ALEEN MARRIED A FLINCHER, or How I Learned to Break Rocks and Love Kenya

Our family recently returned from southeast Kenya, where we helped work on a new dormitory for a rural, all-girls high school.

Because I have no skills in construction, I was worried I would be useless.

But our hosts found a job for me — smashing rocks with a sledgehammer.smash2

Even after I demonstrated mastery of this task and expressed interest in less strenuous assignments, such as mixing concrete, I couldn’t seem to shake loose from smashing rocks.

I  thought this was because I was so good at it.

My children explained it was because the other dads actually knew how to mix and pour concrete.

My wife was the one who came up with the Africa idea. She wanted us to help people less fortunate than ourselves.

I pointed out we could just drive 25 minutes to East L.A. or Compton.

“Charity starts at home,” I said cheerfully.

She shamed us into going

She shamed us into going

But she was adamant. She wanted us to go outside our comfort zone. She wanted to remove the kids, at least temporarily, from their privileged, suburban routine, which was increasingly dominated, she complained, by youth ice hockey.

The last laugh was on her. The charity which runs the school, Free the Children, is based in Toronto. Three of the families in our group were from Canada. We talked hockey the entire time.

Here were some revelations from our journey:


As we bumped along in our jeep each day on the way to the building site, or to visit a local health clinic, kids would come running up to the road screaming “Jambo!” and waving at us with both hands.

“Jambo” is Swahili for “hello.”


one seriously frightened goat

In one commuity, the whole town turned out to meet us. They sang and danced, and grabbed us to join them. They gave us necklaces. They even gave us a goat.

I had been worried about this goat. It was tied to a tree during all the dancing and speeches. It was bleating and complaining, pulling at its tether. Then the men gathered around it, untied it, and lifted it up.


I figured we were about to witness its ritual slaughter, and then we would be invited to feast upon it.

My kids are not well acquainted with the spectacle of slaughter. Nor are they adventurous eaters.

Luckily the goat got a reprieve and was placed into the arms of a kindhearted Seattle woman on our trip named Marylou Brannan.


Lulu & friend

Lulu and friend

On this same outing, we were invited to play soccer against boys from the local school.

A bull was grazing in the field. It was led away before the opening whistle.

The goals consisted of long branches, stuck in the ground at roughly the correct distance from each other. No nets.

I got started by whiffing on a ball in long grass and smacking an African boy right in the face while swinging my hand behind me.

This was especially unfortunate because the injured boy had just scored a goal against us. So it kind of looked like I was targeting their best player.

Which was untrue. I didn’t start targeting that guy till LATER, after he scored a second goal.

For my misconduct, I was awarded a very solemn, imaginary yellow card, to the great amusement of the Kenyan players.

We ended up losing the game, 2-1. But we got to keep the goat.

Brushing my teeth Kenya-style, with the gnawed-up end of a spicy tree branch

Brushing my teeth Kenya-style, with the gnawed-up end of a spicy tree branch

When I wasn’t punching African children or smashing rocks with a sledgehammer or receiving livestock as a gift, I went with our group to the world-famous Masai Mara Game Reserve.


Hyenas are up to no good. You can tell. Just look at the picture.

They appear to limp as they run, due to length differential between front and back legs. They won’t look you in the eye. They mark their territory using their anal glands. Just awful.

You can’t even tell what the things really are — cats? Dogs? Some mixture of dog, cat, and bear? I wasn’t a fan.

hyena 3

Good-for-nothing hyena, being photo-bombed by Cape Buffalo (photo by Karen Bank)


Big cats, on the other hand, are majestic. Much better in person than in pictures. Low body-fat, not a care in the world, feared by all.

photo by Karen Bank

photo by Karen Bank

Grazing animals such as wildebeests and zebras really freak out when a cheetah is on the scene.  Anxiety City, up and down the line. Wildebeest sentries stand guard. Zebras trot nervously to and fro. Gazelles, topi, and elan all freeze in place, riveted by the distant cat. And all this was caused, on the day we were there, by a cheetah which was mainly just napping.


Elephants, giraffes, and ostriches look like pieces from the wrong board game which were accidentally dropped down in the middle of some other game. Way off-scale. No reason for them to be this big. Clearly a mistake.

