Plastic Forks, Styrofoam Plates, and the Plaza

Somewhere over Texas-Last night I ate my first meal in Texas with real cutlery. It was a great meal, worthy of washable plates, with new friends at La Playa. I was in Harlingen, Texas just miles from the Mexico across the Rio Grande.

I am back from hiatus, having resurrected Nikita's Swim Adventures due to recent hi-jinx and in particular, the visit of a fellow adventurous swimmer.

Last week was Spring/Summer 2010 Fashion week in NYC and Annamay P., was in town for the Ports 1961 show. She stayed with me and it was all I could do to keep up with her. She turned her 1 front row appearance into invitations to 7 more shows, endless parties, and an open invitation to return any time.

Ten years my junior, Annamay got the most out of her first trip to NYC, reminding me in the process just how much fun this city can be. The last few, make that 9 months have been pretty grim, both personally for the city. I had a feeling that summer would change things and it did. By her second night in town Annamay was making friends with Ice T at one fashion show and we were partying at the Plaza Hotel. By the third afternoon we were seeing fellow Canadian Jeremy Laing's show after waking at 7am to attend a fundraiser for Asphalt Green's Swim for the Future, which awards scholarships to AGUA swim team members in honour of two Master's team swimmers Andrew Fisher and Doug Irgang who died on September 11th.

We managed to swim as well and her breaststroke is faster than my free (this was not surprising), but more importantly Annamay took the city by storm and brought me back to the land of the living. But it didn't stop there! I ended the week with box seats to the Women's US Open final courtesy of Jane S. of the Daily Beast, who invited me to join her in the Olympus suite. They let us use their awesome cameras to snap pictures.

Unfortunately, I had to leave town for work and I missed the last two fashion shows that Annamay had hooked me up with, including another Canadian designer, Marlene Grotrian. Where I was headed turned out to be pretty far from Bryant Park. I just started a new job managing a national program that teaches children in immigration proceedings their legal rights as well as helps pro bono attorneys who represent them.

From my dinner at Chilli's Too at the Houstan Airport through my 4 days in Harlingen, I ate just 1 meal with silverware, instead eating my breakfasts, lunches, and dinners on styrofoam plates using plastic knives and forks. There seemed little to eat in Harlingen outside the world of Taquerias (and as in any city dozens of Chinese restaurants) but the Mexican I did have was delicious. I was also invited to one of the fostercare school's co-independence day celebrations for Guatemala, Honduras, Mexico and El Salvador. After presentations and dancing, we ate pupusas (Salvadorean meat stuffed flatbread) and corn on the cob covered in condensed milk, chilli powder and cheese. Oh it was good! And more importantly than the food, the people I get to work with here are absolutely lovely.

I am now off to Vermont to see Scott M. We are staying at The Archie Bunker on the Missing Links. Designed by my old roomie and great friend Trills' dad, Dave S., the Bunker is made completely of concrete.

Worlds apart, but within the same country, today I travel from the Texas-Mexican border to the Vermont-Canadian border. If the 50 degree temperature change doesn't get me, perhaps the culture shock will.

Darfur Fast for Life

Today I am on Day 5 of my 5-day Refugee Rations Only diet for Darfur. Yesterday I wrote this on the Darfur Fast for Life website:

June 3, 2009

I am on Day 4 of 5 of my Refugee Rations-only diet. While I feel lucky to be eating even the smallest amounts of food, the diet is bland and I find myself craving salt, flavoring, and anything that seems alive: fruit, vegetables, specifically something green or orange. In fact I crave anything but the beige rice, oatmeal, and lentils that I have been eating for the last four days.

When I am not thinking about food, I am thinking about how my body feels. As an athlete I am very in tune with my body. Although I am no longer in elite shape, I still take cues from my body to tell me when I am overstressed, overworked, or not well. I take happiness in feeling energetic and strong. However today I feel none of these things. My mind wanders easily and I keep forgetting what I am doing. I can’t concentrate, I don’t want to work, and I am functioning at half speed. Am I just tired from work? Or is it really a lack of food that makes me fall into bed as if I have just finished a day of double work-outs, with 4 hours of swim practice.

