Kilifi:

 

Mnarani ruins: First we were entertained by the fight as to who should take us up – resolved by one man refusing to hand over the key until he had privately us asked for support for a “friend” who had had a stroke – he quite understood when we explained (again!) that we represented an agency that worked for charities but did not provide funding.

 

Our final guide seemed somewhat unwell, constantly mopping his face with a large, bright orange flannel, but he knew his stuff! At pains to tell us that he was not a Muslim and that he did not believe in the “old religions” he was entertaining, educational and informative. We were delighted to give him the expected tip at the end!

 

Founded in 13th Century by a group of men led by first-born son of the Arab sultan from Tanzania - a fact deduced from the height of the tower tomb, the decoration on other tombs, and the architecture of the mosque - these ruins have been uncovered amidst trees and undergrowth which include the largest (and oldest) baobab tree in coastal Kenya (~ 400 years old and massive in circumference). As such it held an important position in East Africa for Muslims and was a major centre for the Arab slave trade until being overcome by Christian Portuguese in the 17th Century. It also has a continuing use as a sacred site for the “old religions”.

 

Women arrived in the 15th century – we learned this could be deduced by the progression of doorway design from three pillars to five pillars. The pillars are a representation of the rules of Islam: Belief in God and Mohammed his prophet, Prayer (many times a day), Giving to charity, Fasting and Pilgrimage to Mecca. The early settlers had to work very hard and, until support came from the women, were only required to adhere to the first three rules. Therefore, mosques and decorated tombs of important people only showed small doors, with three pillars, in the early days!

 

Another plus this day was the Snake Park. We hadn’t intended to visit this, the number of snakes (and my attitude to them) seeming a downside to visiting Kenya before we went – in fact, we never saw one, in the wild, at all! However, we were assured a visit was included in the entrance price to the ruins, and so, never ones to turn down bargains, we went. It was fascinating! Run by an enthusiastic amateur, this place houses snakes that he has collected until they can be re-introduced into suitable habitats.

 

A combination of the fear and dislike of snakes leading to their widespread killing and the (illegal) trafficking of them abroad has caused real concern amongst the Kenyan Wildlife Service. Things have become worse recently as the shortage of food and water had brought snakes out of their usual surroundings and closer to homes.. The authorities have come up with a plan whereby local people (and the customs officers) receive a payment if they report the presence of a snake to the service and the snake can be picked up (alive) by our man, Julius. It’s working quite well!

 

We saw quite a few different snakes and learned how to tell the non-poisonous and semi-poisonous snakes from the seriously poisonous ones. Don’t look at the snake, size and colour can be misleading because many look alike – it’s all in the fangs!

 

I can remember that non-poisonous snakes don’t have fangs, they just chew you, I THINK semi-poisonous ones have four fangs and very poisonous snakes have two fangs– but since I am not certain, I wouldn’t bother counting puncture marks – just get to a doctor, quickly! Especially since we also learned that using anti-venom when you don’t need it can kill you and that if a snake spits at you, you’ve probably had it anyway.

 

I’m not really doing this place justice – just go if you get a chance – and make sure Julius gets part of your tip!

 

 

 

 

Visiting Twalibu: our “foster” child - sponsored through Plan International.

 

This was a wonderful, memorable experience.

 

Arrangements for the visit had been encouraged, initiated, assisted and supported by the Plan representative in UK. Although started in good time, they ended surprisingly flurried; we were still getting vital information right up to an hour or so before we left England.  In fact, the most useful information was in the post, waiting for us when we returned!

 

We had also been made very welcome, earlier on the morning of the visit, by the local Plan officers in Kilifi, before setting out. They had been responsible for booking us, at special rates, into the luxurious Mnarani Hotel and, later, they also advised on, and booked our transport, from Kilifi to Naivasha. Their care and concern exceeded anything anyone could have expected. We learned a lot from them.

 

Plan selects an area for assistance on the basis of the Child Vulnerability Index. This explains why they leave areas (such as Bura Station) when things – chiefly to do with availability of pre- and antenatal care, hygiene, and the poverty-induced practices of child (and adult) prostitution - improve. 

 

It’s a pity local people seem unaware of this, so often feel inexplicably abandoned when Plan move on.

