I'd made plans with my supervisor, Moses, to go see his home village and family at around midday.  Knowing how Kenyans operate (i.e. late for everything), he'd suggested to meet at noon, so I half-jokingly told him I'd just expect him at 3pm.  He called at 2:30.  He asked me to take a piki piki and meet him at Bishop Stam, which he tells me is this well known conference center a few kilometers away from town.  After haggling with the piki piki for a right rate, I got there on a 50/= ride and saw Moses seated on a tree stump.  I asked him what's up and if his village were in the area.  He tells me no (his village is actually an equivalent amount of kilometers in the other direction out of town), and that our plans had changed with a smile on his face.

Next thing I know, I'm on a hired bus sitting with the entire Zanzibar national football team.

We're heading towards Mumias where, along with Nairobi, the CECAFA Senior Challenge Cup is being played this month.  Now, I've never been a football fan, and I totally understand that Zanzibar or any of the teams that were in this Central and East African tournament are world contenders of any kind.  Zanzibar isn't a member of FIFA, since it's technically not a nation given it's a part of Tanzania, and I don't believe any of the national teams as part of CECAFA have qualified for the World Cup.  Still, consider the transition between "Oh, I'm heading to the village this afternoon" and "Oh, I'm sitting with an entire national football team."  This is the kind of ease of access and off-the-beaten-track kind of fun I'll miss about Kenya.  (If you care, Uganda beat Burundi, 2-0)

One more worthwhile anecdote.

On the way home from the match, our hurtling charter bus comes to a screeching halt on the side of main road.  Then, everyone starts yelling (almost chanting) in Kiswahili and they all run off the bus.  I was dozing off, and I jolted up thinking there must've been a huge accident (which happens pretty much every hour on these main roads) or there was some mob justice happening (equally likely).  Before I know it, the team is running back onto the bus each literally double fisting 3-4 stalks of sugar cane nearly 6 feet tall.  The rest of the ride home, all you could hear was the sound of teeth ripping into sugar cane.  The Kenyan escort for the Zanzibar team leans over to me and simply says, 'I wanted them to try Kenyan sugar cane."  Oh.  Right.

Hahaha, more than the ridiculousness of my situation, I couldn't help but think about the unassuming mama who must have owned the sugar cane stand they'd wiped clean.  Isn't that a store owner's dream?  That a bus carrying an entire voraciously hungry sports team stops and gives you the business of a lifetime?  That mama hit the jackpot.

Last week, while starting off on a typical 15 minute walk to the FSD offices from my office building, I was yelled at and waved down by a boda boda driver.  My standard policy is to ignore people yelling and waving me down: keep your eyes fixed ahead and pretend you are thinking so very hard that your hearing functions are temporarily out of order.  In a brain fart, I accidentally thought I recognized this particular boda boda driver as part of one of our microfinance clients, but turns out I was totally wrong.

He introduced himself as Patrick and asked where I was headed.  Stuck in the conversation, I told him I was heading over to some offices at the Kholera House.  He looked really excited and then said and did the following:

"GREAT!  Okay my friend.  I sit here [motioning at the passenger seat affixed above the rear wheel of these bicycle taxis] and you sit HERE! [pointing to the actual bicycle seat]."

My first reaction was "Oh heck no.  I get enough crap walking around town as is.  I don't need to make a complete fool of myself to boot."  But then I realized this was an awesome opportunity.  I asked him how much it would cost me and he waved me off saying it would be free.  I didn't need much more convincing.  We crossed the street and, yes ladies and gentlemen, I gave the Kenyan boda boda driver a free ride on his own bicycle taxi to my destination.  What was even more unexpected about this situation was the lack of reactions I got.  Well, it was more like they just weren't verbal reactions.  By the time the bike flew past and the bystander could register the oddity of the entire situation, all he or she could usually muster was a gaping stare or a huge smile.

Ever the businessman, Patrick thanked me and told me to remember to come find him for a fair price on my next boda boda ride.

...can one get motorcycle riding lessons for $2/hour!  What a bargain!

One of our clients at KES is a piki piki driver (David), and on a whim, I asked him if he were free this past weekend to give me some motorcycle lessons.  I figured with the (non-existent) driving rules in Kenya, it might be worth a shot.  It turns out he gives lessons at a rate of 300/= per lesson, which at a rate of 75/= to the dollar, is amazing.  Name me a place I could get decent motorcycle lessons in the U.S. for $4, and I'll concede the whole point of this entry.

