-July 15, Wednesday
Amsterdam, Holland -
In a little less than a day, I will be home in Amarillo! I am very excited.
The flight last night was calm and sweet. I fell asleep before we took off and woke up in time from breakfast. Seven hours of uncomfortable, but fairly sound sleep. It was pleasant enough. We had yogurt for breakfast, our first dairy product in two weeks. It tasted delightful.
It is currently 6:00 in the morning, and we depart at 10:00, so we have four hours to do whatever we like. Some of us are considering going out on the rail to view the actual city of Amsterdam, just to have experienced a little piece of Holland. The only concern is that since it is so early in the morning, there will be nothing much to see. I rather hope we do, however, despite the early hour.
I enjoy watching people while I'm in an airport. You can usually tell where a person has originated from simply the clothes that they were. The accents are all fascinating, and you can always find the most captivating people to watch when you are bored in an airport.
Nuns...
Muslim women in full black abaayas...
Africans in tribal dress...
The European chick who doesn't understand the concept of wearing more than a few skimpy articles of clothing at a time...
The stereotypical, overweight, American man who thinks that the overly-colorful sweater he bought at a tourist shop in Prague actually looks fantastic on him, rather than like a watercolor painting he plastered over his wide girth...
An anciently old couple who won't stop holding hands and kissing and looking at each other with eyes full of adoration...
If you have never been to an international airport, these are the wonderful things that you will see, not to mention the European men who enjoy wearing girl pants...
The huge Indian families with 83 ½ children who absolutely demand the right of way in the halls...
The gay couple who cuddle and kiss in front of everyone...
The woman who has sixteen bags, and has half of the staff in the airport helping her carry them...
The American family that is lost and rushing around and looking incomprehensibly at the signs that are all written in German and French and Swahili...
The Europeans who watch them, amused...
The loud choir/youth/middle school class trip group who all wear brightly-colored tee shirts of all the same color, and comment loudly about everything they see until they burst into gales of inappropriately obnoxious laughter and giggles and squealing...
Ahh, airports. What would we do without them?
I am not sure yet exactly where my group fits. Fifteen people of different age, gender, ethnicity, and even American state in which they live. The only common ground for us is Christianity, a longing to assist the AIDS orphans, and a relationship- however so small- with Milton Jones. Jesus and Milton. I am not quite sure how this adds up, but I am sure that I will figure it out someday.
Despite our differences, we are all friends that have a close bond formed by Africa. Really, no one has had much trouble with each other at all. We have all been, at least casually, friends from the start. At this moment, our common bond is that we all terribly, terribly want to skip the nine hour plane ride ahead of us and beam ourselves home, like in some sci-fi creeper movie. I think that would please each one of us immensely.
Earlier today, an American in his late forties went up to me. "Can you speak English?" he asked slowly and deliberately, pointing with dramatic gestures towards his mouth.
I blinked at him. "Yes."
"Do you know where this gate is?" He enunciated his words with great care, motioning towards his boarding pass and then at the Dutch signs above us.
"No, but the Schipold should be over there," I replied casually, allowing my Texan accent to shine through. I nodded towards the signs that marked the time and location for each departure. The man's eyes widened when he noticed my accent and realized that I was, in fact, an American as well. He mumbled a hurried thanks and walked away, obviously embarrassed.
These are the things that make four hour layovers in Amsterdam, Holland, amusing for the bored traveler. Ahh, only three and a half hours left to go.
-Later-
We went shopping for a while. It felt nice to be able to shop and do something so stereotypically American, but at the same time, I felt terribly guilty for spending money on trivial things such as sunglasses, jewelry, and a European hat, when the children back in Kenya can't afford to buy themselves a pair of shoes.
Cheryl treated me and Olivia to two scoops each of Haagen Dazs ice cream. It was such a sweet gesture from Cheryl, and it tasted so good. I chose to eat plain vanilla with hot caramel sauce drizzled over the top. It was lovely.
We sat down and ate our ice cream together, not caring that it was hardly 9:00 in the morning. We reminisced about all of the foods we missed from back home. Mexican food, steak, baked potatoes... we were all holding our stomachs with anticipation by the end of the conversation.
We bid farewell to our Seattle friends, checked into the gate and finally boarded the plane, eager to watch the abundance of movies available in the tiny screens that rested on the backs of the seats in front of us.
This flight is nine hours long, but we will arrive in Houston only three hours later than when we departed. Today will seem much, much longer than a usual day as a result of this. Oh, the joys of jet lag.
-In Air to Houston-
If I lived on a plane, my life would consist of sleeping... watching major motion pictures on eight inch screens... reading The Praise Habit by David Crowder... falling asleep while reading The Praise Habit by David Crowder... eating a perfectly balanced and packaged and cardboard-flavored airplane meal... crawling over people to go to the bathroom... watching movies that I wouldn't ever rent because they really just aren't that interesting... staring at the clock for twenty-three minutes straight, and wishing that I could make time move faster... calculating what time it is in Kenya and in Amsterdam and in Hawaii and in Texas and then back to Kenya... fumbling around in a three by three bathroom stall... sleeping in the weirdest position I have ever sat in before, but that is the only way to feel comfortable enough to sleep... snickering while watching other people sleep in odd positions... listening to the baby in the row behind me scream bloody murder, and thinking, "What in heaven's name was this kid's mother thinking when she took him on this plane?"... and etc.
My mind keeps drifting off to those kids in Africa, and I am beginning to dread coming home. I miss it in Kenya already, and I think it would have been nice to stay longer. My family isn't even home, for crying out loud.
The baby won't stop screaming. I want off this plane.
-In Air to Amarillo-
We had a five hour layover in Houston. Upon arrival in Houston, we were waved through the gate by a flight attendant, who told us with a bright smile, "Welcome home." I couldn't help but grin at her in return, despite my exhaustion. It felt amazing to be back on Texas soil.
Filling out our immigration and customs cards, we all marked down that we had been in farm/ranch land, because if you have ever been to Kenya, then you know that no matter where you go, city or country, you are in farmland with animals. It is simply a part of life for these people. At a church out in the bush, there was even a cow living inside!
The customs people were not happy that we had been in farmland. Some of them pulled me into a room, asking me several questions, including whether or to I had stepped in any manure. "What have I not stepped in?" I thought to myself. "I've worn this pair of flimsy Old Navy flip flops through the slums of Kisumu, where the streets have ankle-deep piles of both animal and human feces. Beat that, people."
It took us an hour to get through customs and security and panicked officials, but we were finally through. We ate lunch at Chili's, and I had a salad- my first salad in two weeks, because lettuce is composed of so much water, and Kenyan water is poison. I also drank my first Dr. Pepper in half of a month. If I ever move to Africa, which I must say is a possibility, I'm not sure how I can live without my Dr. Pepper. It is some heavenly stuff.
We all asked for so many refills of our drinks. Ice is a glorious wonder to us now. I sat at a table with Milton, Barbie, and Christian, and I think that Milton must have had five refills of his iced tea. It was funny to watch. He downed one glass in less than a minute. The poor waiter turned around from serving the rest of us and said in a bewildered voice, "Oh, let me get you another glass, sir."
Everything in America feels so different. The sky looks different. The clouds look different. The air smells a lot different. Africa- Kenya, at least- has a very distinctive smell to it, no matter where you go. Some people were offended by the foreign scent of the air. I, however, didn't mind it all that much. It is a very African scent- polluted, tropical, foreign... with a little hint of marijuana laced through the breeze now and then as well.
People have been rushing, rushing around, which has not been familiar to me at all over these past few weeks. I think back on an African saying, one that the Kenyans take very literally. It goes something like, "Americans have watches, but Africans have time," and it is the truth. The calmness, the serenity of Kenya, is something that I will miss.
I do not want to blend back in with my old life. I do not want to become once again the person who I used to be. I think a little differently now, and I want to remain this way, to live this way. I want to remember the poverty, remember the people, remember their faces- young and old. I can't let myself forget.
I do not want to look upon money as an expendable resource when I know for a fact that there are people 5,000 miles away in Africa who would weep with gratitude if I gave them ten dollars.
I do not want to become part of the daily hustle and bustle that has become so common for the modern American lifestyle.
I want to be able to sit down and truly listen to someone, to cherish the value of both time and loved ones.
I do not want to lose faith over something relatively small when there are those who have lost everything and everyone they have, and yet have the faith of Job, even while they know that they will never have their lives replenished back to where it was before. I want that kind of extreme faith.
I do not want to whine about having to go to school every day when there are those who start walking at 3:00 in the morning to make it on time to a classroom with dirt floors and a teacher who didn't even graduate from high school.
