7-uDMjseS9gR7EEv0yoARP-eYVnVR1DLKwDT3atpVRFJ1SEpkteMqMXSgFN0K6QSCgestrSlS_sMOgQIccc9VwKS5j4eaNKBHuUbrcTSy2X1CzzrSMuFCMeCy/s320/String+Bridge+1.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />We started making our way across, with my friend Fiona in the lead. She started out slowly, but then we decided that the bridge would sway less if we walked elephant style - left legs together, right legs together. About a third of the way across I realized that I was shaking and holding my breath, but we finally got a rhythm and proceeded across. It was a great relief to get to the other side, until it dawned on us that our car was now on the other side of the bridge and we’d have to cross back over to get to it. We decided that once was enough, and asked our driver to go back the way we came, get the car, and fetch us at the glass factory parking lot. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUgAZFNUFGqmyp-ilZ21lWhflqTSP4FSEGHf1HOSQUVHlhSuWc2111T2ngf5qiI76TXvg_Iiww_afNINlVT8dfs11V27iwOwggiaN9LwODswdyxlhk65iCDnZ5F80Q8XXeUNQaoEOGKa4/s1600-h/String+Bridge+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293240942813926866" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUgAZFNUFGqmyp-ilZ21lWhflqTSP4FSEGHf1HOSQUVHlhSuWc2111T2ngf5qiI76TXvg_Iiww_afNINlVT8dfs11V27iwOwggiaN9LwODswdyxlhk65iCDnZ5F80Q8XXeUNQaoEOGKa4/s320/String+Bridge+2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />While our driver was tempting fate a second time, we were exploring the buildings. Kitengela is a self-sustaining art glass community. Everything is made from recycled materials - even the oil used to fire the furnace is purchased from restaurants. There are about a dozen buildings scattered around the property linked together by mosaic glass paths. Each building has unique features and houses a different type of glass manufacture. Kitengela not only creates art glass, but also large quantities of glassware for retail and wholesale - now that I’ve know what it looks like, I realize I’ve seen it in many local upscale hotels and restaurants.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293173964418998674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiER5W8SMc3RrYATJDTRXufEPCBwBWzUWd1dcAoTqFU6qvPDKTQgnp4_7C8Hyto4QWDJWEAcsz7UgnIEFJvv0ypW6yA5zh_bta5WRiJ1I8nDG2BEeP0zZrzorY0AXjkPsiYP17uWAQZ7zQj/s320/Kitengela+Glass+Works+9.JPG" border="0" /> We wandered around for nearly two hours, and were starting to wonder if our driver was ever coming back, when he suddenly appeared. It turned out crossing the bridge was the easiest part of his journey. The road to the art colony was so bad it took him longer to drive to us than it did for him to do the trekking part of his journey. I don’t think he was particularly happy about having to go back, but he was a good sport.<br /><br />Enjoy the photos!</span><br /><div><div><div><div><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bym0ddGC1_P5aY7ojTgo1-j30eFfgJbsHdRg8VscHFaBStAontLtgcQD6cKkGecLKRkGmlE54ENwoluGHazxv7SBssd67wGiehkQlqibEvl1xyiIZNpzf8jTJzjLuudZwAa63Exz5IPC/s1600-h/Kitengela+Glass+Works+13.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293169508865269634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bym0ddGC1_P5aY7ojTgo1-j30eFfgJbsHdRg8VscHFaBStAontLtgcQD6cKkGecLKRkGmlE54ENwoluGHazxv7SBssd67wGiehkQlqibEvl1xyiIZNpzf8jTJzjLuudZwAa63Exz5IPC/s320/Kitengela+Glass+Works+13.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72g1Kx-hkdX1QJUPbfM-E7ngy8KGWAmjQ8gDOKb5rG1LI3LBAQCR4Vup7HbYEm7Ju71TlA5BxKQwB8viW31c78_uyqOTzjaOp5ibbQpKi08FrrEO5D7V7wtvei7NtfSwael2JOv74l01R/s1600-h/Kitengela+Glass+Works+10.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293179837546977266" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72g1Kx-hkdX1QJUPbfM-E7ngy8KGWAmjQ8gDOKb5rG1LI3LBAQCR4Vup7HbYEm7Ju71TlA5BxKQwB8viW31c78_uyqOTzjaOp5ibbQpKi08FrrEO5D7V7wtvei7NtfSwael2JOv74l01R/s320/Kitengela+Glass+Works+10.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDWWWX4NVIr3Lz9RtwEpdwEi7lyY806OUf7Jk9TKjQZaYSqoKwF8xkz7OrynTXI0cL-WpOmYoWNr5Tiiu7f7Id9fDF1NcskY6TyznFvpHmDw-Ivbf-CAphf8GFX88ZuakXJb5ObyupIjy2/s1600-h/Kitengela+Glass+Works+3.JPG"></a></span></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxKFQ7Mdx-f188aKIZreF9tx-yYV5aGwsApuFmKbiwyuSqf_iEs8JX9o5Xv22o2zOnzd3Clvqw7a3OLx_kPxiQHLck_lGaWBPXgFacxw-xr_XuA5bAVcf826nqqxCKzXqzbluvQ7jzPJQX/s1600-h/Kitengela+Glass+Works+16.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293177489249519202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxKFQ7Mdx-f188aKIZreF9tx-yYV5aGwsApuFmKbiwyuSqf_iEs8JX9o5Xv22o2zOnzd3Clvqw7a3OLx_kPxiQHLck_lGaWBPXgFacxw-xr_XuA5bAVcf826nqqxCKzXqzbluvQ7jzPJQX/s320/Kitengela+Glass+Works+16.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrRvXtu8R4op0blOaP7chVmx_NwQTCUj9EEjLMBWtcskGKdIvpdS1YFO61zrvVOtDRtaECU8n_eJVa8rBEPKBThVx9i5c4SRPT3I3bZwhFtjSh5s5RMp54RrR9233DT7yrM-MJVXMqsZDn/s1600-h/Kitengela+Glass+Works+4.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293244816359327122" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrRvXtu8R4op0blOaP7chVmx_NwQTCUj9EEjLMBWtcskGKdIvpdS1YFO61zrvVOtDRtaECU8n_eJVa8rBEPKBThVx9i5c4SRPT3I3bZwhFtjSh5s5RMp54RrR9233DT7yrM-MJVXMqsZDn/s320/Kitengela+Glass+Works+4.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-4221727969925079982009-01-12T16:48:00.011+03:002009-01-12T19:05:59.430+03:00High Society<div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290404400681473778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwrqx3OzMhfV22vDwfjsfqYsOXPKa6x6P9vSG1RK_HttxF8Zy9DKE32usDyESHHNlHqxjA-fMz3xefkkYnj_7nb35jocEsv66kCfk3zGrEWDNMa7aXWp8nA83uBb9TOMqfuWp0jFof3eo/s320/Ngong+Race+Track+7.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">It was hard getting back into the swing of work after the holiday break. Everyone seemed to be moving in ultra-slow Africa time and was suffering from a bit of lethargy. To perk things up, a friend hosted a mid-week dinner party. It was great to see her house, now furnished with all her belongs that had recently arrived from her previous posting in India. Dinner parties are easy here - all you do is tell the housekeeper/cook what you want prepared, and voila! It magically appears for the guests. No panicking about whether the bathroom is clean or having to go grocery shopping - there’s someone to take care of it for you.<br /><br />On Sunday, I went to the Ngong Race Course to bet on the ponies. I had only been to Saratoga once and never got the hang of how to bet, but for some reason, this was much easier. It might have been because they do not post the odds on the horses - you are just given information about the horses, jockeys, owners and their win/loss record. It makes it much easier to eliminate one of the factors.<br /><br />The race course wasn’t much different from Saratoga, with the exception of there being two entrances. The one in which my friends and I went cost 200 shillings (about $2.50) to enter. Once in, we saw that there was a second grandstand area, smaller, not covered (the sun can get hot) and without the amenities of a restaurant, bar and VIP booths. This area was for the locals, and the entrance fee was considerably lower. When you consider that for many, a normal salary is 300 shillings per day, to spend 200 to go to the race track is steep. I’ll refrain from commenting on how if you’re only making 300 shillings a day, you have no business going to the track in the first place.<br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290405100950224082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfVO0Yxr7d5QacmxXdLGcN_SZpIZ19mHc9hnSnoVIRv12jYHog83n79mLCXOT9_-EEsViJNwhPGvFcM_Xlkt2xKzh2rFUmigvBBA80Po-Z8_44C9OMX8ejf7VqewkqolQQMZjLRfc_10G/s320/Ngong+Race+Track+1.JPG" border="0" /><br />We watched and bet on three races and I ended up ahead by about 200 shillings, excluding beer expenses. It was a nice way to spend the afternoon, especially people watching. The horsey set and ex-pats were out in force, and I ran into a few people I knew. Little did I know that it was also the place to see and be seen that day as it was the Guinea Cup, apparently something big in the world of racing.<br /><br />That evening, I was invited to dinner at the Muthaiga Country Club. Muthaiga is the place that Karen Blixen, Denis Finch-Hatton and Beryl Markham wrote about. You can see it in movies where women are dressed in white linen, leisurely sipping their G+Ts and the men hang out in the “Men’s Bar” where no women are allowed except on New Year’s Eve. I was extremely curious about it and wrangled an invitation from a kind friend in the UK whose parents live in Kenya. Unfortunately, my friend wasn’t in town, but much of his family was so I was invited to meet the family.