I arranged to meet up with David on a rainy Sunday afternoon, and in true Kenyan fashion, instead of showing up with his piki piki, he sauntered on over to our agreed-upon meeting point in front of Barclays Bank on foot, and told me to follow him.  We ended up at his church, where he pulled up a lawn chair literally in the middle of the front yard-space of the church and asked me (in all fairness, politely) to sit and wait for an hour because he was the chairman of a wedding committee and had to attend a meeting.  I obliged.  Lucky for me, the church service let out at the same exact time, so the Kenyan congregation came flooding out of the front doors of the sanctuary, where to their delight, a bewildered "Chinese" was parked on their front lawn!  (This bring a whole new irony to the fact that people mispronounce my name as "Angel" upon introducing myself because "AN-drew" is pronounced as "AHN-drew" with a British-sort of accent and they never understand me.)  Well, there goes any recollection of what the sermon was all about.  These people will all remember it as "The Sunday The Mzungu Was Found on the Front Lawn."  It's still unclear whether I or the congregation felt more confused about the state of affairs as they exited the service.

After that was over, David took me to some back roads, which he claimed were safer "because there aren't as many cows and chickens walking around".  Orange cones are totally overrated for driving lessons.  Try running a slalom through cows and chickens!  The lessons themselves were really straightforward.  After a quick rundown on the clutch, gears, accelerator and brakes, he told me to get on and pull us into first gear.  I'll admit I nearly dropped the bike the first time - first gear on a car is hard, but first gear on a bike balanced on two wheels takes nerves.  I got it down in due time, and soon I was working my way through the four gears on the 100cc bike (good to learn on by the way).  Sure, I got plenty of jaw-dropping stares as an Asian guy with an older Kenyan man straddling the rear seat kept circling their neighborhood's back roads, but otherwise it was a success!  I can officially say I can ride a motorcycle and have a unique learning experience to boot!

Some fun tidbits from the collision of American and Kenyan cultures:

1. Sending packages
My mom sent me a Halloween package from the U.S. filled with a whole lot of goodies - thanks Mom!  The package itself was probably about USD 20.  To send it took another USD51.  Then, for me to simply pick up the package from the Kenyan Post Office cost me KSH430 (about USD 5) for VAT and customs duties.  I guess, it makes about sense.  The Kenyan VAT is nearly 17%.  The moral of the story: "The ideal Kenyan care package, is to not send one at all."... otherwise we'll all be broke.

2. Microwaveable popcorn
One of the items in the Halloween package was microwaveable popcorn.  Interestingly, you'd be surprised at how common popcorn is here.  It's actually probably the only snack that doesn't get lost in translation between Kenya and America and vice versa.  Try potato chips in Kenya and you'll get a very stale, thick equivalent of deep fried potatoes.  Try to find cookies and you'll have no luck unless you call them "biscuits" (pronounced: bis-quits).  However, maize is the staple crop of Kenya and so you'll find popcorn to be commonly sold here in huge bags or through vendors popping it at kiosks scattered across the storefronts of supermarkets.  (By the way, to shed some light on the difference between "maize" and "corn", my MacBook's dictionary defines maize as the "technical or chiefly British term for corn".  Ohhhh.)

My family had a field day with the microwaveable popcorn.  How could you pack corn kernels into a flat, air-suctioned paper bag, throw it in a microwave and have such mouth-wateringly good popcorn?  And it comes out flavored!  The popcorn here is flavorless since it's literally just popped corn.  We Americans, not content with having a low calorie snack, pre-douse our microwaveable popcorn in a rich buttery syrup that hardens to a brick-like consistency before being microwaved.  One cultural faux pas?  Most Kenyans do not own microwaves owing to their cost-prohibitive nature and the utter unreliability of electricity.  Solution?  My program coordinator took one bag and, removing the kernels from the packaging, cooked it straight in a pot.

3. Candy and chocolates
I was delighted enough to receive huge bags of fun-sized Kit-Kat, Butterfinger Crisp, Mounds Dark Chocolate, and Reeses chocolates, in addition to a fresh package of Milk's Favorite Cookie, Oreo (I just realized they're singular on the packaging).  When I shared this with my Kenyan friends and colleagues, judging by their faces as they washed it down with liters of chai, they were simply ecstatic.

4. Situating yourself in a Kenyan Bar/Lounge
For such a communal society, Kenyans have a very distinct way of sitting at bars.  At American bars and lounges, if there is a table encircled by chairs, a party of multiple people would definitely sit "around" the table.  That is to say, you would seat yourselves opposite each other in a pseudo-symmetrical way so as to face each other while socializing.  At Kenyan bars and lounges, if there is a table encircled by chairs, a party of multiple people sits on the same exact side in as close to a single row as possible with absolutely no one facing each other.  I tried taking the opposite seat during a meeting with my supervisor at a bar just yesterday and I was told to come across the table to sit in the seat next to him.  It was at that point that I noticed the table next to ours where three men sat on the same couch shoulder to shoulder, each nursing their own beers linearly aligned on the table.  Maybe this has to do with the fact that in the Kenyan culture, prolonged eye contact in conversation is discouraged and even considered rude.  Or maybe, sitting in a row together is a consequence of being so communal - you're so close with people, you want to sit in close proximity with each other and not across from each other.  I can't figure it out.

