Bodo, land of the sea...

For the past ten days, I have taken a most welcome journey to the coast of Kenya, away from the hustle and bustle of Nairobi. We took a twelve hour train to Mombassa and immediately traveled to Bodo, a rural community about two hours south of Mombassa. (note: it took the same amount of time to fly from New York to Dubai as it did to take the train from Nairobi to Mombassa.) My home in Bodo was wonderful and extremely different from urban life. To paint a picture, the town had no electricity or running water and the majority of the houses were made of mud and coral stones. The landscape consisted of coconut trees and sand, appearing somewhat like California and the weather was HOT (joto sana)! Basically, I sweated all day, throughout my sleep, and even while I poured cold water over myself as a makeshift shower. The town was Muslim, as most Swahili people on the coast are, and therefore, I was covered from head to toe in at least two to three layers of clothing every day (making the heat even more pronounced). Each morning, my mother draped kangas (traditional printed cloth) over the clothes I was already wearing. Although it was hot, I really enjoyed the clothing—the bright colors made everything seem happy and the conservative skirts tied at our waists was slightly refreshing and I secretly wish I could always wear clothes that way without being made fun of. My family spoke virtually no English, proving to be slightly frustrating but improved my Swahili skills immensely. My house was more state-of-the-art than others because our kitchen was inside of the house, as opposed to the usual four foot structure made of sticks found outside most homes. This also meant thick smoke filled our house most of the time as well. To be clear, by kitchen I mean three large stones on the floor with a burning wood fire between them, not a gas stove and cabinets filled with an endless supply of dishware. Jon, another person on the trip, wondered what his Bodo mother would say if she walked into his kitchen in Boston. This question is one I have been struggling with as well, not just in terms of the kitchen, but all of my “wealth” in general. My experience in Bodo allowed me to question my definitions of poverty. Upon first look, my family would have been classified as extremely impoverished—no clean water, no electricity, and a mere three beds for the seven children and two parents living within the house. Yet, they always had enough food and clothing and all of the children of age attended primary school. Although my mom worked extremely hard, basically taking all day to prepare meals and wash clothing, there was an abundance of smiles and laughter throughout my whole stay. I guess I have not processed this fully yet, but it is something that is on my mind.

The first day we were in Bodo I learned how to cook ugali and maharagwe. Ugali is made of corn flour and reminds me of solid grits. I observed a lot on the first day because I understood minimal amounts of the conversations and didn’t really know what was going on. The food in general was fantastic and I have a newfound appreciation for coconuts. Not only can they be used for food, they also provide soap, roofing, rope, plates, and over fifty other uses that I will refrain from mentioning here. They are basically a miracle plant. Most of the food, including the tea, involved the spices cardamom and cinnamon, making everything basically delicious. Most of the food is fried because there are no ovens, and sugar is a staple in almost everything as well. So, essentially all the food tasted incredible even though the health benefits were negligible if not negative.

I shared a room with my sister Mwanasha, which was weird because whenever I left the house, my mom padlocked my door and tied the key to my kanga. I felt slightly awkward that I shared a bed with only Mwanasha because that left the other seven people to share only two beds. However, I could not express this to my family because it took me ten minutes to explain to my mother what time I needed to be at school in the morning, leaving “I feel uncomfortable taking up a bed” out of my range of Kiswahili knowledge. Every morning, we attended Swahili lessons and then had most of the afternoons free. We went swimming on this beautiful beach near Funzi Island on the second day, which was fun. Despite intense sunscreen application, most people obtained pretty severe sunburns. A few of the afternoons, we played soccer and volleyball, which was really awesome. Against the primary school’s team, we lost embarrassingly, but when we played against the village team, we only lost by one. Another day we went to the Shimoni slave caves and then out snorkeling in the Indian Ocean. The caves were slightly eerie to see because you see firsthand the history we are always learning about. Although snorkeling felt a little bit touristy, it was still a cool experience, and how often can you say, “I’ve been snorkeling in the Indian Ocean”? Honestly. I used to wonder how people could still be discovering new species of things, but after seeing fish colors that I’ve never seen before, I can no longer ask such questions. One morning, we woke up at 4am to go to Funzi to see the sea turtles. Traveling through the water in the dark was breathtaking because there were tiny phosphorescent particles in the water that glowed when we moved. Once on Funzi, we hiked for a good forty minutes in the dark, through the forest, to the turtle sanctuaries. Unfortunately, none of the groups saw any turtles, however, the scenery was gorgeous. (I promise, pictures are on the way). The village hosted a huge bonfire on the beach two evenings before we left, meaning we got to sing and dance in a huge circle. We taught the kids a pretty unsuccessful version of the hokey-pokey, and some of the guys taught songs such as “Take me out to the ball game” and “We will rock you.” Afterwards, they brought out the drums and the women danced. It was pretty fun but not as exciting as I had imagined for my first “real” African dances. Mostly, we walked in a circle and went down to the ground every once in a while. On my last day in Bodo, my mother and aunt hennaed my feet and hands. My feet now have orange waves on them and my hands carry the words “Karibu Mollie” on the right and “I love my heart” on the left. I don’t really know what they meant by “I love my heart” but I went with it. During our Bodo stay, we had pre-assigned group research projects to work on as well. My group worked on the education system, so I spent many afternoons interviewing teachers and children, as well as going on tours of the primary and secondary schools. I was most impressed by the secondary school, in terms of programs and extracurricular activities. I will elaborate on this more later, so I don’t overwhelm you all with too much information at once.

Overall, my experiences in Bodo were humbling and reflective. I could definitely write five more pages about Bodo, so know that this is a very rough summary of what I did. Feel free to ask me any questions you have about anything that I write and thanks to all who have written. I enjoy hearing what everyone is up to. I miss you all and I hope you are having a happy March.