<br /><br />From both the outside and inside, the club isn’t much different from any private country club in the states: dark wood paneling, deep leather chairs and sofas and lion heads on the walls. Oh, right - no lion heads in the US. I suspect the membership has changed somewhat over the years to reflect the wealthy Indian and local Kenyan population.<br /><br />My friend’s family couldn’t have been nicer. They live in Nanyuki, an area about 3.5 hours north of Nairobi up by Mt. Kenya and run a gazillion acre cattle farm and animal conservancy. They don’t come to Nairobi much, but invited me to visit them before I leave. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll get a chance before I head home. The other dinner guests included step-brother and girlfriend, brother, and two friends. One friend turned out to be Jomo Kenyatta’s (former President of Kenya) grandson and the other was an actress in a new Kenyan TV show that is launching next week. She was a hoot.<br /><br />It was timely that I had been at the horse races earlier in the day as the step-brother’s girlfriend was also there. She’s a steward - it’s her responsibility to stand in the middle of the track and to make sure the horses aren’t mistreated and whipped too much during the race. It was fun to say, “When I was at the Guinea Cup today…” and have others know what I was talking about.<br /><br />The dinner was delicious and the conversation lively, especially with the actress doing spot-on impersonations of some of the various accents that can be found in East Africa. It was fascinating to get a glimpse into old Kenya where in some ways, time has not marched on. I don’t quite envision becoming a club member, but I certainly appreciated a chance to peek in.</span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 365px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 353px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.clarku.edu/activelearning/images/government/grier/grier2_600.jpg" border="0" /></span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-26056788276805642232009-01-05T19:51:00.006+03:002009-01-06T07:48:36.877+03:00By Popular Demand...<span style="font-family:arial;">Here's a video of the Masai Circumcision Dance we saw New Year's Eve. It's a little dark, and you might want to turn your sound down a bit so as not to frighten your office mates, family or pets.</span><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxBfPUuu01-14csl9C_UEd5uR1fyY3cGvdqsETCW9NF3O3CJBXtVxzTMf5rNBs0sSDY1APWhpA6-7viKaeSOQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-57802466139934002242009-01-04T11:19:00.017+03:002009-01-04T15:33:11.105+03:00A Very Kenyan New Year<div><div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsdL7RC4VfuqUbr2b3gBzR1YLlOaU44H-KP0NkLEbyk3FZj-eMtAmehUU6YEubRnOBljuYyD0-X75D8aB3EwWB3gCsXvFAaDd0NV4paHTfpTr_B2FYsvQQ4s6sAX3Egujgv8SBtOy5P6wn/s1600-h/Kilimanjaro+at+Sunrise+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287371474340599826" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsdL7RC4VfuqUbr2b3gBzR1YLlOaU44H-KP0NkLEbyk3FZj-eMtAmehUU6YEubRnOBljuYyD0-X75D8aB3EwWB3gCsXvFAaDd0NV4paHTfpTr_B2FYsvQQ4s6sAX3Egujgv8SBtOy5P6wn/s320/Kilimanjaro+at+Sunrise+1.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Kilimanjaro at Sunrise</span> </div><div align="center"></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I went on what I believe will be my last wildlife safari this week to Tsavo National Park. Tsavo is the largest park in Kenya, covering more than 13,000 square miles and split into an East and West park. My Pfizer colleague Fiona and her visiting friend Liam and I had planned to spend 4 days at a tent camp there, going on game drives, lounging by the pool and generally just taking it easy.<br /><br />We arranged the trip through Tim, the cab driver/travel agent who had organized our Zanzibar trip. All these guys seem to be connected somehow, and he had said that Michael, the driver who took us to Nakuru and Amboseli would be our driver once again. Unfortunately, early Monday morning I got a call from Michael explaining that he could not make it, but instead his friend Jimmy would be our guide. He assured us that Jimmy was a safe driver and knew the area well and we were in good hands.<br /><br />Jimmy picked us up on time and as we started to head out about 9:00 am, he asked if we wanted to stop at the grocery store to pick up some snacks. We asked him how long the drive would be and when he replied 2.5 hours, we decided that we would be fine without a stop. The 2.5 hours didn’t sound quite right to any of us as we thought the park was more like 4-5 hours away, but not being familiar with the country or the roads, we believed what he told us. That was our first mistake.<br /><br />As I’ve mentioned before, the Kenyan roads are just awful. In Nairobi proper, they are riddled with potholes large enough for a goat to fall into (and they do.) Outside of the city, there is a push to repave some of the major roads, such as the highway that runs from Nairobi to Mombasa. However, unlike in the States, repaving does not take place during low-traffic times, nor are cars shunted to other lanes during construction. Instead, a dirt road strewn with rocks is created parallel to the road under construction. These roads last for miles, and the bumps and dust is unbelievable. Also, although it is supposedly two lanes, but in actuality only about the width of one car, cars and truck perilously pass one another on both sides. We saw horrific accidents, most involving trucks and matatus who misgauged the on-coming traffic.<br /><br />We finally arrived outside the park gates about 2:00, and thought that the lodge would be a short drive inside the park. By this time, we were hot and hungry and were looking forward to a late lunch at the lodge. We were relying on Jimmy to know how to get there, but that was our second mistake. First, Jimmy took us to see Mzima Springs, a series of clear pools where hippos can be seen from an underground viewing post. After a brief visit, we got back in the van to head to the lodge. Unfortunately, the signage in Tsavo West did not list either the lodge or the entry gate where we needed to go, as it was approximately 60 miles away from where we had entered (we couldn’t enter any closer to the lodge because we would have had to go through Tanzania.) We started driving in circles, trying every small road and off-shoot. We were all frustrated, including Jimmy who wanted to go back to where we entered the park and start fresh. It so happens that he had never been to Tsavo before and he had no idea of where to go. We finally stopped at another lodge, asked directions, bought a useless map for $15 and were told we had a 1.5 hour drive ahead of us.<br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7w-X0jksnkJYeem29Hc8UmcZvb95dMgBSrIDTYU3GysYQGX_7O6pXnVIluNkPke3cdhvsDvFHiONrwdWKC72-msn6qeUeo7wrd1ZwjZ5soMh3rUDUSVJ6p1ip8G_IL6hpuOJfL40K5B0K/s1600-h/Hippos+3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287374769003805218" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7w-X0jksnkJYeem29Hc8UmcZvb95dMgBSrIDTYU3GysYQGX_7O6pXnVIluNkPke3cdhvsDvFHiONrwdWKC72-msn6qeUeo7wrd1ZwjZ5soMh3rUDUSVJ6p1ip8G_IL6hpuOJfL40K5B0K/s320/Hippos+3.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></p><div><span style="font-family:arial;">We finally arrived at the camp around 6:30 pm and were greeted with the traditional warm towel and cool glass of juice and found out that the lodge did not have a swimming pool - argh! We were then shown to our tents - no need for room keys here. When I first walked in, I was on the verge of tears. The standard issue green tent was furnished with three twin beds, a crib and a bare light bulb hanging over one of the beds. It was not the luxury tent I had envisioned (or seen at other lodges) and was more like something found at a Girl Scout camp. The back of the tent was partitioned with a canvas flap to hold a bathroom, complete with toilet, sink and shower. A single light bulb illuminated the bathroom, but not enough to see anything beyond the dark green of the canvas and the fixtures. I was convinced that we should leave first thing in the morning and go to the lodge where we had asked directions.<br /></div><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy83qqzMkn-5dgMCdubCJE-v4fpB4z3Vjv5ctye5qKVt6trIYPa7gN4-5aZN5Bj5qJYExzGtyIPD5_4yVyfUTbpY5HVatUOPhpzj77lJ046U-XfWLjQ-LbJkbKj0lIaaoJgVb5Dbv6LXsL/s1600-h/Crock+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287374052445293234" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy83qqzMkn-5dgMCdubCJE-v4fpB4z3Vjv5ctye5qKVt6trIYPa7gN4-5aZN5Bj5qJYExzGtyIPD5_4yVyfUTbpY5HVatUOPhpzj77lJ046U-XfWLjQ-LbJkbKj0lIaaoJgVb5Dbv6LXsL/s320/Crock+2.