Santa is not that critical

Rodgers grew up without Santa Claus at all - he doesn't come to Kenya. I grew up with a fictional Santa, but we didn't believe in him - my parents' choice. Rodgers and I saw no reason to have our kids believe in Santa. We both feel Christmas is full without him. Not surprisingly, complete strangers have Very Important Opinions about this. And you know what? If you are on the other side, other complete strangers have Very Important Opinions about that. It's not unlike...well everything else that goes along with using social media as a parent. Sure some people will say these things to you in person, but with social media, you get read complete strangers' opinions about how you're ruining your children's lives from the comfort of your own sofa, at any hour of the day or night.

My sister posted this on Facebook yesterday, which I felt is one of the most well-thought-out pieces on why not to believe in Santa. The post itself is not judgmental, but there are always judgmental comments on posts like this. For what it's worth, I love that post and agree with all of her points, especially numbers 1 and 4 (and even more the first one since we live in a country where there is no Santa - I mean, can you imagine the American kids not only getting more Christmas gifts from their parents but also being the only kids in town visited by Santa?!).

(the whole bit in gifs here on imgur)

Later yesterday, Christianity Today posted this one, which is a bit more inflammatory (tactic to ensure more people will click on it). The title says that your kids should believe in Santa, whereas the previous one just said that their kids don't. While I agree with the conclusion on that post (that Jesus communicated truth using parables to appeal to the imagination through fiction, and other fiction can be used the same way), I don't agree that believing fiction is real is necessary.

There are a zillion other posts, from both sides. Some simply state the practice of the particular family, like the first post I linked to. Others tell you why you (and, more importantly, your kids) would be better off adopting their viewpoint. Regardless, the comments are predictable:

"HOW COULD YOU LIE TO YOUR KIDS?!"
"HOW COULD YOU DEPRIVE YOUR KIDS OF THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS?!"
"Your kid is going to ruin Christmas for all the other kids!"
"Your kids only behave because of that creepy elf? How sad."
"There's enough reality when you're an adult. Let the kids have some fun."
"Well, I grew up not believing in Santa, and I'm just fine."
"Well, I grew up believing in Santa, and I'm just fine."

Let's focus a little on the last two comments.

While there are people who feel deprived to not have experienced believing in Santa, and there are people who felt betrayed when they found out their parents had lied about Santa, for the most part, it just doesn't matter much. It's not that critical.

And if people comment to you in ALL CAPS that it is that critical, that what you're doing will Ruin Christmas or Deprive Your Kids, just imagine them like Little John because this is what they're fighting over.

Lamu

Lamu from a boat

Liz and me in a boat taxi

Since becoming parents, I have done many an overnight with the kids without Rodgers. I have spent some nights away from the kids, with Rodgers. But I have never left them with him overnight. It's not that I didn't want to, I just had no reason to - nowhere to go without them. Until...

My friend said she wanted to take me to Lamu, where she grew up, and we actually put it on the calendar and started planning it. And did it! My very first ladies' getaway for 4 days and 3 nights, and it was everything I dreamed it would be. The boys called me at least twice a day, and Rodgers and I texted pictures back and forth to each other. I did miss them, but the break was extremely welcome!

boats

donkeys hauling sand from the Indian Ocean side of the
island to a construction site in town

We took a bus. It takes about 7 hours from Kilifi. The road is not paved the whole way, but actually the unpaved part of the road is smoother than some of the "paved" part! The bus takes you all the way to Mokowe. Then, you hop on a boat to cross to Lamu Island.

Lamu's biggest industry has been tourism, but recently, that industry has been suffering tremendously. Until two weeks ago, they had been under a 6 pm curfew enforcement. No one wants to go on vacation and be stuck in their hotel room for the night starting at 6 pm. The curfew has now been pushed back to 10 pm.

empty mkokoteni on the seaside road

around 4 o'clock every day, they roll out the mats and play bao

Everyone told me how happy they were to see a tourist in Lamu again. Restaurants have only been keeping the basics stocked so that they don't waste money on ingredients that won't be used. Artisans are selling other things in their shops because there aren't any tourists to buy souvenirs. The economy is really suffering from the lack of tourists. We did our part to stimulate the economy: stayed in a hotel, ate in restaurants, shopped, went to the museum, used boat taxis, and shopped some more.

Lamu is famous for having no cars on the island. The only way to get to the island is by boat. There are no bridges. There is only one road that can accommodate a car, anyway (we saw 2 cars and a tractor using it). The other streets are narrow corridors between buildings. This trait, probably more than anything else, has caused ancient culture to be preserved. They say Mombasa and Zanzibar started much like Lamu, but because they've made way for roads and cars, much of the old culture of the town is lost. Walking the streets of Lamu today is not much different than walking the streets of Lamu 400 years ago. The main differences being that now there are power lines overhead and everyone carries a cell phone. Also, within the main part of town, all of the streets are paved and there is a drainage system in place.

This one's actually not so narrow.

The main method for getting around town is walking. If you have a load, there are mkokotenis (the cart in the picture above), but they don't navigate the streets quite as smoothly as the donkeys. Lamu claims the highest number of donkeys per capita in the world. They use them to transport loads of sand or whatever else they need carried, including themselves! It's not uncommon to see donkeys roaming around unattended when they are off-duty.

off-duty donkeys

donkeys bringing the sand through town
The street wasn't wide enough for us and them, so we hopped
up on someone's front stoop. They all have benches outside
their front doors, where they sit in the evenings.

