The Rural Voice, 2019-05, Page 73 This is a condensed version of Jen
Christie’s account, you can find the full
version at her blog, savvyfarmgirl.com
We must have seemed like lazy
mzungus (Kiswahili for white skin) to
our hosts, who were up every morning
before the sun. Stewart joked I was a
true dairy farmer, up early every day but
my jet lag never fully subsided either
and I still found it difficult to rise before
8:00 a.m. An eight-hour time change
does that I suppose.
When I did start waking at 6:30 a.m.
on our last few mornings, there was
already water at our door. The pale
yellow, plastic jug had been brought
down to us when they also brought jugs
to fill the water tank for our toilet.
Our guest house was nearly finished
and it had the only flushing toilet on the
property. It was being built by our friend
for his parents but with work and many
other financial commitments, it had been
under construction for several years.
“It doesn’t make me money,” our
host told me matter of factly. It has two
bedrooms and a tiled floor bathroom
with toilet and electricity. We were
grateful for all of it.
In the Cherangany, many of the
homes do not have running water. Ours
was brought from a well about 1/2
kilometre away, dug by a Swedish
company some years ago. Other families
have bore holes (wells) they draw water
out by hand.
Luckily, there is lots of clean water
in the Cherangany. Unfortunately, it’s
just not available to the people. A
pipeline takes it out to the region to
Eldoret but the funding to build a
pipeline to the communities has been
given out many times in different
tenders, yet no pipeline has ever been
built. The projects never even got
started.
Several families may draw water
from a community well, like the one our
water came from. Hauled up by donkey
cart, the dozen plastic jugs of water were
used for bathing, laundry, cooking and
cleaning.
We tried to conserve it best we could,
“showering” only a few times using a
wash tub in the shower stall of the
latrine. I don’t know if I’ve ever bathed
with so little water and when I tried to
wash my hair, I realized why so many
Kenyan women cut theirs short.
Otherwise, it wasn’t so bad and I
enjoyed the warm sunshine streaming
into the latrine before I realized there
was a door. I closed it the next couple
days because it seemed only too likely
one of the curious neighbours, eager to
see the mzungu guests, might wander by
on the nearby lane!
We took our breakfast and dinner in
the living room. Religious posters
adorned the walls, several couches and
chairs draped in fabric covers and coffee
tables for gathering around. A thermos
of chai (tea) with milk and sugar sat
alongside a tray of mugs. Chai is a
tradition in Kenya and many times
visiting farmers to talk about the project,
we were invited for chai. It’s rude to say
no which can be challenging for
someone whose stomach can be
argumentative at the best of times.
Most mornings we had chiapatti
for breakfast. It’s like a thin, fried
pancake. They were rolled up and forks
stuck in them for us to eat like a hot dog
on a stick. They were good and every
day we wished we had brought some
jam or Nutella with us to spread over
them.
Then we were off for the day to carry
out our various tasks for our projects.
Most days this meant a stop at the Co-
op’s milk collection station, where dairy
farmer members brought their milk to be
sold collectively for a higher price than
they could get on their own. We were
working with a number of their directors
for our poultry project.
Yogurt was also being made at the
Co-op, which we purchased daily to take
with us in case a lunch stop wasn’t in
order. There were several trips to
Eldoret, which allowed us to learn first
hand that the road had 64 speed bumps
along the way. The speed bumps in
Kenya make driving any distance take
far longer than necessary. Some of them
are so high they will the take the bottom
off your car if you’re not careful.
Greeting everyone you meet is quite
customary. Everywhere we went, we
shook hands with everyone present,
including the curious neighbours who
would wander by to find out what the
white people were doing. Cherangany is
not much of a tourist destination, so we
were an attraction on our own.
In a way it was refreshing to show
everyone the same level of respect, no
matter their position. It was also
confusing to know who we were in fact
there to meet, so I just introduced myself
to everyone.
It was usually dark when we climbed
back in our cars to head home. The stars
seemed to shine brighter in Kenya. Most
of the homes near us had electricity, but
short of a small yard light there were
few other lights polluting the night sky.
We couldn’t help but marvel at the stars.
Dinner was rice, some beef or lamb
stew, cooked carrots and peas, and
schuma, a stewed greens dish. Eating
after 10 has never been easy for me but I
ate what I could and worried about
offending my host every night. In
Kenya, everyone eats as much as they
can every time they can. I suspect it’s a
reality of not always knowing when
your next meal will come. A reality I
certainly have never experienced.
Dinner was finished with chai, before
we headed down through the banana
grove, past the pasture and to the house,
accompanied by our host with a
flashlight. Another jug of hot water was
brought for us to wash up, we brushed
our teeth a la camping style (standing
outside with a water bottle) and then did
any last business outside before settling
in for the night.
Or maybe I should say locked in. The
heavy steel doors used in Kenya allow
for a lock to be put on the door that
cannot be cut off from the outside. Theft
is rampant and we were firmly
instructed to lock the door whenever we
left and once we went to bed at night. I
tried not to think too much about what
may happen if we didn’t, but this meant
once you were “in for the night” you
were in. The walls were thin and since
the door made a bit of a racket, I never
wanted to have to open it once everyone
was in bed.
Aside from the crickets and the
donkey braying at midnight, there
wasn’t another sound. It was perhaps the
quietest night I have ever experienced in
recent memory. By mid-week, the heat
and long days meant I was falling asleep
right away and most nights, I didn’t
awake again until the rooster started
crowing around six.◊
– Submitted by Stewart Skinner
Perth, Huron,
Grey and Bruce
Craig Hulshof, President
craig.hulshof@gmail.com / 519-301-8483
* The Rural Voice is provided to
Perth County Pork Producers by the PCPPA
perthcountyporkproducers@gmail.comCounty Pork Producers NEWSLETTER
A day in Kenya includes chiapatti, speed bumps and respect
MAY 2019 69