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center"></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Dozing Crock</span></p><div><span style="font-family:arial;">However, after a not very satisfying shower, a tasty dinner on the lawn in front of the animal watering hole and good night’s sleep, things looked somewhat brighter in the morning. The camp provided the guests with a personal naturalist, so Steven, a Masai, took us on a nature hike around the camp to see hippos, crocodiles and taught us about the native plants and birds. That afternoon, he accompanied us on a game drive, but unfortunately, aside from a recently deceased elephant carcass, we didn’t see any interesting animals. In the evening, we went on a nighttime game drive and again, there were no animals to be found aside from some bush babies up in the trees. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></div><p align="center"><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzGj3MoOnG9vpk14cy3CHsQNDspEmRDhS6BNAqJrqiMB4zuQgx5t0CHda0vznhJexNl-C4OT8T8f7qWEYmm_Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p align="center">Baby Monkeys Playing on Hammock </span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEX7SI2cyUhiiUryksvX21NP9IwzJc4VKaTAJexP5VTXIZF5Od38_lSECbJ8Hywpcy_tOv6VfXunQ8WIZTte8MwgoA3JMzq7ke9NWZH4GBFy_9Sz6vGafPMFQv6brztcXD7f-wk9byM9fJ/s1600-h/Monkeys+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287372743031237506" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEX7SI2cyUhiiUryksvX21NP9IwzJc4VKaTAJexP5VTXIZF5Od38_lSECbJ8Hywpcy_tOv6VfXunQ8WIZTte8MwgoA3JMzq7ke9NWZH4GBFy_9Sz6vGafPMFQv6brztcXD7f-wk9byM9fJ/s320/Monkeys+1.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil</span><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">We had read that the lodge offered horseback riding on thoroughbreds, so the following day, decided to give that a try. To say that the horses were thoroughbreds would be the wildest stretch of imagination possible. They were housed at a farm a few miles from the lodge, in one of the poorest villages I had seen. There were four horses, but only two were capable of riding (they barely looked capable of standing), and the guide needed one, so Liam went for a ride while Fiona, Jimmy, Steven and I went to the local bar (no matter how poor a village, there is always a bar) and had a cold drink. I suspect we had a better time discussing politics, poverty and healthcare than Liam who said his horse went so slowly he was afraid it would fall asleep. </span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><div> </div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ysNiu_GVRRUwp652YqS0UwETPLnG2ZdHV1MxQuPXlLnAQfYqCVX1qt1u3sCGFCh1wFFcVEJwyLjlwdkRMoOfDHSp0b7IKQBxVPegEfjuejM6EdTnTNduN48osvZVX3foaReaxZ9pGuEp/s1600-h/Tsavo+Village+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287373470634256834" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ysNiu_GVRRUwp652YqS0UwETPLnG2ZdHV1MxQuPXlLnAQfYqCVX1qt1u3sCGFCh1wFFcVEJwyLjlwdkRMoOfDHSp0b7IKQBxVPegEfjuejM6EdTnTNduN48osvZVX3foaReaxZ9pGuEp/s320/Tsavo+Village+1.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><div></span><span style="font-family:arial;">On New Year’s Eve, the lodge threw a party. First, were cocktails and “bitings” (appetizers) on the lawn. Then, dinner with a presentation and dancing by a group of Masai warriors. As midnight grew closer, the lodge staff came out and started dancing to the boom box that was playing hits from the 70s. The chef tried to keep order and announce the stroke of midnight, but everyone’s watches were different, so at sometime near twelve, he gave up and pronounced it 2009. Balloons were spilled on the ground to be stomped on, champagne and cake were passed and the Masai started dancing to Kool and the Gang. It was a memorable evening and one that won’t soon be forgotten. </span></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287414738313895842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHIFXigBeqXt947nkMXqiUqEdB0s2XveSJAEm2XA-E7ukauJRDOge0w9HO2oSkSa89DcZBSOQlIUFxqACzHjYUoWjUCwxQF-Hw7Ml40N8qeJX3mPwI9Px0dWO-DfNOv7WzP5aGjhiIvjrD/s320/Masai+Dancers+1.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">It’s back to work on Monday, after a nearly two weeks off. I suspect the next eight weeks will go quickly as I wrap up work, get in my last travels and head back to the States at the end of February.</span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287370112296794130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSL9xtATWH2Wi-mdju3emlB5Lza20joR44aA2_Xl9eOwR5KIKYCyd7P3DB29kgdWaiNjyCzEapAsl2pvd8Vq9poY1rIaA67LGmU8D1kNN3u409b8FFhujSvZ6TRyQ-GR5-Ze6Iyf8HVqa/s320/Fiona,+Liam+%26+Marge+3.JPG" border="0" /></span></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-85654412139849907812008-12-28T10:35:00.002+03:002008-12-28T14:42:22.244+03:00Christmas in Nairobi<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZAn4v4mg4MSK2Dx7UwPJF8YvWfWHHuj7vjxyVGv-K-x4tHn3QVuucvdio1Wzgk0psCX_Fh52Y8tG1g7so6iidWX-6isZ-Xw5Ur-gWgxqmCjzIeZQ0b2oPs0cU6L1a05IZPg9bqGfLm05J/s1600-h/Christmas+at+Kate"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284742504753451570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZAn4v4mg4MSK2Dx7UwPJF8YvWfWHHuj7vjxyVGv-K-x4tHn3QVuucvdio1Wzgk0psCX_Fh52Y8tG1g7so6iidWX-6isZ-Xw5Ur-gWgxqmCjzIeZQ0b2oPs0cU6L1a05IZPg9bqGfLm05J/s320/Christmas+at+Kate%27s+1.JPG" border="0" /></a> <div><span style="font-family:arial;">It certainly didn't feel like Christmas this year, what with the lack of commercialism and no decorated houses challenging the bright lights of Las Vegas. Instead, it has been a quiet week, punctuated with Christmas dinner at my manager's house. it was a very nice time, with her neighbors and another PSI colleague and her two small daughters attending. The girls certainly livened things up with their boundless energy. Kate had warned me that both she and her husband are vegetarians, so Tofurkey would be on the menu. However, there were no Tofurkeys to be found in Nairobi, so dinner consisted of many delicious vegetable dishes. It was hardly a disappointment as everyone knows that it's all about the side dishes anyway.<br /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">After a relaxing dinner, we played Perudo, a dice game. When Kate and Paul first told me about this, I was convinced that they had made it up, and worse yet, changed the rules as they went along. Indeed, at first it did seem like that, but after a couple of rounds (both of which I lost), I started to get the hang of it. The challenge of the game is to lie about what the face-value of your dice are, and guess what the other players are holding, based on probability. The problem is that the more you drink, the easier the lying gets, but the harder the calculations become. It was a lot of fun, but the rules were so complicated, I'd never be able to teach anyone else.<br /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Friday was Boxing Day, also a national holiday. Most businesses were closed (although I was surprised that the grocery store was open on Christmas Day), but one of the local shopping areas was open, so I spent the afternoon there. A number of shops were closed, but the outdoor food court was open, as was the Friday Masai Market. Since my first experience at the market back in September left something to be desired, I decided to give it another try. Although the vendors weren't quite as aggressive as I had remembered them (and nowhere near as aggressive as those in Zanzibar), it still really turned me off. Now that I've seen what wares are typically Kenyan and have learned what prices are reasonable, there are items that I do want to buy before I leave, but I wish I could just say, "If you leave me alone, I'm much more likely to buy from you." That attitude just doesn't fly, though. I once again left without buying anything, but will have to give it one more try before I leave.<br /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">As a follow-up to last week's post about reviewing resumes, I conducted interviews with potential candidates on Tuesday and Wednesday. I was stunned that Susan, the Office Manager, was able to arrange for 8 prospects to come in on one-day's notice, one even flying in from another province. I was impressed by the professionalism shown by each candidate (all women), however some of their qualifications left a lot to be desired. Susan, another colleague and I met with each person and asked typical interview questions, as well as presented some actual scenarios to gauge their problem-solving abilities. The women who impressed me the most where the ones who confidently answered the question about where they wanted to be in five years. These women had clear visions of their future, and were already working on executing that plan. After the official interview, Susan gave them a written test with a series of real-life situations to solve in 60 minutes. These weren't terribly complicated problems, but showed whether the candidate could read an airline itinerary correctly, knew the steps needed to plan a meeting with international guests and could calculate per diems. We finished the interviews with two contenders - one who was extremely well qualified, but perhaps overly so, and another who had a solid basic skill set, but will need a bit of mentoring. The hiring process is very swift, so someone will be offered the position during the first week of January.