Nathalie's Design Blog

I’m the TA for the Stanford Design Program’s intro design class (ME313 – Human Values and Innovation) this quarter.  It’s a class I took in the first quarter of my grad program and found it to be a very formative experience – an indoctrination into the culture of design and a crash course in its methodology.  Asking the students to spend some time each week writing a reflection on their perspectives on the industry, their learnings in the program, and anything else on their minds has reminded me of the importance of doing so myself.  This is a wonderful life tool and a particularly useful one when your life is moving at a million miles a minute.  In the spirit of solidarity, I plan to join the movement and write regular reflections as well.

Stanford is an interesting place that never ceases to surprise me, mostly because the variety of interactions within its walls (or at least near them) spurs a regular medley of emotions and soul searching.  Time is condensed.  We live weeks in a matter of days and deal with the issues that arise at about the same confounding rate.  A number of interesting learnings or provocative thoughts have been on my mind lately.  Some deal with issues of leadership and the importance of maintaining ones’ role, others with honesty and openness, and yet others with what it really means to call oneself a “designer”.  I’m sure the others will come up in greater detail in subsequent posts, but right now I’m thinking hard about what a designer is and our role in society.

This evening we went around and did critiques of our class’ interim work on the art/expression side of our thesis.  Our introductory assignment was to explore our “spheres of interest” and create a piece which represents one or more of them.  The expression of this could be anything, but we were asked to move beyond the 2D medium of paper – meaning a sculptural element, performance, assortment of objects, and so on.  Essentially I believe we were asked to make a statement in an area of our interest, something that would remind us as we progress in our journey of where we started.  The feedback we received individually was useful, but what moved me most was a comment from a visiting artist.  She referred to the overall output of our explorations as “meek” and commented on her level of surprise at our failure to take a risk in our work.  She compared us to our peers in the design community and seemed confused by the lack of boldness in our expression.  It got me thinking a lot about Stanford’s version of “design thinking” and the societal expectation of what it means to be a “designer”.

Design Thinking is a team sport.  It’s the act of applying a human-centered design process to need identification and solution creation.  It means working well with multidisciplinary teams to address problems which target a real human need, whether latent or directly expressed.  The process is effective and often leads to innovations in the most unlikely of areas simply because we’re trained to be extremely empathic observers of the world around us.  We’re taught to see the things other people don’t and to use those insights to craft compelling solutions.  It’s powerful.  But is it “design” in the truest sense?  And perhaps more importantly, does working in this way constitute possessing the heart of a designer?

I personally believe that those of us who are naturally designers do so when not asked by a client or prompted by an industry project.  There should be and is a need for each of us to make a profound statement in the areas which interest us.  By definition, we need to have a point of view and be able to express it in a way that’s provocative.  This means caring enough to form an opinion.  It means being emotional enough to tell the world a story, to convince it of something we believe in.  At minimum, it means being capable of an expressive commentary on an issue that matters to us.  So what happened?  Why did none of us (aside from maybe one) manage to deliver on that?  I don’t know, but I’m concerned.  I think our own opinions have been subverted in favor of those of the people, the world, around us.  This is necessary when working in the service of others, but in order to infuse any design with the originality of passion, we must ourselves know what we care about and be able to make a real statement about it.  I hope we can find the boldness to do that.  I know I’m going to start looking for mine.

Today is my last full day in Kuria and it’s been perfect.

We were invited to the home of Peter Mwala, one of our boda drivers.  He lives in a nearby village named Taragwiti, a little past the turnoff to the Nuru granary.  I’d passed by it on a boda several times and waived to his wife, Rosie, but had never had a chance to visit.  He told me often that we must come to his home – today we finally had the chance.

I always find it to be such a warm feeling to be invited into someone’s home, but in a country like Kenya the sentiment is that much stronger.  We often have to refuse such invitations because of the lengths to which families will go to welcome us – sometimes as far as slaughtering one of their own goats for the day’s meal.  That said, Peter is someone we see almost every day and we were honored by the invitation.  He also promised us no goats would be harmed in the making for our dinner.

