The General History Project

July 28, 2010

Catching Up On Things

Filed under: Uncategorized — Laura Lee @ 7:04 am

Greetings TGHP supporters!

I know it’s time to update my blog when I get emails that begin, “So are you still writing about the General?” or “Are you alive?” The answer to both of these questions is a resounding YES. And I’m very busy keeping up with both.

I reviewed my last blog entry from (eek!) February and was pleasantly surprised to read how confident, albeit out of breath, I sounded. My form is continually evolving—getting more streamlined, tighter, understandable, better. Most of the improving form is thanks to loads of practice and great coaching. I have a lot of updates for you, so please excuse my bullet-points as I try to make this entry’s length less intimidating.

Here we go:

- A while back, my mentor (“Dr. Ted”) sent me information about a conference on oral history organized by the International Oral Historians Association (IOHA). He encouraged me to submit a proposal to present my work with the General and represent TGHP. I rolled my eyes a little bit, thinking that my mere bachelor’s degree might disqualify me, but I sent in a proposal anyways. It was accepted. (To be continued in a later bullet point…)

- I finished a first draft of the manuscript, the General’s life story, on April 1st, 2010. I had set myself this deadline before realizing it fell on April Fools’ Day. But, wouldn’t you know, I made it.

- On April 2nd, I sent the manuscript to four scholars (professors, writers, historians, super smart people) who agreed to read it and give me their feedback. I vowed not to touch the manuscript until I heard from them, and I caught up on life that I’d neglected for some time. Those six weeks not working on the mss were brutal. I wavered between states of withdrawal, excitement, anxiety, boredom, anticipation, and self-doubt—sometimes, I experienced all these conditions in one day.

- On April 26th, I received the following email from one of my readers: “I’ve read your manuscript. . .My overall impression is very positive. You are certainly fortunate in your choice of subject: King’ua’s life story is profoundly interesting, not only at a personal level but also because of the light it throws on many facets of Kenya’s history and on the way of life and pre- and post-independence experiences of the Meru people; and his way of telling it, no doubt stimulated by your way of eliciting it from him, is always engaging and often engrossing. Congratulations to you both. More later.” Yay.

- In the subsequent weeks, I heard from my other readers, and I received a full report of comments and line edits from the one quoted above. Reactions were generally positive, and they took the potential of my work with the General seriously. They gave me detailed feedback on their impressions and how they think I can improve it. Basically, the consensus was, “It’s good now. It could be excellent.” Or, in Professor Mason’s words, “You should be confident in what you’ve done and humble in what you have left to do.” The critiques were thoughtful, sensitive, thorough, and extensive. This was good. (Read: But I have a lot more work left to do than expected.)

- From the end of May to early-July, I retreated to my workspace in Daytona to begin revising and try to make the manuscript excellent. This, admittedly, was also a pretty tough time. While for the most part, readers did not directly contradict one another, each had something different that he liked, disliked, or wanted to see more of. The scary part had begun: I had to be the “authority” on the material. All of my readers were far more accomplished than me, yet now I was supposed to accept or reject their critiques? Hmm.

And, of course, there was my ever-present awareness that I have no foreseeable income or degree (honorary perhaps?) coming from this work. I’ve fully devoted my last eighteen months to it, and I’m getting close to having a final product, but I’m also squinting at my savings account and watching it trickle down like sand through an hourglass. I’m living in the richest country in the world, yet my biggest donation has come from the General’s fundraising efforts on the ground, in Kenya, from tea farmers (see December blog entry). While I absolutely love this aspect of the project, I’m not gonna lie—I kinda wish a Western friend or fan of TGHP would help me with fundraising. But I’m reminded of the words of my old boss, Director Kenny Leon, when he would say, “You have the right to the work but not the reward.” (He was actually quoting playwright August Wilson, who was actually quoting the Bhagavad Gita.) So, for now, I’m focusing on the work until I can’t afford my weekly ice cream consumption anymore, when I will be forced to find a reward (I’m predicting this time will be at the end of this year.)

- On July 5th, I flew to Prague to attend the IOHA conference. I presented my work (entitled: “In the Shadow of Mount Kenya: Conversations with a Mau Mau”) on July 9th. I spoke for twenty minutes and used audio and video clips as well as pictures from my interviews with the General. I remembered the General’s advice about public speaking:

It is a gift, even, to speak. Not all the people, whether white or brown or red, can speak in front of others. Once somebody stands in a big crowd of people, where he knows these people are of different categories—some are older, some are highly educated—once you come to thinking of that thing, you fail straight away. You get mixed up and once you are nervous, that’s the end of you. You are thinking too much, “How do they see me?”