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm off to Tsavo West National Park tomorrow for one last safari and to ring in the New Year with lions and elephants. Happy New Year!</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-64408967205140642922008-12-21T20:29:00.004+03:002008-12-21T20:51:23.522+03:00It's Beginning to Look a lot like Christmas...Not!<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgaNgcbXuhM-DbCG8CrexyR6v2SwbRllhUAoa4ZHX2mIZl8H0ihrb7S585NWXwMSUKZ0nVGJWceNCvve2xpj5Vl049ehX55zs6l7HgQbHEuq69U_qD-ikuRV8HqNfAHQXWDoXvidaqxxt/s1600-h/Westgate+Band+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282300420465085346" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgaNgcbXuhM-DbCG8CrexyR6v2SwbRllhUAoa4ZHX2mIZl8H0ihrb7S585NWXwMSUKZ0nVGJWceNCvve2xpj5Vl049ehX55zs6l7HgQbHEuq69U_qD-ikuRV8HqNfAHQXWDoXvidaqxxt/s320/Westgate+Band+2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">In the past, I've visited Florida during the holiday season and although it was warm and sunny, it still felt like Christmas. Houses and businesses were aglow with lights, and lawns were strewn with crèches, snowmen and inflatable Santas. Even though the traditional snow was missing, the intensity of the commercialism was a tip-off that something was in the air.<br /><br />Not in Nairobi. Even though the malls put up decorations at the beginning of November, they are subdued and definitely fall toward the religious end of the spectrum, not the commercial. There are no lights on houses - whether it's due to the high cost of electricity or the fact that power grid regularly goes down, I don't know. On Saturday, I was sitting in the sun at an outdoor cafe at the local mall having lunch when a Salvation Army band marched by. Even so, they were not accompanied by bell-ringing Santas or severely-dressed women collecting money. Instead, there were two men on stilts preceding the band as they went up and down the street.<br /><br />Everywhere you look on the continent, there are problems in Africa. However, one of the success stories (depending on your perspective) is the proliferation of Christianity. Christian missionaries of every possible denomination have made Africa their mission, and have done it well. When I was working in the office in Uganda, all the colleagues had Jesus Christ screen savers and radio was tuned to religious music. It was similar in Zambia, as well. Because my office in Nairobi is primarily ex-pats, religious preference is less obvious, but among the local employees, Christmas is a holiday for religious celebration and reflection, not over-the-top gift giving.<br /><br />When I first arrived here, my housekeeper kindly invited me to attend church with her. Just the other night, I was reviewing resumes for an administrative position in the office. I knew that Kenyan employment laws were different and things like age, marital status and religion were standard to be at the top of the page. What did surprise me though was towards the end of the resume where people often list their interests, virtually every one had "listening to religious music" or "reading the Bible." The other two common hobbies were "making friends" and "reading motivational books."<br /><br />Those last two are fascinating. I have no explanation for how "making friends" qualifies as a hobby, but I do know the market for motivational books - both secular and religious - is huge here. Bookstores are jammed with Tony Roberts and Donald Trump. Just the other day, while stopped at a red light, a street hawker tried to sell me "The Mary Kay Story." There's a real hunger for knowledge and betterment here, and many believe that the more books they read, the more successful they will be. That's probably not a bad starting point, but with so much corruption, it will be an uphill battle.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282302015344475986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57XisBv75xf1Xpp8AmBPJjW_ZyeJETFKZ41D88K0FQmaYYMZTSZ-WJm0UVxri-GjWtVnsiFbPBILCogyNF3q-vkK2k0CzO9gHql187Etr75n9qBH6UM4Q3t-aNqW71f9k3oToIKRigubR/s320/Westgate+Band+1.JPG" border="0" /></span></div></div><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Holiday traffic outside the mall</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-61799377330700702992008-12-14T17:40:00.012+03:002008-12-14T18:35:47.566+03:00You Need Water for Falls<div><div><div><div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">My week in Zambia went quite smoothly. I arrived in Lusaka on Sunday and was met at the airport by a PSI employee. As always, it was nice to be greeting in a new place by a friendly face. Although Lusaka is Zambia’s capital, the airport was quite small - something on the scale of what Providence’s TF Green was like 20 years ago. Fortunately, this was made up for the by my hotel. I was staying at the Intercontinental for the week; a modern, sleek business hotel.<br /><br />On Monday, I was taken to the office where I deposited in an office whose occupant was on vacation. I think the intent by my hosts of giving me an office in which to work was quite kind, but it was also very isolating. I spent a great deal of my time during the day trying to find the people with whom I was supposed to be working. Between the office complex consisting of a rabbit warren of small buildings, closed office doors and the staff’s uncanny ability to never be where they were said to be, I found myself working on my own quite a bit. Ultimately, I was able to accomplish most of the things I set out to do, but it could have been done in half the time had the staff just sat down with me and done it, rather than spending lots of time talking about what needed to be done or disappearing altogether. I’ve found the work ethic, the ability to prioritize and a sense of urgency very different here, and often lacking.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbJ32VrN6s8VCEar0in2Mb3rICBCVJrqDkpXhFUD6aId2lGLQTkW_n5T3dTJoJHEryrKyi6vv3dyoLh6U36cFMBjFybKcptjq56A14dW1fYzbouUfPOsKL9xWJK-IusQ69rUUivV8PRFZ/s1600-h/Nicholas+and+Felton+at+Type+One+Pharmacy.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279658854350676834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbJ32VrN6s8VCEar0in2Mb3rICBCVJrqDkpXhFUD6aId2lGLQTkW_n5T3dTJoJHEryrKyi6vv3dyoLh6U36cFMBjFybKcptjq56A14dW1fYzbouUfPOsKL9xWJK-IusQ69rUUivV8PRFZ/s320/Nicholas+and+Felton+at+Type+One+Pharmacy.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Overall, the week went fairly well, and culminated in a field trip one morning to take photographs of “outlets” to be used in our survey. These are places where one can buy or be given antimalarials such as hospitals, pharmacies and in the case of Zambia, containers. Containers are former steel shipping containers that have had the narrow end cut off and are now used as a store. They sell everything from groceries, vegetables, clothing, medicines - pretty much anything that can be sold. It was fun to get out and see a little bit of the city, including a visit to one of Lusaka’s slums. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8qdc9aBgDfcxwH9u8D8nRyHrNNx4wQKbZGoR7EN8nyr0dEtlEe8fz9TlHeWEcw2wQSLLs1NGPbqIlbcU5BKqmbPIMcGWX64LUEt7ZPIlth_I20I0w5suW9YDycMKl62KeRd4zAYj0SwUP/s1600-h/Z1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279660912585942658" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 264px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8qdc9aBgDfcxwH9u8D8nRyHrNNx4wQKbZGoR7EN8nyr0dEtlEe8fz9TlHeWEcw2wQSLLs1NGPbqIlbcU5BKqmbPIMcGWX64LUEt7ZPIlth_I20I0w5suW9YDycMKl62KeRd4zAYj0SwUP/s320/Z1.jpg" border="0" /></a></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279660296005132098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2Cdfb-ml37vgzRzM628PEBOlKRI9PbaZGOKduZpqqBgb6fZNAL7fjDNuGJT2Jn60XXQnC9rtP9J_9fI5dKcXxGyY9BVdczBP7HQ6eskd8N_zpCovTCs1WRfkegY0Yg1oKVncs4j2Bdj2/s320/IMG_0821.JPG" border="0" /><br />On Thursday night, I flew to Livingstone to see Victoria Falls. Again, I was picked up at the airport (again, tiny) by a staff member from the local PSI office. It was completely out of his way and not in his job description, but a welcome gesture especially since the power went out immediately after I met him and we were plunged into darkness for a few minutes. I was a bit concerned about the quality of my hotel in Livingstone as I had booked it through Travelocity and it was significantly less expensive that the hotels that had been recommended to me by friends in Nairobi. Although those hotels sounded lovely, they were completely booked (and $400/night!) As it turned out, the hotel was extremely nice and the staff exceptionally helpful. I think in part that was due to the fact that I was one of only two non-conventioneers who were at the hotel at the time. Little did I know, the hotel was hosting all the African Ministers of Defense and their entourages. I was either in the safest location on the continent or the biggest target.