5. Tissues
Basically, they don't exist.  I came down with a slight cold these past few days and the only thing with which to nurse your runny nose is a 15/= roll of blue-green toilet paper.  It's actually pretty awesome.  The all-purpose solution to runny noses and making a stop at the pit latrine if needed.  Still, you don't really realize how much you take facial tissues for granted until you haven't seen a single tissue or tissue box for two months.

6. Distinctions Between Gender Pronouns
Basically, these don't exist either.  Though no fault of theirs, due to linguistic differences, Kenyans consistently confuse he/she and him/her, and if you're not careful, it can really throw you for a loop.  For example, my PD put me in touch with a female colleague from the U.S.  I had emailed her, and while awaiting a reply, my PD asked me "Has he replied to you yet?"  I almost bugged out: "I could swear the person was a "she".  Did I use any gender pronouns in the email?  No, I don't think so.  I think I only used "you" if anything.  Wait, I know I've seen a picture of this person and the person was definitely a she.  Huh?  Oh... wait... ohhhh...."  So it's usually best to ignore gender pronouns.  And if for whatever reason you need to write a letter, I imagine it's a safe bet never to assume the Ms. or Mr. in front of a surname.

Today, the Field Officer and I made a visit to another member (let's say John) who works at a primary & secondary school in Amalemba.  This time, we were smart enough to actually put our transportation budget to use and take boda bodas to the school.  Alice has been proving to have a real knack for making these field visits and going above and beyond the call of duty.  As soon as we got off our boda bodas, she launched into a pitch of KES to the boda boda drivers and gave them pamphlets to look over.  Awesome.

It's interesting how open Kenyans can be.  John was a defaulter, but he didn't seem at all to mind us coming to his school where he teaches to find him and discuss why he's been defunct with his loan payments.  He was really receptive and took us over to the staff offices for the school so we could all sit down and have a proper talk.  A warm reception.

He launched into the reasons why he defaulted.  He essentially claimed that he was getting frustrated with several of the practices at the SACCO back in January and decided to make his point by disappearing and seeing if anyone would notice.  Well, although I have my reservations about the way he handled the situation and although it may have taken nine months, the SACCO definitely noticed and was the reason why Alice was sitting in the staff offices of this school willing to hear the member out and follow up on his default.

To make a long story short, he was really grateful for the visit and seemed to get more and more excited about recommitting to the SACCO as we got deeper into the conversation.  Near the end, Alice bluntly asked him if he wished to recommit to being an active member or if he wanted to withdraw completely and have his shares seized as he had earlier requested.  He confidently said no and said that he would be rejoining.  I thought this was nice enough.  Then, when he saw that we were carrying around a receipt book for any transactions, he seemed to take it as an indication of the safety of his money with the Field Officer.  On the spot, as soon as he saw the receipt book, which reassured him about the accountability of the Field Officer, he took out his wallet, handed over a significant sum of money and said he would like to restart his loan payments!  Just like that, we walked away with one less defaulter and actual money collected on a defaulted loan.

Also, today, as I went to my usual guy to get copies made, he noticed I was making copies of a Member Application form for KES.  He started asking about what KES was all about, so I gave him a small spiel about the SACCO and promised I would send the Field Officer to follow up with him.  This afternoon, Alice and I paid him a visit and Alice worked her magic, pitching KES and its benefits to him.  He agreed on the spot to find someone tomorrow to watch his photocopy stand and would come by tomorrow to sign up as a member!

This week has already been so incredibly rewarding.  Again, I know I have to be sober about my expectations, because there is still significant room for improvement in the Field Officer role and procedures and I'm aware that future visits won't always be so fortuitous or positive.  However, to see the program pay such dividends immediately is immensely gratifying for all of us at KES, especially me!

Coming off the success of Friday's Field Officer Training and Working Session, I wanted to make sure the momentum carried over the weekend into Monday.  Perhaps I could have exercised a bit more confidence in our team, but I was nagged by a fear of the typical Kenyan pace of work, and I called Alice on Saturday to see if things were in gear after Moses' recommendation to get started on this asap and brought it up again on Sunday as I had made prior plans to attend my co-workers' church.  They were making strong progress and by Sunday evening, there were tentative plans in place to make a field visit each on Tuesday and Thursday.  Also, I had the knowledge of our mandatory FSD midterm retreat hanging over my head, which will have me miss Thursday and Friday of work this week.

