10.03.2011 St Marian Children’s Centre, Nairobi
I have been remarkably quiet about my voluntary work in Nairobi last summer. I worked, for 2 weeks only, at the St Marian Children’s Centre in the district of South B, about 200m from the Mukuru (Mukomo) slums. I never even wrote about it on my blog.
I think of my time there often and I remember the children I worked with very clearly. Not least because I have some lovely photos, not to mention endless video footage of them teaching me dances – they LOVED our last day when I let them record themselves and watch it back.
It was a culture shock beyond words of course. Maybe that’s why I haven’t really mentioned it much, I haven’t really processed it myself. The life experienced by these children was as far removed from me as, well I can’t even think of a metaphor.
“St. Marian Children’s Centre has been engaged in providing shelter for rescued children (sexual abuse, child labour & trafficking, domestic violence, sudden death or disappearance of parents) in the Mukuru slums neighbourhood of South ‘B’ Nairobi since 2009.”
St Marian Children’s Centre Funding Proposal 2011
I came in at the tail end of the summer holidays, just as their last volunteer had left and, conveniently, miraculously, filling the two weeks before their new volunteers arrived for the school term, and longer. I know of no NGO’s who would consider a non-trained, non-experienced, non-briefed, vetted, interviewed, examined, tested, rigorously made to jump-through-bureaucratic-hoops person anywhere near their coffee machine, let alone actual vulnerable people ‘in the field’. (As a by the by I had contacted about 10 charities on my arrival in Nairobi to offer my services, including Comic Relief who I knew were working on a project with the rubbish dump kids and Swedish Save the Children, to name but two. CR were charming enough to invite me to contact them when I returned to London, Swedish STC never even replied, despite many emails to many different addresses.) But Sister Mary had no such truck with paperwork. She met me (as blogged previously) and we spent a morning together. I was available, willing and unlikely to be a paedophile which was good enough for her. I am forever grateful to her for that.
My remit, such as it was, was to spend the morning of each weekday helping the kids with their schoolwork. The days, including holidays, were rigorously timetabled and extra studies featured a lot. Obviously, many of the kids had fallen behind in their studies and to have someone on hand to help them was invaluable. There was a house mother who took care of the household and the kids for 24 hours or more at a time, sleeping in the house and spending a lot of time preparing and cooking food, which the children would help with on a rota basis.
The house itself was, well, what can I say? You probably haven’t seen anything like it, I certainly hadn’t. Just a concrete block, much like cells I guess, with a front yard fiercely gated and locked at all times and two bedrooms upstairs for the girls and another which served as an office. There was a back yard where everyone took it in turns to wash and at the back wall a small annexe which was the boys room. But considering “the average family lives in corrugated iron shacks measuring 10’X10’” it must have felt like a welcome relief to the children. I wondered how well they slept and if anyone heard them have nightmares.
My domain was the front room in which a dining table and chairs had been crammed along with a beaten up sofa and a chained up TV cupboard which only showed grainy pictures from the Kenyan channels. Still a luxury! I wished fervently that I’d brought one of our 2 surplus DVD players from home but then realised that DVD’s would have to be purchased along with cables and so on, plus it may not work with Kenyan TV so it wasn’t such a generous thought after all.
The Children
I was a bit nervous when I first arrived. Confident I could communicate in some way, not least with a stock of silly improv games which kids are so naturally brilliant at but a bit apprehensive nonetheless. Perhaps they had a swathe of Wazungu do-gooders and were heartily sick of them coming and going, or perhaps previous volunteers had all been so brilliant that expectations where unfeasibly high. But I was relieved to find that, despite the latter being true, my path was immeasurably easier from having been worn by them before I came. They were curious but not fantastically interested in me, they addressed me as teacher and wanted to know how many children I had but that was about it, to start with anyway. I was lucky that I only had about 5 – 7 children each morning, as many had gone to relatives for a brief spell prior to school starting or, if a bit older, were attending extra tuition classes elsewhere. I was told that the centre could take up to 25 children and was astonished to say the least. And grateful I didn’t have that many to keep track of!
So, five girls aged between 10 and 13 and the two boys, Dennis age 5 and Stephen 7. The girls impressed me no end; they were studious in the extreme and a couple could easily sit and do exercise from their books all day. They loved to write, often writing out the whole exercise before filling in the answers. They loved ‘stationery’ of course, using as many different coloured pens as possible, underlining in red and bordering their pages with patterns. There was an old biscuit box of mostly broken pens and pencils which they used with relish. Anything else had to be borrowed and returned from the office upstairs; towards the end I was up and down those stairs like a yoyo. One of the best things I did was ask Pete to collect any unused paper at the end of a conference he attended. There are always so many notes left it seemed a shame to waste the one blank side if we could use it. He did a sterling job, hoovering up the complimentary pads and pens as well. We used this stock every day to draw, make letters to spell out WELCOME and put on the wall, to cut and clip and teach each other how to make paper chains and snow flakes and all manner of shapes which we strung up in that room so by the end you could hardly move. One time I brought in some old magazines, suggesting that they could each cover and personalise the exercise books I had bought on the way in that morning (for a mere 6Ksh each, about um, 5p or something?) I was dismayed to find that the girls only wanted to put pictures of the almost exclusively white models on their books, carefully cutting out their faces from the adverts and proudly sticking them like a collage on the covers and the pages. It made me shudder to think that white female images peddled by white male advertising conglomerates should be so aspirational for poor, black girls. But then I wondered why I was so surprised. Isn’t white skin a symbol of privilege and riches in most areas of the world? We feel sorry for ourselves as Europeans, trying to stop our children from believing the hype of the ‘ideal woman’; celebrity, model, singer and whoever else she may be. Think how much more unattainable it must be for these kids. The poison reaches further than we think.
But then every day was a surprise for me. To say I learned a lot about myself sounds trite and glib but is nevertheless true and one of the main reasons I haven’t written about this before. I was sure, knowing the importance of consistency with children, that I was always firmly consistent. Ha! I rashly promised them a prize one day, for completing a comprehension test after we’d all read a story. Reading was a minefield as the two girls that were good at it naturally wanted to read aloud all day, having little patience with one particular girl who was slower. They weren’t averse to reading her lines for her despite my protestations and she consequently had a very short attention span for any group work. The story was fun though, we’d all read it together, discussed it, talked about family relationships which were mentioned and I assumed that the simple comprehension test would be a doddle. Wrong! My two high achievers relished it and wouldn’t let me stop halfway, when I realised I had lost most of my audience. So there I went, promising a prize to the winner and thus hoping to at least get them to attempt a few answers. It went the other way of course, whether a prize meant nothing to them, or a promise, or even if the test was too hard, they just lost interest and wandered off to play with the pink ball. I rallied, explaining I’d take the written answers home and hoping I could cobble some kind of triumph for the slower children out of the scribbles, but no. And I chickened out. I never ‘marked’ the tests and I never produced a prize. I had some London souvenir geegaws with me and thought I could give the ‘winner’ a keyring or something but I became paralysed by my own indecision. My middle class egalitarian views balked at nominating ‘a winner’, to commend everyone seemed childishly deceptive and crass; I felt sure they would see through my intentions. However the thought of giving even something as innocuous as a keyring seemed fraught with connotations of favouritism, awarding those who are already rewarded with great school grades and respect of their peers and carers and marking me out as unfair and biased. So in the end, to my eternal shame, I did nothing. Except keep those bits of paper to remind me of my inconsistency.
The Pink Ball
I’d brought along a few odds and ends with me, intending to play some getting to know you games and name games, which I’ve found helps when working with kids no end – knowing their names quickly (and using them a lot!) never fails to impress. But I hadn’t reckoned with the power of the pink ball. This was a soft and going softer blow up ball I’d bought for Alfie at some roadside stall for a few shillings, deciding his first interest in balls was to be encouraged at every opportunity. It wasn’t even round to be honest. But the magic power it had! The two younger boys, Dennis and Stephen were mad for it, often taking it in turns to distract me so they could pilfer it out of my basket when my back was turned and slope off outside to the yard, hoping I’d be busy with the girls’ homework before I noticed. Which worked a couple of times. We played with that ball endlessly for the first 3 days and I was able to use it to powerful effect when encouraging a bit of work to be finished so that we could ‘go outside and play a game with the ball’.
Outings
I quickly decided that, although ostensibly here to help with lessons, what I really wanted was to get these kids out of the house. They spent all day in that living room and yard, locked in and unable, for security reasons, to go anywhere without supervision. Break time was often wild and loud as they ran around to expend some energy but what I really wanted was to tire them out with as many trips as I could muster.
I was told by the social worker in the office upstairs that trips could be arranged because some kindly volunteers would pay for or otherwise provide taxis to our destination as long as they had prior notice. Of course it didn’t work that way so on our first trip out, to the Elephant Sanctuary, I crammed 8 kids and 2 adults in our little Toyota and went off on our adventure. They had a great time and to top it all off, House Mother had some money for a take away meal afterwards. So we sat and ate soggy chips with runny sauce and sausages for the kids, at a makeshift joint in South B. Delicious!
The second time we were going to Mamba Village, one of those dreary made-for-tourist sites which kids are mad for and which adults loathe. Lydia had been before and was so enthusiastic she whipped the others into an expectant frenzy. And it was… alright. I was determined to bring Alfie with me (and he turned out to be the main attraction that day, the kids were brilliant with him) so we’d had to arrange one of the elusive taxis to freight half our party and of course, this being Africa, we waited a good hour for him to turn up. But anyway, off we went and met some Maasai tribesmen at the gate, who dutifully danced (jumping very high) and hollered for our benefit, until they realised it was a group of kids and the likelihood of a tip was nil. We saw some crocodiles and Dennis was most perturbed, convinced he might fall through the wire netting and be swallowed up. We then went to ‘the Lake’ which had been carved into a shape of Africa and, for an additional fee, you could take a boat ride to ‘Mombasa’ and ‘Cape Town’ and circumnavigate the continent in about 10 minutes. We passed some sorry looking souvenir shops on the way to ‘the Lake’ which, thankfully, were closed as it was out of season. After our boat ride we sat down for some squash and biscuits then ran over to the giraffe enclosure – this was one you could feed apparently. Poor soul, he did look glad of some company. But the boys were gagging to get to the main attraction; a set of rusty old fairground rides which miraculously came on was we passed and of course you could ride on, for an additional fee. I’m glad Alfie wasn’t old enough to sit on one of those rides because they looked like they’d been hand-made out of scrap metal (probably true) and worn into the ground, literally, by thousands of kids over a period of about 100 years. Still, the kids loved it. Seeing their delight, the centre workers duly started blowing up a bouncy castle nearby. Cheers guys, that was nice of you. Of course, for an additional fee, you could have 15 minutes on this monstrosity. The kids were hysterically giddy by this point and wouldn’t let Alfie go. Or rather, they wouldn’t let him stay in the safety of his buggy. To be fair, he loved it too, even if mummy was nervously filming the whole thing from 2 inches away.
So, that was our experience of the hideously exciting Mamba Village (to be avoided at all costs). Unfortunately, the trip then took a turn for the worse when we had to wait over an hour for the taxi to come pick the kids up. Although we were treated to the rather hilarious sight of the Maasai tribesmen smoking and chatting on their mobile phones, only to throw them down at the sight of a tourist bus pulling into the car park whereupon they would resume their jumping and dancing and hollering and allow the tourists to take a photo with them, for an additional fee.
Things went from bad to worse when Lydia, bless her heart, was entrusted with the information as to which fast food joint we were lunching at that day, her remit to direct me to the place so we could all meet up for lunch. It didn’t happen, she took us to the wrong place and I hadn’t the foresight to get the number of House Mother’s mobile phone. In the end it was approaching 3 o’clock so I paid for chicken and chips for my lot and took them home, only to find the entire gang waiting for us with even more chicken and chips. I’d had to feed poor Dennis and Stephen at least, they looked ready to faint poor boys but of course felt dreadful when I realised everyone had been waiting. A quick grace was said, I grabbed yet more soggy chips and escaped with Alfie in tow.