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu4i-vKzpZZaiUezXccv-IrtQmCuf8p4oAf2yfiFscVrKPmNXdyVrg75dpjdp40HhpQTHQzfZf33fGIdIvCXPOUL_ECkLfZxgF3eUzc7h9YzgEpyiX0YXHHu2cZdisE_QQA3j2RvdEdWIC/s1600-h/Christmar+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279662341592216450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu4i-vKzpZZaiUezXccv-IrtQmCuf8p4oAf2yfiFscVrKPmNXdyVrg75dpjdp40HhpQTHQzfZf33fGIdIvCXPOUL_ECkLfZxgF3eUzc7h9YzgEpyiX0YXHHu2cZdisE_QQA3j2RvdEdWIC/s320/Christmar+2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />During the week, I was unexpectedly informed by the Zambian airline that my flight from Livingstone back to Lusaka had changed. Not by just a few minutes, but from a late afternoon flight to an early morning flight. Although that meant I would be able to get home a day earlier than planned, it also meant that I would not get a second day in Livingstone so I had to make the most of my time there. I decided to arrange for a guided tour of the Falls and a sunset cruise. Patrick, my tour guide, was friendly and knowledgeable, and we spent a nice morning walking around the park. Unfortunately, as I had been warned, this time of year the Falls are not full, so they aren’t as magnificent as though would be at their peak in April. In an effort to encourage tourists to visit year ‘round, the tourism board promotes the Falls during the off-season as an opportunity to see the rock face. Frankly, I would have preferred to see water. When the Falls are full, none of the cliffs can be seen and the mist is so heavy that tourists get drenched even standing on the opposite. The only moisture I felt was the sweat from an 85 degree day and dipping my toes in the Zambezi River.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyAY8K_LjCioBatBFf7jnmOubPPqoC9ZLkCEIkVArHejIIMxr45V-JEEqEae6WLy8rjCH611UxkJu_5rt3D1A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I was looking forward to the boat ride, but unfortunately, about 1 pm the clouds started rolling in and then it started to pour. It cleared up a bit late in the afternoon, but once on the boat, it quickly turned dark again and enormous raindrops pelted the boat. We had already left the dock when the sky was lit up by lightning bolts on all sides. I was sitting next to a Canadian woman and her husband and we all thought the boat should turn back, however the caption had no intention of doing so. He intrepidly proceeded, although we couldn’t see a thing through the curtain of rain and felt we were courting danger. Eventually, the storm lessened and we just had a soggy, grey ride up and down the river.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3beirc_ZM7nZYPYiTAiGnwjRe6mskPLRU2q6pifl40rhTIO1LsqXo9bleqPZxtBQ4rwQORvgEea5coucPwETg8J8J4C-0eKGsc2uASBuMJTI06yXNjT-aqGk0kwTnnFFSIs-CSHE7HRTy/s1600-h/IMG_0878.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279669365311983170" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3beirc_ZM7nZYPYiTAiGnwjRe6mskPLRU2q6pifl40rhTIO1LsqXo9bleqPZxtBQ4rwQORvgEea5coucPwETg8J8J4C-0eKGsc2uASBuMJTI06yXNjT-aqGk0kwTnnFFSIs-CSHE7HRTy/s320/IMG_0878.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />So that was my Zambian adventure. I left early the next morning, had uneventful return flights and was welcomed by smog, dust and heat at the Nairobi airport. Although it was nice to be back, I already missed the clean, clear air of Zambia.</span> </div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-83714697334374689772008-12-10T08:35:00.003+03:002008-12-10T08:45:42.743+03:00Quick Update<span style="font-family:arial;">I'm currently in Lusaka, Zambia having been sent here to work with the local PSI office for the week. Given the size and state of disrepair of the airport, I expected Lusaka to be as decrepit as Zanzibar, but I was quite wrong. Even though the airport is old and small and one still walks out across the runways to waiting 747s, the city is quite nice.<br /><br />I haven't seen much of the city beyond the ride from the airport/hotel/office, but I hope to see a bit more before I head out. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The first thing that struck me is, like Uganda, how green and lush everything is. It’s such a contrast to the dry, dustiness of Nairobi. Secondly, the air feels much clearer and cleaner. It’s warm, but not humid and there’s been a nice breeze since I’ve been here. Lastly, the city - or at least the outskirts - are quite modern. There are lots of office parks under construction - I even saw a new PriceWaterHouseCoopers building and the local Young & Rubicam office. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The city also appears to be safer than Nairobi. Although buildings are still gated, there seems to be less razor wire atop walls and fences and fewer guards with guns. One of my PSI colleagues said that it is indeed a relatively safe city (within reason) and a great place to raise a family.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I leave for Livingstone on Thursday to visit Victoria Falls over the weekend. Hopefully, I'll have some nice pictures to share from that adventure. Stay tuned...</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-35653359292359272522008-12-04T22:40:00.002+03:002008-12-04T22:45:11.029+03:00What a Racket<span style="font-family:arial;">Up until now, I’ve never traveled to a country for which a visa was necessary and I was unfamiliar with the process. Prior to leaving for Kenya, the Washington, DC office of PSI applied for a multi-entry visa to Kenya for $100, allowing unlimited entries and exits for 6 months. When my visa arrived, I was surprised to see that not only was just a stamp on a random passport page, but that it was a single entry and expired in 90 days. That meant that a new visa would have to be obtained so that I would not become an illegal alien for the latter half of my assignment. Cost? Another $100. <br /><br />Visas can either be obtained at the point of entry such as an airport, or ahead of time from the country’s local embassy. It’s better to get them prior to travel as one can then bypass the long line at the airport, and avoid any unscrupulous immigration officer looking to make a little money on the side. I’m fortunate in that my Kenyan office takes care of visas in advance by sending passports, required documentation (usually photographs and forms) and money with Alex the Cab Driver directly to the embassy. I suspect it takes a great deal of his day and he’s at one embassy or another nearly every day. <br /><br />The other interesting thing about visas is that they must be paid for in US dollars. I hadn’t appreciated how handy dollars would be (Zanzibar prefers dollars over its local currency) and I had only brought a few hundred dollars with me to Kenya. Although PSI pays for visas related to business travel, often the need for a speedy visa trumps the ability of the finance office to provide cash, and there is a mad collection of dollars from everyone in the office. My $300 has been passed back and forth many times since I’ve been here - I should charge interest! <br /><br />Visa fees vary widely country to country as well as by the nationality of the passport holder. US and UK citizens usually pay the most of all citizens. Single entry visas cost less than multiple entry visas and long-term multi-entry visas, cost the most. “Long-term” in this case is generally just one year. The process is structured in a way that not only is there a constant revenue stream, but also an opportunity for corruption. If an immigration officer decides to retain your passport or deny you entry even though your paperwork is in order, you don’t have much recourse but to pay a “fee.”