Supposedly giraffes kick so hard, they can decapitate a lion. That news was impressive enough. But it triggered a conversation among teen boys in our jeep about the hairy frog in Cameroon, trichobatrachus robustus.

Apparently the hairy frog breaks its own foot when attacked, and then stabs its attacker with the broken bone.

disgusting creature

We didn’t see this gentleman because we weren’t in Cameroon

This revelation produced an awed silence in our jeep.

The teen boys on our trip were informative in other ways, too.

During Q&A’s on African culture they inevitably reverted to the same topic — polygamy.

They wanted to know how many wives, max, a Masai tribesman might be allowed to have?

During one trip to the game reserve, we watched two jackals chase a rabbit across a field. They caught the little guy down in a bush-choked ditch.

We listened to the bunny’s final plaintive cries. Disney could not have made up a more pathetic noise if they assigned 10 guys in sound production.

Speaking of the circle of life, it turns out a bunch of the names in The Lion King are Swahili words. Rafiki is friend. Simba means lion. Nala means gift. Pumbaa is stunned or slow-witted. Shenzi means savage.


Cattle are a big deal in East Africa.

One tribeswoman offered condolences to my wife when she found out we don’t own a single cow back in L.A.

In the old days, the Masai tribe came up with a great rationale for stealing the cattle of neighboring tribes.

“We believe God gave them to us” originally, said the Masai warrior Wilson Meikuaya.

When raids were conducted, he said, “We were just taking them back.”


Lulu getting her hair braided

Lulu getting her hair braided

Bone-jarring doesn’t begin to describe the roads.

Kenyans circumvent the problem by walking everywhere.

Some kids walk two hours to get to school and another two hours to get back. Tell this to your offspring next time they complain about homework.


The Masai are phasing out ritual circumcision for teenaged boys.

Circumcision was done without anesthetic. If the boy screamed or flinched or even breathed heavily during the procedure, then he was up shit’s creek.

Wilson Meikuaya

Masai warrior Wilson Meikuaya

“Nobody wants to marry a flincher,” Meikuaya told us.

My wife promptly turned to our group and informed them: “I married a flincher.”

Which I thought was unfair, in light of my rock-smashing prowess.

The Masai have generally stopped killing lions, which used to be another rite of passage. They have stopped because of the animal’s decreasing numbers, we were told.

Masai children can now become warriors by demonstrating aptitude and diligence in school.

However, the Masai are still pretty hardcore. Warriors subsist on a diet of meat, milk, and cow’s blood.

When herding animals in remote locations, warriors can get sustenance by nicking a cow’s artery, drinking its blood, and then patching the beast back up. Which is disgusting, but also awesome.

Jesse getting a lesson in Masai archery

Jesse getting a lesson in Masai archery

Overall, it was humbling how generous and open-hearted the rural Kenyans were, especially given their extreme poverty (and despite me having punched one of them in the face).

Jesse carrying water from the Mara River

Jesse carrying water from the Mara River

They did not approach us with their hands out, asking for gifts or money.

They helped us build the school dormitory.  They showed us how they carry water from the river each day, how they make rope from sisal plants, how they bead jewelry.  They showed us how they use various trees and plants as medicine, food, firewood, and construction material.

We had been told many Kenyans would want to know what we thought of President Obama, whose father was Kenyan. But I guess the novelty has worn off. No one asked us about the guy. A few voiced irritation that he had just wrapped up a trip to Africa without visiting Kenya at all.

No one cared

No one cared

Malaria was not a problem.  Most of the time we were in the Mara region, at elevations around 5,000 to 6,000 feet. We saw very few mosquitoes. There were some HUGE spiders, but they left us alone, praise be.

There is an animal called a bush baby, or galago. It is roughly the size of a raccoon and has huge eyes. It makes the loudest, most disturbing sound at night, way out of proportion to its size or situation.

Basically it sounded like a baboon was being torn limb from limb outside our cottage every single night.

noisy little bastards

noisy little bastards

Luckily I was so tired from the sledgehammer gig, I slept through the nightly shrieking.