There are 3 cities on the island, all along the coast. The center of the island is orchards of mangoes and coconuts. You might be able to walk through the orchards to get from one town to the next, but why do that when you can get a boat taxi? This is the fastest mode of transport on the island. My friend's parents live on the outskirts of town, and we were staying in a hotel right in the middle of town. We walked to and from a couple of times, but it is far. Our last visit with them, we were so tired when we left, we just walked to the beach and got a boat taxi to take us back to town center. Much better!

our captain for the time we stayed
We called him any time we needed a ride.

My cultural experiences included: labania (a sort of cardamom praline made in Witu, on the road to Lamu), kahawa tamu (local spiced coffee that has more sugar than coffee in it) mixed with kahawa tungu (unsweetened local coffee, which they didn't think I could handle, but which I had the following day without the tamu mixed in because good gracious! the sugar!), and henna. Also we walked all over town one day, with a guide who pointed out some of the old architectural traits like door carvings and coral facades. He took us to some of the historic homes that have been converted to guest houses and past an old, but still-functioning water well (the kind you draw with a bucket, rope, and pulley).

henna in progress

posing in the street/corridor

Rodgers is a little jealous because this is part of his own country he has never visited. I have an invitation from our friend's parents to bring my family to visit them. The dad actually asked me to bring my family for Christmas this year, which is not possible. Maybe we can try for a family visit to Lamu next year.

last minute

That's a matatu, not a bus,
but I took this pic while sitting on a bus...

A little disclaimer first: I am not writing this in any kind of judgement, it's just an observation.

The phrase "last minute culture" is used frequently in Kenya - by Kenyans - to describe Kenyan culture. For example, (1) when there were new laws passed requiring public transport vehicles to have speed governors installed (again), those who work in the industry asked for more time to comply, suggesting a new deadline, and it was granted. The new deadline came, but it wasn't until the next morning (after another suggested deadline was denied) that owners of the vehicles started trying to get the speed governors installed. They were out of stock for weeks after that because of the rush, and many vehicles were parked for those weeks. (2) There have recently been new requirements for those who are licensed to officiate weddings. Only a fraction of officiants have gotten the new licensing, and the deadline is fast approaching. No one really expects the rest of them to work on the new license until the deadline arrives. (3) We know countless people who have the money to pay their bills, but they don't actually pay the electric bill until they are being disconnected. They don't actually pay their kids' school fees until the kid is sent home from school for failure to pay fees. They don't want to pay until they absolutely must.

They say, "This is last minute culture."

One experience I had on my first trip to Kenya illustrated this even better. Rodgers and I were traveling from Malindi to Mombasa. He had no car, and we hadn't borrowed one (which we did on our next trip to Kenya), so we were at the mercy of public transportation. We got on a bus. It was to leave in 20 minutes, and there were already a few other people seated.

After we took our seats, Rodgers told me to look out the window. There were tons of people standing near the buses.

He said, "They are all going to Mombasa today."

I asked why they weren't getting on a bus yet - there were 2 currently loading passengers.

"They will only get on when the bus is leaving."

So I watched, expecting them to line up and get on board in 20 minutes. They did not.

We did not leave at the scheduled departure time because the bus wasn't full. There were enough people waiting for the bus that we could have left on time if they would have gotten on board.

It's a stalemate: The bus won't leave until it's full. The driver's "last minute" is when the last seat is occupied. The people won't get on until the bus is leaving. Their "last minute" is the bus pulling out of the parking lot. But it won't pull out of the parking lot because they aren't on board. But they won't get on board.

When we should have been leaving for Mombasa, the driver simply rolled forward about 10 feet, then stopped when a wave of people rushed to board. The bus was not yet full, thus we still did not leave. The bus driver plays this game every single day, and wins. He has to bluff and trick the passengers into thinking that he is leaving so that they will think it's the "last minute" and get on board. But some of them are not fooled by the first, second, third, or fourth bluffs. We did the roll-forward-and-stop-for-passengers bit several times, reached the end of the parking lot, backed up and started again.

Eventually the last seat was filled. I think we ended up leaving close to an hour late. I would not be a good bus driver. I have no patience for that kind of game; I would have left with a half-empty bus.

advertising in Kenya

We have many of the same products here that exist in the US. But the advertising is very different. It is culturally appropriate.

In the US, advertisers often compare their products to "the other leading brand." There are some here which follow that method. However some products aren't competing against another brand but a completely different way of doing things. For example, Pampers are compared to old-fashioned flat cloth diapers without waterproof covers. Always are compared to using folded up toilet paper.

Not many people have washing machines. The vast majority of laundry detergents are hand washing powders. They do compare to other brands, are a little too obvious about to which brand they are comparing, and get in trouble all the time. The commercials are quite different to what we would have in the US, yet they use the same elements.

OLX is like craigslist in Kenya. Most of their ads show people living in flats in Nairobi. They have house help putting away groceries and advising the woman of the house to sell some stuff so she can buy a bigger refrigerator. Or a couple is preparing for the birth of their first baby, selling stuff from the husband's bachelor days to make room and get money for baby gear. But one is such a great juxtaposition of traditional Kenya and modern technology - a country boy using a smart phone to sell stuff on OLX so that he can buy a cow.