Never again will I use the phrase, "I am starving." Not when there are people who truly are starving and do not complain.
Those who believe that it is not our duty as Christians to feed the poor must go and read the book of James. There are those who need us. Jesus would feed His lambs, and we are His disciples, who should be following His example. How else can we live out Christ's love but by feeding the hungry, fulfilling Jesus' will for the least of His children? How else can they be fed?
James 2:15-17, TNIV, says, "Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, 'Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,' but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead." I do not want to be the one who says, "I wish you well," and does nothing. I want to be the one who follows Christ's will and feeds the hungry, and clothes the naked, and shares the gospel with those who do not know.
We are His tools.
We are about to land in Amarillo any minute now, and I feel excitement coursing through my veins and rising up within me. I am home. It has been a long journey- one I never want to forget- a journey that has changed my perspective on the world, on my faith, on humanity. I am ready to be home, to share my experiences with those who are willing to listen. I am ready to continue Christ's purpose for my life.
I am His.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The African Safari
-July 14, Tuesday
Kisumu Airport-
I woke up at 4:45 this morning and turned on the shower, shivering in dreaded anticipation of the icy blast that was sure to come. To my great surprise and excitement, steam began to rise from the scalding hot water. I stepped beneath the faucet, smiling from ear to ear. Despite the early hour, this was a wonderful start to my day.
The hotel staff prepared us breakfast and so we ate at the LeSavannah Hotel for the last time. We have only real, American food to eat from now on, I hope. Lunch and dinner hopefully should not consist of a single bite of ugali. No more, no more.
We said goodbye to John and Connie for the last time, only wondering at the thoughts that were passing through their minds. Their team is now gone. Now they only have each other- two missionaries alone in Kenya. Are they excited that we are leaving? Are they terrified? I can only speculate.
We boarded our matatus and rode off into the darkness, watching young children walk alone to their schools, moving quietly through the early morning darkness.
When we arrived at the airport, they told us that they did not open until 7:00, a slightly frightening thought since our plane takes off at 8:00, and we have fifty tons of baggage to load and check. They presented us with a small, peaceful patio outside surrounded by a garden. We all sat together, listening to Audie's devotion and watching the sun rise in pastel strokes of color that painted the sky like a morning rainbow.
We gave our final farewells to Jared, giving him the customary both-side African hug and shaking his hand for one last time. "Asante-sana," he said over and over again, smiling at each of us. "Tell my American friends hello. I will see you next year."
Checking baggage was a hectic mess. It took us forever, but we finally made it through, weary and ready to relax on the plane to Nairobi. We are still in the waiting room, waiting for the plane to show up. Everyone seems excited to finally be on our way home and yet sad to leave. It is a bittersweet moment, impossible to understand unless you have seen what we have seen and met the people we have met.
How can we simply return to our old lives, taking everything for granted, after we have seen these people who are literally drowning in poverty? How can we waste our money on things that don't matter? How can we sleep in a real bed, use warm water in our showers, and complain about our school, however poor it may be? How can we take our families, our health, and our homes for granted? How can we eat a bite of an extensive meal and not feel grateful? How can we complain about the most trivial problems in our lives and not stop to think of the children at Lakeside Orphanage who have lost everything that they have because of AIDS? How can our lives ever be the same again?
I am so blessed, so privileged, to have what I have. It takes me back to the orphanage, to the children proudly showing us what little they had. It takes me back to the children at Ring Road, explaining to me how happy they were because God had blessed them with food and an education. It takes me back to the bush at KipKabus, to the woman giving Barbie and I one of, if not the most, expensive thing she owned. It takes me back to the church in Eldoret, where the church elders stood in the middle of poverty, hands lifted high in adoration for the Lord, singing, "He has done so much for me that I cannot tell it all..."
How can our lives not be changed in every possible aspect?
-Nairobi, Kenya-
At this exact moment, I am sitting on the curb outside of the Nairobi airport, waiting. I have been waiting for forty minutes now, and I have another twenty minutes left to go before the Seattle team arrives and we leave for the safari.
-Later-
We went ahead and checked our baggage, and we are again out on the curb, waiting for our matatus to show up. Everyone is hungry and passing out what little snacks we have.
This reminds me of when one of the church elders told us gravely that Americans say that they are starving when they are only a little bit hungry. Africans know what it is like to truly be hungry." Together we discussed this memory, and we all lost a little bit of our appetites. Here we are, stuffing our faces with Sour Patch Kids and beef jerky and pistachios because we're a little overdue on lunch, and there are people living a mile away who are literally starving to death. It makes you think.
-Nairobi, Kenya-
We went to the wildlife park to walk around and view the animals in their pens. Our guide was a young man named Alex. He had a great passion for the animals and took us all around the park, off of the paths and up close to view the wild animals. We saw the rhinos, wildebeests, buffalo, leopards, lions...
Alex paid little mind to the park laws and instead took us behind the tourist fences and into the wild, face to face with the animals with only a chain link fence between us. The leopard lunged at the measly fence, snarling ferociously at us. It was a little frightening.
Alex carried this little baby songbird in his hand. At one point, he handed me the bird and walked away, leaving me standing helplessly, holding the trembling songbird. Finally, after a while, I walked up to Alex and said, "Here, take her back now," and he laughed and amiably complied.
"Have you ever touched a cheetah, the fastest of all animals?" Alex asked us in a hushed whisper. "These great cats can be tamed, but shh... this is a secret. Follow me." With a wide grin lighting up his face, Alex led us past the boundaries and out into the actual park, where another park ranger was waiting. A cheetah sat calmly a few yards away, unleashed, watching us intently with golden eyes. "Go on, touch him," Alex murmured, and one by one, we knelt to stroke the large cat, listening to its loud purr and caressing its head and back in awe while we posed for a photo. The experience was both frightening and wonderful at the same time. The fact that a full-grown cheetah was sitting inches away from me, purring, was a surreal feeling.
Alex obviously enjoyed leading us around the park, introducing us to woman-despising monkeys and letting us hold leopard carcasses and put our feet in scale models of elephant feet. He eagerly pointed out birds and herbs and the tree branches in which Africans use to brush their teeth. "This is the biggest secret in Africa. This is why our teeth are so white and beautiful."
At the end, when Alex gave us our ticket stubs so that we could pass the guards and leave the park, he wrote his email address on the back of mine. He motioned towards the written address with his finger so that I would see it, and gave me a wink before ushering me out the door with the others.
For lunch, we went to a place that looked fairly nice and cost twelve hundred shillings per meal, which is probably fifteen or sixteen dollars. The meal consisted of rice, lamb, chicken, fish, cooked banana, potato, and green beans. This was one of the first meals that I did not care for at all. My stomach began to hurt about ten minutes into the meal, so I stopped eating completely.
After lunch, we went to the safari headquarters. Some people did not want to spend the money to go on the safari, and so they stayed behind. The rest of us were eager to see the wildlife of Africa in their natural habitats.
The first animal we saw was a warthog, trotting through the tall savannah grass, its tail in the air like a flag. After this, we saw gazelle, antelope, buffalo, and a rhino. There were herds upon herds of dramatically-striped zebra, and even a few babies. We saw the zebra up close, watching eagerly as they crossed the road directly in front of our matatus, stopping for a moment to look at us with wary eyes.
We drove around and around looking for giraffes, but we couldn't see any. We were all sorely disappointed and praying silently, "Lord, let us see one giraffe... just one." At the tail end of the safari, literally to the point where we could almost see the entrance from which we came, we all gasped in unison. A single young giraffe was striding calmly down the road in front of us, ambling along without a care, ignoring our very presence. It felt like a blessing straight from God, a small gift that He gave us us to see His children smile with delight. We were all so excited and happy to see that simple giraffe.
We arrived back at the building too late to go to the restaurant, Carnivore, and so the people who didn't go on the safari were a little upset with us. However, they had no idea about how amazing the safari was.
We went straight to the airport, which was a good thing, because the traffic was terrible. It took forever for us to merely arrive, check in, exchange our currency back to American dollars, eat dinner, go through security, and sit down. We had perfect timing, really.
I think that we are all feeling concerned about fitting back into our former lives. We have all been changed by this trip, and it will be hard to live out our extravagant lifestyles when the faces of hungry children are swimming hauntingly before our eyes wherever we go. How can we ever again truly adapt to the hectic, apathetic culture that we were all once so used to? How can we simply move on from this journey when there is so much poverty, so much need, so much hunger in the world?
I don't think that any of us will ever again say, "I'm starving."
