"Miss Booysen's going to Africa!"

I get to go back to Kenya for a few days. When I was in Iowa this summer, friends of mine asked if I'd lead their team on a return medical mission. I was thrilled to do it, thinking time is not a problem--I work part time. Right?

Not any more!

When the school asked me if I'd take on a full-time pre-K teaching position, I explained that I already had a commitment in October. They were gracious enough to understand. It turns out that though I'll be gone for 10 days, I only miss 4 school days. That's a God thing, really. It "just so happened" that this trip, planned months ago, is falling over two 3-day school weeks.

My little ones are excited for me to go to Africa. When one of the moms asked her daughter what I'll be doing there, she said, kind of in a moms-just-don't-get-it manner, "To see giraffes and zebras and lions, of course!"

So I explained to the kids today that I'm going to "help sick people." How else do I explain that I'm a part of a medical team but have no medical expertise. I'm going as a liaison, helping to facilitate meetings for some future projects (planning to build a clinic in the remote north of Kenya) as well as for ways in which the team's involvement so far can be maximized. (In other words, how can the clinic they funded in Kipkaren be self-sustainable?)

Until this morning, it really hadn't sunk in that I'm going.

I've been pre-occupied with getting things ready for parent-teacher conferences starting the day I walk back into class. And with finishing a Church History class. (Yeah! I'm another step closer to being Dr. Booysen!) And with working on the coursework for two other classes as well, one of which is the start of my dissertation.

Back to Africa, though.

So it really only hit me this morning that I'm going back to Kenya tonight...

Some things I am really looking forward to:
* Seeing my Kenyan friends, especially the kids in Ilula
* Catching up with my friends in Kipkaren, and meeting Allison and David's baby boy
* Telling the kids about life in Taiwan
* Spending time with God by the river in the mornings
* Watching the African sunrise and sunset
* Journeying with the team, helping them unpack what they're learning
* Spending the last two days in the Maasai Mara with the team
* Buying little gifts for my kids here, so they know I was thinking of them

Things I'm not looking forward to?
* Being confronted with overwhelming needs, and trying to discern where to help and where not to help

Each and every one of my little rugrats gave me the biggest hug this afternoon. "Be careful of tigers, Miss Booysen," my quietest boy said. It doesn't matter how many times I've told them that there are not tigers or bears in Africa.

I'll be careful.

But not so careful that I don't have fun. And not so careful that I don't discover unexpected surprises in unexpected places. By that, I don't mean a snake in the bathroom. 'Cause that might happen, you know? It's just the way it is when you're right by a river.

But the river brings good surprises, too.

I know it does. When I was praying about leaving Kenya last year, God kept impressing on my heart that I need to step out in faith, that as I cross the river before me, he will make my feet sturdy, and that he'll build the bridge as I walk.

He has done so indeed.

What a GOOD GOD we serve!

I'll try to post updates from Kenya, of course.

A Gift from Me to Me

I treated myself to a birthday gift today and bought a painting. It was on display at a restaurant where I met missionary friends for lunch. It stared and stared at me till I took the plunge and bought it. (Very uncharacteristic of me, BTW. I do not buy art on the spur of the moment.) Now it's staring at me from the shelf at the missionary guest house where I am till tomorrow.

It's by the Kenyan artist Rix Butama and is called "Kiss of the Executive." I love the bizarre combination of colors (earth tones and bright colors), the contrast between abstract and realism, even the contrast between the stained glass windows in the back, and the matted look of the animal's skin in the foreground. And I love the contrast between what each of these represent. Anyway, I like the picture.

Now, I simply need to know where in the world I'll hang it.

I guess I'll say, "Home is where I hang my reticulated giraffe."

It is indeed a male reticulated giraffe. And you thought a giraffe is a giraffe? Just like a zebra's not just a zebra, there are different kinds of giraffes in Africa. Different kinds have different markings. And different habitats. This particular kind is found almost exclusively in Northern Kenya. And in zoos around the world, of course. How do I know it's a male? Both male and female giraffes have two horns, but as they grow older, the males have calcium deposits that grow on their skulls. Thus, the lump on its forehead is a third horn. They get two behind their regular horns, as well, so an older male giraffe will seem to have five horns. Just some fun trivia from Africa.

Warriors

Simply a fun photo I took this past weekend of Rendille warriors off in the distance. In the Rendille culture, they only have a circumcision ceremony every 13 years, and for the next 12/13 years, those young men protect their community. Only after that may they get married.

