It really is quite amazing. The father to most powerful person in the world grew up in a hut on the other side of the world. Who would’ve thought? From here, Kogelo, Kenya?

Barack Obama still has family in Kogelo, namely his grandmother, Sarah Hussein Obama. By American standards she is his step grandmother, but by African tradition she is his grandmother. She raised his father. After his undergrad, when President Obama went to Kenya, it was her home in Kogelo he visited.

Her home is like that of many grandmothers, decorated with the grandkids’ achievements. In this case, senatorial and presidential campaign advertisements. Most are signed by the President, with a note addressed to Granny Sarah.

I had the honor of briefly speaking to her, through a family member who helps out, translating and organizing her business. I asked to what she attributed Barack’s success. She replied that it is a great thing, so great it can only be attributed to God’s hands. She said that he has much work left. There is not yet peace on earth. She hoped that during his presidency we would all become better at living with one another.

Obama’s grandma – she keeps it real.

Her life, and the village’s, has changed dramatically. A couple months back Al Qaeda said they were going to assassinate her.  Regardless, most days she receives visitors. The government built a police station to protect her. The primary and secondary school are named after Barak Obama. The road is getting paved. They’re building a welcome center and small guest house for the President’s impending visit. Funny the turns chance takes.

in Kogelo, the Obama's ancestral village

they're building a new road for Obama's September visit

downtown kogelo - yes we can!

the obama welcome center and new road

Granny Sarah Obama

man on the right is the local chairman - he was the first Kenyan politician invited stateside by Obama

the primary school is also named after Obama

I was cycling along and whaddya know but ahead of me was a tractor. A tractor!  I hadn’t seen a tractor in months. Wow! A tractor!!! Kenya had all sorts of golden nuggets. Paved country roads (not just the highways, and yes, plural, as in multiple!), food that was more than simple starches and mangy meat, a decent level of English comprehension, even buildings that were ten, maybe fifteen stories high. Kenya has had a stable (if autocratic) market orientated government (kind-of) since independence. You see that.

Though, Kenya is not America. The roads are potholed, most buildings in a state of disrepair and unemployed youth abundant. Lake Victoria is the most tragic. There used to be fish. There used to be ferries that would go as far as Uganda and Tanzania. Today the lake is carcinogenic. That night I camped out in a dilapidated lakeside hotel. I was comfortable, with a cold brewski in a cushy chair. An Indian businessman told me, “All the fish are gone. It’s pathetic – these people don’t even care.” And there’s little else to do but sit back, enjoy the beer, observe, listen and await the next racist comment.

near Kitale, Kenya

could almost be Wisconsin

downtown Eldoret, Kenya's fifth largest city, home of its famously fast runners

just look at all that development! Eldoret, Kenya

a tea estate

Kapsabet, Kenya

downtown Kisumu, Kenya's third largest city

100 years development, nevermind that the sign is falling apart

abandonded dock on Lake Victoria, Kisumu, Kenya

Lake Victoria is now carcinogenic. The fish are mostly all dead.

after school transport

thoughout Africa, school childern are in uniform, prim and proper

southeastern Kenya

near Obama's village, Kogelo, Kenya

Six days ago, I was in Kenya’s third largest city, Kisumu, on the shore of Lake Victoria, bicycling home to my dearest cozy sleeping bag on a dark scary road, the main southward arterial to Uganda. It was about seven. It was quite dark, but close enough to dusk that there were regular clouds of gnats. It was not pleasant.

At once: I am blinded by an oncoming semi-truck. My night vision is shot; there are no street lights. Ahead I barely make the outline of bicycle loaded with raw sugar cane six feet wide. I veer right onto the road proper where a minibus is overtaking the semi-truck. Oh crap. It honks; I veer left, into a pot hole. This hurts. Back right. Through a cloud of gnats, close the eyes. Open eyes. Three shadowy slowly moving bicycles, two seconds to impact. Hmm. Left again. Big unseen bump. Ow.

Repeat times twenty minutes. People point at me, shout. Mzungu! Mzungu! White person! White person!  In the dark I really don’t welcome it. Why are you so interested in me? It’s intense but also banal. Being on the bicycle, as so, that is my day to day. Cycle, cycle, awkward encounter, cycle, eat, sleep, repeat.

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