To read more click here.

Epiphanies and freebies in the unlikeliest of places…New York City

New York City-I've been back in North America for almost 2 months, 1 of which I have been officially unemployed. While being jobless in winter is not nearly as fun as it would be in summer, I have been indulging in all that New York City has to offer.

Today, in what I thought would be a dining experience filled with abuse and good food, I was gifted with 2 epiphanies, courtesy of the head chef at Shopsins, my new favourite eatery on the Lower East Side. While I had heard that f-bombs and verbal effrontery were on display at Shopsins, I was treated to much more. Stimulating conversation came as the main course with the hearty bounty of satisfying grub. (I ordered the Edmonton, and not just because my boyfriend is from there).

The first epiphany had to do with the TARP bail-out. Rather than focus on whether we should or shouldn't give the money to banks, our chef focused on whether we even want to go back to the place we were in the first place. Was the 'old world' of pre-banking collapse sustainable? Desirable even? This attempt to get the country back to a place of over-consumption and a growing gap between the haves and have-nots is perhaps the misguided part of TARP, not how and where the money is going to be spent.

The second one had to do with intellectual compensation for taking away someone's innocence. No, I'm not talking about that girl (who I think is made-up) selling her virginity on-line. I'm talking about the idea that when you teach someone something about how the world really works or is, the dark side of life let's say, what do you give them back to compensate them for the ugliness you have introduced into their world? For example, when you teach someone in a rural Kenyan village that he has to wear a condom to prevent HIV/AIDS, what do you give him in return for taking away the simple joy of sex?

Scott and I have also been busy playing 'tourist in your own home town'. Two must dos: the Tenement Museum on the Lower East Side and a walking tour of Lower Manhattan. The Tenement Museum offers guided tours through an old tenement on Orchard Street. We did "Getting By" and visited the homes of German-Jewish and Italian Catholic families as they tried to survive the Panic of 1873 and the Great Depression.

Every Thursday and Saturday at noon, Big Onion tours offers a free tour of historic Lower Manhattan. This is the second time I have done it, and it was even better despite sub-zero temperatures. We explored the history, architecture, and people of the neighbourhood stopping at the old US Customs House, Trinity Church, J.P. Morgan, the Stock Exchange, and Fraunces Tavern.

During Restaurant Week we pretended to be a power-couple, power-lunching on our delicious Jean-Georges lunch at Mercer Kitchen. The food was absolutely divine.

We also made a visit to the American Museum of Natural History where Scott spent 90 minutes looking at African tools and artifacts. Fortunately he agreed with the curators exhibits on the Maasai, otherwise I'd have been in for a real treat. Then we hit up MOMA, which is free on Friday nights. Can I just say that I enjoy a good Picasso like anyone else, but seriously, there are way too many at MOMA…give someone else a chance!

Coupling our free events with brown bag lunches to Central Park and runs up the FDR, we are getting quite a lot of mileage out being unemployed (and a PhD student). However a job, and a paycheck are starting to look really good right now. Fingers crossed.

Tying up loose ends

Kampala-I haven't blogged in ages. I wonder if that means I'm not a real blogger? I don’t really have one specific reason, but it has been a lot of things: I got tonsillitis last week and still haven't quite recovered; I'm in Uganda doing another week of refugee interviews; Scott and I went camping to Lake Naivasha and Lake Nakuru; and I am trying to finish up my life in Nairobi as I leave in just 3 days.

Camping was very fun. I took the bus up to Naivasha, which is horrible town, then a matatu out to the lake where I met Scott. We stayed at Fisherman's Camp, which has bandas right on the lake and hippos roam at night behind electric fences. It was beautiful. Then we drove up to Lake Nakuru, which is a National Park. On the way we stopped at Menengai Crater, a dormant volcano now it is a big lava-filled crater covered in lush greenery. You can see steam rising from cracks. There is a lot of geothermal activity in this area and the geothermal companies are all over it.