At the office on Monday morning, Alice mentioned that she was planning on making her first field visit to a member of the SACCO (let's call her Jane), who had taken a loan in '07 and had gone missing after her last payment in March.  Another member had dropped by KES this morning and had told Alice that Jane had mentioned she wanted to withdraw from KES and default on her loan completely by giving up her current savings with KES as collateral.  He had also given Alice her town of work (Ikonyero).  Alice had taken the initiative to plan on going there to find her with no phone number, address (not that those are useful in Kenya anyway), or any contact information other than her name.  I was super encouraged by her pro-activeness.

Not knowing it was so far, we ended up walking 2.5km to Ikonyero, which is off Mumias Road.  My calls for taking a boda boda were rebuffed by claims of, "it's only a little further off".  Still, we got to the town, and I was immediately surprised by how naturally Alice fit into her role.  She started asking around for Mama Jane, and as she asked these people, she would give a small pitch on KES and provide them with brochures she had brought along.  She was advertising KES while looking for this person!  Incredible.  Kenyan communities are small and tightly connected, so we quickly located Mama Jane's business.  Alice went in to talk to her while I chatted it up with some locals outside (one of whom gave me her number and asked me to visit her...).

When Alice came out of her meeting about half an hour later, she carried all sorts of amazing news.  The 2.5km walk back to the offices were nothing to me as I was shocked and excited by all the good news Alice was telling me of the meeting.  Mama Jane had been discouraged by KES for a number of reasons.  She couldn't understand why her loan kept increasing and why KES kept making deductions from her savings.  Alice had educated her on the fact that her interest payments compounded each month that her loan stayed in default and as per the by-laws of KES, they would occasionally deduct fees (only through democratic member votes) to help pay for the SACCO's activities and trainings.  Mama Jane had accepted this explanation.  She also said how it as too far for her to visit the offices and Alice had apparently told her that Alice would be there to support any of Mama Jane's needs and even to come and collect deposits and payments.  Mama Jane had been encouraged by this tremendously.  They also exchanged contact information, which KES had not had on file.  Finally, Mama Jane dropped her request to withdraw from KES and recommitted to making her loan payments and come out of default!  Wow!!

The first field visit was supposed to take place on Monday, but already because of Alice's initiative and KES' support, she had made her first field visit and had ensured the security of a member and had committed the member to coming out of default.  I know for sure that not every field visit will be this successful or pleasant in the future.  However, to see this role adopted so eagerly and with such enthusiasm beyond my greatest expectations was tremendously gratifying to me.  Wow.  Just wow.  These past few days are easily the most rewarding days of my entire internship thus far in Kakamega and in development work.

One of the trainings we are given through FSD is about Asset Based Community Development (ABCD), developed by professors at Northwestern University.  It is a framework with which to analyze development situations by focusing on the strengths and assets of an organization (or community).  How is this unique?  Well, imagine entering a grassroots organization for the first time where you've been given the mission to "perform capacity-enhancing work", or in plain English, "add value as a volunteer".  Where would you start?  Almost inherently, one would start by observing the organization and brainstorming things that the organization needs.  It would be easiest to think about where the organization is lacking capacity and what the organization needs to fill those gaps.  Essentially, this is called a "needs-based" approach.

However, ABCD focuses on the things the organization already has, and as a result, how to effectively utilize those resources to making the organization better.  If the "needs-based" approach is looking at a glass half-empty, the "asset-based" approach focuses on the flip side and looks at a glass as half-full.  Instead of saying, "this organization needs something, so let me do this and that", ABCD says, "this organization has these strengths, so let me build on this and that."

In reality, the two approaches are not mutually exclusive.  You need both the "needs-based" and "asset-based" view of the organization.  When I was first introduced to these development frameworks, I dismissed them as fancy rhetoric.  Likely, these were professors in their ivory towers attaching academic jargon and frameworks that translated loosely at best into reality.  Instead, in my latest project here at KES, I found this whole interaction between needs and assets to be super relevant.

As I looked at KES, I noticed two things.  KES' greatest need was the need for improved KES-member interactions at the SACCO.  Because of the organization's lean staff, it had traditionally relied upon members to physically come to KES' offices to conduct any transactions, whether to save money or repay loans (two of its main functions).  In addition, KES only had about three ways of communicating with its members en masse.  First, it holds an AGM once a year.  Second, it holds a Members' Education Day once a year.  Third, it just started sending a biannual newsletter (credit: previous FSD intern, Josh).  With only mandated days of KES-member interactions, you have 361 other days of the year that is completely dependent on the member to maintain relations.  As a result, members may never come by the office, or even if they are willing to, may be unable to because of financial or time constraints.