They are not there to intimidate. Tell them what you prepared to tell them. Forget what they know. Leave it—never think of them. It is you who has the material, and they are listening. Whether some of them [already] know it—that is good. They will hear now the way that you are putting it. If they do not know, then they will hear it first from you. That’s what I think. Those who know it will be shaking [nodding] their heads “Uh-huh!” Others will just be attentive; they want to hear from you because they have never known that before.

I think my speech went well, and the General would have been proud. I met some very interesting people at the conference and learned a lot. I also desperately needed this break from the manuscript. I think just by rubbing elbows with some scholars in this field, I’m feeling just a little more legitimate. I’m going to try and put up excerpts of the speech online. Now that my technical guru, Lindsay Tabas, is back in the country, perhaps she can help me.

-On August 10th, I will retreat to Daytona again to (I hope) finish this wave of revisions. I’m shooting to complete it by the first of October. I will send the manuscript to my mentor and his wife, Dale, for proofing and any final comments. Then I will take my first step into the unchartered territory of getting this thing published. (Cue “Duh-duh-duhhhhh” music.)

So, I think this pretty much catches you up on things right now. I will promise, as I’ve promised many times before, that I will try to keep this blog updated on how everything is going, but, in case I disappear from cyberspace again, you know what I’m doing.

Thank you so much for your support, your positive energy, and your belief in me and the mission of TGHP. I feel you, and I appreciate you.

I’m. Still. Going.

All the best – Laura Lee Huttenbach / Nkirote

Ps – No need to worry about me—I’m still optimistic that this Grand Idea will come to fruition. I’m keeping faith that a good story will find its place, and I know this is a dang good story. In fact, I can’t wait for you to read it. But I just wanted to be honest that the process has not been easy, in case anyone was thinking about writing a book. I would tell you: Absolutely do it if you think it’s a story that deserves to be told. But, it’s a lot of work and kinda hard. The General trusted me with the history of his life, and gosh darn it—I’m making sure that gets told (because it’s extraordinary).

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February 25, 2010

This Thing Called Money

Filed under: The General — Laura Lee @ 9:01 am

-
Dearest TGHP-Supporters,

Please take my delinquency in updating this blog as a good sign. I keep so busy doing the work that I have no time to talk about the work that I’m doing. (But I am sorry, and I will try to inform you better.)

With my writing, I think I’ve hit my stride. I’m writing better and faster, and I’m more comfortable with my form. While I can’t see the finish line yet, I’m no longer doubting its existence. Despite my strenuous training regime, I still feel desperately out of shape. I get up from the table after five hours of writing, and I nearly fall on my face. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath the entire time. I have to gather my thoughts and oxygen before moving too far from the seat.

Because of this demanding exercise, as you may have noticed, I’ve neglected pretty much any TGHP duty that does not include “writing the General’s biography” (this includes fundraising, PR, the blog, and preparing taxes). I hope to emerge, or at least take a break, from my hibernation soon. I’ve set myself a March deadline to submit a first draft of this manuscript to my mentor, my “Mwalimu Ted” (or “Dr. Ted”). I will visit him towards the end of March and revise the work again. Whoever said “Writing is re-writing” is absolutely right.

Here is an excerpt from one of my drafts. I hope you enjoy it.

Cheers – Laura Lee Huttenbach / Nkirote

—

It was my last week in Kenya. The General had to attend a cooperative meeting, but he didn’t want us to lose the whole day. He picked me up on the way back from town in the afternoon, and we squeezed in a short two-hour session. We drank a soda and ate a banana. Then, with a full mouth, I said, “General, I have a kinda funny question for you today. There’s an American singer, a rapper, who says, ‘Money is Life.’ How would you respond to that?”

The General said, “To us—now?” I nodded. He said, “No, it isn’t really. I mean, it is because of these changes. But before, in my agetime, there was nothing to do with—money wasn’t life. But today, as it is, maybe it’s true. What is it he says, life is money?”

“Money is life,” I said. The General had never heard of “P Diddy,” but we spent the remaining part of our session, some hour and a half, discussing the issue.