Kisumu Airport-
I woke up at 4:45 this morning and turned on the shower, shivering in dreaded anticipation of the icy blast that was sure to come. To my great surprise and excitement, steam began to rise from the scalding hot water. I stepped beneath the faucet, smiling from ear to ear. Despite the early hour, this was a wonderful start to my day.
The hotel staff prepared us breakfast and so we ate at the LeSavannah Hotel for the last time. We have only real, American food to eat from now on, I hope. Lunch and dinner hopefully should not consist of a single bite of ugali. No more, no more.
We said goodbye to John and Connie for the last time, only wondering at the thoughts that were passing through their minds. Their team is now gone. Now they only have each other- two missionaries alone in Kenya. Are they excited that we are leaving? Are they terrified? I can only speculate.
We boarded our matatus and rode off into the darkness, watching young children walk alone to their schools, moving quietly through the early morning darkness.
When we arrived at the airport, they told us that they did not open until 7:00, a slightly frightening thought since our plane takes off at 8:00, and we have fifty tons of baggage to load and check. They presented us with a small, peaceful patio outside surrounded by a garden. We all sat together, listening to Audie's devotion and watching the sun rise in pastel strokes of color that painted the sky like a morning rainbow.
We gave our final farewells to Jared, giving him the customary both-side African hug and shaking his hand for one last time. "Asante-sana," he said over and over again, smiling at each of us. "Tell my American friends hello. I will see you next year."
Checking baggage was a hectic mess. It took us forever, but we finally made it through, weary and ready to relax on the plane to Nairobi. We are still in the waiting room, waiting for the plane to show up. Everyone seems excited to finally be on our way home and yet sad to leave. It is a bittersweet moment, impossible to understand unless you have seen what we have seen and met the people we have met.
How can we simply return to our old lives, taking everything for granted, after we have seen these people who are literally drowning in poverty? How can we waste our money on things that don't matter? How can we sleep in a real bed, use warm water in our showers, and complain about our school, however poor it may be? How can we take our families, our health, and our homes for granted? How can we eat a bite of an extensive meal and not feel grateful? How can we complain about the most trivial problems in our lives and not stop to think of the children at Lakeside Orphanage who have lost everything that they have because of AIDS? How can our lives ever be the same again?
I am so blessed, so privileged, to have what I have. It takes me back to the orphanage, to the children proudly showing us what little they had. It takes me back to the children at Ring Road, explaining to me how happy they were because God had blessed them with food and an education. It takes me back to the bush at KipKabus, to the woman giving Barbie and I one of, if not the most, expensive thing she owned. It takes me back to the church in Eldoret, where the church elders stood in the middle of poverty, hands lifted high in adoration for the Lord, singing, "He has done so much for me that I cannot tell it all..."
How can our lives not be changed in every possible aspect?
-Nairobi, Kenya-
At this exact moment, I am sitting on the curb outside of the Nairobi airport, waiting. I have been waiting for forty minutes now, and I have another twenty minutes left to go before the Seattle team arrives and we leave for the safari.
-Later-
We went ahead and checked our baggage, and we are again out on the curb, waiting for our matatus to show up. Everyone is hungry and passing out what little snacks we have.
This reminds me of when one of the church elders told us gravely that Americans say that they are starving when they are only a little bit hungry. Africans know what it is like to truly be hungry." Together we discussed this memory, and we all lost a little bit of our appetites. Here we are, stuffing our faces with Sour Patch Kids and beef jerky and pistachios because we're a little overdue on lunch, and there are people living a mile away who are literally starving to death. It makes you think.
-Nairobi, Kenya-
Alex paid little mind to the park laws and instead took us behind the tourist fences and into the wild, face to face with the animals with only a chain link fence between us. The leopard lunged at the measly fence, snarling ferociously at us. It was a little frightening.
Alex carried this little baby songbird in his hand. At one point, he handed me the bird and walked away, leaving me standing helplessly, holding the trembling songbird. Finally, after a while, I walked up to Alex and said, "Here, take her back now," and he laughed and amiably complied.
At the end, when Alex gave us our ticket stubs so that we could pass the guards and leave the park, he wrote his email address on the back of mine. He motioned towards the written address with his finger so that I would see it, and gave me a wink before ushering me out the door with the others.
For lunch, we went to a place that looked fairly nice and cost twelve hundred shillings per meal, which is probably fifteen or sixteen dollars. The meal consisted of rice, lamb, chicken, fish, cooked banana, potato, and green beans. This was one of the first meals that I did not care for at all. My stomach began to hurt about ten minutes into the meal, so I stopped eating completely.
We arrived back at the building too late to go to the restaurant, Carnivore, and so the people who didn't go on the safari were a little upset with us. However, they had no idea about how amazing the safari was.
We went straight to the airport, which was a good thing, because the traffic was terrible. It took forever for us to merely arrive, check in, exchange our currency back to American dollars, eat dinner, go through security, and sit down. We had perfect timing, really.
I think that we are all feeling concerned about fitting back into our former lives. We have all been changed by this trip, and it will be hard to live out our extravagant lifestyles when the faces of hungry children are swimming hauntingly before our eyes wherever we go. How can we ever again truly adapt to the hectic, apathetic culture that we were all once so used to? How can we simply move on from this journey when there is so much poverty, so much need, so much hunger in the world?
I don't think that any of us will ever again say, "I'm starving."
Monday, July 13, 2009
Visiting Lakeside Orphanage
-July 13, Monday
Kisumu, Kenya-
This morning, I woke up with a verse spinning around in my head.
"The Spirit of the Soverign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor."
I thought that this was a fantastic verse, but I had no idea where it was from, and so I flipped around in my Bible until I found the verse in Isaiah 61, a chapter in which I had studied a few months earlier, but had forgotten about while studying Psalm 91 so much in preparation for this trip. Even though I had planned to talk about something completely different when I led the devotion this morning, I felt that God wanted me to simply read Isaiah 61 to our group. Now I know what professional speakers mean when they say that they are about to preach on something completely different than what they had originally planned. I do believe that Jon Acuff wrote about it once in his Stuff Christians Like blog. I can now testify that it has happened to me as well.
Amy was feeling better, so she came down for breakfast today. Thank God for a fairly quick recovery. It could have been much worse.
It is Milton's birthday today, and so we sang Happy Birthday to him this morning. I think that it would be awesome to spend my birthday in Africa. I would totally go for that.
I may be going to leave my guitar at Lakeside Orphanage today. I was going to have it sent back to Eldoret, but Milton said that since they already have one instrument- Connor Deal's keyboard- then I should consider giving it to someplace that doesn't have any instruments at all, such as Lakeside. He has a point, and so I will do what he suggested and find somewhere else to donate my acoustic guitar. The African people are all so musical; I know that anyone would be thrilled to have my guitar. I am excited to sacrifice it to these people who are so humble, so loving, and who are in such great need for even the smallest of things.
-Later-
I decided to not leave my guitar at Lakeside. I think I will leave it with John and Connie instead, and let them decide what to do with it.
We arrived at the orphanage, and eighty children rushed out to meet us, waving excitedly and chattering to each other- and us- in Swahili or Luo or both. The eager children ushered us into the assembly room and took turns performing songs and reciting poetry and Bible verses for our team. It was adorable.
We had a miniature Vacation Bible School for the nursery children and then for the older children. They all enjoyed making the crafts and singing the songs. We passed out fruit loops to make necklaces, but most of the children ate the cereal before they even finished their necklaces.
A seventeen year old boy named Michael latched onto me and pulled me outside into the courtyard to talk. He had a million and one questions about America. The cost of things, the education system, the food, the jobs, the landscape... he was fascinated with everything. Despite his clinginess, he was a sweet kid.
We visited the living quarters of the orphans. They were all so proud of their rooms... rooms that consisted of bare, white walls; concrete floors; beds without blankets; and torn mosquito nets hanging from the ceiling. They beamed with pride when we visited each room. I would exclaim, "Ooh, how nice," while my heart sank inside of me.
We left for lunch and went to a "swanky" hotel in Lakeside, outside of Kisumu. Along with the typical ugali and rice and meat, they served a lovely portion of... French fries! When sprinkled with salt and dipped in the pumpkin ketchup, I felt almost American again. It was lovely.
We returned to the orphanage, and finished out VBS. Bekah and Olivia and I went outside to teach songs to the nursery children. It was difficult because none of the children could speak any English whatsoever. We finally ended up singing by ourselves while the children cheerfully did the hand motions with us.