I'm hoping that these commercials are available worldwide, and you can watch them. Enjoy!

oblivious to culture

Here's an interesting (and possibly infuriating) aspect about culture. Some communication and customs are very obviously culture-specific, but some exist at such a subconscious level that we can't really identify what they are in our own cultures.

In Kenya, there are separate greetings for people who are above you on the social hierarchy, people who are your equals, and people who are below you. In some cases, it's obvious who is who: a child is below me, an elderly person is above me. But in some cases it's not that clear to an outsider.

Me, trying to learn some conscious culture - how to make pilau

We went to have lunch at our friend's house. We didn't know who would be there apart from us, the friend, and her daughter, but there are always other family members around. Also, this friend is of a socio-economic status that it is safe to assume she has house help. (Here, you don't have to be outrageously wealthy to have a housekeeper who works every day or even lives with you.)

When we arrived, there were several people around the house - a few young men (probably her younger brothers or nephews) and a woman working in the kitchen. The woman was neither young nor old. To me, she could have been anyone - sister, cousin, aunt, housekeeper? To Rodgers, it was obvious who she was.

Everyone greeted us, shaking hands and saying whatever greeting was appropriate. Kenyans are compulsive about their greetings. An aside: if you don't greet someone, it's extremely rude, yet when you greet someone, it's not because you intend to have a conversation with them or even care what they say (the response is the same regardless of their circumstances), it's because it's required by custom to say a certain greeting and receive a certain reply. I don't really "get" the obsession with greetings, especially the super long ones they exchange in their native language. But I digress...

The woman came out of the kitchen to greet us, and she wouldn't let go of my hand after I greeted her, as if she was expecting more. Eventually she said the respectful greeting to me, which I didn't find appropriate at all, so I asked if she was saying that to me.

She said (in English), "No, you say it to me!"

I was totally confused. Who was this woman demanding I greet her with the respectful greeting and why?! I thought it would be rude to ask, "Why? Who are you?" But I was so embarrassed that I was frozen like a deer in headlights - I couldn't say anything.

Rodgers knew, intuitively, that this was our friend's mother. He had never met her before. She was not introduced. (While Kenyans love introducing themselves to large groups as they are giving a speech, when meeting you they expect you to know who they are and don't introduce themselves or other people.) And yet, he knew who she was. He couldn't explain to me how he knew this.

I told him that he's going to have to start cluing me in because I don't have this subconscious knowledge of his culture, and though he has it, he is oblivious to it. I have noticed other subconscious knowledge, communication, and practices in this and other cultures, so I assume there must be something like this in my culture, but whatever it is, I must also be oblivious.

Expat Blog

Living away from your birth country can be fun and frustrating and exciting and difficult.

You start out on a high, excited for the new adventure.

Then reality hits, and everything becomes horrible. It wouldn't be like this in your home country. You wouldn't have these problems there! That's what we call "Culture Shock."

But you get through it. Ok, everything isn't perfect in your home country, either. You are just used to the problems you have to deal with there. So you figure out how to cope with these new challenges. This is the "Recovery" phase, shown in the W-curve below (from Berkeley's International Office page).

During Recovery and Adjustment, it helps to find people you can relate to - people who are also adjusting to new challenges and getting used to living in a new country.

We know some expats in east Africa, but we don't get to see them much, even those who live near Mombasa. (South Coast looks close to North Coast on the map, but it is so far away.) So I looked for online communities of expats.

A few months ago, I joined expat-blog.com. I have not spent much time on the forum, but I have enjoyed reading blogs by other expats. I can relate so much to their experiences!

And now, a Kenyan-Texan family is Blog of the Month for November! You can see my interview on their website [clicky]. Blogs by my fellow expats living in Kenya are here.

on chocolate away from home

Life overseas is different in many ways. Ice cream is one. Here, there's far too much ice and not enough cream. Bakery cakes are another. I have no idea how Kenyan bakeries make their cakes to be so horrible. Chocolate is different, too.

Kenya has a few varieties familiar to a girl from Texas. There are Snickers, Kit Kats, Twix, and Peanut M&Ms. There are Mars bars, which are similar to Milky Ways in the US (but if you see a Milky Way outside the US, it's a Three Musketeers; if you see a Mars bar in the US it's something else entirely). The rest is either Cadbury's or Beacon.

I am a dark chocolate kind of girl. I prefer dark, semi-sweet, or bittersweet chocolate over milk chocolate. I can, however, make room in my world for milk chocolate, especially when dark chocolate is hard to find. The rack of Cadbury's chocolate bars usually has 10 or more varieties of Dairy Milk with something added to it (nuts, mint, crunchies, whatever). Beacon is the same. I have only tried 1 variety of Beacon, which is their supposed dark chocolate bar. It tasted like milk chocolate with extra sugar. I don't think I could handle their milk chocolate.

I know some of you love Cadbury's Dairy Milk, and I mean no offense to you personally, but Dairy Milk is an abomination. It's barely even chocolaty. It's like sugar and milk with chocolate coloring.

