Most of the third week was spent preparing and going out into the field. The fieldwork was carried out within two agricultural enclaves of Namelok and Isinet, which are part of the expansive Mbirikani Group Ranch. Eight pairs of students, accompanied by one local guide/translator, visited pre-selected households and asked questions on childhood illness, water source and collection, water treatment and storage, hand hygiene, and waste management. They are now in the process of analyzing this data using several statistical computer packages. Overall, the students have learned a lot and are now in a position to appreciate the full extent of public and environmental health issues, as well as appreciating the complexities involved with carrying out such surveys.
-Salaton Tome, Environmental Policy and Socio-Economic Values 

Student Reflections
The night prior to my departure, I decided to take a stroll through my neighborhood in Boston, ignoring my urgent packing needs. My body was chilled by the cold night air, but my mind was already basking in the African sun. I ended up atop a summit overlooking the heart of the city. The skyline that was so clear just a couple months ago was now hidden behind the reanimation of the sparse city flora. This would be my first trip to the African continent, a journey already inundated by high expectations, anxiety, and doubt. As I looked upon the familiar city lights, I couldn't help but wonder the extent to which Kimana differed from Boston. I began imagining how unfamiliar everything will be to me in just a few days time.

I have been in Kenya now for almost three weeks. In my short time here, I've come to realize the foolishness in my presumptions. Of course, there are drastic differences between rural Kenya and the Boston outskirts: Bostonians don't have the opportunity to gaze at elephants, dance with the Maasai, or wake up next to Kilimanjaro. But amidst these obvious differences, the familiarities shine through. The range of emotions and struggles found in urban America also rings true in rural Kenya: A child's cry of happiness or pain, an inquisitive stare at the unfamiliar, a mother doing her best to provide for her family, and a community working together to deal with modern day challenges. In the end, it's the similarities that bind all of humanity together. It's the similarities that allow a mzungu (white person) like me to work with the kind people that I've met here to help build walls, build friendships, and hopefully build-up communities.
-Ta-Wei Min, Boston University

After three weeks here at Kilimanjaro Bush Camp (KBC), driving down an unpaved road in a Land Cruiser with charming local children waving enthusiastically from the dusty landscape, which stretches out from our windows, seems normal. Walking up to a homestead that has a fence made of thorny acacia branches, surrounding a house built by a woman’s hands (from cow dung, mud, and sticks) doesn’t seem as foreign. Feeling like a spectacle on display as one of the few mzungus in rural Kenya has become typical. The experience of living and studying at KBC has been anything but typical though, with each day bringing a new view of Mt. Kilimanjaro, a new set of challenges, and sometimes a new set of bug bites.

As public health students, it is a privilege to work so closely with the local Maasai community, and witness first-hand the fusion of centuries-old traditions with modern ideas and practices. My limited knowledge of their entrancing culture has been expanded through visits to bomas, chats with a retired chief, and conversations with the many Maasai staff members at KBC. While our afternoon at a game lodge in Amboseli certainly was luxurious, it’s experiences like traipsing a half mile between bomas to administer our water and sanitation questionnaire that have will have changed me in a fundamental way when I next set foot on American soil.
-Amanda Makulec, Boston University

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