Is it possible to trade shoes?

Studying to be a social worker, you constantly hear about shoes. How is it to be in "their" shoes... "hvor er det skoen trykker"? what is really the problem? 

Walking around in the slum really challenges me and my shoes:) Would I be willing to trade shoes? Put on a pair of worn out car tire sandals that have seen to much of dusty muddy roads. I so badly want to say yes. Want to keep believing that I'm as open minded ans "conformable" as I've thought. But‚ I find myself trying to convince me of something I am not. I am not poor. I don't live in the slum. I have a nice apartment to go home to. I have a bed to sleep in. I have food on the table.I am educated. I come from one of the richest countries in the world. And Nairobi makes you so painfully aware of this. A city that is to dangerous to be able to live like you are anything else than rich and white. That's just how it is. It feels like a big dry potato that I have to swallow. I hate driving home from work, passing through town and somehow feeling like I'm driving into a different world. Sometimes I feel like I'm gonna choke on being the privileged one. 

Sometimes all I want is to sell everything I own, not eat and just see if I would manage on the "other side of town". But, being here in Nairobi, a city contrasted with banks and money, internationals and all the pleasures they indulge in, and on the other hand the poorest of the poor, I feel like the answer is to just swallow the potato. Some things you just cant change and you just have to deal with it. You have to be able to accept the differences and live with a foot in both worlds.

Teaching the children in school today about self-awareness, I find myself in the same position, pondering on my own teaching. They wrote down things they can change, and things they can not change about themselves. A part of making them realize who they are and that life contains permanent and non permanent issues. Being here is certainly making me self aware. Who I am, where I come from, and who I want to be. I just wish that we could all wear the same shoes. I know I cant trade mine, and I know I will never fully know how it is to wear theirs, but I hope that I wont ever take my comfortable adidas for granted, and I hope I will be willing to give them a way, anytime...

En reeeal roadtrip til Naivasha og Nakuru

Vi kjente behov for å komme oss ut av Nairobi igjenn, å legge ut på et lite eventyr. Det første var å leie oss en bil, noe vi ikke gjørde før dagen før vi trengte den, og endte derfor opp med en som ikke ville starte i utgangspunktet... første gang vi åpnte døra, datt en av skinnene av... en em, spennende start er det jeg vil kalle det...

Etter litt mekkings fikk vi start på den lille hvite bilen vår som skulle være grunn til mye og glede og enda mer frustrasjon de neste dagene... (merk: bensin lampe som konstant lyst "empty", lås på dør som ikke funket, bagsje luken som ikke vill åpne osv.)

Med MEG bak rattet sneglet vi oss ut av parkeringsplassen, på venstre side av veien i en by hvor ordet traffik har fått en helt annen betydning... traffikreglene jeg har lært meg i Norge har INGEN betydning what so ever, her nede. Heldigvis trengte jeg bare å kjøre i 10 min (noe som holdt masse for meg i først omgang, jeg ble ganske svett av den lille turen) før vi plukket opp vår venn og tur kompanjong Asap...
Først kjørte vi til Naivasha, en liten by ca 2 timer fra Nairobi...

http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&source=s_d&saddr=Nairobi,+Kenya&daddr=Nakuru&hl=en&geocode=Fftq7P8dG8cxAimnSU3YchEvGDFMkpeyVALP9w%3BFTut-_8da1UmAinvC2HPkI0pGDEawny8Mxjy8g&mra=ls&sll=-0.308131,36.113605&sspn=0.091323,0.150719&ie=UTF8&z=9

Å campingplass det ble. Vi frydet oss over å kunne sette opp telt, finne fram ryggsekken og brød og sjokkopålegg...:) 

Uansett hvor happy vi var for å være ut i det fri, ha gress under føttene og lage mat på skikkelig campingvis, la regnet en ganske stor demper på stemmningen...

For Julie er det viktig at det ikke finnes maur eller andre krypdyr der hun skal sitte...

Dag en begynnte med frokost i teltet... siden det fortsatt regna... men vi tok omsider turen til en liten nasjonal park... og yes, dette er safari bilen vår.. jeg vil ikke anbefale det, men den tok oss faktisk en god rundtur rundt i parken, till tross for at vi var livredde hele tiden for at vi skulle sette oss fast. Jeg kan forsatt ikke tro at vi ikke gjorde det, ettersom denne bilen er sinnsykt LAV... til alle våres ergelse over de million fartsdumpene vi måtte kjøre over...

