Been out for a week. A rundown:
Learned a friend died. Cried. Went to a rural school. Looked at the crumbling walls. Looked at brown drinking water. Felt completely spent. Excused self from interview. Hid in car. Almost vomited. Collected self. Went home. Thought had amoebas. Went to doctor. Got meds. Packed bags.
Bid Kisumu adieu. Flew in airplane. Found airplane engine reminiscent of lawnmower. Watched storm play with lawnmower-cum-airplane. Shook head. Laughed. Slept.
Arrived Nairobi. No electricity. No water. No Internet. No time like present to visit elephant orphanage.
Left Nairobi for Amsterdam. Slept 7 hours 55 minutes of 8 hour flight. Arrived Amsterdam. Brushed teeth. Drank tap water. Called Dutch friend Wouter. Ate breakfast with Wouter. Laughed and laughed. Talked about life.
Left Amsterdam for DC. Watched Marley and Me on airplane. Cried. Vowed to never again watch sad movie during daytime, on airplane. Flew over New York City. Took photos.
Arrived DC. Waited for Alex. Waited. Waited. Waited 2.5 hours. Considered killing Alex and throwing body into ravine. Decided to scream at Alex for 6 hour drive to North Carolina. Screamed. Slept. Awoke. Apologized. Accepted apology.
Arrived North Carolina. Drank wine. Slept. Woke. Ate biscuits. Walked on beach.
Attended wedding of Charlotte Lebo and Bryan Geddy. Spoke in wedding. Cried (5,000th time this week for those who are counting). Felt honored to have incredible friends. Danced to Tina Turner. Laughed with father of groom. Giggled with mother of bride. Slow danced with Alex. Asleep by 11.
Left North Carolina for DC. Arrived to Wedley Park, DC. Listening to Pocketknife and Cousin Cole. Smiling. Trying to wrap head around past 7 days. Constantly saddened, delighted, surprised by life.
Shannon
Monday, September 28, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
A Muddy Morning
I arrived to a school the other day with mud dripping down my neck and splattered across my white shirt and black bag. A colleague looked at me, smiled and said, "Shannon. I do not want you to be concerned. However, you are full of mud. Also, your ears and face are turning pink. You need your lotion. And a bath."Being that we were about 45 minutes from the nearest structure-resembling-a-shop and 1 hour from the nearest location-resembling-a-town, lotions and baths were out of the question.
I wasn't the only thing that was messy. Here was our car, which I have nicknamed Dalmatian:
Dalmatian and I both had black mud on our pale exteriors:
This is the school we were visiting:
This is why we are visiting schools:
Notice anything interesting about the roster? Aside from the huge overall drop in attendance, the thing that most interests me is the change in the boy:girl ratio as students age.Why are girls dropping out in such high numbers? Lots of reasons. Pregnancy, lack of family support, loss of parents, lack of money...
How can the government, NGOs and research organizations best work with schools to change this? This is what we're trying to learn. This is why I'm happy to show up to work caked in mud.
xo
Shannon
Friday, September 18, 2009
Cade of the Week
Baby Cade, channeling baby chicks.
Cade is now walking. Whoa.
xo little chick!
Shannon
Cade is now walking. Whoa.xo little chick!
Shannon
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Happy Birthday Alex
Happy 30th Alecky.
From Chicago and Jerusalem,
to New Braintree and DC,
from Turkey and Tel Aviv,
to Baltimore and Wadi Rum...
It has been quite an adventure. Where will end up next?
Seni seviyorum canim benim, cok,
Canin
From Chicago and Jerusalem,
to New Braintree and DC,
from Turkey and Tel Aviv,
to Baltimore and Wadi Rum...
It has been quite an adventure. Where will end up next?Seni seviyorum canim benim, cok,
Canin
Monday, September 14, 2009
Meeting Mama Sarah, grandma of Barack Obama
Mama Sarah's front door:
Yesterday I met Barack Obama's gram, Mama Sarah, at her home in Kogelo, Kenya. Kogelo is a tiny town about an hour outside Kisumu. It is the burial site of Obama's dad.
