Doctortayria's Blog

Kibera, the largest slum in Africa, outside Nairobi in Kenya was the site of my recent visit to Africa. I am going to let these photos tell the story better than my words could tell you about the living conditions and level of poverty there.

Neighborhood in Kibera

Local hotel

Children hanging out

The streets of Kibera

Drainage/sewage ditch smack in the middle of the school ground where we worked. These run all through Kibera, everywhere.

This little dude was so proud of his juice box on wheels pull toy

other varieties of pull toys

local pub

These images only begin to tell the story. The sights, sounds, smells, the sense of life and commerce happening so remotely far from anything we are familiar with can only be experienced first hand.

My reason for showing these pictures is not to expose the poverty so much as to help express my astonishment as I became aware that, like home, at the school we worked in every teenager had a cell phone in his pocket. They were checking them all of the time, just like at home. If one of their number hadn’t come to the session we were starting they would ring him up. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

The reality for these kids is that they don’t even eat every day. Sometimes it’ may be that they eat once a day, if they are lucky more than once, but some days not at all. They don’t have electricity except in a few places brought in on scary looking little wires, so how they charge the phones is a mystery. Certainly, I was told, they don’t have monthly plans. They somehow procure a phone and then put minutes on it as they scrounge up shillings.

When I pondered this with one of my colleagues, saying to him, “They don’t even eat every day and they have a phone?” he mused that somehow being in touch with one another is more important than food. This helped me begin to understand.

Next we go to the Maasai Mara. Here the Maasai, a pastoral, nomadic people, live on vast plains alongside the wild animals. Here are some shots of them, their village, their lifestyle.

Maasai village

Maasai villagers

Common sight on the Mara, Maasai wandering across the open plains

I could upload a few more pictures, but I hope you get the idea, and I am guessing that you probably know what I am going to say. These guys have cell phones! One of our members saw a Massai warrior sitting on a rock as we drove through the plains TALKING ON HIS CELL PHONE.

A native American elder that I once worked with remarked while using a Bic to light the sacred fire that we had all worked for days to prepare, “If my ancestors had had a Bic they would have used one.”

And this seems to be the case with cell phones. I don’t know what to say to comment further or interpret, I’m just telling the story. “Connection is everything” is all I can think.

Readjustment to life on our continent has held some challenges for me. When I gather myself back up, there are more stories of Africa to tell. For now let me make this tribute to the unfathomable wonder of the animals we were privileged to witness on the Masai Mara. I love this quote that was written on a poster at the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust elephant orphanage:

For the animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complex than ours, they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings, they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendor and travail of the earth.
–Henry Benton

Here are but a few of the animals we saw wandering about in their own habitat, there were many more. I tried to describe to my daughters what it is like seeing thousands of animals living in their own world. It occurred to me to explain that if one had never seen the sky before, no one could ever describe the sky well enough to transmit the experience of it. You could show photographs, write essays or poetry, but not until you stand under the open sky would you get it. It’s the same with this experience. National Geographic does a great job, so do many other photographers, essayists, book writers and poets. But not until you are there can it be known.

I awakened with a strong dream this morning. The ten of us who traveled to Africa on this trip were standing together next to a wall being guided by a shaman or medicine man. Lined up against the wall, squatting, were versions of ourselves that are pre-historic – they looked like the drawings we see of humans in pre-history. There was a Tayria, a Carter, a David, a Tony, an Emily, a Zoe, a Jenny, a Liz, a Heather, an Alexa – very specific, a living piece of our own unique self. Each of us were shown how to stand in front of our other self and then squat down into it, merging with it, which we did. Then we stood up, and the part was integrated, ready to walk in us. The medicine man gave us each beads to wear that would help the integration to set, like waiting for glue to dry.

Wow. Soul-retrieval. A piece of our most primordial self recovered. What will this blessing and healing bring?

My thought is to pass this on as an image for your own ritual. I believe it is meant to be shared and that anyone can do it if they feel moved to do so. Create the space, call in your guides, make an intention, visualize this action and do it physically, invest some beads with the power of your prayerful intention and wear them for a few days.

Modernization has served too often to cut us off from our roots, causing us to forget who we really are and how we are meant to live on this planet. Such a ritual might help the root juices begin to flow again, and bring more wholeness to our being.

Elephant with broken leg on Masai Mara

I am two days home from the journey to Kenya, and not even close to recovered from the jet lag. I feel my life here pressing back in on me, in a good way, but still feel so many stories from the journey deserve to be told. I turned my Page-a-Day Zen Calendar today and read the quote: “The universe is made up of stories, not atoms.” – Muriel Rukeyser. If I don’t tell the stories of this journey to Africa then who will tell them? I want to commit to write more of them before I move on to here and now, while the stories remain vivid.