We arrived in the park in time for an evening game drive to get to the campsite near Makalia Falls. We saw rhinos and flamingos right away, which was what we came for. We set up camp in our 1-person tent and Scott made dinner. He is very handy and outdoorsy, which is good because I haven't camped since I was 11. He is also a huge nerd with GPS in hand and headlamp on his forehead. Truthfully, the headlamp is so key and my flashlight was so lame in comparison.

We woke up at 6am which was a miracle for us and the ground was covered in dew, it looked like frost. We were up in time to see over a hundred baboons run through the campsite and up a rock towards the waterfall. It was awesome.

We drove around and found giraffes that we got within 3 metres of and more rhinos and flamingos, and even hyenas humping. I also saw my first warthogs and lots of pretty coloured birds. We had late breakfast up on a viewpoint overlooking the whole lake, it was breathtaking and totally deserted. As we looked out across the entire park we couldn’t see sign of another human being.

We came home via a winding, bumpy, mostly dirt road along the Rift Valley. It was fun for the first 4 hours, but I got tired and grumpy during the last 2 as the novelty of driving in a safari truck from the 80s with no suspension wore off. Scott finally saw my bad side, luckily he thinks it is funny.

If cranky Nikki wasn't enough to turn him away, I decided to get tonsillitis. Fortunately, Scott was in the field so he wasn't there to see me curled up in a ball whimpering in my bed. My friends, Jess and Rich, who live at my second home Upperhill Campsite took me to the hospital. The first time, after waiting 2 hours, the doctor was convinced I had malaria and wouldn't even look at my throat, which according to Jess who is a trauma nurse, had pus on it. At 3am when my throat almost closed up, I went back and finally was given injectable antibiotics. I feel almost human.

Before heading to Uganda, my housemates, Scott and I, had our last supper at one of the top restaurants in Nairobi, Tamarind. It is a delicious seafood place, and although the atmosphere was slightly old school, the food was amazing. The swimming twist is that the executive chairman of Tamarind and its more famous sister, Carnivore, is none other than the father of swim-stars Jason and David Dunford who now swim for Stanford. Jason was 5th in the 100 fly in Beijing for Kenya. I had dined with all of them early on in my trip at their other restaurant Tamambo, which is also fantastic.

Kampala is a beautiful city, or at least the 10 block radius I have seen since arriving. Our hotel and the NGO where we are doing the interviews is on the top of one of 7 hills that make up the city and there are flowering gardens and perfectly manicured lawns. Mansions loom behind huge gates and hedges. We could be anywhere in the world, but we are in Uganda.

I feel like I have come full circle being here. My human rights law professor who further inspired my dream of being a human rights lawyer was from Uganda. He fled during Idi Amin's reign of terror and became a refugee in Australia before relocating to the US and teaching me Property and Human Rights at Brooklyn Law School. Now I am here, interviewing refugees, mostly from Congo and Somalia, to resettle them in Australia. In the 3 months I have worked for the Aussies here in Africa I have sent over 200 refugees on the path towards new lives in Australia. There might not be a Professor Murumbu among them, but when I get to talk about democracy and the rule of law and playing sports in their adopted country, the smiles and relief I see, is the best gift I could ever receive.

Made in Kenya

Accra-While I am excited to be in Ghana this week, I am a bit bummed that I am not in Kenya for Obama’s win. Some Kenyans are under the distinct impression that once Obama is President of the United States, he will somehow save Kenya from herself. With a Kenyan father, Obama is a god there. In fact, I just got word that they are calling a national holiday tomorrow to celebrate! A friend of mine went to a Kenya national team football match in September and there wasn’t a single football t-shirt for sale. The only goods available were Obama t-shirts. They came in English and Swahili and had his picture with the slogan, “Made in Kenya”.

Of course, Ghana has been a fun place to be this week too. They have a presidential election coming up in about a month. One candidate uses the catchphrase “Hope and Change” on his billboard, while I heard another guy on the radio likening his party to the Democrats in America.

Ghana is generally more American friendly than Kenya. Our driver has an American flag deodorizer tree hanging from his rear view mirror and I have seen a number of mini-vans sporting both American and Israeli flags. It took me a few minutes to piece that together; then I realized that they must be Jewish.