Cultural ifferences
One of the main things to get used to in Kenya is that no-one will ever admit to ignorance. The classic example is when asking for directions; no one would dream of admitting they didn’t know the destination you wanted, they would simply make up something to tell you. Great! Similarly, being helpful and knowledgeable are considered great attributes and can lead to all sorts of difficulties for us Westerners, where honesty is expected. Thus Lydia, for example, would often say ‘yes’ with a big smile, in answer to all my questions, not realising that I was after the actual truth. One of our conversations went like this:
Me: Do you have any brothers and sisters Lydia?
Lydia: Yes!
Me: How many brothers do you have?
Lydia: I have no brothers.
Me: So how many sisters do you have?
Lydia: No sisters.
Me: So you have no brothers and no sisters?
Lydia: Yes!
Food was another minefield for my ignorant Western palate. I had decided, magnanimously (ha again!) to forego lunch so that I could dash home to my boy (in fairness it was the first time I’d ever left him) and thereby not be a burden to the Centre in any way. I soon realised that the House Mothers were offended by my refusing their food and that not sitting down with all of them and sharing food was somehow insulting. I got the impression they felt it was the least they could do as I was giving up my time for free but of course they didn’t realise that I had the horrendous Nairobi traffic to negotiate on the way home as well. I had also wanted to avoid the inevitable Ugali (a kind of stiff meal porridge) and any other scary food but in fact it was all delicious and what did another 15 minutes matter really in the greater scheme of things? We were on Africa time after all! I quickly got used to saying grace as well, though thankfully was never asked to be the one to lead it as I wouldn’t have had a clue. My biggest faux pas however was on the return from Mamba Village when our two groups got separated for lunch and I therefore fed my bunch as it never occurred to me to do otherwise, the clock ticking later and later. When we got back to the centre, eventually, it seemed all the others had not only bought food for us but waited patiently until we got back (and the chips got cold). House Mother gave me a stern look that day and I’m not sure if it was because she knew we’d forgotten to say grace or whether because I’d squandered money, albeit my own, on buying surplus chips. The whole culture of food was a little beyond me then, and still is.
Snap
Another shocker was the children’s treatment of toys. I say toys in the loosest manner, I didn’t buy them anything extravagant. Just plenty of exercise books, a skipping rope, a ball, some crayons and a couple of packets of cards and such. I love card games and think they’re a great way to learn maths for example. What astonished me was that the day after I’d brought in the cards, they were bent and dog-eared and torn and strewn on the floor. They looked like they’d been played with for months, not a day. Why didn’t they take care of them? Didn’t they realise that they could keep these cards and play with them day after day if only they’d put them back in the packet? No, is the answer, they absolutely didn’t. They had no possessions, let alone toys, so how would they know to take care of something? The children often lived absolutely in the moment and the idea of delayed gratification, for example, had never been explained or even demonstrated.
My other surprise was teaching the boys how to play snap. They had no idea, not a clue. I explained it to them time and again and they simply didn’t get it. I brought in special ‘snap cards’ with pictures of animals on, which helped a little bit. But in the end it took me nearly a week to teach them this, to me, rudimentary game. Why it was such a hardship for them I still have to work out.
Sister Mary told me a story of a volunteer who’d handed out counters with some game she played with a group of kids. As you played the game you ‘bet’ with your counters and when the counters ran out you had to wait for the game to start again before you got a new set of counters. The uproar it caused! She said that 14 year old boys would come howling to her on their knees, begging her to give them more counters so they could stay in the game. She explained over and over again that this wasn’t part of the rules and these boys would cry with anger and frustration. They had simply never experienced anything like it and their emotional development was so stumped that they reverted to baby behaviour because they simply could not cope with the disappointment. Extraordinary.
Stephen
Stephen perplexed me when I first met him and I took an instant dislike to him. It pains me greatly to say that, again my white middle class upbringing not allowing me to talk like that about a child, especially me who loves children! Nevertheless it’s best to be honest about it, however unpalatable. I thought him sly and a chancer. He looked always furtive and as if he was up to something but mostly I got the impression that, if caught, he expected a beating. The aim then, was not to avoid trouble in the first place but not to get caught and hence the ‘furtive’ look. Here, again, I have to take a good look at myself. Where was my empathy, my understanding? The first time I went out with Sister Mary and told Pete about it afterwards I wept and wept with the shock of it all, the deprivation and injustice I’d seen unlocking the floodgates. Obviously that was no help to anyone and I certainly didn’t come home after my mornings at St Marians and cry. But my hardness towards Stephen puzzled me and I didn’t like myself for it at all.
He was preternaturally silent, with me at least. He barely spoke to me and I assumed his English or his confidence was lacking. The latter may have been true but on the rare occasion he spoke, his English was perfect and he understood everything I said very well – especially when it came to counting games using the pink ball! But most of the time he would gaze up at me in wonder as though I was some alien creature (and probably I was) and ignore anything I said completely, often leading Dennis astray and the two of them sitting under the dining table playing some secret game.
Two things changed my mind and my attitude, thankfully. The first was our outing to Mamba Village. We had been talking in the car about what they each wanted to do when they grew up. The girls were fiercely ambitious, almost to a man wanting to be doctors or lawyers. Very commendable! But Stephen, sat in the front seat on Lynet’s lap, said very quietly (and in English!) that he wanted to be ‘a driver’. My heart and my head seemed literally to click into place. It was perfectly natural in my world to aspire to be a lawyer or a doctor, but to meet a young boy who wants ‘nothing more’ than to be a driver, to have that as his highest aspiration and dearest dream and to know that even that ambition could be way beyond his means, no matter if he worked a lifetime, brought me up short and gave me a glimpse into Stephen’s world. To say I saw him in a different light is an understatement.
Once we turned off the highway to our destination, the road was gravel once again and I stopped the car. Stephen, come sit with me and help me drive the car I asked. He did, gravely holding on to the steering wheel while I coasted at a slow 10mph for 200m or so. I instructed him quietly as we went, warning him to start turning the wheel for the car park a bit earlier and looking for a spot we could easily glide into – luckily the car park was empty. His smile, usually so fleeting and unsure, was like a ray of light and my heart bounced and my head sang and in that moment I loved him so much.
The other kids were clamouring of course, wanting to know when it was their turn and who could drive next but on this I was firm. No, it was Stephen’s treat and his alone. Later, I relented a little and took photographs of them all in the driver’s seat as we waited for the taxi home so they could see what they looked like behind the wheel. But I only ever let Stephen ‘drive’ and it felt right.
Stephen and studies were like two magnets designed always to repel each other. He had no interest in anything I tried, from arts and crafts to puzzles and card games. He loved Alfie’s story book which I brought in every day but only if left alone with it, any attempt by me to read it and he would slope off disinterestedly. On one of my last days I had stocked up with some small treats, as mentioned above, but how was I to know that the key to Stephen’s heart was stickers? Oh my, those stickers were like buried treasure to Stephen and he would to ANYTHING to get a sticker in his book. Including, not only finishing an exercise but racing through it and clamouring for another! The change was unbelievable and I cursed myself for not thinking of stickers before. These had come along with a note book I had bought and I’d briefly toyed with the idea of giving them to Alfie, what a waste that would have been! Stickers it was and stickers it still is, as far as I can tell from my updates from the centre.
And Stephen is, oddly and naturally, the child I carry with me in my mind’s eye to this day. Not that we got on fantastically well or that I felt I had somehow ‘got through’ to him; I’m not even sure he’d remember me except as someone else interrupting his play and making him focus on lessons, no doubt a daily occurrence. I guess it’s more that Stephen was the key for me and I was able to tap into that elusive empathy at last. I am not at all ashamed to say he is my favourite.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
St Marian Children's Centre, Nairobi Kenya
This is an appeal for the amazing St Marian Children's Centre which is where I did my voluntary work when in Nairobi in the summer. If you don't feel able to contribute financially, then please help by forwarding this appeal or link to my blog/Facebook account to 5 other people who may be able to help.
I will shortly post a blog about my experiences at St Marian CC last summer.
Many thanks
P.O BOX 61623 – 00200 NAIROBI, TEL: 0710 748 106, 0721 216 995
1st March, 2011
Dear Madam\Sir,
RE: CO-FUNDING REQUEST FOR PURCHASING A CENTRE HOUSE.
St. Marian Children’s Centre has been engaged in providing shelter for rescued children in the Mukuru slums neighbourhood of South ‘B’ Nairobi since 2009.
We have been renting a house that is unable to take in children numbering more than 16. As such, this limits our effectiveness in growth and responding to the needs of our attachment area, rescuing and transforming lives of the rescued children from sexual abuse, child labour & trafficking, domestic violence, sudden death or disappearance of parents etc.
This year, we need to register St. Marian Children Centre as a Children Charitable Institution (CCI) under Makadara District Children Department (Government of Kenya). Being a CCI will facilitate the integration process, especially in the manner of bureaucracy and co-operation with the Kenya government institutions such as the children’s department and other permanent children’s homes.
The CCI statutes have more privileges in assistance of children which is our core function. Up to now we have fulfilled all the conditions (administration, training) of CCI requirements except one – having a facility that can accommodate a minimum of 20 children.
We have recently identified an ideal house for sale in Nairobi-South ‘B’ for St. Marian Children Centre. It requires a total of €135,000 * See attached budget*.However, we have approached 10 organizations, requesting each one for funds of €13,500. Up to date we have not received any positive response.
We have done the evaluation of the house with our lawyer. We need to make commitment payment of 10% of the house value, which is € 13,500 otherwise the house will be sold. We hereby appeal to your organization for co-funding amounting to €13,500 to purchase the home for the centre.
Sincerely,
Justyna Gorna (Project Cordinator)
GRANT PROPOSAL
TITLE: St. Marian Children Centre
SUBMITTED BY: Justyna Gorna (Project coordinator)
Phone: +254 710748 106
Email: gornajustyna@yahoo.com
Through: Mercy Development Support
P.O Box 18623-00500
Nairobi
Phone: Cell: +254 (0) 733 701 444
Wireless: 254 (0) 20 244 66 50
Email mercydevelopment@yahoo.com
PROPOSAL SUBMITTED TO: Katholische Kirche Vorarlberg - "Bruder und Schwester in Not"
LOCATION: South B, Nairobi, Kenya
Total Grant Requested: € 13,500*
*Exchange rate at Kshs 104 per Euro
CONTACT PERSON: Justyna Gorna (Project coordinator)
St. Marian Children Centre
P.O.Box 61623-00200
Nairobi-South B.
Kenya
Phone: +254 710748 106
Email: gornajustyna@yahoo.com
Account: Barclays Bank of Kenya Limited
Development House Branch
P.O Box 44285 -00100
Nairobi.
St. Marian Children Centre
Swift Code: BARCKENX
Sort Code: 03 202 1576479
Account Number: 202 1576479
INTRODUCTION
St Marian Children Centre is a registered organization in the Republic of Kenya under the NGO Coordination Act of 1990 with registration number OP.218/051/2008/0268/5296 since November 2008. The organization was formed by people who have been working on social issues and have been encountering endless stories of children being exploited in Mukuru Slum / South B - Nairobi.
The centre was founded due to the closure of the Sisters of Mercy children’s home that was catering for the orphans and abused children in the Mukuru slum in December, 2007. Subsequent to this St. Marian Children Centre was founded with the assistance & guidance of Sr. Mary Killeen (Sisters of Mercy) together with the cooperation of Nairobi South “B” Catholic Parish.
St Marian Centre was a result of our years of practice, faith beliefs and personal convictions, and above all the urgent need to answer the difficult situation of the most vulnerable members of Mukuru Slum society.
Vision
We aspire to see the vulnerable children living a fully dignified life.
Mission statement
We aspire to rescue children from insecure environments by giving them short term shelter, education and responding to their psychological and spiritual needs. We intend to re-integrate children to safer environment after a comprehensive assessment. We aim to empower the vulnerable children’s guardians through outreach program by making them sustainable.