I denne parken så vi faktisk masse giraffer, zebraer og buffeloer... men, jeg må ærlig inrømme at å ta bilder av dyr er det kjedligste jeg vet... derfor, har jeg ikke capture any of these moments... men folkens, det er bare å slå på animal channel, så får dere se det jeg ser med mine to blotte øyer..:)

a little "lunch" is all you need...

Opportunism. This word just popps out to me as I’m reading about Gaddafi in this weeks edition of TIME. How he has used his position all these years to promote himself, always thinking ahead with every move, every relation. I haven’t heard this word alot, but somehow I feel like it describes what drives people here. Its like they are always looking for an opportunity, mostly in form of “lunch” or something “small” or more understandable to us foreigners; CASH. Money means education, education means a possibility to get a job, and a job, is everything. 

In Norway, speaking of unemployment, seems similar to finding a needle in a haystack. You just cant compare it. Here, even though you have a good education, the chances of getting a job are slim. A friend at St. Johns told me some days ago that before starting on an education, you have to consider if you know anybody in the business, cause then you might get lucky and actually get a job when you’re done.

 I just find miself speachless sometimes... I’ve grown up with all the opportunities in the world. Frases like, follow your heart, do what you want to do with your life and it’s more important to be happy than becomming something you wont thrive with, just seem like cursing. Poverty makes you desperate. Then there’s only one answer, and that is beeing lucky enough, getting an opportunity. No wonder I feel like everybody is focused on money, on getting a great opportunity slammed in their laps. Striking gold....

And for so many years, this is what the white skins have nuriched. A white face giving out opportunity packages... cash and food. No wonder a concept like empowerment and believing that you are an opportunity is hard to introduce. Creating your own world, creating a life you want your children to have. This is what I find myself so desperatly wanting people to believe in. Believe that life is an opportunity we all have. An opportunity that isn’t disgraceful to chace after. But coming as someone who has never had to stand face to face with hopelessnes, or with literally NO opportunities, isn’t easy, and almost feels like blasphemy to say that money isn’t the only opportunity. Is it okay to be willing to sacrifice a safe future for following your dreams, maybee not playing the safe education card? Or don’t frases like this excist in a world where getting food on the table every day is the top and only priority? Beeing here with my white skin and all, I find that this challenges me. I cant help thinking that I will allways second question my so easily condemming, when it comes to falling for the opportunity of money and placing such a high value on it. It is a different world here.  

”When we focus on the weaknesses of another culture, we miss its strengths and beauties”

This frase is something I come back to again and again by beeing here. Somehow I just see so much beauty and life here. I just love driving around and looking out at people, shops, factories, markets, traffic and homes. There is so much happening here, so many details, so many stories. Feels like no matter how bad things are and all the discouraging stories we hear, I just enjoy everything so much. Enjoy greeting everybody with a handshake no matter how busy you are, smiling to myself when people shout out something like ”i love you baby” across the street, enjoy how the matatu drivers shout ”beba, beba, beba” as loud as they can and as fast as they can to get passengers, enjoy the crowdedness of the city, how african women march along the dusty roads in high heels and dress skirts, enjoy how you have to share your seat with the matatu driver if you’re unlucky enough to get in last, enjoy the african ragga/reagge that blasts its way out of the speakers in the number 9 matatus that are nicknamed ”gangster busses” because of the young- and coolness of the guys that own them, I smile my head off when I guy asked how big a plane I think he would need to transport all the goats he would give my father for me to norway, love sitting on the sand in a little hut in Wagir learning about the ways of people; how they build houses with straw and wood and tie it together with animal skin, how they cool down the chai by pouring it in another bowl and moving it around, enjoy how our friend Adam shows us around the village and can’t stop exclaiming how ”very much hot” it is, and how ”very very much welcome” we are and how we ”very very very much we must feel at home”, how walking on the sand makes your feet burn even though you are wearing sandals, how the small children in burkahs run away when you look at them like you are some kind of monster, how the car slides through the sandy roads like we’re driving on snow.