This is what the General thought. . .

So in today’s life, it has sense, that money is life. It is life. But in our age time, in our childhood, there was no money, and there was no need for money? Money is good, in some ways, because people are changing bananas for money. I had no bananas, but with money, I can choose the best. Because the one selling the banana needs money. The banana, no matter how sweet, is only there for eating, but it cannot do anything else. So when I have money, I am the controller. All the best things are mine, so money is life. True.

The other day, I went to a conference in Nairobi. It was at a wonderful, good hotel, where all the Presidents stay when they meet in Kenya, called the Safari Park Hotel. You can never enter it unless you belong there. A soda, a small bottle, should be 20 shillings. I went to that hotel with Mwiti and another friend, and we ordered three bottles of soda. I was left to pay the bill, and I gave a hundred shillings. The waiter was there, looking at me and wondering what I was doing. I said, “How much?”

He told me it was 450 shillings. They were 150 shillings per bottle, for these small bottles of soda—the very ones that you buy for twenty shillings outside. I gave the man an amount of 500 shillings. So, I thought: What is being sold there is not soda, but the class of the people who are supposed to go there.

The people who want to eat inside there do not want to be disturbed by common people. They want to stay there comfortably. I think it’s supposed to be like Norfolk [former white-only hotel] going there. That’s for people who have lots of money and want to display it. They put the cost, the price, so high that they don’t have to mix with you. They want to see their class, how many there are, and then they become friends.

They have clubs, like the Nairobi Club, which you cannot even take food there or get a beer unless you are a member of that club. To become a member, you have to produce a lot of [credit and bank] cards, to show where you get all your money and which class you are in and how much you earn. You have to pay dues to be a member there which most people cannot afford.

All over the world, money has become life. It is true, even in America—I’ve gone out and noticed this clearly. There are some places and some hotels which I will never dare to go there to have lunch because the price that is put there is very high. That’s one class.

There is another one where I feel that I should not go because I don’t want to have that kind of very typical food. I don’t want to eat githere [mashed maize and beans], so I go in another class, where I will never ask how much do you charge, because I know the menu. I know this will be not more than 500 shillings, and I will take lunch in that way. I don’t complicate myself with hard things that I cannot afford. Some people do it, but I don’t. I do what I am able to.

That place, where I’ve said I will take that lunch, if I’m with my friend, and I know he doesn’t have cash, it is bad, because I’m forcing him to go in a class where he or she won’t be able to meet the cost of the lunch. Because of this thing called money, and the education and the employment, people are graded automatically, whether white or not.

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December 23, 2009

It Takes a Village

Filed under: Giving — Laura Lee @ 10:58 am

The General History Project is turning every stereotype of African charities on its head. I’m thrilled to report that The General has just organized the most successful fundraiser for the organization—and here’s the kicker—in Kenya, with his fellow tea farmers.

I’ve struggled to get funding. When The General heard that I was running out of money, he offered to organize a harambee, Swahili for “fundraiser” or “self-help.” The General just got electricity for the first time two months ago. He does not have indoor plumbing. At his church, people bring chickens and vegetables for their offerings. This is where The General comes from, but he is a successful tea farmer who founded a thriving farmers’ cooperative.

On November 28th, he gathered together villagers, farmers, family members, churchgoers, politicians, cooperative members, and teachers. He explained how “their daughter” (me) was working to record their history and how you can’t survive in America without money—i.e., we don’t have farms to feed from, so we have to buy food. He said, “Our daughter needs our help to finish this project.” For just $20/day. . .

By December 17th, all contribution pledges had been collected. The General consulted his IT person at the cooperative headquarters to see how he could send me the money they had raised. I received an email that day which said, “We had quite a colorful harambee, and we have wired you the money. Please go to a dispensary as soon as possible to collect what we have raised.” They provided instructions and the reference number for the transaction.

On Sunday December 20th, I walked in to the CVS drugstore and asked the employee at the front where I could find the Moneygram center. She took me to a red phone and said, “You are sending, correct?”

I said, “No, I’m receiving.”

She looked me up and down, from my tennis shoes up my dark denim jeans, to my yellow long-sleeved shirt and brown puffy vest, to my smiling white face and blonde hair. “You’re receiving money?” she said. “From where?”