BACKGROUND TO THE PROBLEM
Mukuru slum is situated about 10km outside Nairobi City Centre and is approximately 35 years old. It comprises 20 villages with a population that is estimated around 400 000 people. The average family lives in corrugated iron shacks measuring 10' X 10'. Large families are crammed into this tiny space to survive. Most of the people are landless. Some were pushed from their rural homes by tribal and land clashes, or are economic or environmental refugees. Many of the slum dwellers in Mukuru work as casual labourers in the manufacturing industries situated close to the slum. Others operate small-scale businesses selling vegetables and fruit or hawking various items. Earnings are pitifully low and inadequate to feed their families. Consequently, their children look to other means of survival such as prostitution, drug peddling, begging and criminal activities.
At the moment St. Marian Children’s centre is renting a house No. 219 in riverbank estate in south “B” which is about 200 meters from the Mukuru slum. Mukuru slum is approximately 8km from the airport on your way into the city centre adjacent to Mombasa road-the road leading into the city centre.
The high level of poverty puts basic education beyond the reach of many families. This has impacted negatively on education. It has contributed to high illiteracy and drop out levels among those fortunate enough to be going to school. Dropouts amount to 44% of the school-going children in the slums (according to World Bank reports). Many parents are unable to pay the few hundred shillings (€ 4 approx) per term towards school fees. The Sisters of Mercy sponsor 4 schools within Mukuru where the children of St. Marian centre attend primary school.
In line with St.Marians policy of education continuity, we sponsor the children who pass through our centre to Secondary school through individual sponsorship of well wishers and volunteers. Most of the children that we have re-integrated back with their immediate families and/or extended relatives have to be placed in boarding schools because their guardians are unable to cater for them.
The slum condition poses many challenges and many children are neglected abandoned or lack the basic needs for survival. As a result they are very vulnerable, especially to any exploitation. Often Children are engaged in petty productive work to supplement basic family needs. Child labour in Mukuru includes hawking, petty trade, transportation using carts, household work, begging around the shopping centre and housing estates.
In terms of health the most common diseases are malaria, typhoid, dysentery and tuberculosis. Malnutrition is visible among the children. This is primarily related to the high cost of food in relation to the low family income. Medical treatment is beyond the reach of most of the residents except for services of Mary Immaculate clinic where medical services are subsidized by the Slovak mission. The scourge of AIDS is the biggest killer and creates another social phenomenon – orphaned children.
OVERALL OBJECTIVE
To Rescue and support, vulnerable, neglected, and abandoned children with basic needs for survival, education and health care
METHODOLOGIES/STRATEGIES
The founder of St. Marian Children Centre was greatly assisted by the expertise of its supporters/board members. We work in the following way, every child comes to the centre through a referral from District Children’s Department, local authorities-namely area chief or social offices. The centre provides safe environment for the children who have been victims of abuse, child labour, human trafficking, home based violence, sudden illness and imprisonment or death of a parent.
While the children are placed under our care we start the process of selection to identify a responsible relative or extended family and, in case of orphans they are referred to permanent children’s homes. This process (re-integration) normally takes a very long time to build up relationship between the victim child and relative.
St Marian Children Centre makes sure that each child gets basic education and continues with school after being re-integrated with the support of sponsors. In collaboration with our partners we provide badly needed education for the children boarding schools and day schools alike. Additionally, children in the centre are trained properly in the correct methods of hygiene and housework, which is a lifelong skill that will benefit them.
The children are helped to recover from their traumatic experiences through councelling, play, art, drama, story telling, singing and good nutrition. The staff are assisted with counselling and support groups to help the children. Maryanne-experienced nurse is available for advices concerning children’s behaviour and problems etc
Guardians, who are taking care of orphans staying in Mukuru slum, are supported with food for a short period while they are empowered to earn money themselves through setting up small businesses.
ACHIEVEMENTS SINCE 2009-2010
Re-integrated children- 32 (Children who were taken back to their relatives, but are still supported through sponsorship for their education)
Boarding school- 10 Children
Supported by outreach program-35 Children
*BUDGET
DESCRIPTION AMOUNT ( EURO)
Purchase price of House 125,000.00
Renovations and Improvements 10,000.00
TOTAL 135,000.00
*LIST OF APROACHED CO-FUNDING ORGANIZATIONS TO PURCHASE CENTER’S HOUSE:
Peace and Cooperation Foundation
HIVOS INTERNATIONAL
COSPE
Pontifical Association for the Holy Childhood in Germany
TROCAIRE
Christian Children’s Fund of Canada
Katholische Kirche Vorarlberg - "Bruder und Schwester in Not"
OXFAM- SOLIDARITY
Terre des Hommes Netherlands
CATHOLIC RELIEF SERVICES
I will shortly post a blog about my experiences at St Marian CC last summer.
Many thanks
P.O BOX 61623 – 00200 NAIROBI, TEL: 0710 748 106, 0721 216 995
1st March, 2011
Dear Madam\Sir,
RE: CO-FUNDING REQUEST FOR PURCHASING A CENTRE HOUSE.
St. Marian Children’s Centre has been engaged in providing shelter for rescued children in the Mukuru slums neighbourhood of South ‘B’ Nairobi since 2009.
We have been renting a house that is unable to take in children numbering more than 16. As such, this limits our effectiveness in growth and responding to the needs of our attachment area, rescuing and transforming lives of the rescued children from sexual abuse, child labour & trafficking, domestic violence, sudden death or disappearance of parents etc.
This year, we need to register St. Marian Children Centre as a Children Charitable Institution (CCI) under Makadara District Children Department (Government of Kenya). Being a CCI will facilitate the integration process, especially in the manner of bureaucracy and co-operation with the Kenya government institutions such as the children’s department and other permanent children’s homes.
The CCI statutes have more privileges in assistance of children which is our core function. Up to now we have fulfilled all the conditions (administration, training) of CCI requirements except one – having a facility that can accommodate a minimum of 20 children.
We have recently identified an ideal house for sale in Nairobi-South ‘B’ for St. Marian Children Centre. It requires a total of €135,000 * See attached budget*.However, we have approached 10 organizations, requesting each one for funds of €13,500. Up to date we have not received any positive response.
We have done the evaluation of the house with our lawyer. We need to make commitment payment of 10% of the house value, which is € 13,500 otherwise the house will be sold. We hereby appeal to your organization for co-funding amounting to €13,500 to purchase the home for the centre.
Sincerely,
Justyna Gorna (Project Cordinator)
GRANT PROPOSAL
TITLE: St. Marian Children Centre
SUBMITTED BY: Justyna Gorna (Project coordinator)
Phone: +254 710748 106
Email: gornajustyna@yahoo.com
Through: Mercy Development Support
P.O Box 18623-00500
Nairobi
Phone: Cell: +254 (0) 733 701 444
Wireless: 254 (0) 20 244 66 50
Email mercydevelopment@yahoo.com
PROPOSAL SUBMITTED TO: Katholische Kirche Vorarlberg - "Bruder und Schwester in Not"
LOCATION: South B, Nairobi, Kenya
Total Grant Requested: € 13,500*
*Exchange rate at Kshs 104 per Euro
CONTACT PERSON: Justyna Gorna (Project coordinator)
St. Marian Children Centre
P.O.Box 61623-00200
Nairobi-South B.
Kenya
Phone: +254 710748 106
Email: gornajustyna@yahoo.com
Account: Barclays Bank of Kenya Limited
Development House Branch
P.O Box 44285 -00100
Nairobi.
St. Marian Children Centre
Swift Code: BARCKENX
Sort Code: 03 202 1576479
Account Number: 202 1576479
INTRODUCTION
St Marian Children Centre is a registered organization in the Republic of Kenya under the NGO Coordination Act of 1990 with registration number OP.218/051/2008/0268/5296 since November 2008. The organization was formed by people who have been working on social issues and have been encountering endless stories of children being exploited in Mukuru Slum / South B - Nairobi.
The centre was founded due to the closure of the Sisters of Mercy children’s home that was catering for the orphans and abused children in the Mukuru slum in December, 2007. Subsequent to this St. Marian Children Centre was founded with the assistance & guidance of Sr. Mary Killeen (Sisters of Mercy) together with the cooperation of Nairobi South “B” Catholic Parish.
St Marian Centre was a result of our years of practice, faith beliefs and personal convictions, and above all the urgent need to answer the difficult situation of the most vulnerable members of Mukuru Slum society.
Vision
We aspire to see the vulnerable children living a fully dignified life.
Mission statement
We aspire to rescue children from insecure environments by giving them short term shelter, education and responding to their psychological and spiritual needs. We intend to re-integrate children to safer environment after a comprehensive assessment. We aim to empower the vulnerable children’s guardians through outreach program by making them sustainable.
BACKGROUND TO THE PROBLEM
Mukuru slum is situated about 10km outside Nairobi City Centre and is approximately 35 years old. It comprises 20 villages with a population that is estimated around 400 000 people. The average family lives in corrugated iron shacks measuring 10' X 10'. Large families are crammed into this tiny space to survive. Most of the people are landless. Some were pushed from their rural homes by tribal and land clashes, or are economic or environmental refugees. Many of the slum dwellers in Mukuru work as casual labourers in the manufacturing industries situated close to the slum. Others operate small-scale businesses selling vegetables and fruit or hawking various items. Earnings are pitifully low and inadequate to feed their families. Consequently, their children look to other means of survival such as prostitution, drug peddling, begging and criminal activities.
At the moment St. Marian Children’s centre is renting a house No. 219 in riverbank estate in south “B” which is about 200 meters from the Mukuru slum. Mukuru slum is approximately 8km from the airport on your way into the city centre adjacent to Mombasa road-the road leading into the city centre.
The high level of poverty puts basic education beyond the reach of many families. This has impacted negatively on education. It has contributed to high illiteracy and drop out levels among those fortunate enough to be going to school. Dropouts amount to 44% of the school-going children in the slums (according to World Bank reports). Many parents are unable to pay the few hundred shillings (€ 4 approx) per term towards school fees. The Sisters of Mercy sponsor 4 schools within Mukuru where the children of St. Marian centre attend primary school.
In line with St.Marians policy of education continuity, we sponsor the children who pass through our centre to Secondary school through individual sponsorship of well wishers and volunteers. Most of the children that we have re-integrated back with their immediate families and/or extended relatives have to be placed in boarding schools because their guardians are unable to cater for them.
The slum condition poses many challenges and many children are neglected abandoned or lack the basic needs for survival. As a result they are very vulnerable, especially to any exploitation. Often Children are engaged in petty productive work to supplement basic family needs. Child labour in Mukuru includes hawking, petty trade, transportation using carts, household work, begging around the shopping centre and housing estates.
In terms of health the most common diseases are malaria, typhoid, dysentery and tuberculosis. Malnutrition is visible among the children. This is primarily related to the high cost of food in relation to the low family income. Medical treatment is beyond the reach of most of the residents except for services of Mary Immaculate clinic where medical services are subsidized by the Slovak mission. The scourge of AIDS is the biggest killer and creates another social phenomenon – orphaned children.
OVERALL OBJECTIVE
To Rescue and support, vulnerable, neglected, and abandoned children with basic needs for survival, education and health care
METHODOLOGIES/STRATEGIES
The founder of St. Marian Children Centre was greatly assisted by the expertise of its supporters/board members. We work in the following way, every child comes to the centre through a referral from District Children’s Department, local authorities-namely area chief or social offices. The centre provides safe environment for the children who have been victims of abuse, child labour, human trafficking, home based violence, sudden illness and imprisonment or death of a parent.
While the children are placed under our care we start the process of selection to identify a responsible relative or extended family and, in case of orphans they are referred to permanent children’s homes. This process (re-integration) normally takes a very long time to build up relationship between the victim child and relative.
St Marian Children Centre makes sure that each child gets basic education and continues with school after being re-integrated with the support of sponsors. In collaboration with our partners we provide badly needed education for the children boarding schools and day schools alike. Additionally, children in the centre are trained properly in the correct methods of hygiene and housework, which is a lifelong skill that will benefit them.
The children are helped to recover from their traumatic experiences through councelling, play, art, drama, story telling, singing and good nutrition. The staff are assisted with counselling and support groups to help the children. Maryanne-experienced nurse is available for advices concerning children’s behaviour and problems etc
Guardians, who are taking care of orphans staying in Mukuru slum, are supported with food for a short period while they are empowered to earn money themselves through setting up small businesses.