Josephine, Peter, and Changala

His home is very cute – a one and a half room mud house with beautiful cloth wall hangings and a small battery-powered TV in the corner.  His son, Changala, is now old enough to walk and came in with his mother Rosie to greet us.  He wanted nothing more than to play with his father’s cell phone as his grandmother pretended to call him on it.  Rosie had cooked us a wonderful meal of rice, beans, beef soup, and chapati.  Mmm, delicious.

After we all ate and got our fix of what I think was an African soap opera (hilarious even in Swahili), Peter took us on a tour of his land.  His father has a banana plantation.  The family grows cassava as well as maize.  The coolest thing of all, however, were the rocks.  Let me explain…

Mmm, rocks

During each trip to the Nuru granary, we pass a set of pristine boulders set atop a nearby hill.  Given my current hiatus from rock climbing, I’ve been eyeing these rocks with a certain longing that can probably only be understood by a former smoker within uncomfortably close sight of a cigarette.  I had told myself that in my last week in Kuria, I wanted to climb them.  I assumed they were on private land, but as with all things, there had to be a way.  After all, Kenyans are nothing if not friendly.  Despite my good intentions, I wasn’t able to find the time this week and finally had to admit that the boulders would have to remain unclimbed… at least for now.

After a walk through his farm and some unexpected twists and turns, I was surprised to find that Peter concluded our tour with a trip to just these boulders.  Turns out they’re on his land!  One by one we climbed to the top and were met with the most amazing view of the African plains one could have hoped for.  I felt so lucky to be able to take it all in on my last day in Kuria.

What a view!

The way down was perhaps even more interesting than the way up.  Thankfully some help from family and neighbors ensured that everyone made made it down safely.  I’m sure they found it as amusing as we did.

Like cats in a tree

The walk home at sunset reminded me of all the warmth I’ve experienced here.  There were kids playing with makeshift soccer balls (plastic bags and string have infinite applications), men and women greeting us in the streets, and a certain energy that can only be found when the heat of the day has finally worn off.  I’ll miss the community here – there’s something special about feeling at home in a land so different from your own.  “Asanta sana!” to the people of Kuria.  I’ll undoubtedly miss you.

Tomorrow I’m off to Kisumu, Kenya’s third largest city, to visit my friend Amber who has been working with the children there.  I look forward to a change of pace and seeing a bit more of what life in a bigger city is like.  I hear the open air market is amazing.

Anyone who has traveled in the developing world has encountered some level of disorganization, a redefined sense of time, or in its subtlest form, a different way of doing things.  I believe that to be successful in life or travel in these regions of the world, you simply need to learn to roll with it.  In India I called it “trusting more than you plan.”  For the most part, it just comes down to patience.  Here are some of the more amusing encounters I’ve had recently with Kenya’s way of doing things – some are related to the country and some perhaps speak more to aspects of rural life.  Good times regardless.

1. Getting a call from our office clerk that the local print shop wouldn’t be able to complete our order because they ran out of paper.  “Can you bring your own?”  Unfortunately we had also run out of paper.  The owner of the shop decided to travel 3 hours to Kisii to find some and still couldn’t.  His next plan: travel 7 hours to Nairobi.  Ironically the grocer down the street had a stack of paper on his shelf.
2. Checking in with the seamstress on my made-to-order skirt (more exciting news on this in another post!) and asking her to fix one of the seams.  As it was a quick fix, she asked if I would be around the area for the next little while.  I told her “sure”, that I would have some juice and come back in 30 minutes.  An hour later, she asked me to come back the next day.  I think she’s out for the rest of the week.
3. Realizing that Kenya doesn’t legally allow online credit card transactions because of the potential for fraud.  My options for payment: withdrawing from my US bank account, converting to Kenyan shillings, and depositing cash directly into an account at a bank in Migori (20-30 minutes drive from here) or encrypting a scanned copy of my credit card and sending it by email along with a copy of my passport and a signed authorization letter addressed to the recipient’s bank.  My head almost exploded.
4. Asking whether it’s possible to send a fax from Isibania.  Answer: “No, but maybe from Tanzania.”  When I re-asked whether there was anywhere in Isibania (aka: my current location in Kenya) to send a fax, I was told that the fax machine was out of service.  I wonder if it’s lonely.
5. Ordering dinner at a local restaurant, having the majority of it appear 2 hours later, finishing our meal, and then being met with confused looks when we no longer wanted the remainder of our order which was served around hour 3 as we were about to walk out the door.
6. Wondering why the price of eggplant either doubles or halves each day, randomly.
7. Getting a different answer every time I ask the same question.  This one I’m getting used to and has turned into a rather invigorating game of playing Sherlock Holmes.

