This is Nik Schuetz’s blog about the Peace Corps in Kenya.  Disclaimer: in no way does this blog reflect the attitudes, opinions, or values of the Peace Corps, and they should in no way be responsible for anything I say, etc. etc.

Ok, I am finally able to post something.  I am now in Kericho, Kenya and will be living here for the next two years.  I am feeling more and more settled each day, as I slowly accrue enough furniture to feel at home.  Last week I got a bed, and tomorrow or the next day I will get a coffee table and a few stools.  I have started cooking for myself, and even though I miss my host mama’s old fashioned home cooking, I am happy to develop my African Culinary skills.  Last night I cooked Ugali for the first time.  Ugali is a traditional African dish made from maize flour, and usually served with Kale or spinach.  I eat a lot of rice dishes otherwise.

I know this will be repeat info for a lot of people, and for that I am sorry, but to catch the Kansas City Frisbee crew up to speed allow me to tell some anecdotes about my home stay in Loitokitok.  My host family was great.  I had a 19 year old host brother who was home on break from college, a 12 year old brother in school, and a 7 year old sister that was my primary teacher in Kiswahili at home.  There was another brother and sister but they were away at boarding school the whole time.  Oh there was also the son of my host mama’s friend that lived with us most of the time, my host mama and baba, and during the day there was a house lady to help with the work.  Needless to say it was a full house.  Oh yeah, and a paka (cat) that had a very playfully aggressive attitude.  It often attacked my legs on the walk across the yard to the toilet.

So other than learning Kiswahili at an accelerated rate (it was the fastest I ever learned a language), we had some time to wander around town, sample the local cuisine, and even get together as Americans and celebrate the 4^th of July properly!  That weekend, we rented out a facility that was outside of town a tad and safe enough for us to consume some of Kenya’s finest “Tusker” beer and “Safari Cane” rum.  We were going to make hamburgers, but meat grinders are hard to come by, and the meat is pretty tough and a little expensive for our meager peace corps salaries.  So we settled on black bean burgers, guacamole, some chapatti (local flat bread) and some delicious desserts that were kind of blobs of sugar and sweet ingredients that were heated up.  It was wonderful, and it was great to be able to stay out past our curfew and relax a little (we were required to be at our host houses at 6:30 every night except this one).

Some weekends, my host baba (dad) had a small gathering with a community group a few kilometers outside of town and I was privy to join him to a few goat slaughtering parties.  They started out by slaughtering a few goats (I always showed up just after this happened) and begin roasting them.  Meanwhile people sit around, converse and enjoy the setting sun.  Slowly a few beers come out, and Muratina which is similar to mead in that it is made with honey, but also includes the muratina fruit, which grows on a “sausage tree.”  I don’t know what the scientific name of it is, but it only grows in parts of the country and it does have fruit that looks like huge meat logs, I guess.  So we sit around drinking and start to eat the roasted meat.  Sometimes this includes the scrumptious intestines, and at the end, a goat stomach filled with blood sausage.  It’s actually really good, if you like blood sausage.  The drinking and eating continues for an oblivion of hours, at one I was asked to give a speech, and at one I was given a mzungu dance.  Allow me to explain:  first I should tell you that these goat parties are very masculine events, usually consisting of 50 or so grown men, usually in decent social standing.  And it is expected that these men should dance together at such events, and I definitely can’t turn down a chance to dance a silly white boy dance and not be ridiculed for it because it must be a cultural thing.  But at this goat party, however, there was a different agenda that had been planned.  In the middle of the manly dancing, the man with the mic topped the music and said something in Kiswahili, the only words I could pick up were “mzungu dance” which means white person dance.  Looking around quickly I confirmed that yes, I was the only white person probably in 25 kilometers.  Then they explained to me that it was my turn to dance and that I should pick a partner.  Fortunately at this particular goat party, there were maybe 4 girls in the crowd, I’m not sure where they came from, but as the dance floor cleared I awkwardly tapped one on the shoulder and we danced by ourselves in front of 50+ men.  It was a little awkward, but again, for all they know, that’s just how we dance in America, so I don’t think it was terribly obvious that I am a terrible dancer.  The honey beer helped.

Lastly at one of the goat parties I was able to share a little “American” culture and teach about 20 men how to make guacamole.  They loved it and all the ingredients are readily available, especially the avocados which are the size of your head.  Oh, let me not forget my most proud of cultural exchanges: I was given the privilege of slaughtering a whole turkey!  Yeah, a big one too!  My host family had slaughtered a chicken or two for me in the past, which was great, but the week before I left they brought a turkey and handed me the knife (yes knife, not ax, and a dull one at that).  Anyway I was proud that I was able to go through with it, and I felt a little more justified in eating the subsequent meal.  They are still confused why we don’t slaughter more things in America, and that most people have never done it.

So all in all my host stay was wonderful.  Sometimes the training could get on your nerves and all you wanted to do was go sit in an air conditioned movie theatre, munch on some popcorn, or god forbid be by yourself for a while, it was still an unbelievable experience.

So know I am living on my own, equipped with the tools to allow me to live as a true Kenyan, and am slowly grasping my life agenda for the next 24 months.  That was a really long post, but I will have more regular access to the internet for a while, so they should be more bite sized and frequent.  Hope all is well where you are, be it Kansas City, Bulgaria, Beloit, Madison, Broken Arrow, or New York.

Keep in touch,

Nik