ACHIEVEMENTS SINCE 2009-2010
Re-integrated children- 32 (Children who were taken back to their relatives, but are still supported through sponsorship for their education)
Boarding school- 10 Children
Supported by outreach program-35 Children
*BUDGET
DESCRIPTION AMOUNT ( EURO)
Purchase price of House 125,000.00
Renovations and Improvements 10,000.00
TOTAL 135,000.00
*LIST OF APROACHED CO-FUNDING ORGANIZATIONS TO PURCHASE CENTER’S HOUSE:
Peace and Cooperation Foundation
HIVOS INTERNATIONAL
COSPE
Pontifical Association for the Holy Childhood in Germany
TROCAIRE
Christian Children’s Fund of Canada
Katholische Kirche Vorarlberg - "Bruder und Schwester in Not"
OXFAM- SOLIDARITY
Terre des Hommes Netherlands
CATHOLIC RELIEF SERVICES
More Transport Woes
09.03.2011 More Transport Woes
So we’ve looked at some cars to hire so that we can avoid the taxi nightmare during hot and rainy season. There is no car hire company here, so you go through an intermediary (number provided by someone in Pete’s office. Grudging thanks for that). He then takes you round to see the cars available. You are hiring from a private person so they can fix whatever terms they wish.
You are entirely responsible for the car, maintenance, upkeep, damage repair, petrol (obviously) and so on. You are not to take the car out of Yangon, or if you do, get permission from the owner and pay extra for the privilege.
Petrol is rationed at 4 gallons per week. Prices just jumped by 600kyats a gallon and the queues for the petrol stations have to be seen to be believed. On average it takes 4 hours to get you petrol. You can buy from the side of the road, where quaint, makeshift stalls sell petrol out of drinks bottles (that Johnny Walker gets about!) or go to one of the few (only?) stations where the prices are jacked up but you don’t have to wait.
The average price of hire is $300 - $450 per month. We looked at the cheaper end, naturally, which means Myanmar Jeeps. Cut and shut jobs usually made from a Pajero base, the fancier ones even have a Pajero dashboard, woo hoo. At first I was quite excited about driving a jeep – did I mention Pete isn’t allowed to drive by his organisation? – but the reality was quite different. I mean I love driving, I’ve navigated both London and Nairobi, so I felt able to put my trepidation aside and man up to do the job on the mean streets of Yangon. Ha! The finest jeep of the 3 we looked at had the spongiest, weirdest pedals I’ve ever encountered. I had to plan my gear changes about 5 minutes in advance and breaking was scary to say the least. Yuck. And this was the only vehicle available with the steering wheel on the ‘right’ side. Most vehicles are still geared up for driving on the left, and of course that’s not dangerous at all…
No seatbelts, naturally, though these can be bought at the market and fitted relatively easily, at our expense of course. But the bald tyre was a problem. The owner didn’t want to replace it. He did invite us to replace it and at the end of our 3 month contract (lower rates for longer terms) he would buy it off us at half price. Bargain!
GRrrr. So we said no. Next time we do the soul destroying process again we’ll have to up our price range and see if we can’t get one of those nice, old, rusty, knackered Toyota saloons instead.
Or buy a car? Oh yes, foreigners are not allowed to own cars here. Unless you’re a diplomat or UN employee of course. And if you do manage to make arrangements with a local to own it in name only, then you can spend $20 000 and up for the most basic vehicle. I’m talking 20 year old Toyotas here. You’ll be lucky if you get a steering wheel at all, never mind if it’s on the right side. The upside is that you’ll probably be able to sell it for the same price in a couple of years, so you don’t lose anything on the value. After you’ve spent all your wages on maintenance and petrol of course.
So I’m still no clearer on what to do. I’d like a driver, for definite. I’m less keen to drive the more time I spend in the traffic here (I even hate crossing the road for godsakes) and a driver would at least a) know his way around, b) take care of maintenance and petrol and c) eliminate parking headaches. I guess we go back to the drawing board, bite the bullet and keep looking for cars to hire. Take a 3 month rental and see where we’re at. Hmmm.
So we’ve looked at some cars to hire so that we can avoid the taxi nightmare during hot and rainy season. There is no car hire company here, so you go through an intermediary (number provided by someone in Pete’s office. Grudging thanks for that). He then takes you round to see the cars available. You are hiring from a private person so they can fix whatever terms they wish.
You are entirely responsible for the car, maintenance, upkeep, damage repair, petrol (obviously) and so on. You are not to take the car out of Yangon, or if you do, get permission from the owner and pay extra for the privilege.
Petrol is rationed at 4 gallons per week. Prices just jumped by 600kyats a gallon and the queues for the petrol stations have to be seen to be believed. On average it takes 4 hours to get you petrol. You can buy from the side of the road, where quaint, makeshift stalls sell petrol out of drinks bottles (that Johnny Walker gets about!) or go to one of the few (only?) stations where the prices are jacked up but you don’t have to wait.
The average price of hire is $300 - $450 per month. We looked at the cheaper end, naturally, which means Myanmar Jeeps. Cut and shut jobs usually made from a Pajero base, the fancier ones even have a Pajero dashboard, woo hoo. At first I was quite excited about driving a jeep – did I mention Pete isn’t allowed to drive by his organisation? – but the reality was quite different. I mean I love driving, I’ve navigated both London and Nairobi, so I felt able to put my trepidation aside and man up to do the job on the mean streets of Yangon. Ha! The finest jeep of the 3 we looked at had the spongiest, weirdest pedals I’ve ever encountered. I had to plan my gear changes about 5 minutes in advance and breaking was scary to say the least. Yuck. And this was the only vehicle available with the steering wheel on the ‘right’ side. Most vehicles are still geared up for driving on the left, and of course that’s not dangerous at all…
No seatbelts, naturally, though these can be bought at the market and fitted relatively easily, at our expense of course. But the bald tyre was a problem. The owner didn’t want to replace it. He did invite us to replace it and at the end of our 3 month contract (lower rates for longer terms) he would buy it off us at half price. Bargain!
GRrrr. So we said no. Next time we do the soul destroying process again we’ll have to up our price range and see if we can’t get one of those nice, old, rusty, knackered Toyota saloons instead.
Or buy a car? Oh yes, foreigners are not allowed to own cars here. Unless you’re a diplomat or UN employee of course. And if you do manage to make arrangements with a local to own it in name only, then you can spend $20 000 and up for the most basic vehicle. I’m talking 20 year old Toyotas here. You’ll be lucky if you get a steering wheel at all, never mind if it’s on the right side. The upside is that you’ll probably be able to sell it for the same price in a couple of years, so you don’t lose anything on the value. After you’ve spent all your wages on maintenance and petrol of course.
So I’m still no clearer on what to do. I’d like a driver, for definite. I’m less keen to drive the more time I spend in the traffic here (I even hate crossing the road for godsakes) and a driver would at least a) know his way around, b) take care of maintenance and petrol and c) eliminate parking headaches. I guess we go back to the drawing board, bite the bullet and keep looking for cars to hire. Take a 3 month rental and see where we’re at. Hmmm.
Taxis are Plentiful and Cheap
08.03.2011 Taxis are Plentiful and Cheap
Are they f***! OK, let’s get this rant out of the way because it is quickly becoming one of the major bugbears of living in this beautiful country.
Taxis ARE plentiful, that is, there’s probably the same amount pro-rata as black cabs in central London. It’s a very common form of transport here. Trishaws do operate on small side roads and buses are also frequent – often loaded to the gills with people hanging off all sides – and there are also pick-up trucks, which you see similarly loaded, often with two or three guys literally hanging off the back and stepping off to rest their arms when the traffic slows. But taxis are quite common.
Taxis are also cheap. The average fare is around 1500 to 2000 kyats (just a little over $2). That’s the average fair for a foreigner. Locals will pay around 500 to 1500 kyats for most trips around town. So on that basis, they are cheap.
However, as a main form of transport for a family it sucks. Big time. Not only do I have to argue the fare most of the time, I rarely get the actual rate. This is frustrating to say the least. I KNOW I’m getting ripped off and I hate it. Take yesterday for example, when I went to the Inya Lake Hotel. The fare should be 1000k. I paid 1500k because I’m now used to the foreigner price and it’s only bloody 70cents or whatever. On the way back, the bugger charged me 2000k. When I pointed out to him that the actual fare was 1500k (even though it isn’t) he told me confidently it was usually 2500k and he was doing me a favour charging only 2000k. As I didn’t have the correct change I couldn’t argue with him, or even throw him the right money and walk away as most people have learned to do. The bloody cheek of it! I had a good mind to scream in his face and I wish heartily I’d punched him through the window as I got out. (Showing emotion, especially aggression, is a big no no here, more of which in another post). Oh God I’m so angry about it still. (Bear in mind I’ve had not a decent night’s sleep for over a week what with Pete being away and Alfie being poorly.) STOP ripping me off! Not only that but the guy was giving me a ride HOME so it’s not like I’m even a tourist.
So every time I get a taxi I have to make sure I have the right change for what I think the fare is. Most times I get charged 2000k wherever I go. And most times I think, oh what the hell.
Then there is rush hour. Oh my. Even in the last 3 months, I am reliably informed, the traffic has swelled to ridiculous proportions. So there is a rush hour at 7am (schools) and 9am (shops opening). Then again at 12.30pm (schools again), 4pm and 6pm. Bizarrely, though office workers often start at 8am, this is one of the quietest times on the road.
During these times, taxis are usually full and you can wait a good 10 minutes for an empty one to crawl by. Even then, if they don’t like your destination, or worse, don’t understand your destination, they will simply drive on. Road names are rarely used as both spelling and pronunciation vary so dramatically; it’s usual to indicate landmarks, but this is tricky if going to someone’s house for example. Sometimes, if organised enough, I will ask Amber to write down my destination in Burmese but even that doesn’t always work. If you are unlucky enough to be going to a hotel or otherwise touristy location then the fare jumps that bit higher. Pete refuses to name hotels for just that reason and will instead indicate a nearby landmark to ensure a lower fare. I have taken to picking up business cards wherever I go because they often have a map or even the address written in Burmese on the back. Still, it means I may as well wear a sign saying DUMB RICH TOURIST on my head. Whatever happens, you DON’T want to negotiate the fare in advance, as they advise you in the guides. Because then what happens is that the taxi driver names some outrageous fare, you say no and he drives off. Then you spend another 10 minutes waiting in the searing heat. Best just to agree the destination and jump in, make sure you have the correct money and jump out at the other end.
It’s dispiriting to say the least. Now it’s hotter I spend more time at home, I simply can’t be bothered with it all. Cheap? Well if you go to the supermarket and a playgroup in one day, that’s an average of $8. You do the maths.
Add into the mix a fractious toddler, buggy (yeah right!) and any bags or shopping you may have and kiss your sanity goodbye.
I’d love to have something positive to write about Pete’s organisation here. How helpful they have been about transport. How understanding they are about travelling with a family (when all the other international staff are single) and how they kindly put one of their 4 cars and drivers at our disposal for a couple of hours in the first week or two so we could find our way around and at least navigate to the nearest supermarket. How, like all other NGO’s I know of (and I’ve done a bit of research) drivers are generally available at evenings and weekends for senior management. How they have gone out of their way to ensure we are able to access car rental, hire a driver or even buy a car in this crazy place. But no, I can’t say any of that. So, thanks for nothing.
It IS possible to form a relationship with a taxi driver and use him regularly. Believe me, we have tried. Whenever we get in a taxi we feel we could live with, we check if the driver has a mobile phone. If it’s a nice taxi they usually do. Unfortunately, if it’s a nice (and I use the word advisedly) taxi and the driver has a mobile phone, they are rarely, if ever, available. Great.
The hot and rainy season is coming and I don’t know how we are going to manage. I can’t expect Alfie to sit in a taxi in 40 degrees heat with no air conditioning. I would prefer not to sit in one myself, especially those whose windows don’t work, i.e. 98%, and therefore have permanently wet seats. Maybe I am a whinging Westerner, perhaps I’m an expat softy with unreasonable expectations. But I really don’t want my boy, especially if he’s sick, to have to stand on the side of the road for 20 minutes getting sunburn, heat rash, and heat stroke for the privilege of travelling in a deathtrap rainbucket at a vastly inflated rate. Is it really too much to ask?