KES serves largely a low-income population of members.  Although they are supposed to come into KES to make monthly share contributions (deposits), it makes little economically rational sense for them to pay 100/= for a round trip from a faraway village to Kakamega Town to make a 1000/= deposit.  That's like levying a 10% tax on the poor for saving.  Additionally, if a KES member has taken a loan and lands on hard times or, heaven forbid, is intentionally scheming, he can literally just disappear and never return to the KES offices.  KES had no method of recourse for these types of members in default as well as for those members that weren't coming into the office.

Until now.  As I looked at KES, the other things I noticed was that KES' greatest asset is the availability of a second staff member (named Alice).  Alice had been hired only about one month before I arrived.  KES is managed by volunteer committee members elected at the AGM.  Despite their enthusiasm for hiring a second employee, they largely lacked the staff, time or resources to train her properly into any specific role.  As a result, she was largely performing redundant duties at the office with no specific responsibilities or defined role.  After working on a lot of small projects like member appreciation letters, a registry of borrowers, new member application forms and the like, it finally clicked in my head.  The asset is the answer to the need.  Combined, they enhance and build capacity.

Over the past few weeks, I focused on creating a training manual for the formal creation of a Field Officer position at KES.  When I first arrived at KES, I was largely unsure of my "place" in the organization and I think that was one of the reasons I was inclined to take on smaller projects.  However, almost halfway in, I realized I had the managerial support and authority to implement a seemingly large procedural and organizational change at KES.  With this, I set off doing online research, interviewing and surveying members of KES, and also interviewing other heads of MFIs and officers at other institutions in the area.  Compiling what I've observed at KES with this research, I put together a training manual for to train Alice as a Field Officer and also with the intent to make the training sustainable and scalable should, hopefully, KES expand in the future and require more Field Officers.

Finally, last Friday, with the help of the Treasurer/my supervisor Moses, we were able to convene a training and working session between a few key committee members and the staff.  Although individually people at KES knew I was working on this project, it would only be with the cooperative buy-in of both the management and staff members that the creation of the Field Officer position and its responsibilities would be adopted.  KES generously even closed its offices early for this training to take place.  Once gathered, I kicked off the meeting saying that we had convened today to formally establish the position of Field Officer (congratulations Alice on the promotion) and to hold a working session to build the particulars off the training that I had put together.  I may have had the head knowledge of what a Field Officer does, but the KES management and staff would have the working and cultural knowledge of how to implement it best.  It was stressed that this had to be a team effort and each person had to take ownership over its development.

The training was a huge success!  For the first time since I'd been to Kenya, I felt like our team at KES had accomplished something significant together.  As we went through the training manual, there was a huge amount of feedback and discussion.  The members of management were extremely enthusiastic and responsive and at times they literally stole the words right out of my mouth as they talked about they ways by which the Field Officer position would add value to KES.  In my mind, I had hoped that this training would serve as a foundation and the evening's working session would help facilitate additional ideas and fine-tuning of existing ones.  That is exactly what happened.  I could not have asked for a more successful training.

I admit I had harbored fears before the session.  I was worried that this work would be taken as a "nice idea" at best, but ultimately dismissed amidst the rest of the hustle and bustle at KES.  I kept wondering, "if KES has been entrenched in their current method of engaging their members for years and if the current employees are already so comfortable with their responsibilities, how could we possibly change the status quo by such a large measure?"  Culturally speaking, Kenyans are slow to disappoint and they will sugarcoat things and seem very accepting of things on surface so as not to disappoint a person.  I was genuinely worried that in doing so, this would fall on deaf ears.  Even as we concluded the session that we could collective deem a success, I kept thinking it's one thing to read a training manual and talk amongst ourselves, but it'll be a whole different thing come Monday when we would really have to make changes to the long-entrenched patters of the staff's responsibilities and actions.

In providing a timeline of implementation, I had suggested we start Monday by making calls and starting to arrange field visits.  Moses spoke up immediately and said, "Forget Monday.  Let's start making these calls tomorrow".  (KES is open on Saturdays as well).  Little did I know this would be provenance for what was to come Monday.

Every four weeks.