Nariyo

Nariyo’s smile lit up the entire ghop. I was sitting next to her on the cow hide reserved for ladies. She and her four daughters sleep on this side—the left side of the ghop; her two sons have the men’s side to themselves. Nariyo’s husband died some years ago. She was illiterate at the time, and had not yet heard about Jesus.

Then she found out about literacy classes. Some were saying that if you take the class from the missionaries, they’d give you animals. (Which is not true, by the way.) So she came. She learned how to hold a book and a pencil. And she learned to read and to write.

The first book she owned was the book of Mark from the Bible. “I read and read and read,” she told me (through a translator). “I learned firsthand about Jesus, and what he did for me. I would kiss and kiss the book; I was so thankful.”


She also started going to church, and learned even more about this God who cared about her. Bit by bit, the Holy Spirit convicted her of changes she had to make in her life.

“I stopped pouring out libations to the gods,” she explained, showing how she’d always pour a bit of camel or goats milk on the floor of her ghop. And I stopped doing the quarterly animal offerings.” (Four times a year, the men in every family has to slaughter an unblemished animal. They’d first wash the nose and tail in milk, then slaughter it. The men would smear blood on their foreheads and chests, and blood would be poured onto the door posts of the ghop. This was a sin offering for the family’s sins and for their protection. Then the women would cook the meat for the family.)

Nick, the missionary translator, explained what a significant change this is. It’s very obvious when you approach a manyatta which families are believers and which aren’t. The non-believers have the branches used in the ceremonial offerings draped over their homes.”
But there were also other changes. Under the conviction of the Holy Spirit, Nariyo now refused her brothers-in-law relations. (In many tribes in Kenya, widows are still inherited by the late husband’s brothers.)

We also talked about some other cultural traditions, like greetings. Nick had explained that I had worked in Taiwan before, and when I told her that the Chinese often greet one another around mealtimes with a “Have you eaten?” she covered her mouth in total shock. The Rendille would never ask someone if they’ve eaten! Since many go without meals, it’s simply too personal a question to ask.

It was not hard to see why Nariyo is so very well respected in the community. She’s on the church’s regional woman’s council (a position usually reserved for educated women) and is one of the local church’s three evangelists. Afraid to share the Gospel, she is not! He brother and his wife used to mock her for her faith, but they have since come to faith in Christ themselves. Now, they are bearing the brunt of their community’s chastisement.

I wished I could sit around and visit longer. I truly felt a heart connection with this widow. (Though she referred to me as a “grown girl” due to the fact that I’m not married!) But our visit was interrupted by impending rains. We closed in prayer, and as we drove off, my new friend waved as eagerly as she did when we arrived.

Nariyo, coming out of her ghop (house). The entrance is very narrow both for privacy as well to keep animals out.

In my few days’ visit to the Rendille people, I’ve been encouraged to see what God is doing among these people. I’ve had amazing times of simply reading God’s Word, seeking guidance for the journey forward, of praying, listening, watching what God is doing.

Tomorrow, I’ll be heading back to the city. For me, as for my friend Nariyo, the journey of faith continues. I cannot help but agree wholeheartedly with her that “All we do in faith cannot compare to that which Jesus has done for us.”

Again I am reminded that it’s not about what we do, but about living lives surrendered to Him.

For more news on what is happening in this part of the world, visit the Swanepoels' blog.

News from the bottom of Africa

It's just before 6 am. I'm wide awake, listening to the rain coming down. Rain and wind is nothing unusual in Cape Town. Not this time of year, at least.

It's been an amazing two days. On Sunday, I flew down and was picked up at the airport by my sister, Sanet. We drove along the coast, seeing at least 20 or so Southern Right Whales playing in the waters off the coast. One must've been as close to shore as 50 feet. They come to calf in the waters off the South African coast this time of year. Sadly, I don't have my good camera with me, only a pocket camera, which doesn't do as good a job capturing those moments.

Sanet's place is close to the waters, near Simonstown (for those who know the Cape), and the view of the waters (and whales in the bay) is breathtaking.

On Monday morning, we braved the traffic and rain to get to the other side of the city, where my class is.

We're about 15 students in class, and this is technically an independent study for me, since the other 14 are only attending the week's discussions out of interest. No-one else is taking the class for credit. So it's funny being the only person typing away on my laptop while Gwen's speaking!

Dr. Gwen Dewey is one of the directors of the Theology of Work program, and it's an honor to be able to take this class from her. She wrote the curriculum for the program, so she's the most knowledgeable, I'd say, on what the Theology of Work training is all about.