Are they f***! OK, let’s get this rant out of the way because it is quickly becoming one of the major bugbears of living in this beautiful country.
Taxis ARE plentiful, that is, there’s probably the same amount pro-rata as black cabs in central London. It’s a very common form of transport here. Trishaws do operate on small side roads and buses are also frequent – often loaded to the gills with people hanging off all sides – and there are also pick-up trucks, which you see similarly loaded, often with two or three guys literally hanging off the back and stepping off to rest their arms when the traffic slows. But taxis are quite common.
Taxis are also cheap. The average fare is around 1500 to 2000 kyats (just a little over $2). That’s the average fair for a foreigner. Locals will pay around 500 to 1500 kyats for most trips around town. So on that basis, they are cheap.
However, as a main form of transport for a family it sucks. Big time. Not only do I have to argue the fare most of the time, I rarely get the actual rate. This is frustrating to say the least. I KNOW I’m getting ripped off and I hate it. Take yesterday for example, when I went to the Inya Lake Hotel. The fare should be 1000k. I paid 1500k because I’m now used to the foreigner price and it’s only bloody 70cents or whatever. On the way back, the bugger charged me 2000k. When I pointed out to him that the actual fare was 1500k (even though it isn’t) he told me confidently it was usually 2500k and he was doing me a favour charging only 2000k. As I didn’t have the correct change I couldn’t argue with him, or even throw him the right money and walk away as most people have learned to do. The bloody cheek of it! I had a good mind to scream in his face and I wish heartily I’d punched him through the window as I got out. (Showing emotion, especially aggression, is a big no no here, more of which in another post). Oh God I’m so angry about it still. (Bear in mind I’ve had not a decent night’s sleep for over a week what with Pete being away and Alfie being poorly.) STOP ripping me off! Not only that but the guy was giving me a ride HOME so it’s not like I’m even a tourist.
So every time I get a taxi I have to make sure I have the right change for what I think the fare is. Most times I get charged 2000k wherever I go. And most times I think, oh what the hell.
Then there is rush hour. Oh my. Even in the last 3 months, I am reliably informed, the traffic has swelled to ridiculous proportions. So there is a rush hour at 7am (schools) and 9am (shops opening). Then again at 12.30pm (schools again), 4pm and 6pm. Bizarrely, though office workers often start at 8am, this is one of the quietest times on the road.
During these times, taxis are usually full and you can wait a good 10 minutes for an empty one to crawl by. Even then, if they don’t like your destination, or worse, don’t understand your destination, they will simply drive on. Road names are rarely used as both spelling and pronunciation vary so dramatically; it’s usual to indicate landmarks, but this is tricky if going to someone’s house for example. Sometimes, if organised enough, I will ask Amber to write down my destination in Burmese but even that doesn’t always work. If you are unlucky enough to be going to a hotel or otherwise touristy location then the fare jumps that bit higher. Pete refuses to name hotels for just that reason and will instead indicate a nearby landmark to ensure a lower fare. I have taken to picking up business cards wherever I go because they often have a map or even the address written in Burmese on the back. Still, it means I may as well wear a sign saying DUMB RICH TOURIST on my head. Whatever happens, you DON’T want to negotiate the fare in advance, as they advise you in the guides. Because then what happens is that the taxi driver names some outrageous fare, you say no and he drives off. Then you spend another 10 minutes waiting in the searing heat. Best just to agree the destination and jump in, make sure you have the correct money and jump out at the other end.
It’s dispiriting to say the least. Now it’s hotter I spend more time at home, I simply can’t be bothered with it all. Cheap? Well if you go to the supermarket and a playgroup in one day, that’s an average of $8. You do the maths.
Add into the mix a fractious toddler, buggy (yeah right!) and any bags or shopping you may have and kiss your sanity goodbye.
I’d love to have something positive to write about Pete’s organisation here. How helpful they have been about transport. How understanding they are about travelling with a family (when all the other international staff are single) and how they kindly put one of their 4 cars and drivers at our disposal for a couple of hours in the first week or two so we could find our way around and at least navigate to the nearest supermarket. How, like all other NGO’s I know of (and I’ve done a bit of research) drivers are generally available at evenings and weekends for senior management. How they have gone out of their way to ensure we are able to access car rental, hire a driver or even buy a car in this crazy place. But no, I can’t say any of that. So, thanks for nothing.
It IS possible to form a relationship with a taxi driver and use him regularly. Believe me, we have tried. Whenever we get in a taxi we feel we could live with, we check if the driver has a mobile phone. If it’s a nice taxi they usually do. Unfortunately, if it’s a nice (and I use the word advisedly) taxi and the driver has a mobile phone, they are rarely, if ever, available. Great.
The hot and rainy season is coming and I don’t know how we are going to manage. I can’t expect Alfie to sit in a taxi in 40 degrees heat with no air conditioning. I would prefer not to sit in one myself, especially those whose windows don’t work, i.e. 98%, and therefore have permanently wet seats. Maybe I am a whinging Westerner, perhaps I’m an expat softy with unreasonable expectations. But I really don’t want my boy, especially if he’s sick, to have to stand on the side of the road for 20 minutes getting sunburn, heat rash, and heat stroke for the privilege of travelling in a deathtrap rainbucket at a vastly inflated rate. Is it really too much to ask?
The Ambassadors' Wives
04.03.2011 The Ambassadors’ Wives
There are 3 main groups of expats out here, with another 4th subgroup I suppose you could call it. They are the diplomats, the corporate wives, the NGO staffers and the teachers of all the aforementioned’s children.
In the main I hang out with diplomats, in particular the German crowd. I’m not sure how that happened except they are a great bunch, all seem to have young children and many have been here a relatively short time, just like me. I’ve not met any Brits from the Embassy so I’m not sure where they are hiding and there seem to be relatively few Americans though they have a huge Embassy and Club here. Someone said, with a touch of bitterness, that they tend to hang around their own, staying on Embassy compounds, shopping at their commissary where they can get ketchup and Hershey’s and only venturing out when there are other Yanks around. I don’t know if that’s true but then I’ve not met many as I said – we’ll get our chance at their annual St Patrick’s Day hoolie! The Australians I’ve met are lovely and as mentioned in a previous blog have a great family friendly club. Diplomatic families move around every 2 – 3 years and will often take over the last family’s house and staff; one estate on the edges of Inya Lake has been rented by the German Embassy for over 20 years for example. It is lush!
Not all countries are represented by embassies (Sweden for example though rumour has it they are lobbying hard) but the ASEAN countries are here. Last week I went to a flea market at the Royal Thai Embassy where they all had a stall; Laos, Malaysia, Singapore, Vietnam, Cambodia, Indonesia and even… North Korea! (They were selling sushi). Astonishingly the Russians were there too (selling apple cake and squash) and apparently have a massive embassy with lots of Russian businessmen having settled here many years ago. Bizarrely, there is not one Russian restaurant or shop to be found anywhere in Yangon. Although to be fair, what would I know?
I do have a great friend in the corporate world, Kathleen, who is Irish and has travelled the world with her husband’s work, first at Shell and now at Daewoo (Daewoo and the French Total being the biggest businesses here). It was Pete who first met Kathleen - on the internet, though not a dating site I hasten to add. Both were attempting to do some research on Myanmar and coming up blank but got on an expat website fishing for info and found each other. Kathleen moved here a couple of months before us and has been really helpful, taking me under her wing and introducing me around. Next week we’re off to Pilates!
They live quite a different life, the corpo rate wives. Not that I know that many but they often live in serviced apartments (with gym, doctor, yoga, playgrounds, playgroups, pool, taxis, reception staff etc all on hand at the push of a button) and have drivers who know Yangon like the back of their hand so getting around is no problem. Neither is money an issue; they work hard and play hard and, having travelled around for much of their lives, have houses dotted around the world and kids in private education. I met one guy last week who works here (4 weeks on, 2 weeks off) but lives on a 3 500 acre bird sanctuary in Belize. Nice!
With 50+ NGO’s out here, though winding down in numbers since the Cyclone Nargis emergency in 2008, there are plenty of kids to fill up the nurseries and kindergartens, most of which tend to stick to English, American or French models. That said, most international staff tend to be young(ish) and single and I’m vaguely aware of a bar-hopping life that includes the Captain’s Bar on Wednesdays, the Strand on Fridays and the British Club once a month. (Though I’m sure there’s more than that going on!) There are of course the NGO lifers, families who have chosen this uncertain life permanently as careers and who tend therefore to have senior management positions and live in big old colonial houses with an array of staff picked up over the course of a few years. Many have lived and worked in all sorts of exotic places and are generally great fun to hang out with even though they seem to always be on their way to somewhere else.
A subdivision of the NGO, or perhaps the uberdivision is of course the UN who have a huge number of staff working here in many different departments including Unicef, WHO, UNDP and all the others (11 at the last count). Their lifestyle is again a little different, due in part to their vast salaries and incredible ‘perks’ such as being able to buy (for a pittance) cars and drive themselves, employ the best staff (cook, housekeeper, nanny, driver, gardener, handyman), full medical cover, school fees, flights home and of course a full network of contacts, IT and security access, not to mention like-minded people and nationalities. Lots of NGO staff talk dreamily of one day going to work ‘for the dark side’.
Obviously I have come across quite a few teachers, thanks to my stint at the ISY (International School Yangon, not to be confused with the International School Myanmar). They tend to be either expat spouses or again, careerists who have chosen to travel with their work and are as apt to settle down as they are to move on to the next International School. The kids in these schools tend to be affluent, multi-lingual, motivated individuals where class sizes constantly fluctuate but rarely reach over 20. Extra-curricular activities are encouraged in all spheres (the art gallery and theatre made me green with envy) and the sports facilities are fantastic, with hops to neighbouring countries to play matches in badminton, volleyball, basketball and even ultimate Frisbee quite the norm. I was astonished on my first visit to see young kids with iPads and iPhones but was even more surprised to find them all so articulate, polite, enthusiastic and passionately interested in me and my background, as well as fearlessly questioning all my instructions - to find out why they were doing a certain exercise, not just to be bolshy! It must be a joy to teach in these schools, though the principal has lots of hilarious stories of teaching around the world (Kuwaiti boys like to wrestle and hold hands a lot, apparently!).
There are allegedly about 3000 expats in Yangon, including children. A teeny tiny amount really though with everyone moving on all the time, difficult to quite get to know EVERYone. I haven’t counted the Korean’s and Chinese in that number, they probably triple that in their communities alone, but we (i.e. European, US and Australian) rarely mingle.
I’ve been told more than once that the expat community has changed considerably over the last couple of years; in particular there are very few spouses at a loose end and available for charity work (visiting orphanages, arranging veg deliveries to old folks homes, that sort of thing) or functions, which in the olden golden days used to be something to behold. But the times they are a-changing and the world is different now. It would feel odd to spend thousands of dollars on a Ball when babies are dying on your doorstep. Spouses want to work (and with every man and his dog working as a ‘consultant’ that’s not asking too much) families want to experience all the region has to offer, integrate with the locals and travel around the country and South East Asia as much as possible, suck up the whole shebang before the career elastic snaps them back to another place, another country, home even. Maybe the corporate wives are the last bastion of colonialism, struggling to make each place just like home, discussing where to get decent sheets and parmesan or which gym is best value for money, whereas the young gun NGO staff are like, ‘why would I want home comforts? I could get those at home!’ and are more likely to argue over where the best local curry can be found and getting the best price for fruit in the street market next door, or indulging in fantastically cheap beauty and cosmetic treatments while they can.
I flit from group to group not sure where I fit in and not sure it matters really. I have extra kudos wherever I go because of being an actress and therefore not easily categorised in the above groups. Luckily I’m a joiner and never knowingly say no to an invitation if I can help it so I’m happy to hang out with them all and soak up their incredible stories. My only gripe is the distinct lack of Ferrero Rocher. Honestly, these ambassadors are really NOT spoiling us… ;-)
There are 3 main groups of expats out here, with another 4th subgroup I suppose you could call it. They are the diplomats, the corporate wives, the NGO staffers and the teachers of all the aforementioned’s children.
