Feast and Famine

Last month a German friend emailed to ask how my summer in Kenya was going. He also asked whether I was being affected by the famine. I was a bit taken aback by the question. I had heard people complain about food insecurity in the villages we had been visiting – they even gave the recent bout of hunger a nickname, “Ocampo Six,” after the six accused perpetrators of post-election violence currently on trial in The Hague before the International Criminal Court chief prosecutor Luis Moreno-Ocampo. But Ocampo Six did not really seem like a famine, and no one we met seemed close to starvation. It was just a few days later that news of the famine currently ravaging Northeast Kenya hit the local press and I realized this was what my friend was talking about.

News of the famine has now become inescapable. International aid agencies have rallied to support relief efforts and ordinary Kenyans are doing their part to help, too. One of the more inspiring responses is “Kenyans for Kenya,” a fundraising effort led by Kenyan corporations and media houses. Kenyans for Kenya has also set up a system through which people here can donate money to support relief efforts via M-Pesa, the highly popular system of banking by mobile phone. In the village I visited yesterday, one of the residents, who was clearly of humble means, told me that he was planning to organize with his neighbor to donate to the relief effort.

The Kenyan government’s response has been less inspiring. Just last week, a government spokesman declared that there have been no known deaths attributable to the famine. Furthermore, many observers have pointed out that the drought which caused the current famine is an annual occurrence, and the government should have been prepared. There have also been reports of relief funds being diverted.

I was chatting with my German friend again last night and he said he’d read my blog and found it rather depressing. Chagrined, I told him I was just planning to write about the famine. He told me to go ahead, saying “I guess that’s what we like to hear about Africa.” That comment made me depressed, since I don’t want to contribute more to the Afro-pessimism that is so rampant in the West. (I’ve even had a professor encourage me to focus on a different region of the world, since Africa is pretty much hopeless). But hopefully shedding some light on local relief efforts like Kenyans for Kenya illustrates that the situation here is not as dire as some would have us believe.

In the spirit of Afro-optimisim, I’ll end this post by talking about Kenyan food, which is abundant for many people living here. Like Tanzania, the staple food is ugali, a stiff porridge made from maize. You eat it with your hands, rolling it up into a little ball and then using it to sop up whatever is accompanying it (often sukuma wiki, a local kale that is quite delicious, or some kind of meat or fish stew). I’ve become quite fond of yellow ugali, which is made from yellow maize and is a bit coarser and also more flavorful (think polenta). Living in Nyanza Province I am close to Lake Victoria, so fish is plentiful – especially nile perch, tilapia and omena (tiny, sardine-like fish). One of my favorite things about the food here is that it’s a lot closer to the source than much of what we eat in the U.S. In other words, it's hard not to be a locavore. The avocados, mangoes and pineapples are amazing (and so cheap!) and the French fries really taste like potatoes. My main complaint about the local cuisine is the use of too much cooking oil. That said, I have developed a weakness for mandazi, the fried donuts available on every street corner. But I figure all the walking I’ve been doing around the villages, (not to mention running in the Migori hills and even going to aerobics classes!) will cancel them out.

And with that, I'm off to lunch at a friend's place, having just confirmed with him that even though I'm an mzungu, I do eat ugali.

Big Love, Nyanza Style

The HIV prevalence in Nyanza Province (where I am currently staying) is the highest in the country, with rates of up to 40% in some areas. My awareness of this disturbing fact comes from knowledgeable friends working locally in the field of public health as well as the high visibility of NGOs and VCT (voluntary counseling and testing) clinics in the area. More recently, I’ve observed the consequences of the AIDS epidemic on a more personal scale. In almost every village we visit I have met large numbers of widows and orphans. I realize that AIDS is not the only explanation for their presence but it seems likely to be an important contributor.

One particularly striking consequence of the AIDS epidemic in this region is its impact on polygamous households. I have now encountered a number of households headed by multiple “co-wives” whose husbands died years ago. The other day I visited a homestead where 11 co-wives were still living together, 28 years after their husband had died. The late patriarch had been a District Officer; his grave (with birth and death dates marked as “Sunrise” and “Sunset”) dominated the impressive homestead/ I asked a colleague how these women supported themselves and he explained that they probably had grown children who helped them out. Today we met six co-wives who were widowed four years ago. The three senior wives had each brought a relative to the family; their younger wives were either cousins or sisters. The co-wives casually motioned to an old photograph of their late husband, explained that they live in harmony and have no desire to remarry.