I guess a one-line summary of Theology of Work would be that it's about the intersection of faith and work, or how one can effectively be a Christian in the workplace. Not a new concept, but this program presents the ideas in new ways, I believe.

Will see if I can get some photos uploaded in a bit.

Time to get ready for what's lying ahead today. :)

My baby elephant, and other tales

I have an elephant. Not as a pet, of course. She stays at the local elephant orphanage. And I'm one of probably hundreds of people that can call her "mine." After having taken slews of visiting teams to the orphanage last summer, I figured that the sponsorship would cost me less than the entrance fee I had to pay every time. Plus, it would allow me to do what the thousands of other daily visitors don't get to do: Come and help with the evening feeding.

But every time I'm in Nairobi, I have other things to do. Business to take care of. People to see. Supplies to buy. This afternoon, however, after I had completed everything from my Nairobi to-do list, I was about to lay down to take a nap.* I was afraid I might fall into a deep sleep, though, which would prolong jet lag even more. And then I remembered:

I could visit Sinya!

I hopped in the Mayfield rental car and made my way to the center. I was the only visitor (many, if not most, sponsors are international tourists who adopt elephants on behalf of friends/family at home, so very few people actually come out for the evening feedings) and Edwin took me around to meet two new friends.

First, there was a new little elephant who came to the center 2 days ago. She was still pretty aggressive as they had rescued her from an attack by a pride of lions, and wanted to be sure that I knew that she's in charge.


And then I met Maxwell. He's a 2-year-old black rhino that had been abandoned by his mom when she realized he's blind. I fed Maxwell and visited with him till Edwin came to call me, saying, "Come! Quickly! The elephants are coming!"


Next thing, the toddlers came running home with their caregivers.


They spend much of the day in the wild in Nairobi National Park. In fact, when they're ready, they get reintroduced to one of Kenya's many national parks. The babies wear blankets to protect them from sunburn. Mama elephants usually cover their young ones with dust or mud, or make them walk in their shade. But without their mamas to look out for them, the young 'uns can get burned pretty badly.

By the way, this page tells you how each of the elephants were orphaned.

For the next hour, I got to watch the little ones hang out with their caregivers, play around, even go to bed.



By 6, they started laying down, and the caregivers covered them with blankets for the night. They sleep in the stalls with the elephants!

I drove off with a smile on my face and in my heart, passing several giraffes on the side of the road. "It's good to be back in Africa," I thought. Most definitely not just for the animals and the beauty of God's creation here. The people, too, are amazing. I can't wait to see the orphans at Eldoret tomorrow, give them hugs, and to hear their latest stories...

Heading back to Mayfield, I stopped by Ranger's Restaurant, a place that overlooks Nairobi National Park. I sat on the veranda, enjoying a drink while writing in my journal and taking in the beauty of everything around me.

My heart was singing. God is doing some pretty amazing stuff, and I get to see his hand in all of it, firsthand.

It's good to be back.


* I had literally slept only one hour last night. Due to jet lag, I was wide awake and kept working all night till I finally heard the call to prayer at the nearby mosque. That's at 5 a.m. I was supposed to get up at 6, so I hopped into bed for an hour-long nap.

"Let the children come unto me..."

After sunrise prayer meeting today, I hung around the children's home for a while to visit with friends. These little ones are amazing. They were doing their Saturday morning chores of working in the gardens. (As in, picking up leaves and such. Not hard labor.)

In case you wonder, these kids all go to sunrise prayer meeting on Saturday and Sunday mornings. I absolutely love walking to the field and and seeing close to 100 kids standing all over, simply praying. They're there. Every weekend. I don't always make it.

Faith and Mercy. They're buddies, and technically they're "sisters" since they both live in the same family. They're both about 5. And adorable, yes. You can't help but love 'em.

Mercy, again. She's probably the shortest in the home, but you've got to watch her dance...

Some of the 4- and 5-year-olds. I know. They're the cutest kids. I'll miss them while I'm gone, no doubt.

Some favorite photos from Ethiopia

To see more photos from Ethiopia, click on the photos to the right.

Finding Hope

Victor, originally uploaded by Boyznberry.

This morning, I joined our social worker Ruth for some home visits. The families we were to visit are both ones with pretty dismal stories, and I didn't really know what to expect. "Show us, Father, how to share the hope that we have in You," I prayed as we started the journey.