I do appreciate the general sentiment here that “anything is possible”.  It’s an optimistic perspective that will never get old.  There are times when you have to get creative in making the possible happen, however.  Ah Africa, your ridiculous ways are somehow endearing.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen a person with leprosy.  However, a simple experience during my walk for groceries yesterday reminded me of the nobility of the human condition.

I walked down the main road of Isibania, a rather seedy border town, but our closest source of shops and supplies.  I’m always guarded as I travel down this road, suspecting a pickpocket or chang’aa laden idler to be around every bend.  I’m aware but serious, even with the children joyfully yelling “mzungu”, or foreigner, from the nearby entry ways.

As I walked along the road, I saw a man crawling across the garbage strewn along its banks.  He was on his hands and knees with his feet raised in the air.  They were stumps, obvious casualties of a disease which had attempted to define him.  He had leprosy.  As is an unfortunate reaction to those we deem somehow different, I didn’t know whether to make eye contact or to look away.  At the exact moment when I was forced to decide, the man spoke.  He didn’t ask for money or for help or for pity.  He said “habari” – in English “how are you?”.  I responded “nzuri”, that I am fine.  The man crawling footless through other people’s garbage looked at me and asked how I was.  To me this came as an unmistakable sign of dignity and a reminder of the importance of treating everyone, regardless of their standing, as though they have purpose.  He didn’t have to say it – in his own way, he too was fine.

It’s funny how as I sit here in Kenya I feel so far removed from my “other life” back in the States, yet it still comes flashing back sometimes.  Often at really unexpected times.  I picked up a pen to write a couple of notes on a printout this morning and it just happened to be an artist’s pen.  Suddenly I was transported back to my time at the Loft and all of the decisions around chroma and quality of acrylic paints, whether a colorless blender would achieve the right effect in a marker rendering, and so on.  I then poked my head out the window here and was greeted by the sound of school kids playing, cows moo’ing and the neighbor’s rather vocal rooster.  I remembered the vast importance of the work we’re doing here – the impact on the community of the leadership model and initiatives we’re working together to create.  The juxtaposition of my two worlds is a little mind blowing.  The problem is that I love them both.

I believe strongly in the potential for design to benefit the other 90%, the portion of the world that can’t afford a modern-chic coffee table or a more ergonomic vegetable peeler.  These are the people who have complex systems of problems which impact their well being and their fundamental ability to live healthy lives.  They don’t have access to clean drinking water.  They are very often unable to feed their families.  The smartest among them don’t have opportunities for proper education.  Nuru talks about the importance of “the best of the best serving the poorest of the poor” and I couldn’t agree more.  The potential for design thinking to tackle these types of problems is immense.

That said, there’s a part of me that loves sketching, visual communication, and the craftsmanship that goes into the creation of beautiful things.  I drool at the thought of exotic woods and have admittedly spent hours musing about the details of how a MacBook was created or how an Eames chair seems to fit so perfectly.  How do I merge my two worlds?  How do I create solutions of consequence in a way that preserves the elegant refinement of experiences designed for the wealthy?   The poor deserve as much, wouldn’t you say?

It’s been almost a week since Foundation Team 4 left and the house has been much quieter.  Before they went on their way, however, David had asked our security guard to make him a handful of arrows.  Though he wanted to go with the poisoned variety, we convinced him of all of the ways that life threatening venom juice could go terribly wrong.  He conceded and placed an order for plain old handcrafted arrows instead.  Little did he know, they would come with a bow as well.

David practicing with his new bow

Thomas is quite the expert at making these arrows and apparently crafts the tip by pounding out old nails.  He whipped these up with his father in a little over a day.  I keep telling myself that it’s a good thing when your guard knows how to make weapons out of sticks and old hardware supplies.  It is, right?