 

We met the people who write letters to us on behalf of the family and deliver our letters and gifts. We had been told in England to stop sending gifts, as such, since it engendered jealousy and theft within the community. Better to send the equivalent in money to be used for the community as a whole. Surprisingly, Kilifi Plan seemed unaware of this change – or at least that it had already come into effect.  They weren’t too sure how it would go down locally. They have already experienced considerable trouble with an increasing number of parents who, now times are hard, think that even the regular sponsor donation should go to them, personally, not to help the community project. Removal of any extra gifts could be the last straw where co-operation is concerned. Certainly, although “our” family was highly-thought-of, we were advised to give all our gifts to them, rather than the community. Perhaps volume had something to do with it; we had quite a lot of stuff from ourselves and other, kind donors, but the community school was huge so the gifts would barely have been noticed. Also, the family was large, so could easily absorb anything.

 

We learned that specific community projects are selected and supported on the basis of detailed, annual plans submitted to the Board. These must include a breakdown in funding (which is usually shared between Plan and the community), details of where materials will be sourced (usually from foreign donors) and how the work will be carried out (usually by local people). Once approved, monitoring goes on continuously. Corruption and false economy is rife at all levels (even within the community that stands to benefit), we are told. Regular supervision by trained Plan personnel and inspection by suitably qualified, impartial, people before, during and after any project is essential and final payments are never delivered until a scheme has been up and running for a reasonable length of time.

 

This was rather a shock to the system after Heartbeat’s spend-and-think-on-the-hoof-at-the-moment policy!

 

The on-going project in “our” area was renewing the classrooms at the Nursery and Primary School. This was to be our first destination.

 

After a journey over dusty, parched land, past seriously thin cows on what were possibly the worst tracks we had yet experienced (despite the fact that the area, as the crow flies, is hardly any distance from prosperous, coastal regions), made slightly better by the relative comfort of the Plan 4x4, we arrived.

 

 We were given a guided tour (the retinue included the Head Teacher and some other school staff, Harriet - from Plan, Twalibu’s uncle - who acted as interpreter), some of The Board - school governors/parents- and at least one local Plan community worker) round this and shown differences between Plan constructed buildings and those provided by the community with government “help”. Plan build to last – the government buildings regular subside or collapse within a matter of years. Thanks to experiences at Heartbeat and Nyolo Primary, we were able to ask relevant questions and appreciate just what they are trying to achieve and some of the pitfalls they have to overcome.

 

We were proudly introduced to a gender-awareness forum! Then we were taken into Form One and embarrassingly asked to identify our foster child – if only we had seen the photos that were waiting for us when we got home! However, it didn’t seem to matter too much that these two odd, old visitors had no idea who they’d come to see!

 

We were delighted to meet our foster-child, Twalibu. He is 9 now and was allowed to leave school to take us to meet most of his family: his half-brother and near twin shared the delights of the homemade, clay model sound system/karaoke machine with us; his elder brothers, still at primary school but surprisingly skilled in making electricity (!) and welding; his elder sister, currently working in a beauty salon in Mombasa; his kind and smiling mother and his lively, little, cheerful, father (the local “doctor”) who, unusually, master-minded most of the cooking and serving. We were almost overwhelmed by their obvious excitement and pleasure in our visit.

 

We were deeply touched by the honour and respect they paid us – we sat in the very best, throne-like chairs and ate a banquet of indescribable proportions spread out on a table made the day before, especially for the occasion. Unfortunately, the proposed goat had, once more, died in “mysterious circumstances” but that still left mountains of rice (especially for me!), chicken in a coconut-and- something sauce, beans in sauce, mandaazi and more – all in excess.

 

This was washed down by mnazi – the liquid from green coconuts. It’s supposed to be good for the digestive system, it needed to be! Then for those with endless capacity, the soft, white, slightly yoghurty insides of the same coconut – I managed one small taste – and chai. Delicious! The time and resources the family must have spent on us was amazing, especially in view of the current problems with food and water.

 

Harriet finally took pity on us, when yet another meal was proposed, and, pleading work,  removed two, very fat, rather sleepy people and jolted them back to reality and Kilifi. We shall never forget March 9th, 2009!