At the end of our trip, we spent two days on the Kenyan coast.  We boarded a tiny plane to get there.

It was my wife's turn to flinch when we boarded one of these bad boys for the coast.

It was my wife’s turn to flinch when we boarded this bad boy

The coastal residents were friendly enough, but there was none of the Beatles-at-JFK mania we experienced in the country’s interior

People were more jaded, from centuries of watching tourists roll into town, get drunk, hire prostitutes, get sick, become lost, hire prostitutes, and so on.

Plus, we weren’t building a free school for them.

There was a heavy Muslim presence in Mombassa, an ancient seaport which has hosted travelers and traders for 2,000 years.433

We went for a boat ride on a traditional dhow boat.

The boat operator started by asking our trip leader Cameron Kennedy if he wanted to buy marijuana.

Cameron said no.

Later, the man asked if we wanted to pull over at a riverside encampment for homebrew alcohol.

Again Cameron declined.

004The boat pilot’s third piece of communication was to inform us that the boat was now leaking. Which it was. Seriously leaking.

And his final cheerful offering, when we returned to dock just in time to avoid sinking, was to ask if he could have Cameron’s shoes. Cameron again declined.

Cameron was kind of over the boat operator by this point, honestly.

Wouldn't part with his shoes (or his sweet Winnipeg Jets lid)

Wouldn’t part with his shoes (or his sweet Winnipeg Jets lid)


Ultimately, the highlight of our trip was the Kisaruni All Girls Secondary School.

The students were extremely impressive. All were attending on full scholarship. They had been top students at their respective primary schools. They were confident and ambitious; they were strong public speakers. They woke up each morning at 5 am to begin their studies. They even petitioned school officials for the right to wake up earlier.  (Denied.)

These girls welcomed us to their school so warmly and were clearly working so hard at their studies. It was a pleasure to help build their new dorm. Or to smash rocks while others helped build their new dorm.

The school alone was worth the trip. The animals, and everything else about Kenya, that was just a bonus.

436Free the Children (FTC) is a Canadian non-profit organization which supports education in Kenya, Ghana, Sierra Leone, Nicaragua, Ecuador, Haiti, India, and China.

Trips to some of these places are offered by FTC’s sister company, Me to We, which donates 50 percent of its profits back to the charity.

About Kit Troyer

Kit Troyer lives in Los Angeles. He worked previously as a newspaper reporter and a criminal defense attorney. For the last 15 years, he has been a stay-at-home dad. But that gig is running out. Kids will soon be moving out and moving on.
This entry was posted in CHILD REARING, DUMB SHIT I'VE DONE, ICE HOCKEY. Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to ALEEN MARRIED A FLINCHER, or How I Learned to Break Rocks and Love Kenya

  1. Mats says:

    Your new muscle group is good for slashing, ey?

  2. Karen Todd says:

    Are you sure you didn’t know about the Canadian connection beforehand? Is Aleen ever to get a break from hockey? Ever? Thank you for this wonderful piece. We are so happy you had a great time and are back safely. Maybe next time you should skip Kenya and just go straight to Canada for an intensive hockey camp?

  3. Lynne Englert says:

    Fantastic post- I so enjoyed reading this. So you’ve got yourself a couple of crab-boilers now!

  4. Jason Bateman says:

    I want to meet that frog that breaks its leg and stab the enemy with the pointy end.
    That’s a bad ass.
    Welcome home, pal.

  5. Bill Todd says:

    I love that head shot on the Kenyan kid. Reminds me of Charles Barkley and the Anglolan player in the 1992 Olympics. Or a fourth-line NHL cementhead from Western Canada. In any event, it sounds like a great trip. Perhaps it will bring blessing for the Caps’ next season. Cheers, Bill

  6. David Burg says:

    Sounded like kind of a Sean Avery move to me but I know that’s now Kit’s style. Although I might describe Avery as a flincher . . . Anyway, great piece Kit! I look forward to seeing you back in your real digs.

  7. elaine thomas says:

    Sounds like an amazing trip, Kit, although I think you got kinda shafted with the sledgehammer job. All day? Seriously? Were naps allowed? Kudos to you all for giving back.

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