Today I want to tell about an old-ish elephant that we saw on the Masai Mara. After our time in Nairobi and Kibera, we made a journey over very rough terrain, 7 hours of driving which included having to drive through a river and getting stuck for a time in it, to reach the Masai Mara. This, like the Serengeti in Tanzania, is thousands of miles of untouched land where herds of wildlife can be seen in their natural environments. Experienced drivers will take you out into the plains to find and observe the animals.

Earlier in the day we had had a sacred moment in time after Carter and John, our driver, spotted elephants so far in the distance I didn’t understand how they knew them from trees or bushes. We went their direction and indeed found ourselves in the midst of a large family of elephants, one baby so tiny it was just the size of a large dog. It is priceless to see the elephants in their natural habitat, eating the grass, spraying mud on their backs, caring for their young. The little ones move so close to Mama or Papa that their bodies are touching the whole time. They are all obviously very affectionate with one another, and work as a team. One elephant came right up to our van, just a couple of feet away, seemingly to size us up. We all held our breath. Considering one another for a very long few minutes, we must have met with approval as she moved away and rejoined the group. Had she sensed that we meant harm, I think our little van could have been turned over and crushed in an instant.

Later in the day, Carter and John again spotted an elephant in the far distance. It was noticeable, even from the far view, that this was an enormous creature, like a small mountain. When we drove up to observe him we were in awe. Soon, however, it became obvious that something was wrong. The front left leg of this elephant was very swollen, and he could not walk. As we watched we could see him try to take steps, but he was completely unable. His leg was broken. How would it be possible to put all of that weight on a broken leg? It wasn’t. He was stuck there. There were no other elephants around. Our driver knew animals, and could read that this one was maybe 50 years old, middle aged. Elephants live to be 70 or more, so this one still had some years to go if not for this injury. Our hearts were broken as we watched him. He could not make his way to get grass to eat or find water, literally unable to take a step. When we left, we seemed to understand that this elephant would die there, just where he was, alone. It was, and is, almost too much to bear.

I have not been able to get this lovely creature out of my mind. When I went to bed that night all I could see, out of a vast day of witnessing prides of lions, and herds of amazing wildlife, was him. I seem to think on him several times an hour. I have sent love from my heart to his and wondered – does he receive it? How does this work? I seem to feel, whether just because I need to I can’t tell, that he receives something from the love I send and it comforts him.

I wish I could drive back to see him, and find out how he is. But only in my mind, and in my heart, can I go. So I do.

I am in a hotel in New York after 30 hours of continuous travel from Nairobi. The trip back to the mountain will be completed tomorrow. Before I lay my exhausted body down to sleep, I want to share the text of a letter I received just a couple of hours before leaving Kenya. Carter delivered it to me after receiving a packet of things from Agnes Musau, director of Drugfighters where Esther is at school. It is a handwritten letter from Esther to me. On the envelope, in her precious child’s handwriting, are these words:

To Tayria
My love

The letter, in child’s lettering, so cute:
Hey,
Dear my friend and Mom Tayria,
I am very very happy that we are friends and that you always think about me. I thank God that he brought you in my life. I always pray for you and your family, that God will continue to bless and help you.
I will miss you when you return back home. Greet all your friends who says that they love me, and tell them I love them too. I love you like my mother and you love me like my mother.
Greet all your children and tell them I love them very, very much. I believe one day God will make us to see each other. Thank you for your gifts. When I see the gifts you gave me I remember you always.
Read Psalms 41:1-3.
Yours in great love,
Esther Nyokabi

Underneath is a pink heart she drew and colored, with the words “Tayria and Esther” inside.
The gifts she refers to are a small bracelet that I gave her with the word “dream” engraved on a silver medal and the scarf I had been wearing that day which both of us had used to mop up our tears.

This helped me to know that my visit to Africa to see Esther hit the mark. She felt it. She knows. Again, my dearest thanks.

For those of you who have been following this adventure to Africa with me you might remember the image I used to describe what it felt like preparing myself to come to Kenya. Those little tubes that we use during drive in banking, inside which the deposits are placed, and whoosh, with the push of a button, are launched  from outside the building through the mechanisms arriving inside to the teller – that is what it felt like getting myself here. And now, I pack up all that I have gathered internally – all of the stories, blessings, information, wisdom, relationships, love and grace – and place myself back in the tube to come whooshing back home, through Amsterdam, New York, Atlanta and Asheville. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. So much comes with me. And much I know I have left here.

I want to unpack the stories, and will continue to write them and post photographs. They need to be told! My heart is full with gratitude for every bit of this journey, and especially to those whose love came with me in a special way of support.

Whoosh, here I come. Home on the 12th.