If something is supposed to be chocolate, why not make it chocolaty? Speaking of which, I do not understand the existence of white chocolate. It's not that it tastes bad, but it's chocolate, without the chocolaty part. What's the point of that? Like blonde brownies. Brownies without cocoa? Why make blondies when you can make brownies?

But getting back to the topic, Cadbury's has saving grace, in 2 products (which is more than I can say for Beacon). First, the Creme Egg, which obviously is in a class of its own (though I strongly believe it would be greatly improved if done in dark chocolate). Second is Bournville, which is a dark chocolate bar we sometimes find here that is actually quite good.

Lately, our Tuskys has had these in stock constantly, but they didn't always. When I first discovered it, we found them so rarely (once a month or so) that Rodgers would buy me one any time he saw them. By now, even Nate and Ben know which chocolate bar to choose for me. I don't think they even realize that the purple Dairy Milk packages contain chocolate, too. And that's as it should be.

us vs us

We love the movie Cars in this house. Recently, we found Cars 2, and now it is also a favorite. We watch both of them once a week. In the credits of Cars 2 is a cool song, Collision of Worlds by Robbie Williams and Brad Paisley. It compares US to UK, not in a better and worse kind of way, in a different yet the same kind of way. It has me thinking about Texas and Kenya this way. Rather than us vs them, this is us vs us because we are Kenyan-Texan.

In TX, we have Dallas Cowboys (American football).
In Kenya, we have Harambee Stars (soccer football).

In TX, we drink iced tea.
In Kenya, we drink hot chai.

In TX, we have I-35 and I-10 (among many other major highways).
In Kenya, we have Mombasa-Nairobi Road and Mombasa-Malindi Road (which have numbers, but no one knows them).

In TX, "taking lunch" means packing it up and bringing it with us.
In Kenya, "taking lunch" means eating lunch.

In TX, "sweet" means something has sugar (whether cane sugar or another sweetener) in it.
In Kenya, "sweet" means something is delicious, even if it's savory, tart, spicy, or otherwise not ... sweet.

In TX, we love shopping at Target.
In Kenya, we love shopping at Naivas.

In TX, "smart" means intelligent.
In Kenya, "smart" means well dressed.

Texas is a state, part of a country, and it contains counties, on the continent of North America.
Kenya is a country, which contains counties but no states (though it used to have provinces rather than counties), on the continent of Africa.

Texas has TXDOT.
Kenya has KeNHA.

In TX, we can buy food from the driver's seat of our car by going through the drive thru at a fast food place.
In Kenya, we can buy food and more from the driver's seat of our car by sitting in traffic and waving to a street vendor.

In TX, we can get TV via antenna, cable, satellite, U-Verse, Hulu, Netflix, Amazon Instant, or Roku.
In Kenya, we can get TV via antenna or satellite.

In TX, we have 2 seasons: summer and Christmas.
In Kenya, we have 2 seasons: dry and rainy.

In TX, we often hear English mixed with Spanish.
In Kenya, we often hear English mixed with Swahili.

In TX, we drive on the right side of the striped road, which has designated passing zones and speed limits.
In Kenya, we drive on the left side of the may-have-been-striped-at-one-time road, which is full of speed humps and pot holes (and maybe we drive on the right side if it's smoother and there is no oncoming traffic).

In TX, we have the Gulf of Mexico.
In Kenya, we have the Indian Ocean.

The list can't be complete yet. What else?

Kenyan or Texan?

Me: Are you Kenyan?
Nate: No
M: Are you Texan?
N: Yes
M: Do you like Texas?
N: Yes
M: Who lives in Texas?
N: Tex
M: What about Gigi and Grandpa?
N: No, just Tex.
M: What about your cousins James, Megan, Lauren, and Ryan?
N: Only Tex lives in Texas!!

my multicultural children

[Previous post on the topic here.]

A few weeks ago, we were out at a restaurant. There are many expats in Kilifi, though we don't know any of them. There happened to be a family at the restaurant that night who were a mzungu (white) mom with a black Kenyan dad. Their son was about Nate's size. Nate was so excited to see them, even though we didn't talk to them. He said, "Mama! That boy looks like me!" All of our friends here are black. All of his classmates are black. In the US, our friends are a bit more varied, but mostly white. Nate doesn't know any other kids who are half black and half white. It was kind of cool to see him find out that he and Ben aren't the only tan kids with curly hair.

Of course, he knows he's different from the majority of the kids here. Everywhere we go, kids run after us calling out, "Mzungu! Mzungu!" (And they aren't just talking about me.) But he still thinks that someone being black or white means they are wearing that color clothes.

This morning, I saw this posted on Facebook [click]. I think it's a cute commercial. I didn't see any of this hate speech myself, but I don't understand why people even care. But anyway, I mentioned this ad to Rodgers, and it started a conversation with Nate about our ethnicities and skin colors.

Rodgers asked Nate, "Are you mgiryama-mzungu?" (Which our boys are.)
Nate said, "No. I'm Mr. McQueen." (As in Lightning.)
Rodgers, "Are you mgiryama?"
Nate, "No."
Me, "Are you mzungu?"
Nate, "Yes."
It looks like we don't talk enough about being mgiryama. He has been told a lot that he is mzungu.