One girl named Sandra clung to me like I was her sister or her mother. She played with my fingers. She examined my pale skin. She stroked my hair. She laid her head in my lap whenever I sat down. She held my hand. She refused to let go of me the entire time I visited the orphanage. Every time I caught Sandra's eye, she would beam at me, giddy that I had given her the honor of a single glance. "Mzungu Emily," she would call me, proudly showing me the contents of her school bag. Sandra was the most precious little girl. "She has no sponsor," the teacher told me sadly. I looked down at Sandra, and she giggled and reached up to stroke my face, murmuring something in Swahili. I knew then that I must find Sandra a sponsor. No matter what, my family must sponsor sweet Sandra. She is God's precious little girl, only five years old.
One three year old named Brenda was the victim of terrible teasing. The children would chant in Luo or Swahili or both, "Look at Brenda, look at Brenda!" They would dance up to her and smack her in the face... or they would throw rocks at her and run away laughing while Brenda stood, silent as stone, refusing to say a word. Olivia lifted the small girl into her arms and cradled her against her chest. It was the saddest thing. I have no idea why the children mocked Brenda like they did. I asked a teacher, but he said, "They are children. What can you expect?" I wasn't too pleased with his answer.
We sadly left the orphanage, the children chasing after our matatu. I caught one last glimpse of Sandra grinning at me, waving and shouting out words in broken English. I remember the last thing she told me. "See you tomorrow, mzungu Emily." I wish I could.
We stopped by the equator marker to take pictures. It was weird knowing that not only was I straddling two hemispheres, I was literally standing on the center point of the earth, closest to the sun. This is why Kisumu is so much hotter than Eldoret.
We went to John and Connie's house, and there was a group of several Maasai warriors who were guarding the house. They were so thin and gangly and young, and it was hard to believe how dangerous these men were... but they are dangerous. The Maasai is the fiercest, most dangerous tribe in all of Kenya, if not Africa. Even their faces are distinctive from the other tribes. It is impossible for me to distinguish between Luo and Kalenjin, and so on. However, take one look at a Maasai, and you think with a kind of reverence, "That person is Maasai." They all had gaping holes in their earlobes, and they wrapped their earlobes around the tops of their ears, giving themselves an even odder look about them.
The warriors performed tribal dances for us, hopping around and making wild, unearthly sounds with their mouths. I have never heard such sounds come from humans before. The dance was fascinating, both to watch and to hear.
I managed to buy one of the elder's clubs for five hundred shillings. It is obviously dented and worn. Who knows who has been killed with that club? Milton said that it may have been used to kill a lion. I now own a genuine Maasai warrior's club, which is awesome. I think I'll give it to my little brother.
We went inside, and some of the church women had made a birthday cake for Milton. It said, "Happpy birthday, Milt." I suppose that spelling is not a major concern here in Kenya. Eating cake and ice cream was a major sugar rush. It was fantastic.
We went back to the hotel and ate rice, beef, chicken, onion rings, bread, and mashed potatoes. It wasn't too bad. I am stoked about eating real food again back in Texas.
I dread the long flight home. Twenty-two hours on a plane. Fantastic. Twenty-hours sitting on the plane, thinking, "I wish I was home already." I feel itchy and restless just thinking about it.
Kisumu, Kenya-
This morning, I woke up with a verse spinning around in my head.
"The Spirit of the Soverign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor."
I thought that this was a fantastic verse, but I had no idea where it was from, and so I flipped around in my Bible until I found the verse in Isaiah 61, a chapter in which I had studied a few months earlier, but had forgotten about while studying Psalm 91 so much in preparation for this trip. Even though I had planned to talk about something completely different when I led the devotion this morning, I felt that God wanted me to simply read Isaiah 61 to our group. Now I know what professional speakers mean when they say that they are about to preach on something completely different than what they had originally planned. I do believe that Jon Acuff wrote about it once in his Stuff Christians Like blog. I can now testify that it has happened to me as well.
Amy was feeling better, so she came down for breakfast today. Thank God for a fairly quick recovery. It could have been much worse.
It is Milton's birthday today, and so we sang Happy Birthday to him this morning. I think that it would be awesome to spend my birthday in Africa. I would totally go for that.
-Later-
I decided to not leave my guitar at Lakeside. I think I will leave it with John and Connie instead, and let them decide what to do with it.
We had a miniature Vacation Bible School for the nursery children and then for the older children. They all enjoyed making the crafts and singing the songs. We passed out fruit loops to make necklaces, but most of the children ate the cereal before they even finished their necklaces.
We visited the living quarters of the orphans. They were all so proud of their rooms... rooms that consisted of bare, white walls; concrete floors; beds without blankets; and torn mosquito nets hanging from the ceiling. They beamed with pride when we visited each room. I would exclaim, "Ooh, how nice," while my heart sank inside of me.
We left for lunch and went to a "swanky" hotel in Lakeside, outside of Kisumu. Along with the typical ugali and rice and meat, they served a lovely portion of... French fries! When sprinkled with salt and dipped in the pumpkin ketchup, I felt almost American again. It was lovely.
We returned to the orphanage, and finished out VBS. Bekah and Olivia and I went outside to teach songs to the nursery children. It was difficult because none of the children could speak any English whatsoever. We finally ended up singing by ourselves while the children cheerfully did the hand motions with us.
We sadly left the orphanage, the children chasing after our matatu. I caught one last glimpse of Sandra grinning at me, waving and shouting out words in broken English. I remember the last thing she told me. "See you tomorrow, mzungu Emily." I wish I could.
We went to John and Connie's house, and there was a group of several Maasai warriors who were guarding the house. They were so thin and gangly and young, and it was hard to believe how dangerous these men were... but they are dangerous. The Maasai is the fiercest, most dangerous tribe in all of Kenya, if not Africa. Even their faces are distinctive from the other tribes. It is impossible for me to distinguish between Luo and Kalenjin, and so on. However, take one look at a Maasai, and you think with a kind of reverence, "That person is Maasai." They all had gaping holes in their earlobes, and they wrapped their earlobes around the tops of their ears, giving themselves an even odder look about them.
I managed to buy one of the elder's clubs for five hundred shillings. It is obviously dented and worn. Who knows who has been killed with that club? Milton said that it may have been used to kill a lion. I now own a genuine Maasai warrior's club, which is awesome. I think I'll give it to my little brother.
We went inside, and some of the church women had made a birthday cake for Milton. It said, "Happpy birthday, Milt." I suppose that spelling is not a major concern here in Kenya. Eating cake and ice cream was a major sugar rush. It was fantastic.
We went back to the hotel and ate rice, beef, chicken, onion rings, bread, and mashed potatoes. It wasn't too bad. I am stoked about eating real food again back in Texas.
I dread the long flight home. Twenty-two hours on a plane. Fantastic. Twenty-hours sitting on the plane, thinking, "I wish I was home already." I feel itchy and restless just thinking about it.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Make a Zebra!
-July 12, Sunday
Kisumu, Kenya-
I am so tired. Church is in a couple of hours, and I don't know how I can stay awake through another eight hour service and community teaching. I am not sure how I am going to be able to teach the community's young women when I can hardly keep my eyes open for long enough to even read a page-long devotion before bed. I miss my bed.
Today is church, tomorrow is Lakeside, the next day is the Safari, and the last day is flying, and then I will be home. I am already envisioning a warm, soft bed... my own bedroom... unlimited computer access... meals that aren't exactly the same every day... my own car... driving on the right side of the road... These will all be luxuries after this. I think that we are all ready for these things and a little weary of roughing it in Africa.
It isn't that I don't love it here. Never think that. This place has changed my perspective on everything worth a thought and more. I only wish that at the end of an amazing day, I could return to my own home and my own bed, and then reappear in Africa the next morning. Maybe this is only my exhaustion speaking.
Today is my last day to see Lavin, which makes me very sad. I am going to give her a shirt, some stickers, a notepad, a pencil with a heart eraser, paper dolls, jewelry, and last of all, my tennis shoes. In the tiny zippered pouch on the sides of my shoes, I placed a two hundred shilling bill, which equals maybe three or four bucks in USD. It is almost a week's pay for Lavin's mother, however, who makes barely twenty dollars a month.
I don't want to leave Lavin alone here... here, where she is living in only sad and devastating conditions. When you live in slums like these, how can there truly be hope for a decent future? I plan to try my hardest to support Lavin so that she can go through college to become the teacher that she wants to be.
The hotel doctor visited last night and examined Amy. He said that she has a bad case of food poisoning, but not cholera, thank the Lord. He said for her not to take Finnergan, because she needs to relieve her body of the poison, and so Amy was probably sick through most of the night. I pray that God will heal her quickly and give her rest.