<br /><br />My trip to Uganda in October was a relative bargain at $50 for a single entry. My single entry for Tanzania cost $100. Most surprising, the visa for my trip to Zambia, one of the poorest countries on the continent, has one of the most expensive visas at $135. UK citizens must pay $150. What I can’t understand is where all this money goes. Between visas, airport taxes, departure taxes and high airfares, travel in Africa is unexpectedly expensive. Next time, I’m going to spend six months in Europe where I can hop on a RyanAir flight for $50 and not experience any further extortion.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-32267550433627142772008-12-02T20:24:00.021+03:002008-12-02T22:04:42.867+03:00I've Got a Tab at Zanzibar<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnebE026Tjd46xnVxOyHudzbzc0e465IxtXSZf2c4YLolXeTAuTuXWrG_ZBMBtngBAPIpOSYYcSSpvfm2sOuIem8uhwKdVCFHFXsbWjweUZS6H_bDj_Foed9LWzE6T4T5SgVqJi1dGX-r/s1600-h/Stone+Town+6.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275265233988326706" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnebE026Tjd46xnVxOyHudzbzc0e465IxtXSZf2c4YLolXeTAuTuXWrG_ZBMBtngBAPIpOSYYcSSpvfm2sOuIem8uhwKdVCFHFXsbWjweUZS6H_bDj_Foed9LWzE6T4T5SgVqJi1dGX-r/s320/Stone+Town+6.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">My colleague Fiona and I arrived Friday morning to a miserable little airport in hot and humid weather. We then haggled with taxi drivers for a ride to Stone Town, the only city (I’m using that term loosely) on the island. The drivers were quite uncooperative and annoying, and one man who grabbed my bag to take it to the cab then demanded a tip. We were off to a bad start, it was raining, but we still had a good feeling about the place. Little did we know, that spirit of generosity was going to change quickly.<br /><br />The drive to the city was about 15 minutes and the biggest difference from Kenya is that the roads did not have the massive potholes that Nairobi does. There were few cars and things didn’t look so bad. There isn’t much wealth along this part of the island, but it didn’t look as bad as some other poverty-stricken areas we’ve seen. We arrived in Stone Town and since the city is mostly a series of winding alleys and few roads, the cab driver stopped a ways away and we walked the rest of the distance. As we later found out, he could have driven us directly to the front door of the hotel, but chose to have us walk in the rain instead.<br /><br />I guess the first trouble started at check-in. The lobby and common areas of the hotel looked fairly nice - authentic Zanzibarian furniture and architecture with lots of dark wood and tiles. Although our previously arranged room voucher stated we had booked a double room with two beds, we learned that the room only had one large bed. Luckily, we found that out before we trudged up the five flights of stairs. The front desk clerk was not at all accommodating when we suggested a number of options - a different room with two beds, putting another bed in the room and reducing our rate, or changing rooms for the next two nights. We finally got them to put another bed in the room - a twin bed set up in the middle of the living area. The suite itself was OK initially - a living area with a day bed, TV, fridge and one balcony looking out over the inner hotel courtyard and pool and the other looking out over the street. The bedroom was large with a four-poster bed (and requisite mosquito net) and another set of balconies. The bathtub was stunning - ornate cobalt tiles in a traditional design. As it turns out, function follows form in Zanzibar. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275270075116367698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBN1zWpqvL6QtOrKi3_A5aIiHAyJeK7jaHCIYc1BiVut1sSbWDvaIfQf3s5gVlfeUexBUlGs4Y0ARnYTIvVdo5kurWfUNVq_oeEmp5PtNeHnv2V2RMS7FI15rRT8j3INg-_SR2soPwjq2/s320/Dhow+Palace+Bathtub+no+Shower.JPG" border="0" />While the hotel staff was setting up the extra bed and figuring out how to rig up a mosquito net across the room, we decided to go for a walk and explore Stone Town. Unfortunately, it was raining very hard, leaving inches and inches of water (and trash and godknowswhatelse streaming down the street.) When the rain finally subsided, the city looked as though it might be interesting. As we walked down one of the larger streets, we were bombarded with vendors selling everything from CDs to bags of cashews. “Jambo Jambo mama. Welcome. Welcome. You will buy a CD,” was the constant cry. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275263756064554210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2R2AX4LeM7nkp8qGfmJBxK_dFVpcATm_prVCVqy1P8Yovm90JjWZwTi-dy-7uSkFc1GkR1rvk04Sq_h1pUTm_pKrf5GSEjkDFMNi3IxKz2T4JR6W_RpLTRDmDMgiEQSeuOxmqY7TfQXbN/s320/Stone+Town+3.JPG" border="0" />We stuck to the main road for a bit, then veered off to the Old Fort, a post-Portuguese occupation structure. Behind the fort is an amphitheater with merchant stalls lining the perimeter and an outdoor café. After a rest and a cold drink, we continued walking around and had our first experience with the shop owners with their relentless, aggressive sales pitches. Some even grab your arm and try to pull you into their store. I can’t imagine why they think that it is an effective sales technique, but apparently, it appeals to someone, just not us. There were paintings, woodcarvings and other crafts for sale, but very little that was different from what is available in Kenya. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275254079518814034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfPVenTshqg3T2q-SKbMri2-cVUoF2YjiNFH7uUVt8F44xV5ZTeavNXoOc4yzmTtOcC55TZzOE32_qV57cmEfMbFzwmuAkmRAasoCRb1SCs2PMuK-p_lRsUXAeSVxVi1FMzv3veSkJ8DwX/s320/Old+Fort+6.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275250595614406322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugHNBhd6aEO5Q9Ocko-AZmnNKWNFpzJvP8NN36C285eIq4qPVhyJ77jpDFkN0Q2q9vRpsFuoiibyluTlYKOJt97h_xC6vn7YkEbyR3mn5D5oPnB7rs0TFby6HSsN5pl_wQAC3GVbvMVJp/s320/Amphitheater+2.JPG" border="0" /> We continued walking to tour company for which we had a recommendation and sign up for a spice tour the next day. It was a bit of a hike, but we finally found the office, after being followed and harangued by men offering to take us there (for a fee, naturally.) The tour was to last most of the day starting with a tour of a spice plantation, then on to a beach for an hour, the slave cells and then back to Stone Town. We didn’t give it much thought and figured it was a good thing to do. We then zigzagged our way through the alleys, believing that following Muslim women through the passageways would provide a safer passage.<br /><br />The reason for going to Zanzibar in the first place was to meet up with another Global Health Fellow, Naomi, who had finished her assignment in Rwanda and was on her way back home to Australia. She had planned a week at the beach with her friend Michele, who had just climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro. We met Michele for dinner (excellent traditional fare and fresh seafood) then went back to our hotels while she waited for Naomi to arrive later that night.<br /><br />The next morning we rose to see if our friends wanted to go on the spice tour with us. However, things were getting worse. Fiona had been sick all night and could not move from the bed. Naomi’s flight had been cancelled the night before and after a crazy night of travel, had arrived just that morning. No one was in the mood for heat, humidity and being trapped in a van all day. I left Fiona to stay in the air-conditioned comfort of our room while I hung out with the other girls. We walked around the town some more, had more encounters with aggressive merchants and finally called an end to the wanderings mid-afternoon. By then, Fiona was feeling a tad better and decided to rally and meet the others for a drink that evening. That’s when we found out that the beautiful bathtub only had a hand shower, virtually no hot water and absolutely no water pressure. There was no way one could get remotely clean in there. After a hot, sweaty day, there’s not much worse than really craving - and needing - a good shower when you can’t have one.<br /><br />We met the gals for drinks, watched the sun set over the Indian ocean and caught up. Fiona was trying hard to participate, but she was clearly flagging, so we called it a night and went back to the hotel. By this time, we had started noticing how many ants, mosquitoes and other bugs were in our rooms. The nets had holes, the beautiful balcony doors didn’t close completely and all god’s creatures had free reign, including a rat scampering along the little snack bar by the pool.