I asked Nate what color his skin is. He said his is red. He went on to tell me that mine is orange. Ben's is pink. These are his favorite colors, by the way, in order. Rodgers' skin is brown. And Gigi's is peach. Later, I realized he was holding these crayons in his hand, so his answers may have been influenced.

note Ben's teeth marks on the end of the peach

We'll keep talking.

company

Since we've been here, we've had guests over for dinner at least once a week. We have been dinner guests several times ourselves.

The most striking difference between our way and theirs is this: if you go to dinner at the home of a Kenyan family, you won't really spend any time with the wife.

When guests arrive, the wife starts cooking. If the husband is home, he will sit with the guests. If he is not home, the guests are kind of left on their own. Drinks will be served while the guests wait and sometimes a little something extra. Often, they will send one of their children to get sodas for the guests. At my mother-in-law's house, we have had roasted corn on the cob and roasted cashews served while we waited for her to cook lunch.

When the meal is ready, a table will be set up wherever the guests are sitting. This is odd. We have been to homes which have a dining table and chairs, but if we were sitting on the couch when the meal was ready, the meal was served on a coffee table.

The meal is set out on the table. Sometimes there are forks to use for eating, sometimes spoons, and sometimes nothing at all. There are no napkins. The wife will carry a pitcher of water and a basin around the table, so that each person can wash their hands. Then, she leaves.

Many times, there is a community bowl of ugali, from which each person can take a handful when they need some. The rest of the meal is served into bowls or plates. A lot of times, people who've had more exposure to westerners will offer me a fork. If they are eating with a spoon or hands, I try to follow suit. I do need more practice eating with my hands without making a royal mess. I like to bring one of Ben's burp cloths to clean myself up as I eat.

The husband eats with the guests, while the wife and kids either eat in the kitchen, off to the side somewhere, or not at all. In one rare case, the husband was out of town, and the wife actually sat with us while we ate. She would not eat with us, though.

The water pitcher and basin are brought around again after the meal for more hand washing, and the plates are cleared. Then the wife returns to the kitchen.

I often wonder what our guests think of our method for serving them dinner. The meal is generally prepared when they arrive, though sometimes it needs a few finishing touches. We don't buy them sodas. Rodgers and I both cook and clean up afterwards. We offer them the sink for washing hands. Also, the boys and I stay with them the whole time, unless it's naptime or bedtime.

he knows

I think all kids reach a point where they categorize people based on certain features. I am told that I ran up to a red-haired man in my grandparents' church when my dad (a redhead) wasn't there. Nate has been calling all black men "Baba" (what he calls Rodgers) for several weeks, especially if they have shaved heads, but he's not really that picky. He also will point to pictures of our friends and call the women Mama and the men Baba.

[from Amazon]

One of Nate's favorite bedtime books is Baby's Goodnight Blessings. It's one of our favorites, too, because it's a good bedtime prayer. The baby thanks God for Mama, Daddy, brother, sister, grandparents, dog, toys, trees, and more. On the Mama and Daddy page, the dad has red hair. Nate called him Gaga (what he calls his grandparents) at first, but after I told him that he was the baby's daddy, Nate now calls him Baba. He now calls the people on the grandparents page Gaga, even though they look nothing like his grandparents (they both have white hair). So I thought that we're making progress that he can understand some gagas don't have red hair and some babas do.

[from Amazon]

Nate always gets a new book at his checkups. One such book is Joshua's Night Whispers. Joshua is black, and his Daddy (the only other character in the book) is lighter, but maybe not white. He's more like Nate's skin color. To me, the text in this book is odd, but Nate loves it, so we read it 4 or 5 times before bed. Joshua gets scared at night, so he goes to get in bed with his daddy. No matter how many times I tell Nate, "This is Joshua, and this is Joshua's baba," he always points to Joshua and says, "Baba," then points to the dad and says, "Mama."

Nate knows that his dad has dark skin and his mom has light skin. He knows that his grandpa has red hair. He also knows that some dads can have red hair and not all grandpas do. He can tell the difference between a man and a woman. But, if a dark skinned and light skinned person are together, he still thinks the dark one is the dad and the light one is the mom, even if none of them are women and one of them is a child.

And people think that not talking to kids about race will keep them from making generalizations...
An interesting paper on this subject (this is a pdf): Children Are Not Colorblind: How Young Children Learn Race

cross cultural marriage: naming babies

I haven't done a culture post in a long, long time. I've been busy being Mom, I suppose. Rodgers and I had this discussion again recently, so here it is for your enlightenment.