First stop: Tekla's house. This mother of six has made some improvement since people from ELI have started visiting her. But she's still trapped in alcoholism, which truly prohibits the family from making much-needed improvement. Her husband is an alcoholic, too, and he smokes bang (marijuana). One night, while he was high, he attacked their one son, trying to cut his head off.

The son survived, but his vocal cords were severed, leaving him without a voice. He is now living with someone in another community.

The dad ended up in prison, but has since been released, and everyone's dreading the day he may show up at home...

In the meantime, Tekla continues to drink while having four children at home. There's hardly a thing in their house. No food. Just some dirty pots from having cooked porridge this morning. ELI's home-based care team provides the flour for the porridge. They've learned not to bring more than she can cook in just a few days since she trades food for alcohol.

Tekla wasn't there when we showed up, so we got to visit with the kids for a while. Jeptoo, the 8-year-old, reminds me a lot of Jemutai. She's yet another young girl who basically has to care for younger siblings... Ruth has been encouraging Jeptoo to help their 3-year-old sister Jesang to walk. Jesang is about the size of my American neighbors' 1-year-old. She doesn't walk. She hardly talks. We suspect it's from neglect, but Ruth is taking her to a clinic in town later this week to see if it might be a physical handicap. In the meantime, Jeptoo is shown how to hold Jesang's hand and carefully help her to take little steps.

While the girls are working on walking, 6-year-old Cosmas quietly plays with his baby brother, Victor, who is just shy of 2 years old. "Cosmas has a severe stutter," Ruth explains later, "so he doesn't talk much." But Victor is oblivious to the trails his older siblings have faced. His age has been the protecting factor, just like in the case of Kipruto.

We leave later with a promise of being back. I call the guys from our AA ministry, and they commit to come and visit Tekla, to talk to her about joining our November intake at Kipkaren. "Things will be better, Adele," Ruth assures me. "They already are. But the mom must stop drinking..."

A 40-minute-or-so walk from there, we stop at our next home for the morning, that of Lillian, the mom with twins. Her home is a stark contrast with the one we had just visited. The compound has been swept. Clean laundry is hanging on the line.

"Karibu!" the young mom says with a big smile. Her hair has been wound into small balls, and as we sit down in her sparse living room, she cannot stop fiddling with her hair, constantly twisting new balls. It looks cute, but I can't help but wonder about the mom. She's just . . . different.

We ask about her babies and she's happy to report that she's now producing more milk, but not enough to sustain both. "She's still feeding the babies uji," Ruth translates. "She says porridge has more nutrition than milk..." Riiiiight. For 2-month-olds! "And she says she's adding Blue Band [margarine] to fatten them up." I just about swallowed my tongue.

We visit more, and she tells us that she still gets really bad dreams. I pray for her before we head out, but somehow, I just can't seem to find the right words to pray. I don't know why.

Ruth stays behind to talk to her about family planning. The 29-year-old isn't interested. "I can't take shots," she explains to Ruth. "I have cancer."

"What kind of cancer?"

"It moves all over my body..."

"Would she be willing to give them formula if I bought it?" I ask Ruth on the walk home.

"We can try!"

Lillian used to brew alcohol for an income, but no longer does it. Typically, she sells her body to make money...

We walk home in silence. What can we do for our neighbor? Her problems go far deeper than producing enough milk for her twins. It's more than postpartem depression. I am no doctor, so I cannot say, but others talk of schizophrenia. And some major spiritual issues.

Where's the hope in this? 1 Peter 3:15 says, "Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you and accounting for the hope that is in you." I know my hope is in Christ. He gives meaning to my life. But I've never gone to bed hungry. I've not had a parent abuse me, or be psychologically unstable. How is it possible to keep the hope when your world is far less than simple.

God knew I needed an answer, that this week, more questions seem to be coming forth from my side than I can find simple answers for. So he sent Nellie to my door.

"Adele! I praise God for this chance to see you!" my friend said with all sincerity as she gave me the biggest hug. She's here for an interview, and still has to make the couple-hour journey back home, so we cannot visit for long.

As we walk over to the children's home so she can see her nephew and niece, she cannot contain her joy. "I have to tell you! My mother is now sober!"

"How did that happen??!"

"She just quit drinking one day! God has answered my prayers of many years. I cried for one week. Tears of joy, really. Our home is a different place. Imagine... my mom can now cook for us. I can find a job!"