In the main I hang out with diplomats, in particular the German crowd. I’m not sure how that happened except they are a great bunch, all seem to have young children and many have been here a relatively short time, just like me. I’ve not met any Brits from the Embassy so I’m not sure where they are hiding and there seem to be relatively few Americans though they have a huge Embassy and Club here. Someone said, with a touch of bitterness, that they tend to hang around their own, staying on Embassy compounds, shopping at their commissary where they can get ketchup and Hershey’s and only venturing out when there are other Yanks around. I don’t know if that’s true but then I’ve not met many as I said – we’ll get our chance at their annual St Patrick’s Day hoolie! The Australians I’ve met are lovely and as mentioned in a previous blog have a great family friendly club. Diplomatic families move around every 2 – 3 years and will often take over the last family’s house and staff; one estate on the edges of Inya Lake has been rented by the German Embassy for over 20 years for example. It is lush!
Not all countries are represented by embassies (Sweden for example though rumour has it they are lobbying hard) but the ASEAN countries are here. Last week I went to a flea market at the Royal Thai Embassy where they all had a stall; Laos, Malaysia, Singapore, Vietnam, Cambodia, Indonesia and even… North Korea! (They were selling sushi). Astonishingly the Russians were there too (selling apple cake and squash) and apparently have a massive embassy with lots of Russian businessmen having settled here many years ago. Bizarrely, there is not one Russian restaurant or shop to be found anywhere in Yangon. Although to be fair, what would I know?
I do have a great friend in the corporate world, Kathleen, who is Irish and has travelled the world with her husband’s work, first at Shell and now at Daewoo (Daewoo and the French Total being the biggest businesses here). It was Pete who first met Kathleen - on the internet, though not a dating site I hasten to add. Both were attempting to do some research on Myanmar and coming up blank but got on an expat website fishing for info and found each other. Kathleen moved here a couple of months before us and has been really helpful, taking me under her wing and introducing me around. Next week we’re off to Pilates!
They live quite a different life, the corpo rate wives. Not that I know that many but they often live in serviced apartments (with gym, doctor, yoga, playgrounds, playgroups, pool, taxis, reception staff etc all on hand at the push of a button) and have drivers who know Yangon like the back of their hand so getting around is no problem. Neither is money an issue; they work hard and play hard and, having travelled around for much of their lives, have houses dotted around the world and kids in private education. I met one guy last week who works here (4 weeks on, 2 weeks off) but lives on a 3 500 acre bird sanctuary in Belize. Nice!
With 50+ NGO’s out here, though winding down in numbers since the Cyclone Nargis emergency in 2008, there are plenty of kids to fill up the nurseries and kindergartens, most of which tend to stick to English, American or French models. That said, most international staff tend to be young(ish) and single and I’m vaguely aware of a bar-hopping life that includes the Captain’s Bar on Wednesdays, the Strand on Fridays and the British Club once a month. (Though I’m sure there’s more than that going on!) There are of course the NGO lifers, families who have chosen this uncertain life permanently as careers and who tend therefore to have senior management positions and live in big old colonial houses with an array of staff picked up over the course of a few years. Many have lived and worked in all sorts of exotic places and are generally great fun to hang out with even though they seem to always be on their way to somewhere else.
A subdivision of the NGO, or perhaps the uberdivision is of course the UN who have a huge number of staff working here in many different departments including Unicef, WHO, UNDP and all the others (11 at the last count). Their lifestyle is again a little different, due in part to their vast salaries and incredible ‘perks’ such as being able to buy (for a pittance) cars and drive themselves, employ the best staff (cook, housekeeper, nanny, driver, gardener, handyman), full medical cover, school fees, flights home and of course a full network of contacts, IT and security access, not to mention like-minded people and nationalities. Lots of NGO staff talk dreamily of one day going to work ‘for the dark side’.
Obviously I have come across quite a few teachers, thanks to my stint at the ISY (International School Yangon, not to be confused with the International School Myanmar). They tend to be either expat spouses or again, careerists who have chosen to travel with their work and are as apt to settle down as they are to move on to the next International School. The kids in these schools tend to be affluent, multi-lingual, motivated individuals where class sizes constantly fluctuate but rarely reach over 20. Extra-curricular activities are encouraged in all spheres (the art gallery and theatre made me green with envy) and the sports facilities are fantastic, with hops to neighbouring countries to play matches in badminton, volleyball, basketball and even ultimate Frisbee quite the norm. I was astonished on my first visit to see young kids with iPads and iPhones but was even more surprised to find them all so articulate, polite, enthusiastic and passionately interested in me and my background, as well as fearlessly questioning all my instructions - to find out why they were doing a certain exercise, not just to be bolshy! It must be a joy to teach in these schools, though the principal has lots of hilarious stories of teaching around the world (Kuwaiti boys like to wrestle and hold hands a lot, apparently!).
There are allegedly about 3000 expats in Yangon, including children. A teeny tiny amount really though with everyone moving on all the time, difficult to quite get to know EVERYone. I haven’t counted the Korean’s and Chinese in that number, they probably triple that in their communities alone, but we (i.e. European, US and Australian) rarely mingle.
I’ve been told more than once that the expat community has changed considerably over the last couple of years; in particular there are very few spouses at a loose end and available for charity work (visiting orphanages, arranging veg deliveries to old folks homes, that sort of thing) or functions, which in the olden golden days used to be something to behold. But the times they are a-changing and the world is different now. It would feel odd to spend thousands of dollars on a Ball when babies are dying on your doorstep. Spouses want to work (and with every man and his dog working as a ‘consultant’ that’s not asking too much) families want to experience all the region has to offer, integrate with the locals and travel around the country and South East Asia as much as possible, suck up the whole shebang before the career elastic snaps them back to another place, another country, home even. Maybe the corporate wives are the last bastion of colonialism, struggling to make each place just like home, discussing where to get decent sheets and parmesan or which gym is best value for money, whereas the young gun NGO staff are like, ‘why would I want home comforts? I could get those at home!’ and are more likely to argue over where the best local curry can be found and getting the best price for fruit in the street market next door, or indulging in fantastically cheap beauty and cosmetic treatments while they can.
I flit from group to group not sure where I fit in and not sure it matters really. I have extra kudos wherever I go because of being an actress and therefore not easily categorised in the above groups. Luckily I’m a joiner and never knowingly say no to an invitation if I can help it so I’m happy to hang out with them all and soak up their incredible stories. My only gripe is the distinct lack of Ferrero Rocher. Honestly, these ambassadors are really NOT spoiling us… ;-)
Our Boy is a Cuddle Monster
02.03.2011 Our Boy is a Cuddle Monster
It’s time for an Alfie update so unless you’re a grandparent or otherwise interested party I’d move on because I’m going to wax lyrical about our boy, again.
He loves cuddling! Sometimes, not always. But he has a lovely way of burrowing his face into your neck and sqeezing you tight with his other arm around you, often patting you comfortingly as well. I guess that’s what we do to him so it makes sense! He likes to hug other children too and the girls in our compound, Maumau (Maia) and Mimmi (Yasmina) are getting used to foisting him off.
Naturally the hugging easily segues into squeezing, pulling and yanking, he’s not THAT cuddly! In my awe at his phenomenal vocabulary (more of which later, oh yes, don’t you worry) I have almost forgotten how fantastically strong and agile he is. Daily swimming helps with that and by another 2 years of having our own pool I’m sure he’ll be as strong as an ox. His latest thing is climbing, over everything; into cupboards, over sofas, up and down on chairs and steps. He loves to feel things under his feet so attempts to walk on everything including mummy and daddy if they stand still for too long. If he can’t walk on it he will sit on it which is hilarious when it’s a 3inch plastic cow, for example. He runs fast now, often on tiptoes (no idea why) and is great at stamping and ‘bouncing’ where he almost jumps but kinda bounces on his knees at a terrific rate instead, roaring ‘babounce’ at the top of his voice. He’ll do this on any surface but seems to think the bed is best, even though it’s rock hard.
Last week he started waving his hands about like an orchestral conductor, something I seem to remember he did as a baby too. I don’t know if it’s too much energy or he’s looking for something to do with his hands (takes after Daddy) or perhaps just another form of expression. He loves to dance but prefers it if mummy’s holding him; this morning we danced the waltz and found some jazz on the radio. He adores ride along toys and especially his LittleTikes bubble car which he resolutely gets in every morning, shutting the door firmly and setting off around the compound, for all the world looking like he’s off to work. He’s also started pulling the most amazing expressions, copying things the girls do for example (Mimmi has a wonderful surprised ‘o’ face when she sees you) and seeming to find out what his face can do – he does love to talk to himself in our full length mirror, bless him.
His vocabulary is now so extensive I can’t keep up and have stopped writing down his new words. Some days he seems to learn one or two new words a day, and is now adept at copying most things you say. I did record, on the 17th January, that he used 35 different words in one day (new word that day; towel). And yes, I didn’t have much to do back then! I’m still astonished by some words, such as the day we went shopping and he started shouting ‘nartoes’ at the top of his voice. This of course is tomatoes which he doesn’t even like and definitely won’t eat. We put them on his plate now and again and he tries a bite valiantly but often ends up looking for all the world like he’s about to throw up. So why he learnt that particular word I’ve no idea! Similarly ‘amuls’ (animals) came out one day when looking at a toy farm; not only did he know the word but firmly related it to cows, neighs, cats, monkeys, lions etc. He did the same with ‘fruit’ – hearing me and Amber talking about shopping and the need to buy fruit one day he joined in with nana, noi-noi (oranges) and apbuu (apple). How did he know that?
It is getting easier to tell Daddy apart from dirty (he loves washing his hands and often demands they be wiped when he’s ‘dutty’) and Daisy and teddy are now more distinct too. Some words only we understand I suppose; ‘kraku’ (crocodile, dragon,) is not to be confused with ‘gaku’ (gecko or lizard) or ‘koku’ (cockerel and cockadoodledoo); neither are ‘goks’ (his Crocs) to be mixed up with ‘kok’ which is of course a clock or watch. Butterfly is ‘badu’ and flowers are ‘wawa’ which is close to ‘wadu’ meaning water which he drinks with relish, often preferring it to ‘jees’ (juice) which sounds like ‘dees’ meaning cheese, his absolutely all time favourite food ever, closely followed by ‘am’ (ham). He is adept at anatomy knowing everything from head, shoulders, knees and toes to ‘boobies’ and ‘nips’ and knows poo from pee, even waking up the other day and shouting ‘poo’ at the top of his voice to tell us he had done one. Which makes a change from yelling ‘mummydaddymuk’ first thing, demanding that we get up and fetch his ‘muk’ (milk). When he was full of cold mummy had to wipe up the ‘bogies’ which elicited such hysterical laugher we went around saying it all week.
He’s now using 2 word sentences too and learning opposites and colours. Big car, baby car, daddy car and beep beep car was the start of it, now we have ‘dutty bin’, ‘mummy dees’ (shoving a piece of sweaty old cheese into my mouth) and ‘bubbles down’ when I blow the bubbles and they float to the floor. ‘Push mummy’ is another favourite, learned by the pool and ‘mummy down’ when he wants me to move off a chair. He learnt up and down remarkably quickly and accurately about a month ago but now seems to be a bit confused, saying ‘down’ when wanting to be picked up for example (in fairness it is a bit tricky, what with climbing up on mummy to sit down on her lap). Although he can say colours such as blue and red I’m not sure he’s connected the meaning yet, but Amber lets him play with the clothes pegs and he diligently puts them in a box and takes them out again as she tells him the colour of peg she wants. He’s also attempting much longer words, such as ‘bopo’ (hippopotamus), ‘airbay’ (aeroplane) and ‘pie-pie’ (papaya) and loves to learn family names from photographs of ‘bapa’ (Papa, Pete’s dad) ‘emmee’ (Auntie Emily, my sister) and yesterday ‘suzu’ for Auntie Susan, Pete’s sister. Although he can say ‘affee’ (Alfie) he refers to himself as ‘baybee’ in the mirror and in photographs.