-Later-
We arrived at the church around 9:00 and greeted the elders before sitting in the second and third rows under a great big tent. We were sitting in our chairs, waiting for the service to begin, when Jared came up to us and said that they needed a teacher for the Sunday school. Nobody seemed to want to teach, and I enjoy teaching children, so I stood up and volunteered. Jared led me upstairs to stand before the children in a small, stuffy classroom. At least two hundred children were stuffed inside the tiny room, and many more lined the windows and the doorway all the way down the hall.
"What do you want me to teach?" I asked helplessly.
"Anything you like," Jared replied. He turned to the children and told them that they had a new teacher from the USA. "And who is the president of the USA?" he asked seriously.
"The honorable Barack Obama."
Jared sent up an interpreter to help me, because many of the children, especially the young ones, struggled with their English. I had never taught with a Swahili interpreter before. I taught the story of when Jesus healed Bartimaeus. I think that the story was a huge hit. I explained to the children that Jesus could heal their problems and their sadness as well, specifically with three things:
1. Hope
2. Joy
3. Peace
I read Hebrews 13:5 and 6 and then asked questions and gave out prizes to those who answered. I finally gave away rubber bracelets to all of the children, who ended up numbering at least three hundred by the end of my lesson.
After the lesson, we went out to the church, stuffing desk after desk after desk into the fairly small sanctuary. There had to have been more than five hundred children squeezed tightly into this room. It was astonishing... and very, very hot and stuffy. I was prepared to return to the main service, but the interpreter asked, "Teacher, please teach them until lunch. Tell them about your life in America, and about the Honorable Barack Obama."
I didn't talk about Obama, but I did tell about my life in America. My father, Jeffery; my mother, Pam; my sister of thirteen years, Amy; my brother of nine years, Luke; and my two dogs- one that looks like a big pile of cotton, and one that looks like a black and white cat with a flat nose. I told them about my school and the classes that I take. They were fascinated about the fact that I took Spanish for my second language credit, so I taught them how to say hello- hola- and goodbye- adios- and count to one through five- uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco. After this, the children taught me how to count to five in Luo. I will try to quote this, but I have no idea if I am spelling any of this right:
Achiel
Ario
Adek
Anwan
Abich
Again, I have no clue of how to spell these words. I spelled them how they sound. The children all laughed and laughed at my clumsy accent. I proudly quoted one through ten in Swahili without any help at all:
Moja
Mbili
Tatu
Nne
Tano
Sita
Saba
Nane
Tisa
Kumi
The children were so excited when I counted for them. I taught them how to sing The Lord's Army, and then the children joyfully sang the song I had taught them earlier in the week- Yesu ni Bwana. The interpreter had them all tell me what they thought of me, picking children out of the crowd to say, "God bless you," "Thank you, madam," "Please come again," and etc. It was precious to hear.
I went to sit through the last five or ten minutes of the service, and then we broke up into the community teaching groups. Before the sessions began, I pulled Lavin aside and gave her the gift bag I brought and my shoes. She beamed at me and hugged me shyly. Lavin is the sweetest little girl. I later saw her showing the colorful new sneakers to her envy-stricken friends as they congratulated her while glancing down at their own worn shoes.
We returned to the stuffy church room. Connie, Olivia, and I were in charge of the women. We taught about Esther again, and we broke up into small groups at the end. It was an enjoyable experience. Jared brought in crates of Coca-Cola and Fanta, and we all sang songs together.
We left the hot church feeling sweaty and hot, and I saw a woman with the most precious five month old baby girl named Sarah. The woman, Lynette, must have noticed my adoration for all things small, for while I was sitting on a bench rather forlornly, eying her baby, she came up to me, plopped Sarah onto my lap, and said, "Hold her while I eat." What joy this gave me.
I examined this adorable baby from head to toe, tickling her round, chocolate-colored belly, listening to her chatter, touching her toes, watching her sweet smile. If you did not know this, and I have no intention of being racist in any way, the hair of black babies, at least African ones, is very soft and fine, almost like cotton. I loved to pet Sarah's soft hair, and she was fascinated by my long curls, pulling them with a kind of awe, so we were even. By the time that Lynette returned to take her baby back, my heart was stolen.
Lunch was chicken stew, greens, chicken, and ugali- all without any silverware. My hands were a mess by the time I was finished. Chicken stew without silverware...
Because this was our last day at Ring Road, we all gathered together with the Ring Road staff in one of the classrooms to sing and pray for the last time. Then we put on our new tee-shirts and went to take a group picture. "Mingle, mingle!" Jared insisted. "We are a zebra- black, white, black, white. Make a zebra. Anything else is dangerous." We took our photos and then got in a circle and held hands, now thoroughly mingled. We sang a resounding chorus of He Has Done So Much for Me, and then it was time to go.
I hugged Lavin tightly and promised to come visit her again one day, and until then, write her often. She held me close for a moment and then let go, retreating behind a corner, from where she watched me silently until I left Ring Road School for the last time.
We visited the Kisumu market, which is a huge, limitless space of land where people simply put all of their merchandise into messy piles on the ground, and eight billion people ruffle through it in the same space of land under a burning hot sun. There are thieves and pickpockets lurking around every corner. Everywhere I went, I heard shouts of, "Mzungu, mzungu!" I did not like that market at all.
Recently, my team has been taking precautions that we had not thought to take before. This is because a rapist with AIDS has been seen around the slums, following us. Milton even hired someone to follow us when we walked to the school. The rapist was hanging around even then, although I did not know it at the time. I am not that concerned for my own safety; I know that I will be fine. It is Lavin I worry about. She lives in the slums with only her mother and her uncle, and she often walks to and from school alone.
We are now at our hotel, exhausted. Supper should be at any time now. Tomorrow is our last day in Kisumu, and then we will spend a day in the capitol city of Nairobi before returning home.
-Later-
After dinner, Christian and Micah and Milton and I sat at the table for a couple of hours, talking through the nighttime darkness. After awhile, Chase and Cheryl joined us, bringing cokes for us to drink. I swear that I drink more cokes in a day here than I have anywhere else, but when a cold coke is the only sanitary drink available, you take it.
Towards the end of the conversation, Audie walked up to our group, explaining that a man who was also staying at our hotel had asked for help on becoming a Christian. Milton left to help counsel the man, and sure enough, the man became a follower of Jesus. It was awesome to hear about.
I truly love it here- the people and the places and the faces- but I still cannot wait to be home.
Kisumu, Kenya-
Today is church, tomorrow is Lakeside, the next day is the Safari, and the last day is flying, and then I will be home. I am already envisioning a warm, soft bed... my own bedroom... unlimited computer access... meals that aren't exactly the same every day... my own car... driving on the right side of the road... These will all be luxuries after this. I think that we are all ready for these things and a little weary of roughing it in Africa.
It isn't that I don't love it here. Never think that. This place has changed my perspective on everything worth a thought and more. I only wish that at the end of an amazing day, I could return to my own home and my own bed, and then reappear in Africa the next morning. Maybe this is only my exhaustion speaking.
Today is my last day to see Lavin, which makes me very sad. I am going to give her a shirt, some stickers, a notepad, a pencil with a heart eraser, paper dolls, jewelry, and last of all, my tennis shoes. In the tiny zippered pouch on the sides of my shoes, I placed a two hundred shilling bill, which equals maybe three or four bucks in USD. It is almost a week's pay for Lavin's mother, however, who makes barely twenty dollars a month.
I don't want to leave Lavin alone here... here, where she is living in only sad and devastating conditions. When you live in slums like these, how can there truly be hope for a decent future? I plan to try my hardest to support Lavin so that she can go through college to become the teacher that she wants to be.
The hotel doctor visited last night and examined Amy. He said that she has a bad case of food poisoning, but not cholera, thank the Lord. He said for her not to take Finnergan, because she needs to relieve her body of the poison, and so Amy was probably sick through most of the night. I pray that God will heal her quickly and give her rest.
-Later-
We arrived at the church around 9:00 and greeted the elders before sitting in the second and third rows under a great big tent. We were sitting in our chairs, waiting for the service to begin, when Jared came up to us and said that they needed a teacher for the Sunday school. Nobody seemed to want to teach, and I enjoy teaching children, so I stood up and volunteered. Jared led me upstairs to stand before the children in a small, stuffy classroom. At least two hundred children were stuffed inside the tiny room, and many more lined the windows and the doorway all the way down the hall.
"Anything you like," Jared replied. He turned to the children and told them that they had a new teacher from the USA. "And who is the president of the USA?" he asked seriously.
"The honorable Barack Obama."