Naming conventions in Rodgers' tribe are extremely complex. Our generation has started to simplify things a bit, but still tradition is hard for me to grasp. He has explained their baby name system to me a gazillion times, and each time, I retain a tiny bit more. This is what I've got so far:

1. Everyone has a given name.
2. They do not have surnames as we do. 
3. If someone's given name is a Gyriama or Swahili name, they may take an "English" name if they convert to Christianity. At that point, they may go by their English name followed by their given name, such as Rachel Furaha. Or they may go by their English name followed by their clan name (see #4); I haven't learned which is common.
4. Everyone is given a clan name, which is passed down from 2 generations ago and based on birth order. For example, Rodgers and his brothers are named for their father's paternal uncles (and father). Vita was the second born boy in that family, so all of the second born boys in Rodgers' generation have Vita as their clan name. Wishing to distinguish himself from his cousins, Rodgers spells his Vitah. Most people will use their clan name as their second name, since they do not use a surname. Girls would get their clan names from their father's maternal aunts (and mother), in birth order. 
5. Our generation doesn't always follow the birth order in giving their children clan names. Also, they take the liberty of naming their children for the mother's side of the family if they choose. Progressive!
6. My father-in-law liked English names and many of his children (Rodgers included) have English names for given names. For a long time, I thought Vitah was Rodgers' given name, and he took the name Rodgers when he converted to Christianity. Not so. He never chose an English name because he already had one. My father-in-law had only a Gyriama name and never took an English name. He loved the name Joseph, though, and we suspect that if he had taken an English name, that would have been it. This is why Nate's middle name is Joseph.
7. By tradition, Nate's clan name should be the name of my father-in-law's oldest brother, and Baby Brother should be named for the second born. If Baby Brother were a girl, her clan name should be my mother-in-law's oldest sister. However, we aren't following tradition (see #5).
8. When Rodgers had his birth certificate and passport made, he used his father's given name as his surname, listing his clan name as his middle name. This is why Nate and I do not use the name Vitah. We use my father-in-law's given name as our surname. None of my brothers- or sisters-in-law do. By Kenyan tradition, it doesn't make sense for us to go by his name. The kids should go by Rodgers. I wouldn't legally change my name if I were Kenyan. I would be known as Rachel Rodgers or Mama Rodgers until our first child was born, at which point I'd become Mama Nathanael. But, Rodgers and I came to the conclusion that we should all have the same legal surname, just to simplify life. However, Kenyans don't know Rodgers by that name. He is still Rodgers Vitah to them.

cross cultural marriage - how to use the restroom in Kenya

This topic is really more cross cultural and less about marriage. My post was inspired by Tupp's post about powdering your nose in the Netherlands. Using the facilities in another country involves so much more than just knowing the word in the local language for "restroom" or "toilet." You may be with people who speak English (or it could be an English speaking country) but there are so many more things to be considered than what it's called. Do you flush for everything or "let it mellow"? Do you put toilet paper in the trash or toilet? In public, do you have to pay to use the toilet or for paper? Should you just always bring your own? (The answer to that one is yes - absolutely!) How do you excuse yourself? Where do you wash your hands afterwards? (Also, always carry antibacterial gel!) Then there's the issue of what kind of toilets to expect.

In Swahili "choo iko wapi?" (the choo has a long o; it's not like a choo-choo train) means "where is the toilet?" and is generally an acceptable way to ask your hosts where you may go. However, if you're at my mother-in-law's house, there is no choo. The literal translation of what you should say to ask where to go is "I need to help myself [small or big]." I don't remember the Swahili for that because I just tell Rodgers in English. Being married into the culture can be an advantage and a handicap. My brother-in-law built a small shelter behind his house where you may go #1. It's just 4 short walls made of sticks, with a doorway (no door or roof). There is no hole in the ground. Men have the advantage here because they can just turn towards a corner and go. Women have to figure out how to squat without getting pee mud on their clothes. If you need to go #2, my suggestion is to hold it until you get back to the city. That's what I do. You can't go #2 in that little hut. I am not brave enough to find out where you go #2 out in the country. You'll want to avoid touching your shoes with your hands either way.

So this leads me to places that actually have a choo. It may be at someone's house, a hotel room, or a public restroom. Many may be BYOTP (bring your own toilet paper), like out in the country is. I can think of 3 types. We'll work from the ground up.

First is what I would call a latrine. It's probably similar in structure to the pee hut at my in-laws'. It may or may not have a door. It may or may not have a ceiling. What it doesn't have is a toilet. It is a hole in the ground. There will be a type of platform on each side of the hole. This is where your feet go as you stand or squat over the hole. There are probably lots of bugs in the hole. And it smells. My advice: do your business and get out.

Next is a squatting toilet. It's different from a latrine in that it's an actual porcelain toilet that can be flushed. (Google squatty potty.) It's just in the floor. I found squatting toilets counter-intuitive. The first few times I used them, I had a lot of trouble with...aiming... I didn't dare try anything but #1. Then I realized I was using them backwards. You don't stand over the hole part of the toilet, you face the hole. Usually this means your back is to the door(way). Used correctly, they really aren't so bad. Going #2 in them isn't bad either. The position is actually quite conducive to moving things along, if you know what I mean. Many times, the flush doesn't work. But, there is almost always either a bucket of water or a spigot nearby, and either of those will have a smaller bucket or cup. This cup is to be filled with water, which you use to flush the toilet when you're done.

Some homes and public facilities (though in many of the public facilities, squatting seems more sanitary) have sitting toilets. The Kenyans call them English toilets. They are quite the luxury. We will have English toilets in our home. I can pee anywhere, but when I get home, I want the comfort of a sitting toilet. Rodgers agrees. And, we'll always have toilet paper readily available, so don't worry about BYOTP at our house.

cross-cultural marriage: heart language

There have been times (especially when we were dating) that Rodgers didn't know how to say something in English, but he did know how to say it in Swahili and Giryama. Unfortunately, the Swahili or Giryama version has been of no use to me. Usually he would show or describe it to me, and I could tell him what it was in English. Now more often, he knows how to say something in English but we have to look up the words in Swahili. (Also, an aside, he speaks much more Texan English, as opposed to Kenyan British English, now than he did when we started dating. Woohoo!)