That is the universal code of hair conduct for men.  It's plus or minus one week, and outside those outer limits you're either caring too much or caring too little even for "he-man" standards.  From my understanding, it's about every six months for women.  It's interesting, because that $100 haircut-in-one-go sounds absurd for a woman, but if you figure about a $15-20 haircut every four weeks for men, women actually might come out ahead.  In terms of a visual progression, week three is when the hair starts getting a bit chia-petish.  No one wants to look like a human chia pet.  Week four is when the sides start coming over your ears.  No one wants to look at that period.

Seven weeks.

That's as far as I got in Kenya.  Eventually, the thing took on a life of it's own.  The top fifth of my ear disappeared completely and I started to notice it took two bucket-scoops of water to rinse my hair thoroughly as opposed to the half of one it took when I first got to Kenya.  With bristly straight Asian hair like mine, bed hair is actually mitigated by longer length.  I was waking up each morning even after going to sleep with damp hair from a shower looking perfectly groomed.  It was long enough to wake up, take a wet wipe to my face, drink some Listerine and march out the door.

Despite everyone warning me to take the hour long ride to Kisumu where they could at least somewhat decently cut Asian hair (there are a good number of Indians in Kenya), I couldn't possibly justify paying or taking the time to travel that far out for a haircut I could do myself if need be.  So, also despite suggestions to the contrary, I took my chances on a "kinyozi" (barber shop).  I'd made friends with this one Kenyan man (Tobias) whose computer I'd tried to fix, but ended up possibly ruining more, and when I mentioned how I badly needed a haircut, he offered to take me to his barber.  Maybe the broken computer should have been bad precedent for asking someone to find me a good haircut.  Anyhow, I called him up this afternoon and took him up on his offer.

I don't regret it!  I've always wanted my head (semi) shaved!

Actually, I really have wondered for a while what it would be like to shave and take clippers a just few levels high clean to my head.  While the haircut was a disaster in terms of the barber actually following my instructions, it turned out pretty well in its own regard (but that's my own opinion - no one's seen me yet).  I think he and I both knew it wasn't what I'd expected, but he was a good sport about interpreting my sign-language directions, which probably was as clear as interpretive dance.  After realizing my wants were a lost cause, he did a good job cutting it in the way he thought best.  It wouldn't be easy for an Asian barber to try to cut Kenyan hair either, so I don't in any way blame him.

The haircut started with me explaining to the barber that I wanted him to take it about 1 level on the clippers straight up the sides without following the shape of my head and then to take about 2 centimeters straight off the top.  He smiled, nodded and motioned for me to sit down.  No English.  Kiswahili only.  Dang it.  I can't even ask for the bathroom in Kiswahili, let alone try to instruct a barber who has never seen an Asian, much less had one sit in his barber shop, on how to cut my hair.

My last haircut was in a nicely air-conditioned salon run by Koreans in Jersey.  There, I had the luxury of someone actually taking a pair of scissors to my head.  Here, the barber shop consists of a small lean-to inside a building with two mirrors and clippers.  No scissors.  No scissors ever touch the hair of a Kenyan man.  Clearly.  He first went at my hair along the grain and he quickly realized that it wasn't going anywhere.  He reversed modes and started taking it against the grain, following the shape of my head.  About ten minutes into that, he successfully discovered the Asian-bowl-cut.  Awesome.  Second-grade redux.  He got a bit more comfortable with my hair and got rid of the ledge around the top and bottom half of my hair so it stopped looking like a bowl.  Now I had decently cut sides, but still about 2-odd inches of overhanging straight hair on top.  I motioned for him to use a combination of the comb and clippers to lift the hair and take an easy 2 cms off the top.  Lost in translation, he proceeded to just go for the shave.

Another ten minutes later, after giving up completely on maintaining any shape or form with my hair and having had taken the clippers straight around my head, I was left with a nicely buzzed head of hair about a half centimeter tall at maximum.  At that point, Tobias asked me how I liked it, to which I replied, "I like it, but it's definitely new".  He then sat down for a haircut, while I stepped outside to take an incoming call about tomorrow night's dinner plans.  That took all of, oh what, three minutes.  When I turned back around, Tobias was paying the barber for his haircut.  What?

All this for 50 shillings!  Even if it were an inflated mzungu rate, that's a 66 cent haircut!  I told the barber I'd definitely be back in a few weeks.  He's the man.  Plus, right outside his barber shop, there's a great wicker chair with an great vantage point of after-work street life in Kakamega.

[Full Disclosure: Not an entertaining post.  Largely academic-style insights.]

This week, KES has been providing its microfinance leagues with micro-enterprise and business training.  I mentioned in an earlier post the importance of training in development work because it equips people with the knowledge to engage in sustainable activities instead of handouts.  Though famous sayings abound, it is quite literally the idea that you should teach someone to fish maybe on Lake Victoria in Kisumu instead of just handing out free fish in Kakamega.