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8VQUZodkLWDwoVR-xGuxVfsKxfGGmvAX9rEBo_lgjAhCbpZi3W2ir363Z3KY0gKzPSi8zJRvydDavIlK3Q0jqE2Tqfk8e3-zj3exlREPSZnpGzoB_RWEZwcrFS2OZRi1ZPIvjQPwXvb4s/s1600-h/Indian+Ocean+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275266751234376834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8VQUZodkLWDwoVR-xGuxVfsKxfGGmvAX9rEBo_lgjAhCbpZi3W2ir363Z3KY0gKzPSi8zJRvydDavIlK3Q0jqE2Tqfk8e3-zj3exlREPSZnpGzoB_RWEZwcrFS2OZRi1ZPIvjQPwXvb4s/s320/Indian+Ocean+1.JPG" border="0" /></a>The next day we thought we’d give the spice tour another try, but again, the idea of spending the day in a van full of strangers was very unappealing. Instead, we got a recommendation from the front desk of a resort nearby where we could get a day pass and spend the time using their facilities - pool, beach, restaurant, etc. Unfortunately, it was just all wrong. First of all, it rained for the first couple of hours. Then, when the sky finally cleared, it was incredibly hot and we realized that the pool was cloudy and looked too risky to swim without getting some sort of infection. The ocean was murky too, as it was low tide and there was lots of seaweed and a nasty stench.<br /><br />We stuck it out for a while, and then went back to town for one last spin and an attempt to see some of the cultural sites. After pushing through the vendors one more time, we went to the House of Wonders, the local museum. One could see that during its heyday, the building itself would have been beautiful, but it was now decrepit, or as Fiona described everything we saw over the weekend, squalid. The “exhibits” were barely posters with some writing and Xeroxed pictures, and the smell of mold, dust and animal droppings permeated every corner. There was nothing wondrous about it at all. We then decided to go to the former slave market, now the site of a catholic church. We made our way across town (you now know the drill - navigating the vendors like a quarterback) and found the historical site. David Livingstone lobbied for an end of the slave trade in the mid 1800’s, but prior to that, Zanzibar was the hub where slaves were taken before being put on ships and sent to other countries. We went down into the basement where hundreds of slaves were chained in a tiny room with seawater and raw sewage running through it. Outside, there is a monument to the slaves. It was a very sobering experience. </span><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275255913895910930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_-iYAvH9Brs6RJetvmyWgBBWxmqoHdlT9YGGniu1Av9jqx6lSexZWIbqErwkobmzybXhKtogCbxqbVEX2uAnUk2WrTghPcv5Ji2u1hxIN5kUN5wpgSWkPUnFYs8AwymIkroEGxxGVRRmK/s320/Slave+Cave.JPG" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275261912212317362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_MGz8Uq7XyIBpmichY9Qod_4KDcMxqlAuBt1p8xO5h1S7y-tDKuK0yRh_g49yhvwncuLZTStWDYMJKdldY-3xsUuQ25yJ0AedTVmWjH-AwWvwMPHeAg99YvMYt7PQRoWV1jtxo0VOmzV/s320/Slave+Memorial+2.JPG" border="0" /><br />\We decided to have an early evening as we needed to get up at 4 am the following morning to catch our plane back to Nairobi. We had a great dinner at the hotel across the street from our own, but then had a frustrating encounter with our front desk clerk yet again when he refused to acknowledge that the hotel was responsible for our ride to the airport (we had the paperwork to prove it), or even assist in getting it straightened out.<br /><br />All in all, it was a very expensive, not very satisfying weekend I think one of the best things was the view of Kili on the plane ride home. And taking a shower with my sandblaster of a shower back home in Nairobi.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275252388861078370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS91odUuxxChSoBN97EWbZNMFbxM8PaKWeTSnIYB4hh1_63gtxMRZ0mEhGZXP6bZ9t3Vn9aOjVAJpky07cU7bobsPUUJuJ975vbZt0t0AO0kXn8Yn2AFgeYkGQE7_PL0YFs1Hrr1LtM-47/s320/Kili+from+Plane+4.JPG" border="0" /></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-39836698297163576472008-11-26T21:30:00.000+03:002008-11-26T21:32:18.937+03:00Hanging out with the Creative Types<span style="font-family:arial;">As my fan base maybe disappointed not to find a blog on Monday morning due to my weekend trip to Zanzibar, here’s a little tidbit to keep you going until I return. <br /><br />The other day, a friend forwarded an email from a member of the Special Libraries Association looking for someone to speak about Knowledge Management in Nairobi. Small world - the woman who had posted the request was someone I had met last Saturday night at dinner. At the time, I didn’t get a chance to talk to her, but made a note that I wanted to in the future.<br /><br />The posting was a perfect reason and we decided to get together for drinks. It was interesting to learn about her position as an information professional at the US Embassy. One of her responsibilities is to put together library programs throughout Kenya for end-users as well as create professional development programs for MLS students and library professionals. It was fascinating to talk about the future of information management with someone with both an NGO and governmental background. <br /><br />No sooner had we sat down for drinks, when a colleague of hers phoned and asked if we would be interested in attending the opening of a photography exhibit. The colleague is a public affairs officer and develops embassy-sponsored cultural programs for Kenyans as part of a goodwill effort. The show was in one of the galleries at the same museum I had been at the other evening, and was an exhibit of A Day in the Life of Nairobi. Twelve local photographers were assigned to capture all aspects of the city. There were some great shots of everything ranging from work to play. My favorite was one of a group of children pushing their broken down school bus - a not uncommon sight. <br /><br />It was an unexpected evening, but even more surprising was that I once again ran into my graphic design friends. Either they pop up everywhere or I do, but I’m definitely starting to get hooked into the local artist community here.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-46306047279236510882008-11-23T19:20:00.005+03:002008-11-23T19:41:05.353+03:00Freedom<div><span style="font-family:arial;">The exciting thing that happened this week is that two of the women who have recently moved to Nairobi have both purchased cars. No more reliance on cabs for them and less reliance on cabs for me.<br /><br />To inaugurate Risha’s car, we went to a fashion show Saturday night. I had received an invitation to this event earlier in the week and was a bit puzzled as to how I got on the mailing list. The invitation promised the themes of Mafia wives, tribal colors, tattoos and Chinatown - how could I resist a mix like that? The designer was a local and apparently a big name in Kenyan fashion. The event was part of the annual Samosa Festival, designed to bring together Indian and African culture and was held at the Nairobi Museum. We arrived at the time on the invitation, and were told the event would be on Africa time and would start an hour later than stated. Luckily the café was open and we were able to have cool drink and wait.<br /><br />When we were finally allowed into the hall where the show was to take place, I saw a guy I know setting up cameras. He’s the owner of the web design firm we have been using for ACTwatch, and also does film, has a sound studio and other graphic-type stuff. He’s the one who put me on the invitation list. The room was about half-full and we took our seats and waited for the show to begin. The show was held in the Great Hall which houses a tall, broad installation of painted gourds in the center of the room. A wide marble staircase at one end of the room led up to the galleries. The models had to negotiate about two dozen steps to get to the “runway” which circled the sculpture.<br /><br />The first designer was a current student and it showed. The pieces were ill-fitting and many looked unfinished. The models did their best though, gingerly making their way up and down the stairs, and attempting to show attitude while wearing very ugly clothes.<br /><br />During the break, a group of six dancers entertained with a mix of Latin, swing and hip-hop. They started off tentatively, but by the end of their set, had warmed up and looked like they were enjoying themselves.<br /><br />Next up was another local designer. She was a professional whose clothes were well-finished and fit better. Nothing was particularly cutting-edge or “runway”, nor was it particularly wearable, either. It was pretty middle-of-the road, topped off with a lot of sparkles.<br /><br />The next diversion was a group of boys who performed acrobatics. Not only were they impressive, but they came dangerously close to the gourd installation, yet somehow managed not to fall into it. That in itself was worth the price of admission.