His favourite songs are ‘ba ba bash’ (Baa Baa Black Sheep) which Amber sings to him and ‘abbeydooyoo’ which all the staff sing to him, presumably because it’s the one song in English everybody knows, though it might confuse him later in life (Happy Birthday of course!). We used to sing him to sleep from birth but suddenly mummy is out of favour and now every time I open my mouth he shakes his head with a determined ‘no no no’ which is a lovely vote of confidence I will berate him with in later life.
In the last few days he has started speaking words which seem to definitely mean something to him but which I can’t decipher, many with 2 syllables or more. Maybe more baby language now he feels he’s getting the adult stuff down. He still yakkadaks determinedly at people, often new children, tilting his head to one side and saying with all seriousness to them ‘yakkadak’, or’ daggadak’ then looking at me for confirmation – of what I have no idea.
He is still mad on books (‘buk’) and he has a shelf to himself in the living room where he loves to sit on a little stool and read either by himself or by dragging the nearest adult along so he can sit on their lap. I feel I should make a list of the favourites but the truth is he loves them all and is very firm in his choices; some days it’s ‘dow dow’s (dinosaurs, or dolphins, weirdly!) or baybees and of course amuls are winners. He does love to join in too, finishing sentences and pointing out ‘ats’ (hats) and such in the pictures. Dr Seuss is a popular choice as he helps with the rhymes (his words in bold):
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish
Black fish, blue fish, old fish, baby fish! (should be new fish but there is a picture of a baby in a pram so fair enough)
This one has a little star
This one has a little car
Say what a lot of fish there are
Yes some are sad…glad..bad…why are they sad and glad and bad?
I do not know go ask your daddy
Some are thin and some are fat, the fat one has a yellow hat
And so on …
His weight is almost 14kgs and length 80cms. He wears age 2 clothes and his head is so massive we have to get age 3+ sunhats, which mummy promptly loses in taxis…. He adores washing his hands (so far) particularly now we have a step in the downstairs loo and would stand there all day playing with the soap and water if he could. His sweeping mania hasn’t abated and he loves to help Amber with the chores, particularly changing the bed when he’ll jump all over it and lie down pretending to do ‘nanight’s. He’ll often shower with mummy or daddy after a swim but still loves his evening bath, mostly because of the incredibly cheap jar of foam letters I bought from Asda before we left. He plays with them endlessly and the jar and lid themselves are sources of great amusement as he fills them up and tips them over himself. Lotions and potions are a minefield now as he’s apt to pour everything possible on the floor and play with it, though he willingly wipes it up on occasion too.
All in all he is tackling life with his usual sunny demeanour and happy outlook, saving particularly beaming smiles for his nearest and dearest, including our neighbours, their children and all the staff in the compound and shouting with excitement when Daddy comes home from work or Mummy is back from meetings. Just this last couple of days two people have commented, on separate occasions, that he looks the epitome of rude health and I have to agree; he’s not only tall and blue eyed with cherubically round cheeks and legs, blonde hair curling in his neck, he makes eye contact and smiles easily, has no fear of new situations or people, chats freely to all nearby and is physically agile and seemingly fearless in and around the pool. He is also, as Pete proudly pointed out, not afraid to make his feelings or desires known by all means necessary, never letting up in communicating his wants with the wider world. Albeit by some hefty shrieking and roaring now and then! Seeing him happily absorbed with his toys, hearing him belly-laughing at random things and feeling that strong arm around your neck as you take him upstairs for bed are what we live for; he really is a cuddle-monster our boy. I call him Angel Pie.
It’s time for an Alfie update so unless you’re a grandparent or otherwise interested party I’d move on because I’m going to wax lyrical about our boy, again.
He loves cuddling! Sometimes, not always. But he has a lovely way of burrowing his face into your neck and sqeezing you tight with his other arm around you, often patting you comfortingly as well. I guess that’s what we do to him so it makes sense! He likes to hug other children too and the girls in our compound, Maumau (Maia) and Mimmi (Yasmina) are getting used to foisting him off.
Naturally the hugging easily segues into squeezing, pulling and yanking, he’s not THAT cuddly! In my awe at his phenomenal vocabulary (more of which later, oh yes, don’t you worry) I have almost forgotten how fantastically strong and agile he is. Daily swimming helps with that and by another 2 years of having our own pool I’m sure he’ll be as strong as an ox. His latest thing is climbing, over everything; into cupboards, over sofas, up and down on chairs and steps. He loves to feel things under his feet so attempts to walk on everything including mummy and daddy if they stand still for too long. If he can’t walk on it he will sit on it which is hilarious when it’s a 3inch plastic cow, for example. He runs fast now, often on tiptoes (no idea why) and is great at stamping and ‘bouncing’ where he almost jumps but kinda bounces on his knees at a terrific rate instead, roaring ‘babounce’ at the top of his voice. He’ll do this on any surface but seems to think the bed is best, even though it’s rock hard.
Last week he started waving his hands about like an orchestral conductor, something I seem to remember he did as a baby too. I don’t know if it’s too much energy or he’s looking for something to do with his hands (takes after Daddy) or perhaps just another form of expression. He loves to dance but prefers it if mummy’s holding him; this morning we danced the waltz and found some jazz on the radio. He adores ride along toys and especially his LittleTikes bubble car which he resolutely gets in every morning, shutting the door firmly and setting off around the compound, for all the world looking like he’s off to work. He’s also started pulling the most amazing expressions, copying things the girls do for example (Mimmi has a wonderful surprised ‘o’ face when she sees you) and seeming to find out what his face can do – he does love to talk to himself in our full length mirror, bless him.
His vocabulary is now so extensive I can’t keep up and have stopped writing down his new words. Some days he seems to learn one or two new words a day, and is now adept at copying most things you say. I did record, on the 17th January, that he used 35 different words in one day (new word that day; towel). And yes, I didn’t have much to do back then! I’m still astonished by some words, such as the day we went shopping and he started shouting ‘nartoes’ at the top of his voice. This of course is tomatoes which he doesn’t even like and definitely won’t eat. We put them on his plate now and again and he tries a bite valiantly but often ends up looking for all the world like he’s about to throw up. So why he learnt that particular word I’ve no idea! Similarly ‘amuls’ (animals) came out one day when looking at a toy farm; not only did he know the word but firmly related it to cows, neighs, cats, monkeys, lions etc. He did the same with ‘fruit’ – hearing me and Amber talking about shopping and the need to buy fruit one day he joined in with nana, noi-noi (oranges) and apbuu (apple). How did he know that?
It is getting easier to tell Daddy apart from dirty (he loves washing his hands and often demands they be wiped when he’s ‘dutty’) and Daisy and teddy are now more distinct too. Some words only we understand I suppose; ‘kraku’ (crocodile, dragon,) is not to be confused with ‘gaku’ (gecko or lizard) or ‘koku’ (cockerel and cockadoodledoo); neither are ‘goks’ (his Crocs) to be mixed up with ‘kok’ which is of course a clock or watch. Butterfly is ‘badu’ and flowers are ‘wawa’ which is close to ‘wadu’ meaning water which he drinks with relish, often preferring it to ‘jees’ (juice) which sounds like ‘dees’ meaning cheese, his absolutely all time favourite food ever, closely followed by ‘am’ (ham). He is adept at anatomy knowing everything from head, shoulders, knees and toes to ‘boobies’ and ‘nips’ and knows poo from pee, even waking up the other day and shouting ‘poo’ at the top of his voice to tell us he had done one. Which makes a change from yelling ‘mummydaddymuk’ first thing, demanding that we get up and fetch his ‘muk’ (milk). When he was full of cold mummy had to wipe up the ‘bogies’ which elicited such hysterical laugher we went around saying it all week.
He’s now using 2 word sentences too and learning opposites and colours. Big car, baby car, daddy car and beep beep car was the start of it, now we have ‘dutty bin’, ‘mummy dees’ (shoving a piece of sweaty old cheese into my mouth) and ‘bubbles down’ when I blow the bubbles and they float to the floor. ‘Push mummy’ is another favourite, learned by the pool and ‘mummy down’ when he wants me to move off a chair. He learnt up and down remarkably quickly and accurately about a month ago but now seems to be a bit confused, saying ‘down’ when wanting to be picked up for example (in fairness it is a bit tricky, what with climbing up on mummy to sit down on her lap). Although he can say colours such as blue and red I’m not sure he’s connected the meaning yet, but Amber lets him play with the clothes pegs and he diligently puts them in a box and takes them out again as she tells him the colour of peg she wants. He’s also attempting much longer words, such as ‘bopo’ (hippopotamus), ‘airbay’ (aeroplane) and ‘pie-pie’ (papaya) and loves to learn family names from photographs of ‘bapa’ (Papa, Pete’s dad) ‘emmee’ (Auntie Emily, my sister) and yesterday ‘suzu’ for Auntie Susan, Pete’s sister. Although he can say ‘affee’ (Alfie) he refers to himself as ‘baybee’ in the mirror and in photographs.
His favourite songs are ‘ba ba bash’ (Baa Baa Black Sheep) which Amber sings to him and ‘abbeydooyoo’ which all the staff sing to him, presumably because it’s the one song in English everybody knows, though it might confuse him later in life (Happy Birthday of course!). We used to sing him to sleep from birth but suddenly mummy is out of favour and now every time I open my mouth he shakes his head with a determined ‘no no no’ which is a lovely vote of confidence I will berate him with in later life.
In the last few days he has started speaking words which seem to definitely mean something to him but which I can’t decipher, many with 2 syllables or more. Maybe more baby language now he feels he’s getting the adult stuff down. He still yakkadaks determinedly at people, often new children, tilting his head to one side and saying with all seriousness to them ‘yakkadak’, or’ daggadak’ then looking at me for confirmation – of what I have no idea.
He is still mad on books (‘buk’) and he has a shelf to himself in the living room where he loves to sit on a little stool and read either by himself or by dragging the nearest adult along so he can sit on their lap. I feel I should make a list of the favourites but the truth is he loves them all and is very firm in his choices; some days it’s ‘dow dow’s (dinosaurs, or dolphins, weirdly!) or baybees and of course amuls are winners. He does love to join in too, finishing sentences and pointing out ‘ats’ (hats) and such in the pictures. Dr Seuss is a popular choice as he helps with the rhymes (his words in bold):
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish
Black fish, blue fish, old fish, baby fish! (should be new fish but there is a picture of a baby in a pram so fair enough)
This one has a little star
This one has a little car
Say what a lot of fish there are
Yes some are sad…glad..bad…why are they sad and glad and bad?
I do not know go ask your daddy
Some are thin and some are fat, the fat one has a yellow hat
And so on …
His weight is almost 14kgs and length 80cms. He wears age 2 clothes and his head is so massive we have to get age 3+ sunhats, which mummy promptly loses in taxis…. He adores washing his hands (so far) particularly now we have a step in the downstairs loo and would stand there all day playing with the soap and water if he could. His sweeping mania hasn’t abated and he loves to help Amber with the chores, particularly changing the bed when he’ll jump all over it and lie down pretending to do ‘nanight’s. He’ll often shower with mummy or daddy after a swim but still loves his evening bath, mostly because of the incredibly cheap jar of foam letters I bought from Asda before we left. He plays with them endlessly and the jar and lid themselves are sources of great amusement as he fills them up and tips them over himself. Lotions and potions are a minefield now as he’s apt to pour everything possible on the floor and play with it, though he willingly wipes it up on occasion too.
All in all he is tackling life with his usual sunny demeanour and happy outlook, saving particularly beaming smiles for his nearest and dearest, including our neighbours, their children and all the staff in the compound and shouting with excitement when Daddy comes home from work or Mummy is back from meetings. Just this last couple of days two people have commented, on separate occasions, that he looks the epitome of rude health and I have to agree; he’s not only tall and blue eyed with cherubically round cheeks and legs, blonde hair curling in his neck, he makes eye contact and smiles easily, has no fear of new situations or people, chats freely to all nearby and is physically agile and seemingly fearless in and around the pool. He is also, as Pete proudly pointed out, not afraid to make his feelings or desires known by all means necessary, never letting up in communicating his wants with the wider world. Albeit by some hefty shrieking and roaring now and then! Seeing him happily absorbed with his toys, hearing him belly-laughing at random things and feeling that strong arm around your neck as you take him upstairs for bed are what we live for; he really is a cuddle-monster our boy. I call him Angel Pie.