Tayria and Esther, January 6, 2012

Unexpectedly, my connection to internet has gone dark for the last days. Expect the unexpected in Africa, surely I am learning this. This is Monday night. The last days have been a world of experience which I intend to write about going forward, but for now I want to report on the events of last Friday.

Finally I got to go to Drugfighters, the orphanage and school that Esther attends. I could feel the swelling emotion and anticipation as we traveled to it. Entering, I encountered a dramatically altered site from the one that I had worked at in June of 2010. It was then a stench filled little dirt plot lined on one side by edifices made of wood frames with tin siding that were the classrooms. Piles of mud and and rock constituted the playground. Today there are structures, still of wood and tin, but solid, with tile floors and several more classrooms, clean dormitory rooms for the residents, a library room and a staff room. Given where we were, in Kibera, the place is a palace, and a miracle. I noticed the children looking healthier, less fog and film in their eyes, more clearness, calmness; their hair and skin showing signs of nutrients they had not been receiving before. All of this is due to the efforts of their lioness founder, Agnes Musau and her assistant Martha Muiriri, and also to the efforts of Carter Via and Cross Cultural Thresholds who raised the funds and have brought volunteers over the course of this time to build the facility.

I was very moved as we were given the tour after arriving. Peeping into the classrooms, my eyes scanned each little sea of faces looking for Esther, not finding her. My heart began to sink a little and for the first time it hit me that maybe I had come all of this way and might not see her. I hadn’t allowed myself to think it before.

They called an all-school assembly to greet us the visitors who had come with Carter, who they obviously and for good reason adore. We were seated in a row of chairs at the front, with all of the children gathered in the courtyard to sing and perform for us. Martha arrived just then, and as I hugged and greeted her I asked about Esther. She said she would go ask her teacher. So, as we sat there just before the assembly began a tiny little girl was brought through the crowd and up to the front to stand in front of my chair. She was flooded with emotion and barely knew what to do with her face or body. I cried and said, “Esther, I came to see you!”

The program was just then beginning so they made a seat for her right next to me. We sat, my arm around her, both of us smiling broadly, and crying on and off, all through the performances by the children and greeting speeches by faculty and Carter. Then came the time to introduce us, the visitors. Martha said to the assembly, “There is someone here who is a special friend to Esther. Esther, can you introduce her?” She got up in front of the whole school, so tiny and shy, and said almost inaudibly, “She is Tayria.” Martha asked her to please say it louder! After about three repetitions she finally spoke with enough volume. As I addressed the children briefly Esther held her arm up to her eyes to wipe the tears and melted back into the crowd to take her place among her classmates.

Sometime later I was able to sit in a private room with Esther while Martha translated. We were all full of emotion, and Esther and I were moist-eyed throughout. Though she speaks mainly Swahili, Esther does know some English. These words came clearly to me from her in English – “I love you, and in my whole life I will never forget you.” This little girl has a hard time looking straight in the eyes because she is so shy, but she overcame it and looked directly into my eyes as she spoke, and often throughout our little meeting.

I asked her about her Mother, (who is HIV positive and had been deathly ill last time I was there) and her family. I asked about her friendships, her health, how she has been feeling. I told Esther about how I came to be with her, that I had wanted to come and many people had contributed to help make it possible. That made her cry, and she said softly, this also in English, “Please tell them I love them and thank you.” I am not making this up. This little girl said these words to me. I could barely believe her presence of mind and clearness, and the perfection of her response. It still seems like a miracle.

We only spoke for a half an hour or more, and then had long hugs good-bye. The scarf that I had been wearing which both of us used to wipe our eyes, I wrapped around her neck. This time I did not promise to come back, and I don’t believe she expected it. We both seemed to understand something so complete about this moment.

I don’t know if I can say “mission accomplished” with as much clarity as this about anything else I have ever done in my life. It is the rarest of feelings for me. This trip, this mission, this love and the return seem like possibly the most important thing I have ever done, after giving birth to my daughters. I do not even remotely understand why. There was something so real, so genuinely, simply real about it.

My heart seizes with strong emotion when I think about the people who responded so generously with contributions to help me achieve this mission. I had sent letters to each of them with self-addressed envelopes inside and a feather, offering for them to write down their wishes or prayers which I would then bring to Mother Africa, to burn their private thoughts in a fire here and spread the ashes of it on the soil; the feathers then to be released into the winds so that they can act as prayer flags as they are carried about.

Our whole group joined me in the fire ceremony that night. They looked on as each of the letters I brought went into the fire, and then they added writings of their own. After this all of the feathers were released.

There is much more to tell, even about this day, and about the astonishingly remarkable days since, but I will stop for now. My heart is full. Thank you, to all who have supported me in this journey and to the sweet, kind universe for making it happen so deliciously.