Jared sent up an interpreter to help me, because many of the children, especially the young ones, struggled with their English. I had never taught with a Swahili interpreter before. I taught the story of when Jesus healed Bartimaeus. I think that the story was a huge hit. I explained to the children that Jesus could heal their problems and their sadness as well, specifically with three things:
1. Hope
2. Joy
3. Peace
I read Hebrews 13:5 and 6 and then asked questions and gave out prizes to those who answered. I finally gave away rubber bracelets to all of the children, who ended up numbering at least three hundred by the end of my lesson.
After the lesson, we went out to the church, stuffing desk after desk after desk into the fairly small sanctuary. There had to have been more than five hundred children squeezed tightly into this room. It was astonishing... and very, very hot and stuffy. I was prepared to return to the main service, but the interpreter asked, "Teacher, please teach them until lunch. Tell them about your life in America, and about the Honorable Barack Obama."
I didn't talk about Obama, but I did tell about my life in America. My father, Jeffery; my mother, Pam; my sister of thirteen years, Amy; my brother of nine years, Luke; and my two dogs- one that looks like a big pile of cotton, and one that looks like a black and white cat with a flat nose. I told them about my school and the classes that I take. They were fascinated about the fact that I took Spanish for my second language credit, so I taught them how to say hello- hola- and goodbye- adios- and count to one through five- uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco. After this, the children taught me how to count to five in Luo. I will try to quote this, but I have no idea if I am spelling any of this right:
Achiel
Ario
Adek
Anwan
Abich
Again, I have no clue of how to spell these words. I spelled them how they sound. The children all laughed and laughed at my clumsy accent. I proudly quoted one through ten in Swahili without any help at all:
Moja
Mbili
Tatu
Nne
Tano
Sita
Saba
Nane
Tisa
Kumi
The children were so excited when I counted for them. I taught them how to sing The Lord's Army, and then the children joyfully sang the song I had taught them earlier in the week- Yesu ni Bwana. The interpreter had them all tell me what they thought of me, picking children out of the crowd to say, "God bless you," "Thank you, madam," "Please come again," and etc. It was precious to hear.
We returned to the stuffy church room. Connie, Olivia, and I were in charge of the women. We taught about Esther again, and we broke up into small groups at the end. It was an enjoyable experience. Jared brought in crates of Coca-Cola and Fanta, and we all sang songs together.
We left the hot church feeling sweaty and hot, and I saw a woman with the most precious five month old baby girl named Sarah. The woman, Lynette, must have noticed my adoration for all things small, for while I was sitting on a bench rather forlornly, eying her baby, she came up to me, plopped Sarah onto my lap, and said, "Hold her while I eat." What joy this gave me.
I examined this adorable baby from head to toe, tickling her round, chocolate-colored belly, listening to her chatter, touching her toes, watching her sweet smile. If you did not know this, and I have no intention of being racist in any way, the hair of black babies, at least African ones, is very soft and fine, almost like cotton. I loved to pet Sarah's soft hair, and she was fascinated by my long curls, pulling them with a kind of awe, so we were even. By the time that Lynette returned to take her baby back, my heart was stolen.
Lunch was chicken stew, greens, chicken, and ugali- all without any silverware. My hands were a mess by the time I was finished. Chicken stew without silverware...
I hugged Lavin tightly and promised to come visit her again one day, and until then, write her often. She held me close for a moment and then let go, retreating behind a corner, from where she watched me silently until I left Ring Road School for the last time.
Recently, my team has been taking precautions that we had not thought to take before. This is because a rapist with AIDS has been seen around the slums, following us. Milton even hired someone to follow us when we walked to the school. The rapist was hanging around even then, although I did not know it at the time. I am not that concerned for my own safety; I know that I will be fine. It is Lavin I worry about. She lives in the slums with only her mother and her uncle, and she often walks to and from school alone.
We are now at our hotel, exhausted. Supper should be at any time now. Tomorrow is our last day in Kisumu, and then we will spend a day in the capitol city of Nairobi before returning home.
-Later-
After dinner, Christian and Micah and Milton and I sat at the table for a couple of hours, talking through the nighttime darkness. After awhile, Chase and Cheryl joined us, bringing cokes for us to drink. I swear that I drink more cokes in a day here than I have anywhere else, but when a cold coke is the only sanitary drink available, you take it.
Towards the end of the conversation, Audie walked up to our group, explaining that a man who was also staying at our hotel had asked for help on becoming a Christian. Milton left to help counsel the man, and sure enough, the man became a follower of Jesus. It was awesome to hear about.
I truly love it here- the people and the places and the faces- but I still cannot wait to be home.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Rickety Canoes and Giant Beetles
-July 11, Saturday
Kisumu, Kenya-
Today we got up extra early and went to Lake Victoria. We arrived at the dock, only to see a couple of rickety canoes bobbing unsteadily in the water. What makes things worse was not the fact that I am terrified of deep water or that once Milton got a parasite from Lake Victoria that nearly killed him, but the realization that the water was infested with hippos, and hippos kill more people per year than any other animal except for the mosquito... and we were going to be exploring these waters in nothing but a measly canoe.
My canoe carried our two guides, Milton, Cheryl, Amy, Olivia, Micah, Holly, Christian, and me. We were kind of the scaredy-cat boat, and so our hopes sank as we left the shore. The fact that we were required to wear life jackets, insinuating that there was a possibility, however so small, of entering the water, only increased our terror.
Once we were out onto the lake, things calmed down a bit. The smooth water was a pale blue that matched the early morning sky, and the sloping white sails of fishermen dotted the misty horizon.
Our guide was very intelligent. He pointed out the various birds and plant life that lined the waters and shore. He told us about the lives of the Luo tribes who were washing their clothes in the lake water. One man was walking along the shore butt-naked. That was an interesting sight.
At one point in our journey, Christian screamed, causing us all to look up in alarm. A three-inch long cockroach was making its way across Amy's back. "There is something on you," Christian said in a strained voice. Amy stood up in the middle of the boat and began to promptly freak out. The canoe was rocking precariously, and I was sure that it was going to tip. Poor Milton must have been horrified. The guide finally picked the roach off of Amy's back and threw it in the water, and things calmed down some, but everyone felt a little jittery after that.
After the canoe tour, we went to the market and were immediately pulled into a new world of shops and gifts and foreign currency. I enjoyed picking out gifts for my family and friends.
We went to go eat at a local restaurant, and most of the table ordered tilapia and chipati, including myself. I had not expected to receive the entire fish- head, tail, fins, eyes, and all. It was more than a little disturbing, but I ate it. Everyone else enjoyed their meal more than I did, I think.
We went to Jared's wife's tiny boutique to visit her and take a look around. On our way out, we were bombarded by three boys who were high from sniffing glue, one worse than all the others. He stumbled alongside of us, talking almost incoherently, and every few seconds he would lift his glue bottle to take a deep whiff through his mouth. It was heart breaking to see, but also a little frightening. One of the boys was carrying a knife in his hand. We offered to buy them some food, but all they wanted was money.
We went to the hotel and had four hours to relax before dinner, which a glorious feeling. Free time. A few of us walked over to the small art shop a couple of blocks away. It was neat to see how they made all sorts of things from rubbish off of the streets- portraits out of crushed egg shells, earrings out of coke bottle caps, necklaces out of cow and fish bones- they recycled everything they could find.
Back at the hotel, Sandi, Chase, Audie, Milton, and I colored foam fishes for Sandi's VBS next week until the wind became so disruptive that we couldn't work outside anymore. Then the downpour began. The sky opened and let forth three million buckets of rain onto the Kenyan soil. I went up to my room so that I could watch the small storm through the window.
At 6:00, we met downstairs, and I gave Jared my two Obama hats. He grinned at me in response. I love Jared's childlike grin.
We went to John and Connie's new house. It is very big and very nice, and it is guarded by Maasai warriors. They also have their own private cook. We were served spaghetti, which tasted amazing. Everyone stuffed themselves full with pasta until they could eat no more. We all held hands at the end of the meal and sang, He has Done so Much for Me, in both Swahili and English, and then Holly and (Kenyan) Thomas jokingly sang the song in Luo.
When we stepped outside, the stars had tumbled across the blackness of the sky in jumbled patches of white glitter. It was beautiful.
Amy began to throw up almost immediately when we arrived back at the hotel, so I pray not only that she feels better, but that nobody else gets sick after her.
I am exhausted. I am very much ready to be home and in my own, soft bed.
Kisumu, Kenya-
My canoe carried our two guides, Milton, Cheryl, Amy, Olivia, Micah, Holly, Christian, and me. We were kind of the scaredy-cat boat, and so our hopes sank as we left the shore. The fact that we were required to wear life jackets, insinuating that there was a possibility, however so small, of entering the water, only increased our terror.