The Times They are a'Changing
25.02.2011 The Times They are a’Changing
It seems we’ve landed in Myanmar at a time of great change. Despite only being here for two months now there is a palpable sense of the country ‘opening up’. I’ve just read a 2-week old local newspaper which tells me that Myanmar was voted Top Emerging Destination by Wanderlust magazine (Iran came second) and naturally the Tourism Minister is delighted.
Before we came I read online that last year Myanmar attracted 330 000 visitors. Not a great deal, probably the same amount of people that wash through the doors of the Natural History Museum in London on any given day I should think. But certainly there are a lot of hotels and restaurants to choose from and I’m told, by a totally unreliable source, that bookings are well up on last year.
We’ve noticed too a great deal of change in the property market. Not just that our own rent has gone up by almost $200 a month, but househunting is evidently a lottery with plenty of people looking for a very few available houses. The largest house in our compound jumped from $1200 a month to over $2000 in one fell swoop and this is not uncommon. There also seems to be an awful lot of building work going on, partly because of the government’s decision to sell off lots of land and properties as they moved the capital to Nya Pyi Daw (pron: nay-pee-door) about 5 years ago.
Similarly traffic has reached horrible proportions over the last 2 years (we are told by those that have been here that long and longer) and the amount of spanking new cars on the road is a real surprise in a country with crippling import duties, not to mention petrol rationing.
In fact I’m astonished by the amount of wealth around in Yangon. My eyes were out on stalks when I saw a lady with an iPhone – here where connection is a joke! - but this is common, as is seeing young people with iPads and all manner of iThings in their hands. We passed the son of the General’s house yesterday and he has a vast array of fancy cars, from Bentleys to Maseratis and even a Ferrari. God only knows where he drives them, not on these lumpy old roads that’s for sure! Though apparently in the capital (where Pete is today so I’m hoping for an eye witness report when he returns) there are 6 lane highways. Presumably so that the government bods can get out of there and home to their families left back in Yangon; no-one stays in Nay Pyi Taw (pron. Nay-Pee-Door) unless they have to.
To be fair, Myanmar restricted travel for its citizens for so long that any wealth that was made here stayed here. And I guess if you can’t spend money on travelling you buy what you can instead.
Communications are definitely opening up too. Only 3 months ago a mobile phone would have set you back $1 500 but now you can get one, with a permanent number, for only $500. Although foreigners are not supposed to have phones (allegedly, this is a country of rumours and it’s always hard to tell what is true, what is government law and what is expat gossip) you can get a cheapo phone for $50 with a 2 month sim card for $50 which is the preferred option as we all wait to see what happens with the price of the ‘permanent’ phones. 3G is also on its way at the insistence of the Chinese and Koreans who are of course doing wonderful business here while the rest of the world impose decades-old sanctions on an already beleaguered country. No comment from me as I have no idea of the ins and outs and achievements or relative success of such tactics. But the Chinese ain’t backwards in coming forwards and are doing very nicely thank you.
Internet, once so restricted, is more openly available, with many internet cafes advertising google, yahoo and facebook access. Everyone uses proxy servers and software like Your Freedom with impunity and many of the big hotels have satellite connections that are not restricted at all. The same with TV; often routed through Thailand you can watch pretty much anything including BBC World News and a swathe of rubbishy daytime programmes from the E! and Diva channels. The BBC World Service is also available via the TV and it’s easy to tune into the Voice of America or Voice of Australia on our little radio.
Travel remains a pain in the arse for many NGO’s who have to operate within certain parameters restricting the amount of travel per person and of course geographical areas. That said, there are many more NGO’s and international staff than before (52 NGO’s at the last count). Tourists are however free to roam around specific tourist areas such as Mandalay, Bagan and Ngapali Beach (pron: Napoli Beach, allegedly inhabited by an Italian some time ago). Astonishingly Myanmar has something like 4 airlines (Air Bagan, Yangon Air, Myanma Airways, Air Mandalay) which seems a bit much for a country that allegedly restricts travel for its residents, though again, what is fact and what is fiction is hard to say as I have met many Myanmar people with family living and working abroad and coming and going whenever they want. There’s even lots of advertising for the new online tourist visa though if this works, no-one has been able to say.
It’s a bit of a topsy turvy world this and we watch with interest to see what will happen over the next couple of years.
It seems we’ve landed in Myanmar at a time of great change. Despite only being here for two months now there is a palpable sense of the country ‘opening up’. I’ve just read a 2-week old local newspaper which tells me that Myanmar was voted Top Emerging Destination by Wanderlust magazine (Iran came second) and naturally the Tourism Minister is delighted.
Before we came I read online that last year Myanmar attracted 330 000 visitors. Not a great deal, probably the same amount of people that wash through the doors of the Natural History Museum in London on any given day I should think. But certainly there are a lot of hotels and restaurants to choose from and I’m told, by a totally unreliable source, that bookings are well up on last year.
We’ve noticed too a great deal of change in the property market. Not just that our own rent has gone up by almost $200 a month, but househunting is evidently a lottery with plenty of people looking for a very few available houses. The largest house in our compound jumped from $1200 a month to over $2000 in one fell swoop and this is not uncommon. There also seems to be an awful lot of building work going on, partly because of the government’s decision to sell off lots of land and properties as they moved the capital to Nya Pyi Daw (pron: nay-pee-door) about 5 years ago.
Similarly traffic has reached horrible proportions over the last 2 years (we are told by those that have been here that long and longer) and the amount of spanking new cars on the road is a real surprise in a country with crippling import duties, not to mention petrol rationing.
In fact I’m astonished by the amount of wealth around in Yangon. My eyes were out on stalks when I saw a lady with an iPhone – here where connection is a joke! - but this is common, as is seeing young people with iPads and all manner of iThings in their hands. We passed the son of the General’s house yesterday and he has a vast array of fancy cars, from Bentleys to Maseratis and even a Ferrari. God only knows where he drives them, not on these lumpy old roads that’s for sure! Though apparently in the capital (where Pete is today so I’m hoping for an eye witness report when he returns) there are 6 lane highways. Presumably so that the government bods can get out of there and home to their families left back in Yangon; no-one stays in Nay Pyi Taw (pron. Nay-Pee-Door) unless they have to.
To be fair, Myanmar restricted travel for its citizens for so long that any wealth that was made here stayed here. And I guess if you can’t spend money on travelling you buy what you can instead.
Communications are definitely opening up too. Only 3 months ago a mobile phone would have set you back $1 500 but now you can get one, with a permanent number, for only $500. Although foreigners are not supposed to have phones (allegedly, this is a country of rumours and it’s always hard to tell what is true, what is government law and what is expat gossip) you can get a cheapo phone for $50 with a 2 month sim card for $50 which is the preferred option as we all wait to see what happens with the price of the ‘permanent’ phones. 3G is also on its way at the insistence of the Chinese and Koreans who are of course doing wonderful business here while the rest of the world impose decades-old sanctions on an already beleaguered country. No comment from me as I have no idea of the ins and outs and achievements or relative success of such tactics. But the Chinese ain’t backwards in coming forwards and are doing very nicely thank you.
Internet, once so restricted, is more openly available, with many internet cafes advertising google, yahoo and facebook access. Everyone uses proxy servers and software like Your Freedom with impunity and many of the big hotels have satellite connections that are not restricted at all. The same with TV; often routed through Thailand you can watch pretty much anything including BBC World News and a swathe of rubbishy daytime programmes from the E! and Diva channels. The BBC World Service is also available via the TV and it’s easy to tune into the Voice of America or Voice of Australia on our little radio.
Travel remains a pain in the arse for many NGO’s who have to operate within certain parameters restricting the amount of travel per person and of course geographical areas. That said, there are many more NGO’s and international staff than before (52 NGO’s at the last count). Tourists are however free to roam around specific tourist areas such as Mandalay, Bagan and Ngapali Beach (pron: Napoli Beach, allegedly inhabited by an Italian some time ago). Astonishingly Myanmar has something like 4 airlines (Air Bagan, Yangon Air, Myanma Airways, Air Mandalay) which seems a bit much for a country that allegedly restricts travel for its residents, though again, what is fact and what is fiction is hard to say as I have met many Myanmar people with family living and working abroad and coming and going whenever they want. There’s even lots of advertising for the new online tourist visa though if this works, no-one has been able to say.
It’s a bit of a topsy turvy world this and we watch with interest to see what will happen over the next couple of years.
Myanmar Music
22.02.2011 Myanmar Music Scene
There is a lively live music scene in Yangon apparently, with some very good rock bands, we are told! They certainly seem to love their music and there are endless radio stations blaring out all the most popular tunes… sung in Myanmar (Burmese) of course!
It’s slightly disconcerting for my Western ears to listen to familiar songs in a different language. It’s like when you recognise the tune and try to sing along but realise you don’t actually know the words. Then it’s a guessing game to see if you can remember the original artist. Pop is incredibly popular of course, Westlife and Ronan Keating are on a loop but they are not averse to covering oldies and there’s a fair smattering of 80’s classics (Burmese Bonnie Tyler anyone?) and even good old Dolly Parton and Elvis are in there. All faithfully rendered with pretty much the same arrangement as the original, with perhaps a few additions of twangy guitars and that background bing bong sound they like so much in Asia. Just sung in another language.
Ah, takes me back to travelling around Peru where every kind of music was covered by pan pipes. Like being on permanent hold in a shopping mall lift.
Hilariously, or tragically depending on your viewpoint, many Myanmar people are blissfully unaware that these songs originally belong to other artists. After all, most of them haven’t been allowed to travel outside their own country and consequently there is precious little talk of the rest of the world generally and certainly no performance rights or original artist attribution mentioned specifically. Which in turn means, if you extrapolate further, that most of the Myanmar population believe they have the most fantastically creative musicians on the planet. I mean, they invented The Beatles! And Celine Dion, Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, Abba, Madonna, Michael Jackson and the rest. Woo hoo!
OK, with the advent of satellite TV and internet connections that train of thought is a little tenous, especially when it comes to the younger generation who seem scarily switched on. But somewhere around here there is someone who thinks Elvis is a really hip Myanmar singer. Fact.
There is a lively live music scene in Yangon apparently, with some very good rock bands, we are told! They certainly seem to love their music and there are endless radio stations blaring out all the most popular tunes… sung in Myanmar (Burmese) of course!
It’s slightly disconcerting for my Western ears to listen to familiar songs in a different language. It’s like when you recognise the tune and try to sing along but realise you don’t actually know the words. Then it’s a guessing game to see if you can remember the original artist. Pop is incredibly popular of course, Westlife and Ronan Keating are on a loop but they are not averse to covering oldies and there’s a fair smattering of 80’s classics (Burmese Bonnie Tyler anyone?) and even good old Dolly Parton and Elvis are in there. All faithfully rendered with pretty much the same arrangement as the original, with perhaps a few additions of twangy guitars and that background bing bong sound they like so much in Asia. Just sung in another language.
Ah, takes me back to travelling around Peru where every kind of music was covered by pan pipes. Like being on permanent hold in a shopping mall lift.
Hilariously, or tragically depending on your viewpoint, many Myanmar people are blissfully unaware that these songs originally belong to other artists. After all, most of them haven’t been allowed to travel outside their own country and consequently there is precious little talk of the rest of the world generally and certainly no performance rights or original artist attribution mentioned specifically. Which in turn means, if you extrapolate further, that most of the Myanmar population believe they have the most fantastically creative musicians on the planet. I mean, they invented The Beatles! And Celine Dion, Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, Abba, Madonna, Michael Jackson and the rest. Woo hoo!
OK, with the advent of satellite TV and internet connections that train of thought is a little tenous, especially when it comes to the younger generation who seem scarily switched on. But somewhere around here there is someone who thinks Elvis is a really hip Myanmar singer. Fact.
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