 

Can’t stop loving the smiles of these people, how their white teath just light up every day, how the pastor at St.Johns turns the service into a disco with the numerous beats he can play on the keyboard, how the librarian who also is a scout leader becomes heartidly excited about me beeing a former scout, how the shop assistent insists to carry our water up to the appartment for us and reminds us that we must not forget him benny (or kenny) rogers, he has the greatest smile, love how all the kids dance around before the movie showing in the slum, how kenyans belive that a car can drive anywhere, even a bus down a dirt road in the slum with holes as big as the moon and houses as tight as brick walls, and I could go on and on,  I just enjoy these people, and the crazy untidy, unsystemized, crowded, loud and unlogical culture, where colors and and smiles and te are served freely... I love the hustling about, how nothing is predictable or on time, I just have to smile...

Here are some pictures from our trip to Wagir this weekend...

Historier på alle kanter

I dag var vi å hadde en introduksjon om GBV i Form 1 i secondary schoolen, som er som 1 klasse på videregående. Jeg skulle prøve å forklare de en introduksjonslek som går på å si en bevegelse med samme bokstav som på fornavnet. ”Jumping Joyce” feks... jeg spør om de skjønner, alle nikker og sier ja.. så begynner vi på runden, og det er visst ingen som har forstått det. Sånn går dagene her noen ganger, alle skal kunne engelsk, og de har undervisning i engelsk fra 1 klasse på primary, men når det kommer til stykke er det vanskelig å kommunisere...

Timen fortsetter, og lederen for senteret forklarer om ”gender” og hvordan dette er et sosialt konsept. Hun spør hvor mange som mener at kvinnens plass er på kjøkkenet, og 10 av guttene rekker opp hånden... ikke så rent overraskende. Jeg hører hele tiden fra sjefen på senteret at ”women are suffering”. Daglig hører jeg om brudd på menneskerettighetene mot barn og kvinner. Daglig om korrupte politimenn. Likevel, er historiene om hvordan flere og flere er bevisste på rettighetene sine, og KACA (anti korrupsjonssenteret) som fanger flere og flere korrupte i systemet, like mange.

Dette landet er på forbedringens vei, og det går framover! Likevel, er det en grunn til å undervise om GBV på skolen og klubber. Satt og leste i en dikt bok om GBV offre her om dagen, og tårene kom da jeg leste dette diktet, rett etter at supervisoren min fortalte om barn på skolen (som er vegg i vegg med kontoret) som gikk i 3 STD (mellom 8 og 11 år) som brukte dop i friminuttene. Da hun spurte en av disse jentene hvorfor, svarte hun: da vil det ikke gjøre så vondt når jeg blir voldtatt.

 

Never Forgotten

I was only eight when it began

Late at night, when I was alone.

You preyed on my innocence and my trust.

How did I know that it was wrong?

 

You did things so horrible to me,

My soul and body bared.

What you did to that little girl

Left me alone and scared.

 

You said it was to show your love

By taking my body for your use.

But now I know that what happened to me

Wasn’t love; it was abuse.

 

All the dirty things you did to me

Won’t wash away with rain.

Nothing in earth will rid my heart

Of this neverending pain.

 

I hope that you hurt as much as I do

Or do you even remember what you did?

Nothing will make up for the pain you caused

When I was just a kid.

 

The physical scars you put on my body

Have since healed with time.

But my pain still shows on the outside

Whenever the child inside of me starts to cry.

 

That little eight year old girl

Had to grow up way too soon.

And all of the hurt and pain you caused

Will always be remembered like a flower

that forever blooms.

 Jobben og oppholdet her svinger mellom å synes at ting går framover og, kanskje det ikke er så fært som vi tror, og det å høre fra alle hold at voldtekt og vold er en realitet, noe som de fleste jenter har opplevd. Jeg har enda ikke måttet stå ansikt til ansikt med en av disse sakene, og håper nesten at jeg ikke må. Fattigdom er roten til det meste her. Kvinner blir avhengige av menn for å ha noe å brødfø barna med. Mennene blir frustrert fordi de er arbeidsledige og ikke kan komme seg ut av fattigdommen og tyr til alkohol. Samtidig som kvinnesynet er veldig diskriminerende. Jeg hørte her om dagen at de som er vanskeligst å jobbe med er kvinnene selv mellom 40 og 60. De fleste av dem stemte i mot en ny lov som skulle komme om vold i hjemmet. Det er vanlig at kvinner her sier at det at mannen ens slår en er et tegn på at han elsker deg. Mødre blir desperate og selger døttrene i prostitusjon. Og slik går rundhjulet til roten av problemene. Det eneste jeg kan gjøre er å stille meg villig... se, være og lære...