One particular time Rodgers was trying to tell me that his foot was tingling. He said, "It's like this:" [wiggling fingers, then whispering] "chikachikachikachika." I knew what he was talking about right away.

Usually we get by with explanations like that, but I always feel that it would benefit us if I spoke his language at least a fraction as well as he speaks mine, and for more than just practical reasons.

The first time Rodgers told me he loves me, he said it in Swahili. I knew what "nakupenda" means, but hearing it didn't really affect me. He thought I didn't understand, so he repeated it in English. I stopped breathing. The language of my heart is English. (It also happens to be the only language I speak fluently.)

I can't speak the language of Rodgers' heart. Rodgers would say that what's meaningful is knowing that I love him or that I'm proud of him or that I believe in him, not hearing the words. But I know that words spoken to Rodgers affect him deeply, as one of his main love languages is words of affirmation. I believe it would be meaningful to him if I could speak affirmation to him in his heart language.

QOTW:
"After all, quite a lot of people are going to think we are a shocking pair."

bilingual

At (nearly) 13 months old, Nate seems to understand most of what I say to him. He doesn't understand most of what is said, but most of the things I tell him (do you want to eat? give me that. don't eat that! take that out of your mouth. are you ready for a bath? bring me a book. it's time for Elmo...). Also, he has a handful of words he can "say."

He says Mama and Daddy regularly. He has said Elmo twice. He signs milk, more, eat, and bath (that one's not real sign language, it's his own sign he made up for bath - pretending to splash the water with his hands).

He can tell you what a snake says (ssss), a monkey says (AAAAAH!), and a baby says (Mama [in a high pitched voice]). I'm trying to teach him Daddy says pffffft! (raspberry sound). Is that rude?

He also has some words of his own invention. Aiyiyiyiyi means he is chewing on something, wants to chew on something, or wants to put something in your mouth for you to chew on. It's the chewing sound. He frequently says yeesh. Sometimes it means he wants a drink. Sometimes he says it when I ask him a question - any question. Like, "Yeesh, Mom, get off my back!"

He does not repeat things that we say to him, or did not until yesterday (unless it's raspberries or sssssss or screaming). In Swahili, haya means ok. I will often sit down on the floor with Nate and say haya, as in, "Ok, what are we going to do now?" Yesterday, when I said, "Haya," Nate looked at me, grinned and said, "Yaya." So I said it again, and he responded with "Haya." We said haya to each other back and forth a few times. This morning, I was telling Rodgers about it, and Nate again said haya with me. I don't know that it has meaning for him, but it's a sound he hears from us, which he figured out how to mimmick.

Regardless, I officially declare Nate bilingual.

cross-cultural marriage: bonus

After posting, one of my friends shared this on Facebook. Very interesting and a suitable addition to my series!

10 Fascinating Interracial Marriages in History

cross-cultural marriage: misunderstandings

One common thing in cross-cultural marriages is that you don't always understand what your spouse is saying. Sometimes you understand the words, but they don't make sense to you. Sometimes you don't understand the words, though they are in your language. And sometimes, your spouse is speaking to you in a language you don't know.

This may be more of a personal characteristic than first-language-not-English, but it definitely comes into play in me not understanding what Rodgers is saying. He starts talking before he knows what he's saying. A couple of times a week, he will say a word that may start or end with the same syllable as what he wants to say, but is, in fact, a different word. It would be something like saying "exterminate" instead of "extrapolate," but I don't think that's one that's actually happened. These instances always end up with both of us in fits of laughter. Scary thing is, I usually know which word he's trying to say.

Rodgers' language is one of those in which each vowel only makes one sound. A (as in father), E (as in hey), I (as in ski), O (as in rode), U (as in dude). He has particular trouble with the short vowel sounds of a and u in English. He considers staff and stuff to be homophones, same for us and ass. Not only does he pronounce them the same way, he hears them the same way, too. A typical exchange in our house:

me: I'm talking about us.
him: Whose ass?

him: All the st(a/u)ff was there.
me: All the stuff or all the staff?
him: Those are both the same thing.
me: No, listen: stuuuuuuff, staaaaaaff.
him: ???

When he's spoken to me in Gyriama, he's usually either just woken up or he's talking in his sleep. I first noticed this tendency while we were still dating.

I had driven down to Brenham to visit him for the weekend. By the time I arrived it was after 9. I was tired from driving, he was just tired. We should have gone straight to bed, but we wanted to spend some time together first. (Since we slept in separate rooms, bedtime would not be time together.) About all we had the brain power for was watching TV. We found a movie on, and Rodgers fell asleep. At 11, his watch beeped, waking him up. He opened his eyes and asked me a question about what was going on in the movie. I sat for a minute, replaying the question in my mind over and over. For the life of me, I couldn't make any sense of it. So I asked him the obvious, "Was that English?" It wasn't.

More recently, just last week or so, I woke up in the middle of the night hearing Rodgers' voice. I looked over at him, and he was still sleeping. I didn't understand anything he was saying, so I'm guessing he was speaking Gyriama again. The only English word he said was, "Whatever."

