My First Day with Milka

Friday, May 28, 2010

Today felt like my first real day in Kenya. It started as usual, leaving the house with Cliff at 6:15 and going to the gym. I met Milka, the Chair of the Nina Women’s Initiative at the Baobab office at 9. We took a matatu to her home, which is just about 20 minutes outside Nakuru in the small farming community where most of the Nina women live. We had to wait in the matatu in Nakuru for about 45 minutes to an hour for it to fill up with people going our direction, as the matatu will not depart until it is full. This gave Milka and I lots of time to get acquainted and go over some of the nuts and bolts of where Nina stands now, what resources are available and what the primary goals are. I also learned a lot about Milka. She is also 26 years old, and has two daughters, Vince, who is 6, and Vivian, who is 3. She is married and she and her husband have a small house on his mother’s property. Her husband works at a hotel in Nakuru and sounds like a good man, which is uncommon here.

I saw a matatu that had “DADDY JEFF” written in huge letters across the front windshield tint. I was kicking myself for not having a camera. (For those of you who might not know, my dad’s name is Jeff, so this is awesome to me.)

Along the way we passed all the military facilities for Nakuru, including the barracks, the academy, and the combat training facility. When we alighted at her stop, I saw the Kenya I imagined even when I was still back in the US.

Milka and I walked up a small road (more like a footpath) towards her home. As we walked along the lush green path, we passed cows, goats, sheet and many beautiful flowers and lots of crops. Milka seemed to know the answer to any question I could possibly have, and I felt very young and inexperienced next to her, now knowing that we are the same age, and she not only cares for her own family, but works incredibly hard to improve the lives of the women in her community.

We stopped at her daughters’ primary school, where my approach was alerted to all the students as soon as I was in eyesight with cries of “Muzungu! Muzungu!”. (Muzungu means white person) I was well received with tons of high-fives and “how are you?”s. I met Milkas daughters, who are adoreable, and then we went on our way.

We arrived at Milka’s family’s shamba (farm), which was stunning. Not only do they grow a ton of food, but she has the most beautiful assortment of decorative plants I have ever seen. Her house is cozy and colorful and the chickens walk around unimpeded. She also had a dog who I was warned not to touch. We then walked over to her mother-in-law’s house, which is only a few meters away. I didn’t go inside, but it was amazing to see the shamba. They grow spinach, kale, corn, blackjacks (I am not entirely sure what this is), banana trees and HUGE avocado trees. I told Milka that I would show her pictures of my trees and that she would laugh very hard. We picked an unidentifiable fruit and ate it from the tree. I also ate an ant by accident. We walked about 2km over to the Morokoshi School, which is another SpanAfrica partner, and is where the Nina Initative was born. For reasons I don’t totally understand, they have separated due to some sort of falling out. One of the teachers at Morokoshi is also a member of Nina, and upon meeting me, she immediately said, “I would like to cook for you!” I assumed that this meant at some later date, as it was about 11:30 am and we had just interrupted her class. Of course, I had forgotten about the tradition of Kenyan hospitality, and minutes later found myself being served tea and mazati in the director’s house.

We saw the old greenhouse, which was too small, and a new one that a neighbor has, that we would like to emulate. We saw the original shamba (known warmly as the “Grace project shamba”) and the shamba the group used last year, but lost due to the drought. I learned a lot about the history of Nina, and the enduring effort that Milka and the other woman have had to keep it going despite numerous setbacks.

On our way home, we stopped to meet other members of the Nina Initiative who was a recipient of some rabbits from Milka. The volunteer before me, Sarah, fundraised for a huge rabbit hutch, and 3 rabbits to start Milka’s brood. She has since been breeding the rabbits and gives them 3 at a time to each member of the Nina group. The women were very proud of them, and it was fascinating to see their homes and efforts at self-sufficiency. Milka told me that most of the woman had husbands who were drunkards and didn’t work or otherwise contribute to the family. All the responsibility for raising, feeding and supporting the family is theirs.

Walking through the country in the Rift Valley is probably the most peaceful thing in the world, and talking with Milka is strangely soothing, even when we are talking about difficult or odd subjects. Milka asked what church I belong to at home, and when I responded that I don’t attend church, she was shocked. “Well, at least you know that there is God”, she says succinctly, but with a cautious tone. I just smiled and nodded. In that moment and in that place, I suppose anything is possible. Later she asked me about autumn. She had heard that in America, there is a time in the year when the leaves turn purple. I told her all about the leaves in autumn, the naked trees in winter and blooms in spring. We discuss how this impacts the planting seasons, and I tell her that in Pennsylvania, we have a saying that corn is “knee high by the fourth of July”. She laughs that it’s different in Kenya. We are walking by two cornfields at two completely different points in the growing cycle, and it is certainly different. We talk a lot as we walk through the countryside. Our conversation flows smoothly, unlike the morning when the language barrier felt like constant speedbumps in our communication. Now we just feel like old friends, talking about the world and our places in it.

When we returned to Milka’s house, her father-in-law, sisters-in-law and many children were also home. The father-in-law was very warm, and spoke more English than the rest of the family (who spoke none at all… nor did most of the people who I met today). He kept insisting that I marry a Kenyan and never leave. As I sat on a small stool in Ruth’s kitchen (the mother-in-law), I thought that there could be worse things. The kitchen was dark and hot, with a stoked fire boiling away at the tea, somehow devoid of smoke. Melka led me back to her house while we waited for the tea to cook, and while we sat together on the couch, she showed me some of her other leather bags and necklaces, which were beautiful. We began looking at photos, which got Milka’s daughers and their twin cousins in a whirl around us. The girls soon began playing with my hair, which ended up in a lopsided set of plaits that hung in various sizes around my head. Milka and I laughed as Vivi changed into a party dress and told us that we all looked “very smart”. Milka and I sat talking as the girls went out to play. Even with the significant language barrier, I felt a great warmth from the whole family. The scenic setting and clarity of purpose made me want to curl up on Milka’s couch and never leave. Even the outhouse was charming in it’s own way.

On the way home, the matatu got a flat tire on Highway 104A towards Nakuru. We all got out, and it was fixed promptly. Still, as we stood in the grass in the median, a sharp looking man in an ill-fitting but well matched suit outfit wandered to a nearby tree to take a pee. Only one man abandoned ship and hailed another passing matatu. I realized that I don’t think I have ever seen a tire changed before… it doesn’t look as difficult as I would have imagined.

“I don’t mind if I make a lot of mistakes. It may be that in one of the blind alleys I may find something to my purpose.” – W.S. Maugham