Meeting the Women of Nina

Monday, May 31, 2010

I left the house at about 7 to head to my first day with the whole group of women in the Nina Initiative. They meet at Milka’s house, and I didn’t have any trouble finding it on my own. When I alighted the matatu at her stop, I was excited to walk up the long path in the brisk morning air (ok, it was freezing and I was totally underdressed because I wanted to wear a tank top to see if I could get some sun). I came upon a woman with a child who was probably about 2 years old. I greeted her, “Haburi?” She laughed and responded, “Mzuri, tu?” and before I could even respond, nudged the small child and said something in Kiswahili that I didn’t understand, but after the child ran up to me, offered his hand and said in a tiny voice “Habari yako, muzungu?” (How are you, whitey?). I responded, “Mzuri, tu?” (I am well, you?) and he beamed with a smile and answered, “Mzuri.” Then he ran back to his mother, who appeared proud. I am not sure if there was some larger significance, but in some way I felt like they had considered me to be a good luck charm. It was a good start to my morning, as sometimes these things can make me feel more like a circus freak than anything else.

I walked further up the path behind a small girl who couldn’t have been more than 4 years old on her way to school. She wore a bright orange dress and watching her swinging her arms and swaying under the weight of her lunchbox under the trees that arched over the path was picturesque. I didn’t want to pass her, should I ruin the moment. As we approached the gate to the nursery school, I couldn’t dawdle anymore and walked up beside her. She gasped, and smiled, and then ran ahead to catch friends on their way in the gate. She nodded in my direction, and they all turned and chorused “How are you? How are you?” I responded in the typical fashion, “I am fine. How are you?” Giggles all around as they rushed into school.

I arrived at Milka’s door at 8, an hour early. The trip was much shorter than I anticipated. She was just sending her daughters off to school, and I was quickly served chai (tea) while she got them out the door. We then took large sacks over to the shamba (farm) to pick weeds for the rabbits. I was doing pretty well until I accidentally picked a potato plant. Milka kindly corrected me, and teased, “You don’t do much agriculture in America, do you?” We both laughed and went back to feed the rabbits.

When the women arrived they all came to sit in the living room of Milka’s house. Just after 9, the door is closed and the women say a prayer to start the day. Any woman who arrives after that time must pay a fee of 10ksh for being late. Each woman pays 20ksh each Monday for materials, and 10ksh for tea later that day. The finances are tallied, attendance taken, and then we all exit to the yard between Milka’s house and her mother’s to begin work. Huge plastic sacks of tangled plastic strips of packaging material are emptied onto the ground. The woman fluff them up, and grap a piece, cut an end and start unraveling. The piles are waist high, and I think we will never get out of this mess. Slowly but surely the strips are untangled and wrapped into sensible rolls. It turns out I am totally incapable of untangling and wrapping the plastic at the same time, so Sara untangles as I wrap up the cords.

Once the women feel they have enough, they begin weaving the bags. Milka starts one for me, and shows me quickly how to do the weaving. About 2 minutes later, Jeniffer, the vice-chair of Nina, stops me and shows me again how to do it. I think I am finally doing it right, when they both stop me again. I have been so focused on my weaving that I hadn’t been paying attention to the outcome. I have begun creating a tube instead of a bag, as my bag has started growing upwards instead of outwards to form a bottom. They both laugh, attracting the attention of the other women, who all laugh too. Milka pulls out my stitches and shows me again how to do it. I finally think I understand, and get back to work. The woman all talk rapidly in Kiswahili and I just listen quietly and focus on my weaving, The plastic is difficult to maneuver, and I have trouble keeping track of my stitches, which is difficult because I am so slow (there is a specific ordering to the stitches so you have to remember where you are in the rotation).

We rotate to stay out of the sun. I am excited to be getting some color, but suddenly worry that I am starting to burn. I move into the shade, but the damage is done. I am very red. We stop for tea, and then keep working. I realize that my tiny little disk is fairly pathetic, as many of the women practically have full bags. Ruth, the treasurer, suggests I might take mine home to work on throughout the week. I agree. She looks at my lopsided disk, takes it from me, and with a few stitches and other mysterious maneuvers, makes it much more pleasant looking. Some women also make necklaces, and I am given one. I am told that I look smart, which I now realize means that I look stylish or pretty. I have been told that several times by passersby and often my young girls, and have been a little bemused by it. At least in the US, blondes are rarely given such a compliment without justification.

Milka insists that I say for lunch, and we have a long talk over the rice, kale and potatoes that she has cooked. We always have good conversation. We talk about Nina’s potential, and brainstorm about the best action plans to raise the funds we need to achieve Nina’s goals. We talk about the idea situations, and how we can get there from where we are now. Nina wants to have a smoothly operating shamba and greenhouse, and it will take a lot to make that happen. We decide to meet with the local Agricultural Officer as soon as possible to get as much information as possible. We are also going to explore new methods of income generation through sales of the bags, jewelry and other goods the woman can make. We think about new venues for sales, and the feasibility of various methods. It is clear that The Nina Initiative is not short on talent or ideas. In the coming months, we just need to figure out how to execute on the tremendous potential that these remarkable women have to offer.

I head home and when I am walking back through Nakuru, I notice a bump on the inside of my finger. I have a blister from crocheting bags. I am oddly proud. It suits me to get a blister from doing the girliest thing I have done in a long time!