<br /><br />Finally, the main event - the designs from John Kavete, star of the show. By now, the models were feeling confident going up and down the stairs and were workin’ it. First up, were the “Mafia wives.” The models were dressed in very 80’s like clothes with wide shoulder pads and each carried a cigarette in a holder, 1920’s style. It really makes you wonder where the Kenyans get their information. We couldn’t tell if the next set of designs were the tattoo, Chinatown or tribal color theme, but the clothes were either linen or shiny satin, with some embellishments. They weren’t bad, and at least they fit fairly well. </span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271891962467832706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60JsNnCW91r9yqijYsdbEkmfM4g1YVHO7ul305sJoTRE7a4VHI7Dootc32eymlk_zQwiWDo8OgtTcdoKoIRHkG5IIcIZjxzKRShSW7ZkXVXmY0nxhvLAhCGq7liRgizcK6tne3iI1H99J/s320/Fashion+Show+2.JPG" border="0" />The show finally ended and we met up with a group of ex-pats at the Mexican/Italian restaurant I had been to before. Unbeknownst to us, it was another venue for the Samosa festival, and a special concert was underway. An Indian/African jazz fusion band was playing and although it made dinner conversation difficult, it was a fun night.<br /><br />Today, we christened Amy’s car and drove out to the Bizarre Bazaar, a craft fair on the grounds of the Karen Blixen house. This annual event hosts local vendors, but unlike the previous crafts fair I had attended, this was much higher priced. Many of the vendors have nearby shops and we even found some items that had US price tags on them that were marked up at 5 times or more the dollar price. This event clearly catered to the well-heeled westerners and the former colonists of Nairobi, and there wasn’t a black person in sight. There wasn’t anything to buy that couldn’t be found at the Masai market of TJ Maxx for a fraction of the price.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Overall, it was nice to be able to share in the independence that having a car brings, even if it’s someone else’s car.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-65248743638939323512008-11-19T09:25:00.002+03:002008-11-19T09:29:45.405+03:00An Eventful Day - Part 2<span style="font-family:arial;">The second part of the day started off innocently enough. Two weeks ago, the PSI Kenya office had planned an 18th birthday celebration for the organization. It was to be a big to-do with Ministry of Heath Officials, partners and vendors. Unfortunately, the day on which it was planned turned out to be Obama Day, a national holiday here. As I’ve mentioned before, Kenyans take their holidays very seriously and it was decided to postpone the event.<br /><br />Originally, a senior Pfizer executive who was in Nairobi at the time was scheduled to speak. Since he would no longer be in town, the task fell to the Commercial Manager for East Africa, Willy, a Kenyan gentleman I’ve met a number of times. I hadn’t planned on going to the event, but at about noon when I saw the program and learned that he would be attending, I sent him an email saying that I’d see him later that afternoon.<br /><br />I immediately got an email back, stating that he was in Johannesburg and I was now the guest speaker. As Willy is quite a joker, I thought he was kidding, but after a few back and forth emails, I determined that he was indeed not pulling my leg. I was now a speaker, but at least no longer the keynote! As I had not intended to attend, I wasn’t dressed for it. In fact, since the office is virtually empty, I wasn’t even dressed well for an average work day. Thankfully, I live close to the office and was able to run home and change into a suit. By the time I got back, it gave me about an hour to prepare what I wanted to say. I had a chance to speak briefly with Willy and learn of any specific points he wanted me to make, but basically, I was on my own. <br /><br />As an aside, the hotel at which the event took place is at the center of a controversy. The Laico Regency is often the subject of headlines as it was recently sold by someone who did not own it. To make matters more interesting, the seller is a member of parliament. <br /><br />I was surprised by the size and scope of the party. A troupe of Masai dancers and singers greeted people at the door, and the banquet hall was lined with PSI vendors and partners demonstrating their products. After an hour or so of mingling, we were finally herded into the ballroom for the presentations. Where we waited. And waited. We were waiting for the most esteemed guest, the Minister of Public Health and Sanitation. She was very late arriving, and then had a private tour of each of the vendors. <br /><br />The program finally kicked off a presentation about the launch of PSI Kenya’s new strategic plan (Pfizer-ites will be familiar with that. Expect it to change in 18 months.) Following that, the head of PSI’s malaria department said a few words and then I was up. I had been initially asked to speak for about 10 minutes, but given that the program was now running quite late, I was requested to limit my talk to just a few minutes or else I’d see the emcee (a local newscaster) give me the hook signal.<br /><br />Thank goodness for Toastmaster training. I remembered that in a situation such as this, it is important to first acknowledge the guests, especially the Honorable Minister. I then rambled on for a few minutes about Pfizer’s commitment, investment and strategic approach to global health, and the relationship the company has fostered with PSI. When I looked at the emcee, he was giving me the “get off the stage” sign, so I finished up and called it a day. A few more speeches, some photo ops and the receipt of a giant plaque and I was done.<br /><br />Afterwards at the reception, a woman came up and thanked me for my talk. She explained that both she and the emcee worked for a media company and they train people in public speaking. Said I spoke well, but then asked, “Are you from America? You speak very fast.” And I thought I had slowed it down!<br /><br />A quick word on Ethiopian food. It’s far tastier than Indian and you get to eat with your hands.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-625336887535967255.post-5044361317770050792008-11-18T22:43:00.000+03:002008-11-18T22:46:04.121+03:00An Eventful Day - Part 1<span style="font-family:arial;">Today started out quite routinely, but ended far differently than expected. I had my first experience with the US Embassy today, was suddenly called upon to give a speech and had Ethiopian food - all unplanned when the day started.<br /><br />Now that the US election has concluded, I have been appointed to another 4-year term as a Justice of the Peace in Connecticut. Prior to leaving for Kenya, I spoke to the local town clerk and she informed me that I could be sworn in for my term at the US Embassy. I had a few weeks during which to do it, but it was a quiet day at the office and I felt like getting out. <br /><br />After the bombing in 1998, the US Embassy complex was moved out of the downtown area to a suburb where security could be tighter, and on the surface, it was. There were many armed guards, barbed wire (no different than the average restaurant, actually) and some concrete barricades. I was first waved into the compound merely by answering that I was a US citizen. No showing of passport, or proof of identification. I was told to walk to the security area, bypass the queue where approximately 70 people were waiting in line and go directly into the building. There, my bag and I both went through scanners. I set it off (usually my hair clip), but was waved through. The contents of my purse were examined and my cell phone, camera and hand sanitizer were removed, to be picked up upon my exit.<br /><br />I was then told to go to the next building, where hundreds of people were waiting both outdoors under a pavilion and inside a large hall with very few wooden benches. By the way, the people in the queue and in the waiting areas were all black. I was waved through once again and told to go into a different waiting room equipped with a TV, private bathrooms and comfortable chairs. There were a few people in front of me, so I waited about 20 minutes for my turn. The woman handling citizen requests was helpful and efficient, but more importantly, she knew to charge money for her services. After coughing up $30, she authorized my signature card to be returned to the Stonington Town Hall. Since I had just spent more money than I have ever charged to perform a wedding, I asked if she could at least send it back to the US, a suggestion she adamantly declined. “Your fee does not cover postage” she said. The total transaction took less than 5 minutes.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01368686269059056791noreply@blogger.com1