The host family

Three days after our arrival in Loitokitok it was time to meet our new families. My Kenyan living counterpart was a lovely girl from Mombasa but studying in Nairobi who now consider as a sister. Host families were usually known as Mama and the name of the mother of the family. In my case my ‘mother’ was the director of a Christian school of a near village, Kimana, and that was how she was known around, with the name of the school. My counterpart and I were the last pair to be picked up from the guest house. We arrived at the house, a compound in the centre of the village, closed to all the main shops and other places like the market area and the ICS offices. Our home was the only one in the centre of Loitokitok, hence, we were the only volunteers not having other of us living nearby. I remember entering the house and thinking how pretty it was: there was a television, couches, a dinner table and lots of drawings on the wall. My host family in fact  had six children. There were mum and dad, the oldest son of 20 years old who was not currently living there, as the oldest sister, 13 years old: they were both living at their school camp. Two other sisters of 11 and 9, a little brother of 4 years old and a little baby, just a bit over one year old. Part of the family and living with us, was one of the teachers of the school where my host mum worked and the housekeeper, a young girl of only 19 years old. So when my counterpart and I moved in we were an over all of 10 people: we sometimes arrived having to share this three bedrooms house with 14 other people. My counterpart and I shared a very small room with bunk beds: even though the space was little and adapting to share so much of our personal space was hard, we managed to make it nice and we have learnt how to feel comfortable in it. We were also lucky enough to have electricity in the house most of the time, except for ‘no electricity Thursdays’ and sometimes running water; differently, in some other host families, our fellow volunteers had to adapt to live without electricity and very little water. My house had an inside bathroom with latrine and shower and one latrine outside which was shared with our neighbours. Living in this little house with so many people was really hard for me and my counterpart especially because of the lack or limited resources of water and food. However, our host parents were amazing and they did their best to provide us with everything we needed. Looking back I think the hardest part of living with a host family is passing from feeling a guest to feel part of the family. During the first few weeks it was a real challenge for us to understand how to behave and to get to know the family habits.

During the three months another housekeeper came to stay with us as the younger one had to go back to school soon. This time was an older lady, mother and probably grandmother of others. I am quite sure she has never been in such close relation with a white skin colour person before and sometimes that was obvious and awkward: especially at the beginning she was touching my hair, my skin, my clothes or simply looking at me walking around the house, doing my hand washing or eating ugali (the typical Kenyan meal) with my hands. I am sure this last one was the funniest part for her, and somehow for me too. It has not been easy for me trying not to make our skin difference a difference. I remember during our pre departure training, trainers reminded us that sometimes there will be distinctions on how they will treat us from our counterparts: it may happen that locals would be treated more like family in the house or like colleagues at the placements by speaking Swahili in front of us, for example. Contrarily, it may happen that host families or placement people may treat us ‘Uks’ with more regards and accommodate our needs more than our Kenyan brothers or sisters’ because seen like visitors or guests. In few occasions this was exactly what happened to me and my sister in the family with the housekeeper, causing several upsetting moments. On the other hand, my counterpart and I became really close also because of this and we were soon able to support and help each other to feel better, like sisters.

Typical Masai jewellery hanged on the living room wall 

Living in a host family with such different culture from mine was not only difficult though and it is important for me to point it out. Surely sometimes I felt alone and far away from my family and the culture I come from but the fact that I have learnt so much of the Kenyan and Masai culture, the fact that I got to know and live with amazing inspiring people and amazing children just made the whole experience easier and worth it. As I already mentioned, my mum was the director of a school which also was a rescue centre for girls who escaped early marriages and Female Genital Mutilation: my mum was an active campaigner against these traditional practices and several times she managed to save some of these girls and bring them to the school. During holidays my family took some of these young girls home and allowed them to stay with us even though we were already a numerous family. This was something that made me extremely proud of my Kenyan family and happy to be with them. Chatting all together after dinner, watching movies together, playing with the children during the weekend, going to church with them, laughing of my funny Swahili, are all beautiful unforgettable memories. Among other things, they taught me the importance of valuing the family and small things; they taught me to share the little I have with as many people as possible because the happiness you will see in their faces repays all the difficulties you may be going through. I consider myself lucky for the host family I ended up staying with and lucky because I have received so much love from who used to be total strangers but now genuine is to call them mum and dad.