The decision to remarry is not always a choice, however, as I learned today. In villages where wife inheritance is still practiced, a woman of childbearing age (under 40) must be “inherited” if her husband passes away. Traditionally the late husband’s brother was the inheritor but more recently inheritance has been open to other men. My colleague explained that wife inheritance is becoming less common as people’s awareness about HIV has grown, but it has not gone away entirely. And there are consequences associated with forgoing this tradition. For instance, today we met a young couple living in rented housing, which is extremely uncommon in this area. We learned that the husband’s mother had been widowed, and refused to be inherited though she was still of inheritable age. As a result, the young man had not been allowed to build a home on his family’s plot, since the necessary rites could not be carried out before his mother consented to remarry.

After explaining these traditions in detail my colleague asked if there were similar practices in the U.S. I decided against attempting to tell him what little I know about Mormonism or the plot of the most recent (read: only) Big Love episode that I have seen and simply answered, “not really.”

You can take the girl out of L.A., but...

I am now happily settled in Migori after one last visit to the Lasjona Hotel to pick up a few things I had left there. Good riddance! I am now staying at the home of the cousin of a friend of one of our interviewers, and in addition to being about half the price it is MUCH nicer to be staying in a place with a full kitchen and a functioning toilet.

But anyway, before I get too excited about my new digs in Migori, I figure I should devote some space to writing about the last week, which I spent in Nairobi. Though I spent the majority of my time there supervising data entry, I did have a few days to explore, and found myself really liking the city. It has a much more modern, cosmopolitan feel than Dar, and I could see myself living there for a while. The “Nairobbery” moniker strikes me as inappropriate; indeed an op-ed piece in one of the local papers recently defended the city, asking whether any Kenyan has ever called it by this nickname. Perhaps it would better be interpreted as a reference to the prices, which were the main reason I was happy to curtail my stay there. My only other complaint was the weather: Nairobi in July is cold!! At least, colder than my good-for-Africa wardrobe had prepared me for.

Anyway, after spending my first 5 days in Nairobi in a quiet guesthouse close to the Uwezo office, I decided to shift to a place called Wildebeest, which had come highly recommended, particularly as a good place to meet interesting fellow travelers. Wildebeest is a tented safari camp in the heart of the city – a bit silly, perhaps, but the wazungu love it. On my first night there I got in pretty late and spent a restless night shivering in my tent, kept awake by the cacophony of the nearby disco. I was seriously regretting my choice to shift from the pleasant guesthouse, and planned on leaving as soon as I woke up even if it meant forfeiting my deposit. But then at the communal breakfast table, I struck up a conversation with the woman next to me, after overhearing that she was a fellow PhD student in Political Science (at Harvard, no less). We nerded out for a while about our respective research this summer, and then when she mentioned going running later I asked if I could tag along. On our run she asked me how I like living in L.A.. I told her that I was enjoying it much more than I had anticipated and feel like being there for grad school is kind of the perfect situation since you can take advantage of the good (weather, beach proximity, people-watching) and avoid the bad (freeway traffic, vapid industry people) though the Hollywood scene can be fun to check out once in a while. At this she responded, “Or you can take in the Hollywood scene here.” When I looked bewildered she explained that one of our fellow guests at the breakfast table was a fairly well-known child actor, having recently appeared as the kid in Date Night and starred in Bedtime Stories with Adam Sandler. At dinner that night I learned that his father (who was accompanying him) had worked for a number of years supervising films for Disney. This “supervision” appeared to mainly consist of managing famous animals – whether organizing airplane transport of the elephant in Operation Dumbo Drop, or corralling 150 dalmations in Paris (apparently they needed a few extra). At the mention of 101 Dalmations, an older British guest piped up, “Oh, so you know my friend Glenn Close.” This guy explained that Glenn was “lovely” though did not exactly explain how he had come to meet her. He did, however, share a colorful story about drinking tea in a Masai village: Having been invited into the chief’s home while on a safari, and asked what he would like to drink. When he requested tea, he was made to wait while someone cycled 20 km to the neighboring village in order get him a teabag (there being none available in the village he was in). This unfortunate courier got stuck in a massive downpour but returned triumphantly with the teabag, which the chief then proudly brewed for my British friend with cow’s milk and fresh blood!

In the end I decided I could handle another slightly chilly night at Wildebeest, given the interesting company. And after chatting with them over two generous glasses of wine I hardly noticed the cold.

A.B.L.

Tonight is my last night at the Lasjona Hotel and if I shed any tears over the matter, they will be tears of joy. The other night my fellow Rongo-based field coordinator asked where I thought we should have dinner and I replied, “well, Richard, my philosophy is A.B.L…. Anywhere. But. Lasjona.” He said this was a philosophy he could get behind.

It’s not that I expect four-star accommodations while working as a research assistant in rural Kenya. Rather, what’s annoying about the Lasjona is that it advertises itself as being semi-luxurious and is priced to match, and then fails to deliver in terms of the most basic amenities. As in, my toilet has been broken for the past week (albeit in a variety of new and intriguing ways each time someone tries to “fix” it). And on a number of days the hotel has lacked water – either for bathing or drinking. I would happily trade the mirrors and speakers embedded in my headboard for either of these more basic comforts.