The people here are very beautiful and well dressed. The attitude is a little more laid back and carefree than Kenya, but best of all, they have proper roads and drivers actually obey the traffic lights. Kenya, it can be done!

I am here with 2 colleagues from the Aussie High Commission. We are interviewing almost 200 refugees in 1 week for possible resettlement in Australia. It is mentally and emotionally exhausting. Yesterday I interviewed 8 families from Liberia, Sierra Leone and Togo. Many have seen their parents murdered, often beheaded. Some are orphans who have lived in refugee camps for over a decade. Almost all of the women have been raped or even gang raped.

At the end of every interview I get to tell them about life in Australia. I tell them to play sports when they arrive because it will help them make friends with their classmates. I tell them I am a swimmer and then I get to give them candy. It is the only time I can find a smile. Well, that and the outfits they wear. One woman wore a “Diva” shirt. Under what scenario could she possibly think that is appropriate? Another wore a t-shirt with a British flag. I told her that she probably shouldn’t wear it in Oz…most Australians aren’t too partial to the Brits. But the kicker was a woman who walked in with an American flag scarf on her head. At least she wasn’t interviewing with the Canadians.

I feel a bit overwhelmed with the state of things here in Africa. Having given myself Wikipedia crash courses in the civil wars of the region, to go with those I learned earlier to interview my Somalis, Sudanese, Congolese and Ugandans, there doesn’t seem to be much silver lining in the clouds that dump torrential rains everyday at 3pm.

When I was about 19 I wanted to be the Prime Minister of Canada. Even at that age I was attracted to power. I am pretty sure it had nothing to do with being a public servant. Then when I realized that all politicians are crooks, I knew it wasn’t. But I would give a crappy Canadian PM or even a Republican any day of the week for the evil that runs most African governments.

It took me a while to jump on Obama’s bandwagon. I was a Hillary fan and wanted a woman in power. But even I teared up a bit during his victory speech, which I watched this morning with my Kenyan friend who was shedding her fair share of tears. I still don’t know if I actually believe that Obama is a different kind of politician, but I really hope so.

As for change, it is a like a 4-letter word over here. But a big part of me wishes that the Kenyans’ dream could actually come true. This continent could do with a man like Obama and a few ideas like hope and change.

I’m Homesick

Nairobi-It all started last week with the beginning of the short rains. I mean what is the point of being in Africa in late October if it isn’t warm and sunny? Instead it was grey and overcast all week. Then there was the mud. It got me a little depressed.

Then I started to book my ticket home to my parent’s for December. I am also toying with the idea of staying an extra week here so that I can go to Uganda or one of the Kenyan refugee camps for another refugee interview trip. All of which got me thinking about my life back home in NYC, and that is when I realized I was officially homesick.

I have a lot of wonderful and amazing friends and the thought of making more here in Kenya was a bit unwieldy. Although I met one of my best friends on the planet, Nia C. (and several of her friends also became great friends), when I lived in Sri Lanka, I was kind of relishing the thought of 3 months where I didn’t have any social engagements. If I wanted to sit home and watch 4 movies, I could do it and I wouldn’t be letting anyone down for missing her birthday or house party or going away party or after work drinks. I mean I love doing that, and I am often the one planning it, but I was excited to just be.

Now I would die for a good 8pm beer after swim practice with my friends, especially my girls. I miss having girl-time. I realized that for the last 3 months I have been hanging out predominately with men. While I do love men and enjoyed running hotel Nikita in Beijing and living with 3 men here in Nairobi and having a boyfriend, I miss gossiping, being silly and just laughing with the girls.

It kind of hit a head late last week when I realized that some of the people I’ve become friends with here have very, very different ideologies than me. It started with a little bit of racism, moved onto sexism, then ended at homophobia. I was so shocked that all I could do was make jokes to get out of the situation. In hindsight I realized I’ve just had enough adventure and I want to be home.