Our guide was very intelligent. He pointed out the various birds and plant life that lined the waters and shore. He told us about the lives of the Luo tribes who were washing their clothes in the lake water. One man was walking along the shore butt-naked. That was an interesting sight.
After the canoe tour, we went to the market and were immediately pulled into a new world of shops and gifts and foreign currency. I enjoyed picking out gifts for my family and friends.
We went to go eat at a local restaurant, and most of the table ordered tilapia and chipati, including myself. I had not expected to receive the entire fish- head, tail, fins, eyes, and all. It was more than a little disturbing, but I ate it. Everyone else enjoyed their meal more than I did, I think.
We went to the hotel and had four hours to relax before dinner, which a glorious feeling. Free time. A few of us walked over to the small art shop a couple of blocks away. It was neat to see how they made all sorts of things from rubbish off of the streets- portraits out of crushed egg shells, earrings out of coke bottle caps, necklaces out of cow and fish bones- they recycled everything they could find.
At 6:00, we met downstairs, and I gave Jared my two Obama hats. He grinned at me in response. I love Jared's childlike grin.
We went to John and Connie's new house. It is very big and very nice, and it is guarded by Maasai warriors. They also have their own private cook. We were served spaghetti, which tasted amazing. Everyone stuffed themselves full with pasta until they could eat no more. We all held hands at the end of the meal and sang, He has Done so Much for Me, in both Swahili and English, and then Holly and (Kenyan) Thomas jokingly sang the song in Luo.
When we stepped outside, the stars had tumbled across the blackness of the sky in jumbled patches of white glitter. It was beautiful.
Amy began to throw up almost immediately when we arrived back at the hotel, so I pray not only that she feels better, but that nobody else gets sick after her.
I am exhausted. I am very much ready to be home and in my own, soft bed.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Dancing and singing through the slums of Kenya
-July 10, Friday
Kisumu, Kenya-
Today we decided to have our drivers drop us off at a five or ten minute walk away from the school, right in the middle of the slums, so that we could get a full understanding of the area in which these people live. People beamed and waved at us, shouting out, "How are you? How are you?" and never, "Hello." If I ever tell a Kenyan, "Hello," the automatic response is, "Fine." I think it is because the Swahili word for hello- jambo- technically translates into, "How are you?"
The slums are in such horrible condition. We went down one road, literally holding our breath because of the overwhelming stench of both animal and human feces on the ground. Animals wander about freely, eating and pooping wherever they like.
At the school, I took pictures of the teachers and then went into town with James, Audie, and Chase to buy paint supplies. We went to the Nacumatt and two hardware stores. While in the city, one elderly lady came to me, asking for money, so I gave her my empty glass coke bottle. Chase ended up giving her his as well. The bottles can be exchanged for a few shillings apiece.
We returned to the school, and I helped with Vacation Bible School for a while. The children are all so eager to learn about the Lord.
Earlier in the day, when the children were still in their school classes, I made a guest appearance to a few of the classrooms and taught spelling (beautiful, salvation, and baptize), science (the metamorphosis of a butterfly), and mathematics (the nine times table.) The children were all so excited, and listened attentively, no matter what silliness I taught them.
Lavin follows me wherever I go, and every time I catch her eye, she beams with joy. She is precious. She loves the song in Swahili that I taught them- Yesu ni Bwana- and she sings it all the time.
The children all had prepared songs and poems to recite for me today. Each child is so talented, and AIDS has affected them so much. I gave every one of the performers a colorful bracelet.
Lunch was disgusting- salty beans and maize mixed together with onions and cabbage on the side. I hated it. The server spooned a ton onto my plate and expected me to eat it all, watching me eagerly the entire time. It was all I could do not to throw up.
After VBS, we went to go watch the students play futbol. We walked through the slums to the soccer field and sat on the sidelines, eager to watch the school team play. I got out my journal and began to teach the children surrounding me how to play Tick-Tack-Toe, and then Puppet, which is less morbid term for Hangman. They would have played it forever if I had allowed it. They truly are bright little children.
After we played, we sat down and sang songs until the games were over. Everyone's favorite was Yesu ni Bwana. One little girl named Sarah said, "We will sing this song every day, and every time we sing it, we will think of you, Emily." Lavin stayed by my side the entire time, singing the loudest of all.
We finally got up to leave, and Lavin took my hand. I took the hand of another girl, and then there was a great line of us, holding hands and walking through the slums ahead of everyone else, taking detours and shortcuts, and loudly singing, "Jesus loves me, Jesus loves you... Yesu ni Bwana..." (and yes, I realize that it does not translate into the same thing.) Everyone stared at us as we skipped past them. It was wonderful.
I told my dear new friends that Sunday would be my last day at Ring Road, and one girl said, "We will never forget your face." Lavin said goodbye over and over again, holding me close. I could not help but feel pangs of sadness wash through my chest every time I saw her tattered shoes. I cannot wait to give her my sneakers.
We got onto our matatus and went to the hotel for dinner. We ate with Thomas (the Kenyan Thomas) and his family.
Tomorrow we are going to Lake Victoria to hang out with the hippos. It should be an interesting experience.
Kisumu, Kenya-
At the school, I took pictures of the teachers and then went into town with James, Audie, and Chase to buy paint supplies. We went to the Nacumatt and two hardware stores. While in the city, one elderly lady came to me, asking for money, so I gave her my empty glass coke bottle. Chase ended up giving her his as well. The bottles can be exchanged for a few shillings apiece.
We returned to the school, and I helped with Vacation Bible School for a while. The children are all so eager to learn about the Lord.
Lavin follows me wherever I go, and every time I catch her eye, she beams with joy. She is precious. She loves the song in Swahili that I taught them- Yesu ni Bwana- and she sings it all the time.
The children all had prepared songs and poems to recite for me today. Each child is so talented, and AIDS has affected them so much. I gave every one of the performers a colorful bracelet.
After VBS, we went to go watch the students play futbol. We walked through the slums to the soccer field and sat on the sidelines, eager to watch the school team play. I got out my journal and began to teach the children surrounding me how to play Tick-Tack-Toe, and then Puppet, which is less morbid term for Hangman. They would have played it forever if I had allowed it. They truly are bright little children.
After we played, we sat down and sang songs until the games were over. Everyone's favorite was Yesu ni Bwana. One little girl named Sarah said, "We will sing this song every day, and every time we sing it, we will think of you, Emily." Lavin stayed by my side the entire time, singing the loudest of all.
I told my dear new friends that Sunday would be my last day at Ring Road, and one girl said, "We will never forget your face." Lavin said goodbye over and over again, holding me close. I could not help but feel pangs of sadness wash through my chest every time I saw her tattered shoes. I cannot wait to give her my sneakers.
We got onto our matatus and went to the hotel for dinner. We ate with Thomas (the Kenyan Thomas) and his family.
Tomorrow we are going to Lake Victoria to hang out with the hippos. It should be an interesting experience.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Playing Hokey Pokey... in Africa.
-July 9, Thursday
Kisumu, Kenya-
Today, as planned, we went to Ring Road School. Whenever we ride through the slums, the children watch us with wide eyes, pointing and shouting, "Mzungu, mzungu!"
Dory, Rose, and the others were waiting excitedly for me when I arrived. When Lavin saw me, she came running and wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace. I secretly gave her a small purse that held two necklaces and a bracelet. Lavin proudly carried the purse with her for the rest of the day.
The children were all playing a game when we arrived at the school. I quickly joined in, asking them to teach me how to play. The game- which I have christened "Squares"- was surprisingly difficult. There were sixteen squares, and two to four players at a time. They would begin at opposite corners and begin to hop four squares right and then four squares left, and then move up one. This seems easy, but then they go backwards and sideways and add more people... it is too hard to explain. It took me a long time to figure the game out, and it was quite tiring. The children thought my poor skills were hilarious. Lavin and I played the game together, and all of the children would laugh whenever I messed up, which was quite often.
I played the squares game with the children, and then we gathered around and sang a few songs that everyone knew, such as Deep and Wide. We also sang songs that the children did not know yet, but enjoyed all the same, such as The Lord's Army. These children love anything with a tune and some hand motions.
Directly in the middle of a song, I heard a boy say, "Excuse me, madam." I turned around expectantly, and he said, "We are requesting that you take tea."
This is the Kenyan custom. No matter what you are doing or where you are doing it, you are required to stop at that exact moment, sit down, and have a cup of tea and maybe a mandazi or two. The children with whom I had been singing urged me on as if taking tea in the middle of singing a song was completely normal, and it was... for them.
I took my tea and then went back outside. We played clapping games and jump rope. I taught the children how to play Limbo, and that was a huge hit, bigger than the Hokey Pokey, even. I brought out my camera and we made "movies," talking about their sponsors and discussing the biggest needs at Ring Road School.