“Africa.” I could tell she wanted more information, but she didn’t ask.

“Well, there’s the phone. I think they’ll tell you what to do.” She walked away shaking her head. I picked up the phone. An automated teller asked me to enter my reference number and the amount of money I was expecting.

I had no idea. I would’ve been ecstatic with $30, because I knew all their dollars were hard earned. I pushed “2-0-0,” thinking that was the best-case scenario. The automated teller said, “Please wait while we connect you to a representative.”

Seconds later, a representative confirmed my name, my reference number, and the sender’s code. Then she said, “I’m sorry, Ma’am, the location where you are does not dispense amounts over $2000.”

I said, “Okay, that’s fine, no problem.”

“Uh, actually it is a problem, I’m afraid you’ll have to go to another location. Wal-Mart seems to be closest.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Are you telling me that the amount I’m collecting exceeds $2000?”

“Yes.”

“How much is it?!”

“For security purposes, I cannot reveal that information. I can only confirm an amount.”

“Okay, is it greater than $2500?”

“Yes, and that is all I can tell you.”

“Oh my goodness.” That was more than Kenya’s per capita GDP.

She said, “Ma’am?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. Thank you. I’ll go to Wal-Mart.”

I walked out the door towards my car in a daze. My largest donation to date had been $1000, from a very close personal contact, but most were around $50. Nobody had offered to hold a fundraiser for me or my organization in America, and donations were even tax-deductible. I was living in the richest country in the world with the richest people surrounding me, and I was about to drive to Walmart to collect a wired donation exceeding $2500 raised by the efforts of rural Kenyan tea farmers.

I went to the money center at Walmart, and I asked the lady at customer service how to use Moneygram. She pointed to the forms at the opposite end of the counter and said to get the green sender’s form. I walked over and picked up the form. “Oh, this is for sending money. I’m actually receiving.”

This lady also looked surprised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. If you’re receiving, you need the purple form.”

I picked up the purple form and went back to her register. I filled it out, and she entered the information in her computer, doing a double take as she read ‘Kenya’ as the sender’s origin. Then, she wrote the amount I was to receive. The General and his village had raised two thousand, five hundred, twenty-seven dollars and fifty-four cents. $2,527.54. I could not believe it. She said, “And the message they sent with it is ‘Merry Christmas, Happy New Years, letter will follow.’” I nodded as tears welled up in my eyes.

There, in the Supercenter of American holiday consumerism, I watched the Walmart customer service representative count out twenty-five hundred dollars in cash, sent to me directly from Kenya. It occurred to me that I, a 27-year-old Atlanta native, was being sponsored by an African village to write The General’s biography. In what strange world does this happen?

Well, it turns out it’s in this world, and these countries. While not the conventional model of nonprofit fundraising, the generosity of these Africans is keeping me and The General History Project afloat this holiday season. I founded TGHP on the principle of trying to help people in the world learn from and understand one another. I couldn’t ask for a better place to start the New Year.

Wishing all of you a very happy holidays. I know my Christmas just got a lot Merrier.

All the best – Laura Lee P. Huttenbach (“Nkirote”)

***Please remember The General History Project in your (tax-deductible) holiday donations this year. If you know anyone interested in matching the General’s efforts, please contact me.***

In case you don’t know, The General History Project seeks to record oral and cultural histories in places where people don’t have the resources to do it on their own. In March, I traveled to the Eastern Province of Kenya to interview “The General,” an 87-year old man who fought for Kenyan independence in the 1950s as a Mau Mau General. He is still Chairman of the South Imenti Tea SACCO and also Chairman of Njuri Ncheke, the indigenous governing council of elders. Currently, I’m writing his biography and hope to share his life and wisdom with a greater audience. This will be the first of many stories we tell, I hope.

The General History Project, Inc. is 501(c)(3) tax-exempt nonprofit organization.

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October 16, 2009

Anteaters and Not Being Stupid

Filed under: Uncategorized — Laura Lee @ 9:58 am

The General had a simple way of talking, probably because English was not his first or second language. But simple usually makes a better point, so long as people still listen. We did a lot of talking about youth and aging – what you learn, how you change. The General remembers herding goats and cattle as a young boy with an old man, of his father’s age. This old man shared the story below with the General, and he’s lived his life with it in mind.