I am here for another month, and the sun is shining beautifully today. I go to Ghana next week for a refugee interview trip and then the time will fly by trying to get in a few more weekends away. Specifically, I have to see some rhinos and flamingoes before I leave! But try as hard as I can to be an internationalist, I am a New Yorker. I love my city and my busy, cozy, safe, familiar life there. Plus I am pretty sure I will be able to find enough adventures in NYC to keep me entertained…At least for a few months anyway.

Lying in Lamu

Lamu-On an island off the north-east coast of Kenya, just 40KM from the Somalia border and a pirate filled sea, I vacationed with my new safari-partner (advertised for right here on this blog), Scott M.

Lamu is the heart of Swahili culture and I had a chance to really hone my Swahili while there. Scott is fluent, so he made contact immediately. It is also his nature to ask questions, very personal questions, about leases and livelihoods, culture and language, and how the economy is going. While I tried to smile and interpret the gist of the conversation through hand signals, Scott made friends, lots of them. Yes, I am quite friendly and outgoing, but even I get tired. As the weekend went on we collected many new friends so by the final night dining at Bush Gardens on a seafood platter of lobster, shrimp, and fish, no less than 6 of our friends stopped by to chat. They were all very considerate of our time, spending only 5 minutes a piece, but by number 6 and what with the cat meowing for scraps at our feet, it kinda starts to ruin your appetite.

Most of those guys were “beach boys” or “captains” of sailboats, called dhows. We met at least 3 guys named Captain Ali, including the man who captained our dhow trip. For just over $10 a piece we joined up with a sweet and funny young duo from the University of Minnesota and cruised around Lamu and Manda islands. We came aground on Manda where we spend the day playing in the surf, walking on the deserted beach, and eating yellow snapper and biriani cooked over an open fire. We also “fished” unsuccessfully on a reef with angel fish and then snorkeled over it later.

The previous day we had hiked from Lamu town to Shela beach. We wanted to be there early and make it back for lunch. By the time we got up, ate breakfast and walked for an hour it was 11:30am. We had the beach virtually to ourselves. At one point there was no one as far as the eye could see. It was so hot we played in the water for most of the day.

We went back for an afternoon of shopping through Lamu’s narrow winding streets filled with open sewers and donkey shit. There are no cars on the island, so donkeys do all the work. In the sweltering heat this old town really heats up. You can imagine the smell, but the architecture is beautiful, and oh the doors! We passed half a dozen workshops where young men carved ornate doors by hand. We decided that by the time we have a house we will be able to afford to ship one home.

My most unfavourite part of Lamu, and unfortunately, Kenya in general, are the lies. Lies rolled off the tongues of Lamu’s residents easier than flattery at a strip club. No matter the question, no matter the true answer, they seemed to be committed to telling us what they thought we wanted to hear. I have a similar problem in many of my refugee interviews. One Somali woman with 9 dependant children said to me yesterday, “Yes, the truth, whatever truth you want.”

We met this one guy, Slim the jeweler. He was lovely. He invited us for Arabic coffee flavoured with cinnamon and another “special” ingredient he refused to provide. He talked of all the people who have come into his shop and all the elders in the town. Then he showed us all their pictures. I took a picture with him after playing the Olympian card and getting a sweet discount. His store was filled with pictures: Jimmy Carter, Oprah, and the Queen. He wore an Obama pin on his shirt.

There was also the Olympic Restaurant. Our waiter had a Canadian pin, so we told him we were Canadian. He was so delighted, he skipped to the back to tell the owner who then came out and told us his entire family lived in Vancouver. I again played the Olympic card (I couldn’t help myself it was the Olympic Restaurant!), and our dinner was cooked with extra special care. Scott took our picture and we have promised to send it along with a Canadian flag that they want to hang up inside.

The only thing that was really crummy about our stay was the hostel, the Casaurina Guest House. While Lonely Planet said its roof deck was a social paradise, it was closed, and there wasn’t even any soap in the dirty bathroom. In case you didn’t notice, I’m not what you call a real hardcore backpacker. I like clean. We did have an ocean view, so we woke up to sunrises each day.

Despite some of my complaints the trip was amazing. Having a safari partner like Scott was everything I could ask for and Lamu was the perfect destination.