Another morning in Kenya. Surreal. Slightly overcast, but the sun eventually came to cast brilliant light as we drove to the Amani ya Juu workshop. "Amani ya Juu" means "peace from above." The organization started with three ladies, a garage, and one product, and since they have expanded to employ 85 women and produce over 300 products. We met the ladies working in the sewing room who kindly and warmly welcomed us with smiles and hugs before bursting out into song. These women are extremely talented seamstresses. I almost feel like I have seen their products in Portland before... or someplace. The brand name sounds familiar.
I love driving the streets here - so many absolutely amazing sights - the people, the crafts sold in the stands, pottery of the finest shape, color, pattern, metal sculptures of giraffes, wildebeest, etc., hand-crafted furniture, booths with fruit and vegetables, cows grazing on a football field, goats roaming free, the gigantic sky (bigger than I've ever seen).
But part of me feels uncomfortable about the driving. Not uncomfortable as in unsafe, but uncomfortable as in here I am, chauffeured around with my "heavy paper and round metal," as well as a camera and some antibacterial sanitizer, as people are surely walking hours to their full-day jobs, trying to support their family and themselves. And here I am smiling out the window at them. I have every reason in the world to smile. I have a family that loves and supports me, food, water, an education, the opportunity for hobbies and finding work that I enjoy. More than the average Kenyan could get in a lifetime. I am so lucky, yet I still worry about money and wish I had more. Greed is a terrible thing but it is so human. An instinct that unfortunately influences us all in one way or another. I try consciously to clear it from entering my thoughts. Especially after seeing the living conditions here. Though I hope my smile from out the window is taken as a gesture of kindness and compassion like I mean it, I understand if it isn't. But that doesn't mean I'll stop trying to bring a little bit of light to passerbyer's. Some of them beam back with smiles, yelling "Jambo," and waving. Makes it worth it.
After lunch, we drove to Kamilli, a place where they hand print designs onto pillows, curtains, clothes, placemats, etc. We were shown the process of a screen print, where the original design is made into a screen with areas of transparent and opaque, and is set on a piece of material to be printed. Thereafter, color is taken and squee-gee'd across the screen holes with a flat wooden blade so the color goes into the tiny holes in a thin, even layer. After, we were given already printed animals silhouettes to paint. Mine: a hippo with a bird perched on its back. I painted her in tones of blue, purple, and red, and decorated her with patterns which the man said reminded him of that of an Indian elephant. After painting, I spoke with the man who lead the workshop named John. We spoke about this and that, mountains, Obama, global politics, the government, misconceptions about Africa, etc. He seemed to know much on the world. I want to take his advice and come back to Kenya and climb Mt. Kenya (he said it is more beautiful than Kilimanjaro).
When we came back, I played volleyball with Marie, swam in the pool, and enjoyed the last of the sun's warmth for the day. Anja, Nathalie, Anne, and I had a mini work-out session by the poolside before they went in to get manicures/pedicures and I went out to play a little ukulele.