Thomas seeing David off, bow and arrow in hand

Sometimes I wonder if people like Thomas had been given the same opportunities as us back in the States how far they’d be able to go.  Thomas’ crazy ingenuity reminds me of many of my cohorts in the design program.  He can often be found tinkering with parts of old radios to make new and wonderful things.  I wonder what else he’d be able to create if given the chance.

Sweet arrows borne from old nails

On the whole, the food in Kenya is turning out to be much better than I expected.  For those of you who remember, I had a bit of a run-in with Kenya’s equivalent of Delhi Belly last time I was here.  I blame some combination of meat and grease and while the grease is somewhat unavoidable, I’ve decided to turn vegetarian for the summer and it’s been going quite well so far.  We cook amazing dinners at the house every night (tonight was pineapple fried rice, sauteed cabbage, and Thai cucumber salad – thanks Cope!) after shopping for our daily groceries at Humphrey’s produce stand.  Along with our groceries, I got my daily Swahili lesson from Humphrey – counting from 1 to 100.  Something tells me I’m going to need to study this one for a bit.

Now let’s get to the real crux of this post: breakfast.  Dinners are great, but I have yet to figure out the perfect breakfast meal.  My daily ritual for the first week I was here was frying Kenya’s equivalent of Wonderbread (those of you who know me well know how much this pains me) in what I think it’s margarine.  It looks a little like this:

Sizzling makeshift toast

“Why fry bread”, you ask?  Well, it’s somewhat like toast and avoids the prolific family of cockroaches living under the toaster.  They may be small, but they’re speedy and I definitely don’t trust them.

If you add a baby banana or two, it’s not half bad.  I’m pretty sure I can do better, though.  If you have any suggestions for the perfect Kenyan breakfast, let me know!  I’m all ears.  One of these days I might even try one of the eerily white eggs.  In the meantime, I’m enjoying the leftovers from the night before as we figure out what it means to cook for five instead of twelve (the last Foundation Team 4 team members made their way back to the States yesterday).  I’m hoping it takes us a while.

I have now been in Kuria for almost a full week.  As with any new experience, the variety and newness has made it feel much richer than a mere 6 days.

I arrived safely by bus after spending my first night in Nairobi.  Aside from a rooster in a box, some baby chickens mingling with the passengers, and an almost fist-fight over what I inferred was the absence of a receipt, it was quick and uneventful.  To my surprise, the day ended with a 4th of July celebration complete with banners and Kenya’s equivalent of hot dogs and slaw.  I’m realizing that with a bit of creativity (and perhaps a lot more substitution), you can make almost anything here.

4th of July dinner complete with mini-American flags

I spent a good amount of time in the field this week, meeting new faces and reconnecting with familiar ones.  David, my counterpart who is returning to the states tomorrow, and I walked to the granary and back which gave me a good tour of Nuru’s local working area.  It’s about an hour and a half walk each way through maize fields and countryside.  The landscape here is nothing short of stunning.  The sun is also a little on the warm side, especially when walking uphill but I suppose I’ll get used to that.

A view of the shambas in Kuria

Later in the week we paced the shambas (meaning “farm” in Swahili) with an Agriculture field officer to see how they calculate the amount of seed needed to plant for the next season.  I almost got lost among the maize stocks and had to jump a small river to get to where we were going.  In response to an apparent perception that white (wo)men can’t jump, I even got an offer to be carried on a woman’s back.  It took her a minute to figure out why I found that thought particularly hilarious.  Just the inspiration I needed to suck it up and take the leap.

Taking the leap

Some highlights of the week include:

• On day 1, finding a parasitic worm eating a dead frog in our shallow well
• Fire bombs in the trash pit as a replacement for 4th of July fireworks
• “Movie night” complete with plastic chairs, a laptop, and contraband from Nairobi
• Discovering our guard is quite adept at making poison arrows
• Witnessing a pile of live chickens being transported in a wheel barrow
• Sweeping a fairly cute (this time alive) frog out of the shower
• Finding a small child who climbed over our 10′ cement security wall (hmm…)
• Burning trash to the Terminator 2 theme song

… and a night of Tusker and fine 90′s music set to a combination of hongera lights (think Kenyan disco lights) and a lantern when the electricity went out.  Don’t think for a second that the Nuru house doesn’t know how to party.