What's the moral of these stories? I don't know. Maybe it's that misunderstandings can be frustrating, or they can amusing. They are what you make of them. Or maybe it's that you should ask for clarification if you don't understand what someone's saying. I mean, maybe you just weren't listening well, but it could be that they were speaking another language.

cross-cultural marriage: in-laws

This is how things go when I visit my mother-in-law:

We greet my mother-in-law with "Shika moo," the appropriate way to greet your elder. She shakes our hands saying, "Marahaba," which is the proper response. They find me a chair and sit me down with one of the men who speaks English - either a cousin or brother. Then, Rodgers goes off somewhere (he doesn't always tell me where). My mother-in-law goes to her kitchen or wherever she is making meal preparations. Even if it's not mealtime, she has to offer me a meal because she regards me as a special guest.

All the relatives live nearby, and news that there is a mzungu (white person) around travels fast in the Kenyan countryside. Everyone has to come see me. The women and children greet me when they arrive, then they go off to their respective places. The kids are usually running around; the women help cook. I have tried to help cook before. Rodgers told them that I needed to see the way things are done in Kenya, but they will not let me. So I sit and tell Rodgers' brothers and cousins about what crops we grow in Texas and what our homes look like. They are sorry that Rodgers and I don't have any land where we can plant corn (we live in an apartment).

When men arrive, they greet me. If the know English, they will say, "How are you?" If they don't speak English, they will say, "Habari." Then, they send a child to get them a chair. Once Rodgers' uncles arrive, no one speaks English anymore.

So I sit, greet newcomers who arrive, and keep a ear out for English. Usually, they're talking about me and will ask me about something every now and then. It's quite lonely.

Eventually, Rodgers will return, and then I feel a little more comfortable, but I'm still on display for all of his relatives. He doesn't translate everything for me, but will at least tell me what they're talking about, and ask a niece to bring me chai or something.

I don't have in-laws telling me how to raise Nate or meddling in my marriage. I have in-laws who find me something of a spectacle, fascinating, but can't or won't talk to me. And we barely know each other. I think this will be different if/when we live in Kenya.

cross-cultural marriage: mix and match

One of the things that my reading about cross-cultural relationships taught me is that in order to mesh cultures together, you need to understand your own culture and what's important to you. If you know what you value, then it will be easier for you to communicate that to your spouse. There will be things about your cultures that are in conflict. There will be things that are very important to your spouse culturally which to you seem weird, awkward, or even unacceptable. You will have to give up some things for them and they for you. This is true of any marriage, but perhaps the differences are more obvious in a cross-cultural one. Here are some examples of Rodgers and me each yielding to the other's culture.

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Babies
In Kenya, when a woman has a baby, only women are present. Men aren't allowed in the room or even in the house. It's not that the men say, "I'm not going in there!" The women say, "It's time for you to leave." Men don't have anything to do with birthing, neither do they seem to have much to do with taking care of the babies before they are weaned.

In the US, men are increasingly expected to be present for labor and delivery and do their part in childcare from birth. I expected no less from Rodgers. Fortunately, he seemed excited to be the only Kenyan man he knows who has been present for the birth of a baby. I think he would have liked to actually watch the gross part, but there were so many doctors and nurses in the way that he couldn't see. Plus, I needed him to hold my head and shoulders.

I didn't sleep the last few months of pregnancy. Once Nate was out, the insomnia was gone, so Rodgers often got up with Nate during the night. I was taking a lot of Rx pain killers those days, too, so it was difficult for me to wake up. After a couple of weeks, we split the night - he would get up if Nate woke up the first half, I would do the second half. He still enjoys having an equal role in taking care of Nate. This is unusual for a Kenyan.

Family 
In the US, we value independence, especially financial independence. You should make enough money to support yourself, but you are not expected to support anyone other than yourself, your spouse (if any), and your children (if any). In Kenya, you are expected to support your parents and even your siblings if you are better off than they.

It seems kind of tacky to talk about the money we send to Kenya. Let's just say that we have sent, do send, and will continue sending money to my mother-in-law and siblings-in-law. They use it for real necessities.

If I wanted to stick to my Americanness, I would tell Rodgers that Nate and I are his family now, and he should let his mom and siblings take care of themselves. However, I know it's important to Rodgers that we do this. Sure, we could use that money ourselves. We could use it for good things, too, things that don't seem frivolous to most of my peers. I think I should feel a conflict of culture about supporting Rodgers' family this way, especially when we have a car that we want to replace, we rent an apartment, and our home is furnished with mis-matched hand-me-downs (well, we did get a few pieces new). But I don't feel any conflict about it. It's the right thing to do.

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People have often commented to me that they are impressed by the way Rodgers and I mesh our very different cultures. I tend to think it's easier for us because 1) we are anticipating having differences, 2) our differences tend to be obvious, and 3) we both intentionally take on a culture, if you will, of following Jesus before our national cultures. I think that in same-culture marriages, people expect to have the same values, the same reactions to conflict, the same priorities, etc. But, of course, they are different.

Rodgers and I, forming our "Christian culture," meshing in bits of American and bits of Kenyan, have decided that we are inventing a whole new culture just for our family. It works well for us!