John Denver performing “Leaving On a Jet Plane.”

I’ll be in the air soon, back to ‘Merica!

Florence + The Machine perform “Shake It Out”

Florence + the Machine’s “Shake It Out” is a powerful, emotional song for me. I’m not sure why, but the lyrics shake me to my core and make me reflect on my time in Kenya. Below are the lyrics and above is the video. I encourage you to listen to the video and read the lyrics to get a semblance of what I’m trying to convey. Happy listening!

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It’s always darkest before the dawn

And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I’m always dragging that horse around

Our love is questioned, such a mournful sound
Tonight I’m gonna bury that horse in the ground
So I like to keep my issues drawn
But it’s always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

And I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I’m gonna cut it out and then restart
‘Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It’s always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It’s a fine romance but it’s left me so undone
It’s always darkest before the dawn

Oh whoa, oh whoa…

And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t
So here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my road
And I’m ready to suffer and I’m ready to hope
It’s a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
‘Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Well what the hell I’m gonna let it happen to me, yeah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

“The Walrus and the Carpenter” via Disney’s “Alice in Wonderland.”

One of my favorite (and most silly poems) is from Lewis Carroll’s “Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There” (aka “Alice in Wonderland”).

Although the poem doesn’t necessarily relate to me leaving Kenya and coming home, I like to say, “‘the time has come,’ the walrus said,” a lot before I leave somewhere. I’m not sure why, maybe it’s just because it’s silly, but here’s a copy of the poem in case you have no idea what I’m talking about.

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright—
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done—
“It’s very rude of him,” she said,
“To come and spoil the fun!”

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead—
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
“If this were only cleared away,”
They said, “it would be grand!”

“If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,
“That they could get it clear?”
“I doubt it,” said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

“O Oysters, come and walk with us!”
The Walrus did beseech.
“A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.”

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head—
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat—
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn’t any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more—
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings.”

“But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried,
“Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!”
“No hurry!” said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

“A loaf of bread,” the Walrus said,
“Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed—
Now if you’re ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.”

“But not on us!” the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
“After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!”
“The night is fine,” the Walrus said.
“Do you admire the view?

“It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf—
I’ve had to ask you twice!”

“It seems a shame,” the Walrus said,
“To play them such a trick,
After we’ve brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“The butter’s spread too thick!”

“I weep for you,” the Walrus said:
“I deeply sympathize.”
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

“O Oysters,” said the Carpenter,
“You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?’
But answer came there none—
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d eaten every one.

Kenyan begging in Nairobi city centre.

Photo credit: http://www.africareview.com/News/Foreign+beggars+charged+for+illegal+stay+in+Kenya/-/979180/1018960/-/m2ivok/-/login

I’m about to delve into a topic that is quite sensitive and uncomfortable; one must tread lightly upon it.

It is always the hardest to provide commentary on topics that no one wants to hear about because it is simply easier to ignore.

I’m not standing on a soapbox, demanding attention; I’m writing this as a manifestation of a year’s worth of frustration, guilt, a sense of ineffectiveness and a feeling of despair because change will not occur overnight, if at all.

The gap between the rich and the poor is not a new cause for concern or topic of debate. Since Biblical times, people have faced this moral struggle. Of course, with the advent of the Industrial Revolution, the gap became larger and more obvious as capitalism and materialism permeated society. The “need vs. want” mentality became blurred as people saw hard work as the tool of upward mobility and material possessions as a means of social status/class.

The struggle for wealth is not limited to the West or other developed nations, and certainly the struggle continues with the marginalized communities in these developed nations. But as a witness to a very upwardly mobile middle class in Kenya, the gap between those living in Lavington, Westlands, Karen, Langata, Muthaiga, etc. (posh suburbs of Nairobi) and those living in Kangemi, Kibera, Kawangware, Korogocho, Mathare, etc. (the largest slums in Nairobi with Kibera, topping the list of largest slums in all of sub-Saharan Africa) grows wider and deeper every day.

The disparity between an affluent American and a poor American is less jarring and shocking compared to an affluent Kenyan and a poor Kenyan. An affluent American will live in the suburbs, just as an affluent Kenyan; a poor American will live in the ghettos and a poor Kenyan will live in the slums. Yes, both the rich and the poor have designated areas of a particular town or city, but the poor American is still far better off than a poor Kenyan.