Along the lines of opportunistic situations, when I came into work on Tuesday, I was asked by one of the committee members to sit in on the trainings.  This turned out to be a valuable opportunity to observe and learn about teaching styles in Kenya - especially relevant because I have those two training materials I wrote about earlier that I want to teach before my internship here is over (halfway through already!).  Particularly interesting was the fact that the instructor was only in his thirties while most of the members were a mix of men and women that had clearly faced more hardships and challenges in their lives and who were older.  I don't know why, maybe it's my Asian upbringing, but I feel like I'm so much more sensitive to age hierarchies than I should be.  Also, although I know attempts at education among such a diverse group of people doesn't necessarily extrapolate into general traits of education in Kenya, some aspects stuck out to me as so unique that there must be something culturally grounded in them.  As follows:

The Non-Separation of Church and... Anything
One valuable part of sitting in on the trainings was the opportunity to be asked questions from members and share about best-practices or cultural differences regarding business found in America.  For example, after a long dialogue in kiswahili I couldn't understand, one member said, "We've been talking about warding off evil spirits in businesses here.   For example, when a shop installs a new machine, they may make a sacrifice to ward off evil spirits and keep them from affecting the people."  This isn't to say this is a normal practice or anything, but they were curious if this kind of superstition permeates American businesses.  I replied that there were definitely ceremonial aspects of businesses in America (think: cutting of ribbons, the first dig with a golden shovel, christening new boats or buildings, cornerstones, etc.), but that I had noticed much more of an intersection between religious elements and business, government and education here.  Another example is the fact that all our meetings (KES is a secular institution with no religious ties) are started and ended with a prayer.  It is as natural to integrate spirituality with any other aspect of life in Kenya as it is natural for Americans to keep them compartmentalized.  Which is better?  I can't really say.  Even as a Christian, I have to soberly admit there are flaws that exist in both.

The Use of Terminology
It's really the use of "jargon".  Training in development work has everything to do with the way you phrase things.  Training in development work does not mean training people with lower intelligence.  They will grasp concepts with as much fervor as anyone else would.  However, it does mean that your target audience likely has not had as much exposure to the sophistication with which your topics are taught (i.e. they didn't exactly attend Ross, or maybe not even anything past their Form 4s), so it's essential to adapt your delivery.  Adaptation of your delivery to your audience is everything.

One reservation I had with the trainings was the use of concepts that were beyond the capacity and relevance of the members.  For example, at one point topics included cash vs. accrual accounting, the three main financial statements, financial checks and balances, feasibility studies, etc.  To be perfectly honest, these were topics I had not even heard about until my university level accounting and strategy courses.  I in no way mean to be demeaning, but I really am led to believe it was over the heads of most of the audience.  One member remarked at one point that she was having difficulty simply keeping a ledger of her income and expenses with her vegetable business (mama mbogas).  I think there's a huge need to adapt.  It's a really key lesson I need to keep in mind for my trainings.  How do I convey things like business plans, SWOT and 5 forces analyses, and breakeven (concepts that are all challenging even in VC), in a way that they will leave the room and actually use?

The Fickleness of Qualifications
Being in Kenya has personally amplified how fickle nominal status, prestige and qualifications are and how I buy into it.  I'll be honest.  Sometimes it makes me uncomfortable and sometimes it's really helpful, but when someone asks and I tell them I will be working for Bain, it serves as instant cred.  Sometimes it causes a change mid-conversation in the way they are talking to me as they are led to believe I am more knowledgeable than I really am.  If qualifications were more results- than nominally- based, it would increase efficiency.

That kind of thing has happened to me even here in Kenya among other Westerners, but for the most part here in Kenya, my qualifications are stripped away.  Now, the indicators of status are being a graduate of the University of Nairobi, or having run a successful micro-enterprise, or even simply being Kenyan.  For example, separately, the instructor offered to provide his consulting services to the members "at a price".  While a completely legitimate offer, I felt a twinge of frustration because, although he has the doctoral qualifications and MFI-consulting experience, I truly believe in the realm of development, the needs of the people can be met largely through free, sustainable resources that organizations like FSD offers.  It's like a market inefficiency.  The services being offered at a price are overqualified/mismatched for the services being requested by the people.  However, because of misinformation, people are inclined to pay the fee to hire the overqualified development consultant than seek the less prestigious services of an NGO.  Don't take me as heretical!  Fortune 500 companies still need Bain... not NGOs.  Non-profits facing real challenges need Bridgespan.  Real micro-enterprises do need consultants like the instructor.  However, keeping in mind your audience, should someone that wants to learn about simple bookkeeping processes to sell eggs at the town market need to pay to learn that skill?  Especially when that knowledge is being offered for free elsewhere?

