Access to Information

I'm an avid bookworm.  I've never had to go hungry through lack of funds, nor been homeless, nor had to ration the healthcare my children have accessed, - so my perspective on deprivation is limited, in Kenyan terms.  But nonetheless, for me, as I am, lack of access to books and current information would be a major deprivation.

So its been really chastening to run a two-day workshop for 25 highflying interns at BigCorporate.  They were in the top-ranked 100 in the country at KCSE, and are now applying to US colleges. The workshop was on the application process, from researching colleges, thinking what they're seeking and what you have to offer, to choosing essay topics and communicating effectively, on forms and in interviews. 

To compete, you need to sift through piles of statistics to devise your strategy. Success rates range from 6% (Harvard) to a more generous 50% or more.  Which colleges offer funding to international students? Which colleges offer generous funding to international students in need, generous enough to make it possible to attend?  Am I in the ballpark academically, what are the midrange SAT scores for those accepted here?  And what are my SAT scores (delivered automatically to your email account for those having one, and access to the internet.)

OK so I can help with the statistics, but they really do need access to the internet to check out the colleges and courses offered. And internet access is expensive, particularly on a pay as you go basis.  An hour costs around 1000 KSh. 30 hours access, - a snip when you see the range of research needed to put together a compelling application to 8 or so colleges - exceeds their generous monthly wage.  I watched faces pale as individuals worked out that for their US dreams to maybe become a reality, they were going to need to invest considerable sums in buying SAT revision guides (2000 KSh a book, in up to three subjects), pay for the tests themselves, and the rest.

Of the workshop students, only 3/25 had access to a public library. 6/25 had attended a school which gave students access to computers (and of these, 4 were at the same school).  The whole group laughed, uproariously, when I asked if the computers had been linked to the internet. One student described her school library, - 300 books for some 1200 students. We have more books in our home, transported from UK, than even favoured schools have in Kenya.

In my guilt after the chat with the orphan lad in my previous post I came home fired up to do more.  Gave my much-loved series of encyclopaedia from childhood to a local orphanage and remand home, and hope that maybe, a latent bookworm might be awakened, as I was, by Myths & Legends from Around the World, or Great Leaders.   Donated a cache of childrens books to the local school as prizes for the school prizegiving. Did see small barefoot children rushing home, clutching one of our former paperbacks to their bosum in excitement.  A friend has given a series of Biff and Chip easy readers from Oxford Learning Tree to the local school to spice up their literacy lessons, and reports how interest and progress has grown apace.
But its piecemeal.  The crumbs from our tables don't stretch very far.

A Kenyan freshman at an Ivy League college spoke compellingly of her first year's studies there, after a year having studied in Kenya. 
'I'm learning Spanish, and can practice it daily. There are students from Latin American, even Californias with fluent Spanish, its amazing.  I've never bought a newspaper there, but they are just all around in the accommodation. There's a daily campus newspaper. The internet is free.' 
The students got bright-eyed. Vivacious. Posed her 40 minutes of questions.   A world on their doorstep. Maybe.

Please look after this bear. Thank you.

'But whatever did you do for food?' asked Mrs Brown. 'You must be starving.'

Bending down, the bear unlocked the suitcase with a small key, which it also had around its neck, and brought out an almost empty glass jar. 'I ate marmelade,' he said, rather proudly. 'Bears like marmelade.'
'But what are you going to do now?' said Mr Brown. 'You can't just sit on Paddington station waiting for something to happen.'

'Oh I shall be all right.... I expect.' The bear bent down to do up its case again. As he did so Mrs Brown caught a glimpse of the writing on the label. It said, simply, PLEASE LOOK AFTER THIS BEAR. THANK YOU.

She turned appealingly to her husband. 'Oh Henry, what shall we do? We can't just leave him here. There's no knowing what might happen to him. London's such a big place when you've nowhere to go. Can't he come and stay with us for a few days?'


Last Sunday was SecondBorn's ninth birthday party.  We and the small boy guests had been to the cinema. We were ferrying them home for a play and some party food. 

It takes a while to make and assemble party food in Kenya. Rice krispie cakes, icing biscuits and logistics had been preoccupying me for much of the weekend.

'Aunty, aunty' a small voice called as we walked to the car.  We'd spent this Christmas with our toddler niece and nephew, the first to call me aunty since my South Wales childhood when it was heard all around.  'Aunty, aunty.' 

A small boy, aged maybe ten, barefoot was following us. He was an orphan he said. Showed a sponsorship form letter saying he was collecting for school uniform, so he could join his class, go to school.  One minute you're supervising privileged children in a film, the next you're brought up short by the daily realities for children the age of your son. 

