Jan 18th, Lost Boys

January 18, 2009

I woke up around 4:10am and thought about snoozing until 4:40am when the alarm was set, but remembered some things from the previous day – the preacher on the bus – and wanted to get it down. Right now, for the first time since we’ve arrived in Africa, I would rather forget.

We left Nairobi to fly to Kisumu for our 7:00am flight. I was worried about being over weight on luggage, but we had no problems. In the airport waiting for our flight a young guy from London sat down next to me and chatted up a storm which passed the hour quite nicely. He was on his way to a village that his former high school supports. He is for three months with cash and shopping list in hand. He was quite a character, self admittedly self absorbed. He had that same naïve sparkle in his eyes that I must have had before today.

The drive from Kisumu to Kakamega was so beautiful. We felt like we were in a movie. The road we took is unofficially called the Chinese Highway. I can write about this later. Right now I feel a need to try and make sense of this.

Alinda took us on a walk to the market, not far at all from our house. We got a few “How are you”s and “Mizungu”s (white person) and “Help me for 5 bob.” We passed a boy, no older than 11 with a little bottle hanging from his mouth and vacant eyes. Alinda said they call them the lost boys. One touched my arm and startled me as we passed. Alinda told me I had nothing to be scared of. They won’t touch you. One did touch me on the arm I said, to which she replied that was very unusual. Don’t under any circumstances give them money or you will never get rid of them. She said sometimes she might give them a banana, but there were so many today that you could never satisfy them. So, just keep walking. We need to talk to her more because when we were walking back on our own, (Terry, Cody and I – no Alinda), The same boy that touched me the first time was putting his hand out and walking along side of me. And then there were more of them, maybe 6. They were touching Terry’s grocery bag, pulling on the top of the pineapple. “No touch” Terry was saying. Then they were pinching my arm, pretty hard. It didn’t hurt, but was really creepy. I asked Cody and Terry to put me between them, but they had their hands full too. Two boys were on either side of Cody, giggling (in a creepy way, not a sweet little kid way), pulling on his arms. Cody, always full of compassion said they wanted to walk with him. When one of them rubbed my bum and laughed my stomach turned and I felt … angry? Scared? Sick? I flicked my arms to get them off me, and one kept running his finger up my bum. It was so disturbing. There was a well dressed couple with a little girl ahead of us and I walked a little faster feeling that if we were near them we would be left alone. We didn’t know where we went wrong. Terry was saying “No touch. Not today.” I tried “Go away.” Cody wasn’t really talking, just walking and telling me to chill. I said, Terry o.k., now I’m scared. He said, I’ve got my own little buggers to deal with. They only followed us for a block or so. I’m not sure what got rid of them.

I told Terry he’s going to have to step into the man role as protector. Alinda told me to walk close to my son if they hassle me. As a women, I will notice what a male society this is.

Cody is the keeper of the keys and when we got home he unlocked the padlock to the iron gate on to our porch and then locked it behind us. “I don’t think we need to lock it when we’re home, Code.” “We may as well,” he casually replied. When we got in, I sat down at the table and said that we need to be sure to talk about things like this. This could be only the start of the disturbing things we see. Terry made a joke that he could just bottle it all up inside, that works too.

Cody went to read, Terry turned on the tv… what was that black sit come from the ‘70s with JJ and Velma? Or is it Thelma? When The Jeffersons came on Terry turned off the tv and went to have a nap. I was cleaning. My arms were covered in black smears from the boys grabbing me. I boiled water and wiped a hot washcloth over my face neck and arms. I disinfected the counter tops and cleaned all our fruit. I was trying to wash the sick feeling away.

I told Cody that I couldn’t shake it. And he said, “Yeah it was messed.” Terry said he didn’t know if he was allowed to hit them. “That’s not the way to deal with it, obviously that won’t work.” God, I love this kid.

We played a couple of hands of rummy and three games of Yatzee as a distraction. Now Cody has gone to read, Terry is up from his nap and out for a run. And I am here, getting it out.

These are little boys. I am somewhat ashamed to say that I am more angry and heartbroken. This is fucked. I’ve heard so many North American heroes say, “They may not have anything, but they are so happy.” What a line of shit. I know I will see that in time. It’s just so wrong. How can these little boys just be left to destroy their brains and …

My closet full of soccer balls and pencils seem so… empty. Naïve. Pathetic. That’s the word I was looking for.

The bird songs are beautiful.

Our house is great.
We have two local allies – Paul from the market will tell us the fair price for fruit and Jeremiah will be our guide, driver and advisor for places to go and fares to expect.

Paul works at the market from 6:00am to 8:00pm everyday. Jeremiah owns the African Tour Cafe (pronounced caf, not café). We had an impromptu lunch with Jeremiah today and tried our first African fare. I had chippati (flat bread cut into small squares) with vegetables (cabbage and another local crispy green) and a dipping sauce. It was quite tasty actually. Terry tried the ugali which is made from maize. It tasted like mashed potatoes to me. Cody had two beef simosas – he said the first one was good, the second a little dry.

Alinda pointed out how docile the babies are here. Basically their lives are spent on their mom’s back sitting on the ground in the market hawking vegetables.