I’ve done very little editing to the General’s words. I hope that you struggle just a little through the prose in order to grasp the message:

———-

An old man named Manyango told me a story. We have an animal here called nkari (an anteater). Manyango told me:

“The nkari, when it is young, makes big holes to look for ants to eat because he has long nails to dig. But when it grows old, the nails become weak. He cannot dig into the ground as he used to dig. So, it will be looking in the areas where it already dug, when it had nice nails. And he gets what comes to those holes – ants or whatever.”

Now from that man, I learned how to make holes, during my youth time. Because I knew there will be a time when I never will be able to. Manyango told me the nkari makes many holes when it is young because it can dig well. But when it becomes old and cannot dig, it goes looking in the places where he dug before to see if the ants are still there.

Nkirote, you are now trying to make your holes. There will be a time when you never move. And if you move, you will be held, by your grandsons and granddaughters.

I do see that now – the old people being helped, moving along the beach. Because they moved during their youth time. Now they have saved enough, and they are old people. They are using what they made when they were young, so they can move. And others who did not know that, then that’s the end of them. They are being looked after by the ministry or whatever.

We were talking of the youth. You asked me what the young people think of the old people and what do the old people think of young people.

I do tell people: I know what is behind me, but I don’t know what is ahead of me. There are people even who do not know what is behind them, neither what is ahead of them. That is terrible. You don’t know where you come from, neither you don’t know where you’re going to. That is a very bad thing. You can hardly know where you are going to, but you have to understand where you come from. If you don’t want to know where you come from, you are stupid. You are dying because you think you didn’t do anything – you don’t have any record behind you.

Good people live because of comparing the way – where you started and where you are.

In the Bible, we read, “We didn’t come here on earth with anything, and we are going to leave this world with – we will go, where we came from, with nothing.”

My question I do ask is: What do you prefer? The way you come in? Or the way that you are going to leave? You are living, and you are going to leave. Now, you can compare yourself. You don’t control how you came in, but you do have an idea of going, because you have seen several before you going and moving. Everyone comes in the same way – one way – but these people who are going, they don’t go one way.

So if somebody tells you he doesn’t know where he comes from, that’s stupid.

——-
Cheers – Laura Lee P. Huttenbach/ Nkirote

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September 10, 2009

What a Feeling

Filed under: Uncategorized — Laura Lee @ 4:59 pm

I have the biggest friggin’ smile on my face right now…and it’s not because I got generous samples at the deli this afternoon or because I bought my favorite ice cream. It’s because I just finished transcribing all of the sessions with The General.

Maybe I need to say that again to keep myself from shouting it off my balcony: I. Just. Finished. Transcribing. All. Of. The. Sessions. With. The. General.

All 1,148 pages of them. Can I kiss my foot petal now?

And guess what? The General History Project went multimedia. I finished a 4-minute video promo/teaser of the organization with the help of Board Member and editing genius Jessica Musick. I’m talking with webmaster extraordinaire Lindsay Tabas (and Board Member) on Monday and hopefully we can get the video up on the website by next week. I wish I could’ve organized a VIP advanced screening for all you supporters, but I think it will have to premiere on the website due to budgeting constraints.

I also heard from Murithi, the General’s son, that the General got electricity at the tea farm this week. Imagine, after 87 years. So I’m not the only one seeing the light.

As soon as I pick up the transcriptions from the print shop, I’m going to read it and write all over it and figure out how to tell The General’s life story (i.e.: begin a manuscript for his biography). That’s not intimidating at all (gulp).

When I spoke with “Dr. Ted,” he told me that once he finished the transcriptions with Ned Cobb (an 84-year-old Alabama sharecropper he wrote about in the book All God’s Dangers), things came together pretty fast. I’ve got my fingers crossed for divine intervention. (I’m only kidding about “crossing fingers” – superstition never mixes well with the divine.) Luckily, there’s a drive-in church down the road here in Daytona. Maybe I’ll bring my work to the Sunday service.

Anyhow: I wanted to share the good news. I couldn’t have come this far without your support.

Yay – Laura Lee P. Huttenbach

ps: Thank you so much to everyone who voted for me during Nau’s “Grant for a Change” competition. I was not selected as a finalist, but it was a constructive exercise for me to participate. And there are a lot of good people doing good things to make this world a better place. I sincerely appreciate all the votes. And please do let me know if you hear of any similar opportunities that this project might apply for.

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