At first glance, sometimes it is hard to tell the difference between rich and poor Americans, especially among the middle-class Americans. Chances are both sets of Americans have access to all of the amenities one needs for a healthy, prosperous life: Clean water, health care, electricity, personal transportation, smartphones, etc. Unfortunately, a first glance of a poor Kenyan is usually pretty obvious: Ragged, dirt-stained, threadbare clothes and worn-out shoes, if any at all. And a first glance of a rich or middle-class Kenyan is where the disparity is obvious and jarring: Intricately coifed hairstyle, high heels, “bling” and a Range Rover or similar luxury vehicle.

I’ve seen more Range Rovers here than anywhere in the US, despite what the celebrities, athletes, cast of “Jersey Shore” and the various “Real Housewives” display. I’ve also seen more people walk without shoes and go hungry than anywhere in the US. I realize that life in many places is very polarizing, the haves flashing what they have and the have-nots longing for what they do not have, but the effects of a materialistic society are exacerbated in marginalized areas, such as parts of Kenya and specifically, Nairobi.

Perhaps I’m more aware of the disparity because I am in an unusual position here: I am a minority. Yes, I am white and yes, there are white Kenyans and other ex-pats, but unlike the white Kenyans and ex-pats, I do not live in a mansion or ostentatious flat; I do not drive or own a car and am not on a high-paying salary. I am a volunteer, living simply in a foreign land. Yet I am perceived as affluent at first glance because of the color of my skin.

I realize that people must be desperate enough and sometimes, courageous, to ask a complete stranger for money. But what is off-putting about the tactics among some in Nairobi is that they almost expect an mzungu (white person) to hand over a couple hundred shillings. I have had several instances (and one involved the same man over the course of a few weeks) run from across the road over to me and ask me for money. To that I respond with, why did you seek me out when there are lots of others walking around? Is it simply because of my skin color, you see me as an ATM?

I cannot dole out a few shillings here and there because that perpetuates stereotype of “the white savior” abroad and frankly, we as members of developed nations should not condone these hand-outs. I see great strides being made by a new approach to aid and emergency relief/funds to developing nations: Work alongside, not above nor in front of, local NGOs in establishing sustainable projects to benefit marginalized groups.

Yet it breaks my heart and makes me question my own morals when I have to refuse to give 10 shillings to a chokora (Swahili for “street kid”) because I cannot continue to be seen as THE answer to eradicating poverty. Sure, 10 shillings is not a financial loss for me, but it usually is not a financial gain for the chokora either; if they were sent out by their parent to beg, that perpetuates a vicious cycle of lack of education, which will keep them in poverty. But if this chokora is abandoned or orphaned and is begging to survive, how do I know if he/she will use the 10 bob to buy food or to buy glue, to sniff and get high?

In most instances, both here and in the US, when I’m approached by a panhandler, beggar, chokora, whatever, I go for this approach: If you are truly hungry, take this banana or I will buy you a banana. Is this any better than refusing to hand out cash? I think so. Does it still make me question how society takes care (or lack thereof) of its most downtrodden? Yes, absolutely. But I figure food, something which all humans need, is a better alternative than giving out money, which could be used for unsavory purposes.

The conscience and moral struggle is a daily battle not only in Nairobi but all around the world. I already dread my first encounter with poverty in the US, one of the greatest countries in the world, yet there are millions struggling to survive; according to a story in the New York Times that ran on 13 September 2011 (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/09/14/us/14census.html?pagewanted=all), 46.2 Americans are living below the official poverty line.

When I return to the US in three weeks, I will be inundated with advertisements for the latest iPhone or the newest fashions this fall or a new line of luxury vehicles. Even as I am typing this, I feel a sense of guilt because I need (or is it want? It is hard to determine sometimes) a new computer since mine is over five years old and on its last legs. How can I justify purchasing a new computer when the one I have works well, despite the fact that the battery is shot and is now a functioning desktop laptop.

But does this sense of guilt and frustration bar me from being an American consumer again? It shouldn’t, but it comes with a heavy heart. Not only will I feel buyer’s remorse (of which I am a chronic sufferer even before my year here) and shame for indulging in a luxury because of my shift in perceptions from life here in Kenya but also because I know that there are millions of Americans, Americans!, who cannot afford many of life’s basic necessities. And here I am, due for not only a computer upgrade but a cell phone upgrade, and I feel sick about it.

How do I transition back into the consumer-driven American lifestyle? How do I justify my spending after the year I’ve had? I certainly do not know the answers, but I suppose that is one of the many purposes for the forthcoming YAV Re-Entry & Transition retreat in New Mexico this September. As my time in Kenya comes to a close, I will try to focus on living my life as normally as possible and enjoying my remaining time. A hard task, for sure, but one that I accept the challenge gladly.