It is almost impossible to drive through Kogelo and not feel hairs rise on the back of your neck. The village is nearly identical to other poor, rural, Kenyan villages- dirt roads, cattle herders waving long sticks, children carrying buckets on their heads. To think that in two generations, a family can move from Kogelo to Chicago is astounding. To think that, more specifically, the move started in a mud hut on an unmarked road and ended in a white house at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is beyond comprehension.
The trip made me see my work in Kenya's schools and rural communities with new eyes. The students I interview and talk with - the ones with no latrines, no electricity, no running water, no money for books or shoes or uniforms or food - these kids could grow into a person that brings hope to the world.
Before anyone comments on my photos or this post, I want to say this: I hesitated about posting photos or describing this experience. For me, meeting Mama Sarah marked an experience of a lifetime; it is something I will cherish and, one day, tell my children's children. Sadly, to someone else, this marked an opportunity to write an offensive comment on my facebook page. I acknowledge that people do not agree with or respect Obama. I do not respect when individuals who call themselves my friend use my experiences to engage in bashing, from either side of the aisle. Belittling another person's enthusiasm - in this case, my enthusiasm- is in poor form and quite frankly, it was insulting. To the individual who did this- and who never before felt compelled to comment on my blog or my facebook page- I politely request that you refrain from comment.
Photos from Sunday, September 13, 2009 when I met Obama's gram and visited his father's grave...
The drive to Kogelo, nearing the village:
Arrival to Mama Sarah's house, she greets guests under this tree:
Close-up of the chairs:
We were the only guests present during the visit. Sometimes there are many busses of tourists. Sunday was a slow day. We were 6 visitors from Illinois and 1 from Boston. Oh, and two turkeys who scared me to death because they were huge:
As you sit in the chairs and look to your right you see this:
As you look to your left, you see Obama's father's grave:
Directly in front of you is Mama Sarah. She spoke of her son, Barack Obama Sr. and her amazement and pride for the accomplishments of her grandson. Mama Sarah does not speak English although she understands quite a bit. She speak Dholuo, the language of the region, and her daughter (Barack's aunt) translates. My friend Bethany greeted Mama Sarah in Dholuo and Mama Sarah nearly toppled over giggling:
Mama Sarah invited me to sit next to her for a picture. I asked her how she reacted on the night that Barack gave his speech in Grant Park. She said she was so excited that she ran up and down the path to her house cheering and smiling. "She ran," her daughter said. "Even with the cane." Mama Sarah said she didn't cry that night, "I'm a Luo. Luo women don't cry when we're happy."
I smiled like this for the rest of the day. Here I am with Adam Jadhav, an old friend who stopped in Kenya to visit while en route to India. Adam and I have a growing collection of photos of us posed like this in far-flung locations:
And here's me still beaming with Amy (left) and Bethany (right) on the path from Mama Sarah's house. Amy is an epidemiologist with UIC; she is also my unofficial life coach. Bethany is my rockin colleague from Emory; she's also a confidant and close friend.
As you leave Mama Sarah's to go back to the main road, you drive past the Senator Obama Secondary School. They're thinking of renaming it, but it involves quite a bit of paperwork I was told: 
Once you hit the main road back to Kisumu, the reality of life in Kenya hits you quickly. Here is a man that was wandering down the street:
And the ubiquitous coffin vendor:
Finally, this is the train that runs along the highway just a few minutes from my home in Kisumu:
I feel very fortunate to be precisely where I am today.
xo
Shannon
Yesterday I met Barack Obama's gram, Mama Sarah, at her home in Kogelo, Kenya. Kogelo is a tiny town about an hour outside Kisumu. It is the burial site of Obama's dad.It is almost impossible to drive through Kogelo and not feel hairs rise on the back of your neck. The village is nearly identical to other poor, rural, Kenyan villages- dirt roads, cattle herders waving long sticks, children carrying buckets on their heads. To think that in two generations, a family can move from Kogelo to Chicago is astounding. To think that, more specifically, the move started in a mud hut on an unmarked road and ended in a white house at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is beyond comprehension.