Sydney and Niva smile the biggest smiles I've seen in a while when they see their aunt walking over. They give her huge hugs and fumble to find the right words. Having lived in a Swahili-speaking environment for a year now, they've forgotten much of their mother tongue. Nellie switches to Swahili and tells them news from Mt. Elgon, of cousins who send greetings. Then she tells them that gogo no longer drinks. Their little smiles cannot get any bigger!

"It's ONLY because of God, Adele," Nellie assures me as I drive her to the main road. "I have seen God break through so many areas! Now, people are starting to say in my village, 'I want my daughter to be like Nellie. I don't want her to undergo FGM.' Imagine! God is answering my prayers."

Indeed. Nellie was the first girl in her village to refuse FGM. She was shunned by her community and by her family. Yet she stayed on so she could serve her alcoholic parents and her siblings who were dying of AIDS. Today, people are starting to follow her example.

When I finally drop her at the matatu stage, my heart is light. God does indeed answer prayers. And though change happens slowly in rural Kenya, it does happen. It takes only one to stand up against cultural practices that have gone unchallenged for too many years.

As for cases like that of Tekla and Lillian, it takes a village to come alongside these families. To love and support them. To show them Christ's love.

I am infinitely grateful to be part of a village and a ministry who is doing just that.

"Thank you, thank you. Thank you very much."

Thank you, originally uploaded by Boyznberry.

Juli, Allison and I went to see Hannah again today.

I asked if I can take photos. She was happy to let me photograph her as she visited with Juli, Allison and her other daughters. "Other" daughters, because she calls us her daughters, too. Even though she has 7 of her own.

Hannah's health has deteriorated since I had last seen her 5 days ago. Her speech is getting more slurred. The tumor seems to be showing up below her left eye, too. She is obviously having a lot of pain.

Yet she continues to rejoice in Jesus. She broke out in worship songs a few times again during our visit. When I gave her a box of soy milk to try, hoping that it would be easier for her body to digest, she held it with both hands, lifted it up, and said a prayer of thanksgiving to God for his provision.

We left when it was clear that Hannah needed to rest. But as we paused outside in the garden and visited with the family, we heard her voice from her room, "Thank you. Thank you very much..." and saw her skinny hand waiving at us. Nancy explained how they appreciate the visits. We do, too. It's a joy to go and spend some time with her and her family, pray together, worship God together...

I'll be going back early next week to take photos of their entire family. I look forward to doing that.

In the meantime, please join me in praying for a miracle for Hannah!

(Click on the photo to see more pictures from today's visit.)

Bottomed-out

So, I got stuck today. Sort-of. I don't think one can call it being stuck when you were able to get yourself unstuck by just putting some rocks under your one wheel. Perhaps I was just temporarily without traction. Temporarily inconvenienced. Bottomed-out, but just for a bit.

Erin, a visiting ELI staff member from our US office, was in the car with me heading from Ilula to town when we got delayed. We had a carload full of people we had picked up along the way. The usual thing here, you know. But they were heading to church (as were we, actually) when the road was deceiving. Much of the rest of the road was already dried out by the sun. But this patch was in the shade, so . . . yeah, well, we got delayed.


The passengers all hopped out and continued on their journey to church. There was nothing they could do, anyway. As I looked to see what I could do, a quick crowd gathered. Some men offered to help push, but I had called guys from Ilula to come, so I told them so. Another man thought we should get a tractor to pull me out. Others just stood and stared. One asked if I had tried engaging 4WD. Ummm, no. (Of course I had. The car was, in fact, in Differential Lock Low. Not that I know what exactly that means. But it's supposed to be used "in likelihood of traction being lost." Today was a good time to try out DifLock. It didn't work. Not at first.)


So while everyone watched and the boys giggled at me starting to pick up rocks, I did just that. I started placing some rocks in front of the wheel. And behind it. Just so it had something to grip onto. Erin grabbed some more rocks. The boys stopped giggling, realizing we wazungu women were serious. They brought a few more. All in all, we must've just thrown about 10 rocks in front of the wheel and one behind it. Then I simply pulled forward and "Voila!" it went. Erin had to catch up down the road, when I got to solid ground.

Then we had to get the mud washed out from under the car. So we missed church today. Or, at least, we missed worshiping with others. Life here is church, many a day.

The rest of the day didn't hold nearly as challenging events as getting unstuck. No other rocks had to be hauled around, at least.

We met colleagues for lunch. Went to see their house in town. I had about 6 cups of chai in the process. Got sunburned and rained on in the same lunch hour. And after we picked up another colleague from the airport, we headed home while the rain was still coming down in a steady drizzle. Got home just before dark.