Anyway, I am off to Nairobi tomorrow morning and am looking forward to a week of city life. I will be working at the Uwezo head office but should also have some time to explore. My goals include eating delicious, non-ugali-based meals (not that an ugali-based meal can’t be delicious, but I am craving a little variety), getting a pedicure and checking out some live music.

When I return I’m actually thinking of moving my home base to a different town. I’ve been thinking that it’s not just the Lasjona but Rongo itself that’s bringing me down. I was debating this with one of our interviewers, suggesting that maybe I just need to give Rongo a chance, and he responded, “No. Rongo is dead.” So I’m thinking I may move to Migori, a slightly bigger town about 40 km away, toward the Tanzanian border. I celebrated my birthday there yesterday and had a great time. Not only do a few friends and acquaintances stay there, it just seems to have a bit more going on than Rongo, and a variety of cheaper, seemingly nicer options for accommodation, all of which meet my primary qualification of being A.B.L. Plus there’s a disco and a Barclays Bank!

Village Life

I have now been in Rongo for about two weeks and have spent time in four villages. My experience in the villages has been at different turns enlightening, exhausting, depressing, inspiring and amusing. I’ll try to explain why.

Enlightenment

Even though I have not spent much time in people’s houses, I have a much better sense of how people live in rural Kenya. Generally speaking, life is hard. People walk far distances to obtain water for their daily needs or go to school. Most spend hours out in their fields (shambas) tending to maize crops that they rely on for nourishment. Most people’s houses are constructed from rough materials (dried mud over a foundation of sticks) with thatched or tin roofs. The schools are often not in much better condition. Though they are typically built from more permanent materials, many have open windows and holes in the roof, which makes one wonder how students cope when it rains.

Exhaustion

A typical visit to the village involves a preliminary meeting with the village elder to show my research authorization and set my enumerators off to do their interviews. I then visit the local primary school, tour the village, and convene a focus group of village leaders. This all involves a lot of walking around in the hot sun, on pretty rough terrain. One tricky part is managing to eat and drink enough during the day so that I can retain my attention span during the focus group. Since I’m typically being accompanied by someone from the village, I often feel very self-conscious about eating or drinking in front of them. One day I pretended I needed to get something from the car and gulped down a peanut butter sandwich; on other days I’ve just made do with covert handfuls of nuts and then swigging the soda that we bring to the focus group. Recently I was treated to lunch at the village elder’s home, which provided some much needed sustenance after another long, hot walk. I got to sample nyoyo, which I believe translates to a big ol’ plate of beans and maize. I ate as much as I could and then offered the extra to the elder, protesting nimeshiba (I’m full/satisfied). And I was, for once.

Depression

As I mentioned in a previous post, I am finding it difficult to witness the incredible need in these villages and to just be conducting research, rather than helping in a tangible way. What’s more, my mzungu-ness often gives people false hope, since they immediately assume that I’m representing an NGO or charity and have come to do a needs assessment that will be followed by financial assistance. And then I think that even if I were here to help in a tangible way, I wouldn’t even know where to begin since there’s so much need.

Inspiration

I have met some truly inspiring people these last few days. For example, the newly installed head teacher in one poorly performing school. A single mother, she is trying her best to improve the school and can’t wait for the school’s teacher housing to be renovated so she can move in and live on school grounds full time. Kenyan teachers can be posted anywhere in the country; many posted to rural areas often opt to live in the nearest town in order to access more modern comforts. But this woman explained to me that the best monitoring is from within, and that it would be no sacrifice to her to live on school grounds since that is how she could do the best job to improve things.

Another example: the acting village elder in the village that I visited on Friday. At the tender age of 24 he hardly lives up to his title (I joked that he should be called the “village younger”) but he is clearly both full of ideas on how to improve things and is also respected by the community. He was elected to his current position after the village elder was suspended for sordid-sounding reasons. After his father died a few years ago, he and his mother and his late father’s co-wives have taken in 15 orphans. He has also built a pen for dairy goats (though is still fundraising to buy the goat), launched a program encouraging all villagers to plant at least seven trees on their homesteads (to help with water catchment), and is personally counseling local school students to stay in school, thus reducing this year’s dropout rate to zero percent. The “village younger” also expressed to me his aspirations to go to college, since he said that “if you want to make a change, you have to be changed” – implying that in order for him to convincingly preach about the fruits of education he should be better educated himself.