The trip made me see my work in Kenya's schools and rural communities with new eyes. The students I interview and talk with - the ones with no latrines, no electricity, no running water, no money for books or shoes or uniforms or food - these kids could grow into a person that brings hope to the world.
Before anyone comments on my photos or this post, I want to say this: I hesitated about posting photos or describing this experience. For me, meeting Mama Sarah marked an experience of a lifetime; it is something I will cherish and, one day, tell my children's children. Sadly, to someone else, this marked an opportunity to write an offensive comment on my facebook page. I acknowledge that people do not agree with or respect Obama. I do not respect when individuals who call themselves my friend use my experiences to engage in bashing, from either side of the aisle. Belittling another person's enthusiasm - in this case, my enthusiasm- is in poor form and quite frankly, it was insulting. To the individual who did this- and who never before felt compelled to comment on my blog or my facebook page- I politely request that you refrain from comment.
Photos from Sunday, September 13, 2009 when I met Obama's gram and visited his father's grave...
The drive to Kogelo, nearing the village:
Arrival to Mama Sarah's house, she greets guests under this tree:
Close-up of the chairs:
We were the only guests present during the visit. Sometimes there are many busses of tourists. Sunday was a slow day. We were 6 visitors from Illinois and 1 from Boston. Oh, and two turkeys who scared me to death because they were huge:
As you sit in the chairs and look to your right you see this:
As you look to your left, you see Obama's father's grave:
Directly in front of you is Mama Sarah. She spoke of her son, Barack Obama Sr. and her amazement and pride for the accomplishments of her grandson. Mama Sarah does not speak English although she understands quite a bit. She speak Dholuo, the language of the region, and her daughter (Barack's aunt) translates. My friend Bethany greeted Mama Sarah in Dholuo and Mama Sarah nearly toppled over giggling:
Mama Sarah invited me to sit next to her for a picture. I asked her how she reacted on the night that Barack gave his speech in Grant Park. She said she was so excited that she ran up and down the path to her house cheering and smiling. "She ran," her daughter said. "Even with the cane." Mama Sarah said she didn't cry that night, "I'm a Luo. Luo women don't cry when we're happy."
I smiled like this for the rest of the day. Here I am with Adam Jadhav, an old friend who stopped in Kenya to visit while en route to India. Adam and I have a growing collection of photos of us posed like this in far-flung locations:
And here's me still beaming with Amy (left) and Bethany (right) on the path from Mama Sarah's house. Amy is an epidemiologist with UIC; she is also my unofficial life coach. Bethany is my rockin colleague from Emory; she's also a confidant and close friend.
As you leave Mama Sarah's to go back to the main road, you drive past the Senator Obama Secondary School. They're thinking of renaming it, but it involves quite a bit of paperwork I was told: 
Once you hit the main road back to Kisumu, the reality of life in Kenya hits you quickly. Here is a man that was wandering down the street:
And the ubiquitous coffin vendor:
Finally, this is the train that runs along the highway just a few minutes from my home in Kisumu:
I feel very fortunate to be precisely where I am today.xo
Shannon
Monday, September 07, 2009
An antidote to public health
Some days public health facts piss me off. I'm typing a paper that starts with Every 15 seconds a child dies from a water-related disease. That's 20 jumbo jets of children dying every day, or more than 2 million child deaths a year.
I have a headache from grinding my teeth. My cuticles are bleeding.
To get my mind off dead and dying children, I walked around the neighborhood. Then I came home and started looking through photos from last weekend when Bethany (roommate) and Adina (Swiss friend) and I went to a rural village with 10 Kenyan friends to paint chalkboards in a pre-school.
I'll let the pictures tell the story.
Drive to the village with Adina.