In a related story, I was asked if I could deliver a lecture on career-searching and networking for students down in Kisumu (my first speaking engagement!)  I was curious about this idea, but in hindsight, I feel like this may be more an exploitation of me as a foreigner than a real value-add for the audience as he was going to charge KSH200/person and then give me 25% of revenues.  I would much rather provide a free talk for students aspiring for a career and let them use that KSH200 to get a new tie or something for an interview.  Gotta dress for success!

The Frankness of Conversations
One thing that shocks me time and time again is the frankness, actually, near-bluntness of conversations here.  Dialogue during the training can include comments from the instructor directed at participants (older and more experienced in the hardships of life, mind you) such as: "You are poor!  You have to admit that you are poor." and "Why did you sell your cow at a loss?  You have bad business skills and more questions than answers.".  Wow!  To me, this would show a lack of tactfulness and a really poor understanding of PC-ness.  Despite that, I have never seen these types of comments offend anyone, and I'm led to believe there are certain teacher-student interactions that are generally accepted as blunt and direct.  Maybe it's the difference between negative and positive reinforcement, but it can actually be a pretty good thing.  Kenyans at times can beat around the bush when asking for things, but when voicing their opinions, they are very to the point (at least in a classroom).  I thought this was fascinating because I would cringe at certain comments the instructor would make, only to observe the recipient nod in agreement and take it in good humor.

That was long, but I hope insightful.  One great thing about this experience is that cross-cultural learning is as emphasized as learning about sustainable development.  In a way, they are inseparable.  This far in, and I still learn something new each and every single day.

Laughter is a survival mechanism.  We were told during orientation that the best defense against uncomfortable and super frustrating situations was to try to find the humor behind it.  This is so true.  Working out here in a foreign country and culture has taught me to not take myself and things so seriously and to laugh at otherwise hopeless situations.  A few examples:

The Proposal
I figured the four other female interns would face this, but instead it looks as if I might get married off first in Kenya from our group.  I am walking with the interns and our Kiswahili teacher (Nina) through the open-air market.  All of a sudden, a lady of I'd say her early- to mid-twenties stops me and starts dancing in front of me to the music blaring from the DVD/movie kiosk.  Then, the following conversation:

Lady: WHAT IS YOUR NAME?  MARRY ME!  MARRY ME!
Me: Wait.. wha... what?!  Oh dear God... what...?
Lady: DANCE WITH ME!  HOW OLD ARE YOU?
Me: [Look desperately at Nina] Is this a joke?
Lady: WILL YOU MARRY ME.  MARRY ME!
Nina: [Laughing, grabs me by hand and starts to pull me away]
Lady: [In Kiswahili] DON'T TOUCH HIM!  I'M MARRYING HIM.  DON'T TOUCH HIM!  LET'S GET MARRIED!
Me: ...

The Drive-by Ching-Chong
This one definitely requires a visual, but I'll try to describe it.  You are Asian.  You are walking down Highway A-1, the main road that cuts through Kakamega and plenty of matatus, piki pikis, boda bodas and the like are flying by.  One matatu slows down intentionally at the sight of me and throwing the van door wide open, the conductor hangs out with his head cocked, waves his arms and hands wide like he's throwing up gang signs, and shouts... "CHIIIIINGGGG CHONGGGGGG!!"  Matatu rolls on by with its passengers staring at me as if the weird part about this whole situation is my presence on the sidewalk.

The Idiot Mzungu
With El Nino rains rolling through every afternoon in Kakamega, most Kakamega residents know to avoid the rains and wait out the brief, but torrential downpours by staying indoors wherever you might be.  It's generally understood by all that "it was raining", "I thought it was going to rain", "it looks like rain" are all legitimate excuses for being late to something.  The rains also happen around 4 or 5 in the afternoon, which is just about when the following took place:

Me: [heading out of the office] I'm heading out, have a good night!
Naomy (KES staff): Oh, you're heading out?
Me: Yup!  I'll see you tomorrow!
Another lady: You know it's raining...
Me:  Yup!  I've got an umbrella!
Naomy and lady: Okay then.  Bye.

20 seconds out the door and I'm drenched.  We're talking jumped-in-a-pool-with-clothes-style drenched.  The only thing my umbrella was good for was keeping my face and hair dry.  I was literally the only person outside on the road, and I could see all the Kenyans staring at me navigating the mud roads from under the eaves of the tin roofs of shops and houses.  It was silent except for the sound of the downpour, but I could almost hear the judgment carried in their thoughts...

Kenyans: "...you sad, crazy mzungu..."