"What does your school need the most?" I asked seriously.
"Emily forever!" one girl shouted.
I ask them what the biggest need is for their school, and they tell me that they want me to stay with them forever. I wish I could.
The children began reciting stories. Dory stood up and recited a poem that she had written about AIDS. It was fantastic. I am astonished by the brilliance of these children- children who literally have little to no opportunity for a decent future.
For lunch, Barbie and James and I went to the Nacumatt, which is probably the same quality as a small-town Texas mall... smaller than my town, small. We ate at the upstairs version of a food court, which consisted of three or four little restaurants. Barbie chose to have Chinese food, and I ordered a pizza. Both meals were weird and African-tasting, but they were better than eating the same food for lunch that we had eaten for three meals a day over the past week, which is what the others in our team was eating.
We went to various nursery schools, secondary schools, and universities to visit with sponsored children and photograph them. We even went to a medical school. Everyone here wears uniforms to school, even at college. At Ring Road, when asked if my school wears uniforms, I replied that we did not, and one little girl asked, "If you are killed, then how will they know where to take your body?" The life these children live is another world apart from our own.
Everywhere I go, I hear shouts of, "Mzungu, mzungu!" I am not simply a minority over here- I am a rarity. It makes me empathize with celebrities; no matter where I go, people are staring and shouting and waving. Barbie says, "Don't you just feel like Princess Diana, visiting the people?"
We went to the hotel and rested awhile before boarding our matatus and going to Jared's house. It was fairly nice in comparison with all of the houses we have seen so far, and it was in a much better neighborhood. We sat outside in lawn chairs and had a delicious meal of chipati, fish, chicken, cake, rice, and mango juice. It was the best meal I've had since I have been here.
We met four little children: Milton Jr., Julie Jr., Sandra, and Duane. Milton and Julie were named after Milton and Julie. They were all so precious and sweet.
The meal was very satisfying and we enjoyed examining the stars that quivered above us. They were so different from our own in the Northern hemisphere. It felt otherworldly to not be able to find the Big Dipper or any of the familiar paintings of the sky. We made up our own constellations, creating images of animals, such as a giant giraffe.
We finally arrived back at the hotel. It was after dark and we were exhausted, but happy, and very much ready for bed.
I must go now, because it is later at night than I thought it was, but I will write more tomorrow.
Kisumu, Kenya-
Dory, Rose, and the others were waiting excitedly for me when I arrived. When Lavin saw me, she came running and wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace. I secretly gave her a small purse that held two necklaces and a bracelet. Lavin proudly carried the purse with her for the rest of the day.
I played the squares game with the children, and then we gathered around and sang a few songs that everyone knew, such as Deep and Wide. We also sang songs that the children did not know yet, but enjoyed all the same, such as The Lord's Army. These children love anything with a tune and some hand motions.
Directly in the middle of a song, I heard a boy say, "Excuse me, madam." I turned around expectantly, and he said, "We are requesting that you take tea."
This is the Kenyan custom. No matter what you are doing or where you are doing it, you are required to stop at that exact moment, sit down, and have a cup of tea and maybe a mandazi or two. The children with whom I had been singing urged me on as if taking tea in the middle of singing a song was completely normal, and it was... for them.
"What does your school need the most?" I asked seriously.
"Emily forever!" one girl shouted.
I ask them what the biggest need is for their school, and they tell me that they want me to stay with them forever. I wish I could.
For lunch, Barbie and James and I went to the Nacumatt, which is probably the same quality as a small-town Texas mall... smaller than my town, small. We ate at the upstairs version of a food court, which consisted of three or four little restaurants. Barbie chose to have Chinese food, and I ordered a pizza. Both meals were weird and African-tasting, but they were better than eating the same food for lunch that we had eaten for three meals a day over the past week, which is what the others in our team was eating.
Everywhere I go, I hear shouts of, "Mzungu, mzungu!" I am not simply a minority over here- I am a rarity. It makes me empathize with celebrities; no matter where I go, people are staring and shouting and waving. Barbie says, "Don't you just feel like Princess Diana, visiting the people?"
We went to the hotel and rested awhile before boarding our matatus and going to Jared's house. It was fairly nice in comparison with all of the houses we have seen so far, and it was in a much better neighborhood. We sat outside in lawn chairs and had a delicious meal of chipati, fish, chicken, cake, rice, and mango juice. It was the best meal I've had since I have been here.
We met four little children: Milton Jr., Julie Jr., Sandra, and Duane. Milton and Julie were named after Milton and Julie. They were all so precious and sweet.
The meal was very satisfying and we enjoyed examining the stars that quivered above us. They were so different from our own in the Northern hemisphere. It felt otherworldly to not be able to find the Big Dipper or any of the familiar paintings of the sky. We made up our own constellations, creating images of animals, such as a giant giraffe.
We finally arrived back at the hotel. It was after dark and we were exhausted, but happy, and very much ready for bed.
I must go now, because it is later at night than I thought it was, but I will write more tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Yesu ni Bwana!
Kisumu, Kenya-
Today we got up and went to do our morning devotions and have breakfast. Cheryl led the devotion, and Christian and I sang a few songs. Breakfast was good- mandazi, eggs, bacon, corn flakes, papaya juice, and toast.
The students were all waiting, cheering for us again when we arrived. Everywhere I go, the children call, "Lavin, Lavin," because they know that I am Lavin's sponsor.
The children were often too shy to smile, so I would say, "Cheka, cheka," which technically translates into, "Laugh, laugh," until they smiled and showed their teeth.
We had a few children write letters to their sponsors. A few even drew pictures. It was fun to give them ideas of what to write.
The children all surrounded Olivia and I, chanting, "Sing, sing!"
"Sing what?" we asked.
"Anything. Teach us any song," they eagerly replied.
So we began to sing. I made up a song and Dory and Rose helped me translate a verse into Swahili. It goes:
"Jesus loves me, Jesus loves you
Jesus loves me, Jesus loves you
Jesus loves me, Jesus loves you
Jesus loves me, Jesus loves you
Hallelujah, ha-ha-ha, Jesus loves me
Hallelujah, ha-ha-ha, Jesus loves you
Hallelujah, ha-ha-ha, Jesus loves me
Hallelujah, ha-ha-ha, Jesus loves you
Yesu ni Bwana, Yesu ni Bwana
Yesu ni, Bwana, Yesu ni Bwana
Yesu ni Bwana, Yesu ni Bwana
Yesu ni Bwana, Yesu ni Bwana
Hallelujah, ha-ha-ha, Yesu ni Bwana
Hallelujah, ha-ha-ha, Yesu ni Bwana
Hallelujah, ha-ha-ha, Yesu ni Bwana
Hallelujah, ha-ha-ha, Yesu ni Bwana."
The children love pretty much any song that has motions, so I taught them another Child Evangelism Fellowship song:
"When Satan tries to get you down,
Turn your eyes to Jesus.
Put on a smile, take away your frown.
Turn your eyes to Jesus.
Turn your eyes to Jesus, He'll see you through.
Turn your eyes to Jesus, He cares for you."
Olivia and I tried to teach the children how to play Duck, Duck, Goose, but no one really got it, not even the older ones. Simon Says was a big hit, however.
We had egg, ugali, rice, greens, and beef/goat for lunch. I am drinking several cold cokes a day, because there is literally no water, and we get so thirsty. The bathrooms are astonishingly unsanitary, with much cha on the floor, so we have all learned how to hold our bladders for eight, nine, ten hours a day. Otherwise, we have to pop a squat in the middle of a cha-covered choo.
"I could sing unending songs of how You saved my soul... yeehaw!
And I could dance a thousand miles because of your great love... yeehaw!
My heart is bursting, Lord... clap, clap!
To tell of all You've done... clap, clap!
Of how You changed my life and wiped away the past.
I want to shout it out... hey!
From every rooftop sing,
For now I know that God is for me, not against me!"
They loved that song. We also sang Every Move I Make, Trading My Sorrows, and Nothing but the Blood. Chase had them all scream at the top of their lungs, dance crazily, and make the hand motions for "peace out."
We boarded our matatus and got stuck on one of the terrible roads in the slums. While trying to get out, I was watching the people around us. One girl just dropped her skirt, squatted down, and pooped right there on the ground, in the middle of everything and everyone. The slums are astonishingly unsanitary.
We arrived at the hotel and ate beef/goat, rice, chicken, and bread for dinner. I got to chat with my mom and dad on Facebook, and then I talked to Luke and both of my parents on the phone. I miss my family so much. I miss everyone, and they will all be gone by the time I get home.
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