Adina and I making faces:
The newly-built school where we painted chalkboards:
The old school: 
Interior of the old school: 
Chalkboard in the old school:
Interior of the new school:
Painting a chalkboard:
Looked to my right and noticed some onlookers:
Curious onlookers as seen from outside:
Me and curious onlooker who taught me Luo words for snake and corn and school:
Adina painting a mural inside the school:
Painting a mural outside the school:
Friends:
Interior of a nearby school (Frank Lloyd Wright inspired windows!):
The finished product:
Makes the statistics of public health seem somehow more manageable.
Shannon
I have a headache from grinding my teeth. My cuticles are bleeding.
To get my mind off dead and dying children, I walked around the neighborhood. Then I came home and started looking through photos from last weekend when Bethany (roommate) and Adina (Swiss friend) and I went to a rural village with 10 Kenyan friends to paint chalkboards in a pre-school.
I'll let the pictures tell the story.
Drive to the village with Adina.
Adina and I making faces:
The newly-built school where we painted chalkboards:
The old school: 
Interior of the old school: 
Chalkboard in the old school:
Interior of the new school:
Painting a chalkboard:
Looked to my right and noticed some onlookers:
Curious onlookers as seen from outside:
Me and curious onlooker who taught me Luo words for snake and corn and school:
Adina painting a mural inside the school:
Painting a mural outside the school:
Friends:
Interior of a nearby school (Frank Lloyd Wright inspired windows!):
The finished product:
Makes the statistics of public health seem somehow more manageable.Shannon
Sunday, September 06, 2009
a pen friend from the '90s...
Friday night, thanks to facebook, I got a message from my old friend from Southern England Russ.
Russ is on the left. Our German friend Mario is on the right. That's a photo from 1995, when Russ and I met in the Black Forest of southern Germany. On that trip, Russ and Mario introduced me to cigarettes (awful), beer (thankfully, a step up from cigarettes) and Brit Pop (I can't imagine life without it).
The summer involved no romance. I was a newly-minted teen, petrified of boys. Russ and Mario showed more feelings for Coolio than they did for girls. We became pen pals though and sent one another letters with mixed tapes. My letters to Russ grew progressively more adoring ("Russ, I think you have a really cool accent. You are really cool and funny."). Russ' letters to me grew progressively more aloof ("Shannon, you have great music taste. Enjoy the enclosed mixed tape."). An omen? Yes. Meeting Russ marked the beginning of a lifelong penchant for men with accents.*
Imagine now, 15 years later, catching up with an old crush.
It lasted about an hour and went like this:
me: So tell me the story of your life. Or maybe just the last 15 years.
R: Hmmm. Well, I just got back from paddling.
me: Paddling?
R: Yes. It was great but the water here is rubbish.
me: Ohhhh, like kayaking! In England? You can kayak in England?
(here we launched into a chat on kayaking, surfing, San Diego, southern California, a bunch of places in Southern England, retirees and British surfer-chic)
me: So back to the last 15 years, how has it been?!
R: Oh! For my 30th birthday party, I had a fancy dress theme ... "dead musicians." I assigned everyone a celebrity.
me: Awesome! Who were you?
R: Shannon Hoon!
me: SHUT UP!
(this began a conversation on Blind Melon, mixed tapes, MP3s and the concurrent demise of mixed tapes, Ash and the Smashing Pumpkins. We concluded that best feeling in the world - particularly to a 14-year-old - is to receive a mixed tape with letter from the other side of the world.)
Russ called me a "fecker" for stealing his favorite tee-shirt in 1995 and a "nutter" for making fun of Gavin Rossdale and Bush. I mentioned that I completely |explicit word deleted| hated him for seeing Radiohead and Neil Young perform recently. I may have also injected the words shithoused and asswipe (beautiful American contributions to the lexicon of English slurs) into the conversation.
Russ has every letter I sent him from '94 to '97. Sadly, I don't have even one from him.
How have Russ' last 15 years been? I have no idea. My last 15 years? Who cares. How did it feel to catch up with someone from so long ago? Positively wonderful.
Shannon
*Alex, honey, you are the next chapter in that book, obvi.