<written July 2, 2010 ~10am PDT>

Sitting here in the San Francisco airport, watching as people sleepily sip their coffee and browse the morning paper, there’s a sense of calm routine to it all.  For me, however, today represents everything that routine isn’t.  It represents a departure, and not only in the literal airline sense.  It feels like the start of something.  I’ll be spending the next two months living and working in rural Kenya.

I’ve packed up my life and left my apartment in the hands of an undoubtedly responsible Facebook intern from Texas.  I’ve seen more smiling faces in the last week than in the last month (hint: always make any excuse you can to celebrate with friends).  I’ve left the often unnoticed comforts of fresh vegetables, clean tap water, and reliable electricity behind.  I’m looking forward to a different kind of life this summer and to making a meaningful contribution while I’m at it.

I’ll be working on the Research team of a new type of NGO called Nuru International.  Rather than focus on individual initiatives in water or disease prevention, Nuru serves as a holistic community development organization.  Their mission is to equip the poor in remote, rural areas to end extreme poverty in their communities.  I’ll talk more in a later post about what exactly I’ll be doing there.

In the meantime, some fun facts about my trip:

Round-trip flight miles: 20,134
Airlines befriended: 4
Luna bars packed: 47
Number of medicine bottles: a bag full
Most interesting snack packed: freeze dried strawberries
Estimated length of trip from Palo Alto to Kuria: 44 hours
Well wishes: a ton (thanks everyone!)

Today I’ll spend some time in the Toronto (one of the homelands) airport as well as London-Heathrow (it’s been YEARS since I’ve been here).  Hopefully I’ll meet some fun folks along the way.

As graduation weekend draws to a close, I can’t help but reflect on how far we’ve all come.  The second years now hold masters degrees.  They presented brilliantly at Annenburg, each telling a compelling story of their two years in the loft and at Stanford.  I’m inspired by their journey and am equally looking forward to the remainder of my own.  Our first year has come to an end; we’re now The Second Years.

I’m not sure what to think of it all yet; I’m not sure it’s fully sunk in.  The events of the last couple of weeks have felt a bit surreal as I compare my life a year ago to my life today.  I attended the Extreme Affordability Design Expo of 2009.  I spectated at last year’s masters presentations.  In both cases, I was humbled by the people in front of me – by the heart, the storytelling, and the honesty of personal transformation.  I knew I stood on the precipice of something great, but had no idea that a year from then (which would be this current moment) I would feel so at home in it all.  When I walked into Annenburg this time, I realized I knew more than half the crowd: David Kelley sitting in the back, the alumni, the presenters and their families.  I’m no longer on the sidelines; this place has become my home and the people my tribe.

Congratulations to the graduating class!  You will all be part of a community much richer than any single designer.  I hope to see you all at future events as we’ve become a crazy dysfunctional family through all of this.  The loft won’t be the same without Paul’s persistent presence at 4am, Ed and Andrew’s miraculous contraptions, Danika’s supersonic belches, or John scurrying in the rafters.  Karen will need to moonlight by creating wonderful moving things and life won’t be quite complete without Stephanie’s inexplicable experiments.  I can’t wait to see what you will all do next, but secretly hope that you won’t do it too far away from the Bay Area.  I will of course see you all at the Purple Party.

To the new class: I look forward to meeting you!  I have no doubt you’re as diverse of a group as has ever entered the program and will shortly become lifelong friends as well.  Orientation will be fun and I can’t wait for everyone’s bar to be substantially lowered.

As for me, I’m in the middle, looking forward and hopeful.  I’ve learned a lot in the last year and am setting out on an amazing adventure this summer.  Soon I’ll reflect on what this last year has meant to me as it’s been a whirlwind of change and opportunity.  On this warm summer night after a great BBQ with graduating friends, I’m exactly where I want to be.  Congratulations everyone – here’s to your new beginning!