Amusement

One of my more amusing experiences lately was a visit to one of the local chief’s offices. It felt like a total caricature. The chief’s office was essentially a mud hut with a thatched roof and mud floors. I entered to find a rotund man seated behind a desk in a small room crowded with sycophants (or so I imagined them to be). He shooed them out as I entered and inquired about my presence. After explaining what I was doing there, he asked, “and why aren’t you doing your research on chiefs?!” I bumbled through some answer that he seemed to find acceptable and showed myself the door.

Maybe you had to be there.

Matatu madness

Back when I lived in Tanzania I blogged about riding the daladala, or local minibus. If you don’t feel like reading that whole post (I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t, but anyway) they are basically 14-passenger vans that regularly get crammed with 30 people or more at a time. We heard exotic stories about the matatu, the daladala’s Kenyan cousin, which was supposed to be much more regulated and safe. Supposedly, the drivers in Kenya would only allow 14 passengers and even enforce the wearing of seatbelts.

It seemed to good to be true. And alas, it is. Though the regulation is still in place, people demonstrate creative ways of getting around it. This past weekend when I traveled to Kisumu (the third largest city in Kenya, on the coast of Lake Victoria) my traveling companion and I were squeezed into a van that definitely contained more than 14 people. After traveling for a while, the driver pulled over and instructed four people to get out and hop on a motorbike (you read that right, four people on a motorbike; six is the most I’ve seen at once thus far) so he could pass the upcoming police checkpoint with impunity…

My matatu experience today was also amusing: I had the luxury of riding in a matatu equipped with a TV playing music videos! The veejay (haven’t used that word in a while, if ever) played a nice mix of Tanzanian and Kenyan videos, my favorite of which was probably “Papa God Ooh!” by MOG and Jr. Squeezy. Now that’s traveling in style.

What I Didn’t Learn in Graduate School, or, Survey Research is Hard!

Though I remain somewhat skeptical of the experimental turn in Political Science, I must confess that I have also grown a bit contemptuous of papers that are only based on survey methods. Well, in the past two weeks my esteem for survey methods has risen considerably. Survey-based research, particularly in a developing country context, is hard!!!

Logistics, logistics, logistics

For the most part, I was not privy to the development of the survey instruments we’re using, so I can’t speak to the challenges that were surely involved in developing them. Rather, I’ve been more aware of the logistical challenges associated with actually implementing the surveys in the field. We’re using a paper-based survey,* so I’ve witnessed and taken part in epic amounts of photocopying and stapling. Transporting the survey instruments to Rongo involved purchasing new suitcases and filling a number of cardboard boxes, which are all now littered about (er, organized perfectly, if my boss is reading this) my hotel room. We’ve warned the third PI on the project to pack light so he can transport the completed surveys back to the states for double data entry.

In addition to the papers and the paperwork, there are all the logistics of implementing the surveys in the field. Organizing transportation, making sure the enumerators are going to the right places, making sure they have sufficient credit on their phones to check in constantly with their field coordinators, buying refreshments for meetings. If you check out Kenya’s rating on the World Bank’s Ease of Doing Business survey, you can imagine that performing the simple transactions required for such activities is non-trivial.

Beyond Research Fatigue

In a previous blog post I worried that the respondents we were interviewing might be tired of being the subject of yet another research project, which does not obviously benefit them. The situation I have encountered in the villages I have visited so far has not exactly matched this prediction, but it has made me even more aware of conflicted nature of conducting research in a place like rural country. In a nutshell, we are getting a lot of requests for financial assistance. It makes sense. After people spend hours telling us about the enormous challenges they face in their daily lives, they wonder what we can do to help. My PI recently blogged about this particular challenge, in a more elegant manner than I am doing here so you should check out his post. (The post also contains a photo of me looking like a Mormon on a mission trip, for added incentive).

So bottom line: survey-based research is hard. It’s a little depressing that our fairly small-N research this summer is unlikely to have very much “power” to shed statistically significant light on the questions we’re asking. But hopefully the open-ended nature of the survey tools will provide a wealth of qualitative data, which will be interesting in and of itself, and also help to inform the next round of larger-N (and thus even harder!) survey research.

***

I was just brushing my teeth after having posted this and realized that it may come across as rather whiney. So I figured I should add that I’m also finding this particular experience with survey research to be incredibly fulfilling. Spending my days outside in a beautiful place, talking to people and learning out their lives is pretty amazing. As is the T-shirt tan I’ve acquired in the process.

*I’ve been lobbying my PI’s to adopt a smartphone-based survey, such as those one can create with Open Data Kit, in future rounds of this research project. They have raised a number of challenges associated with adopting more advanced technology (e.g. power outages, difficulty in entering free-form responses, intimidation of survey respondents) but I’m not sure these trump the challenges associated with the paper-based format. With this in mind I’m planning to try and develop a smartphone-based version by the end of the summer if and when I find the time.