I did give, generously, though I don't always.  Wished him well. Told him that I was proud of him for wanting to continue with school despite the difficulties.  But days later he's still in my head. Because giving money when children, half a mile from my home, are living without supervision on the street, is to give very little.

Tonight I was rereading A Bear Called Paddington with Firstborn. We'd last read it three years ago in UK. At that time it felt like a warmhearted comedy with happy ending. The penniless stowaway bear is taken in by a goodhearted family, loose ends are tied up, all's well with the world.  But today I howled. Here we're in a different reality. It's so clear all isn't well with the world. Some boys get birthday parties, others, orphans, beg for the clothes to get a chance to go to school.  And adults stop, share a moment, give a little, and walk on by.

Ease of Doing Business

Kenya is ranked 98th of the world's countries for ease of doing business.  Ahead of Uzbekistan, DRC, Kosovo, West Bank. Behind Denmark, Singapore, USA. Nothing unexpected there.

But the devil is in the detail.

We don't have a phone landline. Rather we do have a phone sitting in our hall, and it is connected, because sporadically the phone company calls to chase us for the final month's bill of the previous tenants. I had various desultory attempts  over a six month period to try to sort this out, so we too could phone out, but my follow through kept getting used up by more pressing emergencies, and then we just got used to using our mobiles for everything.

But the house has a lead lining to the roof.  Great for stopping the rain getting in. Hopeless for allowing mobile signals to penetrate.  So when my phone rings I grab it, and pelt outside, up the stairs in the back yard, or down by the chicken coop in the front garden.  Not ideal for long conversations when its raining.  Not ideal for notetaking.  Not enhanced by my panting noises as I reach the good reception at the top of the steps, but realise I haven't been to the gym as often as I might have recently. 

There's one corner of the garden - again down by the chickens - which has good potential coverage for skype. But it runs next to the road, so is not ideal as you spell out your security details for the internet banking account.  'I can't quite hear you', says the call centre operator 5000 miles away, at 50 decibels and clear as a bell in a junior school playground. 'I'm trying to whisper' hisses the potential telephone banker into the computer, as the conversations in the road get ominously quiet, while everyone outside trys to work out what's going on NOW in there.  Friends and family say, plaintively and understandably, 'You don't skype very much.' And its true we don't.  The audience beyond the fence cramps our style abit. Rather like being overheard, crystal clear, by a boss as you sit on a toilet with inadequate soundproofing. I don't want our neighbours and passing strangers to follow the blow by blow details of our daily lives, like today's live edition of the Archers, I'd rather email thank you very much.

Our internet access has got much better since we switched companies. There was, its true, the five month period, when it didn't work more often than it did. But we got to know the personal phone numbers and shift patterns of the service provider's more competent engineers, and eventually, thanks to a new radio aerial, it got sorted.  But even now we have at least a day a week when there's either a powercut in our area (so no working radio aerial), or there's a power cut in the transmitter's area (so no emails being passed on).

Those of you with your fingers still plugged in your ears lest I be about to drone on, again, about work permits or getting bank accounts set up, may relax now. That's all water under the bridge, (though take a look at the blog tags if you DID miss my blow by blow accounts.)  Having set up the business bank account, I had a highly excited expedition last week to pay in the first proper cheques. Queued for 40 minutes to check the bank account had been set up ok. Looked at the very, very long queue to pay money in, and handed the cheque over at the customer serices window instead. To receive a phonecall next day: 'Your cheque, there's been an alteration made.' We've all done it, written in the wrong year, 2010 not 2011. Realised immediately. Crossed it out, initialled it, amended it. Minor tiny mistake.  But not in Kenya. I understand if I had taken someone else's cheque, added the word 'million' and submitted it for payment, - I get that's not ok. But a change to the year, amended and countersigned by the payee, immediately. Not really a reason to reject a cheque, to have a brand new customer get back in the car and queue again (30 minutes more) to pick up the cheque. Grrr.

None of this is to look at the major difficulties faced by Kenyan entrepreneurs. Corruption. Difficulty of getting loans. Inflation.  Coercing payment from suppliers. But next time you phone a colleague in Kenya, be patient as they take a while to pick up.  Try not to comment as they gasp down the phoneline.  Aim to be succinct if you hear torrential monsoon noises, - or persistent plump drips - in the background.  And if they appear a tad unfocussed, even distrait at times, consider the possibility that the chickens, again, may be mistaking their newly painted red toenails for tasty grubs, and pecking their toes as you chat.