Russ is on the left. Our German friend Mario is on the right. That's a photo from 1995, when Russ and I met in the Black Forest of southern Germany. On that trip, Russ and Mario introduced me to cigarettes (awful), beer (thankfully, a step up from cigarettes) and Brit Pop (I can't imagine life without it).
The summer involved no romance. I was a newly-minted teen, petrified of boys. Russ and Mario showed more feelings for Coolio than they did for girls. We became pen pals though and sent one another letters with mixed tapes. My letters to Russ grew progressively more adoring ("Russ, I think you have a really cool accent. You are really cool and funny."). Russ' letters to me grew progressively more aloof ("Shannon, you have great music taste. Enjoy the enclosed mixed tape."). An omen? Yes. Meeting Russ marked the beginning of a lifelong penchant for men with accents.*
Imagine now, 15 years later, catching up with an old crush.
It lasted about an hour and went like this:
me: So tell me the story of your life. Or maybe just the last 15 years.
R: Hmmm. Well, I just got back from paddling.
me: Paddling?
R: Yes. It was great but the water here is rubbish.
me: Ohhhh, like kayaking! In England? You can kayak in England?
(here we launched into a chat on kayaking, surfing, San Diego, southern California, a bunch of places in Southern England, retirees and British surfer-chic)
me: So back to the last 15 years, how has it been?!
R: Oh! For my 30th birthday party, I had a fancy dress theme ... "dead musicians." I assigned everyone a celebrity.
me: Awesome! Who were you?
R: Shannon Hoon!
me: SHUT UP!
(this began a conversation on Blind Melon, mixed tapes, MP3s and the concurrent demise of mixed tapes, Ash and the Smashing Pumpkins. We concluded that best feeling in the world - particularly to a 14-year-old - is to receive a mixed tape with letter from the other side of the world.)
Russ called me a "fecker" for stealing his favorite tee-shirt in 1995 and a "nutter" for making fun of Gavin Rossdale and Bush. I mentioned that I completely |explicit word deleted| hated him for seeing Radiohead and Neil Young perform recently. I may have also injected the words shithoused and asswipe (beautiful American contributions to the lexicon of English slurs) into the conversation.
Russ has every letter I sent him from '94 to '97. Sadly, I don't have even one from him.
How have Russ' last 15 years been? I have no idea. My last 15 years? Who cares. How did it feel to catch up with someone from so long ago? Positively wonderful.
Shannon
*Alex, honey, you are the next chapter in that book, obvi.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Laughing Away in Kakamega
We went hiking and camping in Kakamega National Park last weekend. Kakamega is the last bit of rainforest left in Kenya. It's well known for lush vegetation, several breeds of monkeys and some of the world's largest snakes.I used to associate Kakamega with one of public health's great, albeit flawed, community-based health interventions. You can read about that intervention here. It's a story about hope, derailed.
Thankfully, Kakamega has now taken on a new meaning. That Saturday night, sitting around a fire with Nat, Darryn, Cat, James and Bethany was pure fun. Between Bethany's storytelling, James' wit and Darryn's scotch ... I bellylaughed for about 15 hours and slept for maybe 3. I forgot how much I love laughing. Hopkins kinda beat it out of me.
This is Udo's, the campground where we stayed. That little hut is where we slept:
We cooked in another hut. Darryn and Nat did the grilling. Bethany, James and I took care of the drinking.
Then we went for a sunrise hike in the rainforest. Normally I hate sunrise events, but this one was fun as I had stayed awake laughing all night:
We were all pretty dead when we reached the high point to watch the sun burn the clouds off the rainforest canopy (left to right, Cat, Darryn, Patrick our guide, Bethany, James):
The view:
Life is sweet.xo
Shannon
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Boda Boda photo photo
Bethany and I decided to make a quick run to our grocery store, Nakumatt. We took boda bodas.
Self portrait with boda:
Boda from behind:
Nakumatt Nyanza, the superstore that puts others to shame:
Self portrait with boda:
Boda from behind:
Nakumatt Nyanza, the superstore that puts others to shame:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)