As I got home and visited with God about some challenges of the day, I wondered how often I get deceived by how simple something looks, only to get stuck. And Jesus reminded me that He is my rock. With him, I can get out of any mess.

I may still get out dirty on the other side, a reminder of my choices, but I'll get out. And then I can be cleaned up.

And so right now, it's time to go take a shower and get rid of the mud that's still holding on to my legs as evidence of this morning's delay. And then Jesus and I can continue our chat about life's lessons...

Got into the shower just to discover there is NO water coming out of the faucets tonight... TIA. TIA.

Learning from Hannah

Hannah was sitting on her bed in her 8' x 10' mud-walled room, some clothes bundled up behind her for support. The wooden shutter was pushed all the way the let in as much sunshine as one can get through a little hole in the wall. And today, it seemed like the sun was shining brightly outside and inside.

As I rubbed her feet, it was just skin and bones. As is the rest of her body, really. Her knees stand out like huge balls compared the the bony leg on either side. Yet, the most amazing joy filled the room.

She's hardly older than I am, this mother of four. "My mother used to be a very hard worker," her second-born, Nancy, told me as we walked to my car later. "She really struggled to put us through school. But my sister and I had just completed Form 4 (12th grade) when things got bad..."

Nancy's eyes welled up with tears. "Some days, I don't know if I can make it. I have asked God many times, why could I finish Form 4 and now I am stuck at home? He could heal my mother, and then I could continue with my life."

Nancy and her sister takes such good care of their mother. Nowhere on her body is there any sign of skin breakdown. Her hair is combed. Her sheets are clean. She is clean.

"Look!" Hannah had told me soon after I got seated at the foot of her bed. "It's so clean!" She reached her bony hand out and I admired it. It's not like they knew we were coming. We simply showed up at their house this morning in order to drop off some more meds. And good body moisturizer.

And chicken livers. Hannah had told us on Sunday that she's been craving chicken livers. A lot. As we handed her the bag with some papayas and the frozen chicken livers, she held it up in the air, thanking God sincerely for his provision.

At times, it's hard to make out what she says.

At first, it was hard to look at her.

But in the two visits I've paid to her home, Hannah has found a place in my heart. Today, she wanted to sing worship songs. "She really has a song in her heart," Nancy explained. Hannah started singing her favorite Luya chorus, and her daughter joined in. The other children and their father came to stand in the small doorway, next to the roosting chicken. They joined the singing.

Juli shared some thoughts from John 14 and 15 as everyone listened. We prayed Psalm 23 together in multiple languages, with Hannah sticking her bony arm into the air saying her only English phrase over and over. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

"God is so good, my daughters," she told us in Kiswahili. "He has done a good thing..."

I had to fight back the tears, amazed at this woman's faith.

When you look at her, you won't think she has anything to praise God for. But as Juli started another chorus and our colleague Phoebe continued leading song after song, the room was filled with the most amazing, spontaneous worship.

"I have not felt God's presence so strongly in a long time," Phoebe commented later.

It is true. God dwells in that room. He is the one who carries Hannah, the one who encourages her husband and the children. If one thing - no, two things - are evident, is that they love God, and that they love Hannah.

With this family, I honestly am believing that God will heal Hannah! Even though the odds are stacked against her.

Hannah has a huge tumor in her face. It showed up three years ago, and at this stage, it is inoperable. The tumor has destroyed much of the bone on the left side of her face. Her left eye, in fact, sort of sits on the side of her head. Her nose is deformed because of the tumor, so it's hard for her to breathe. It's also hard to swallow since the tumor is pushing into her mouth cavity. Some of her teeth have fallen out.

But today, Hannah was eating. Slowly. But she was eating. The meds we had taken on Sunday was helping. Yet she seemed more concerned about what we might be eating. "Are you having chai, my daughter?" she asked me. "Good!"

And she was singing. Hard as it was for her to sing, she sang. "It has been a while since I've sung," she said. "But God has put a song back in my heart."

Later, her husband poked his head back in the door. "I have a verse for you girls. You can read it at home. I believe it is for you. Go and read Hosea 2:19-20."

As we left, the family asked that we please come back. We will. Perhaps to encourage Hannah and Nancy. Perhaps to be encouraged by this family's faith.

What a gift it is to see God work in the lives of people like Hannah, and the Sifunas, and the countless others around me. What a gift to walk this journey with God. My God. My husband.

On a Lighter Note

Here are some of my favorite photos from safari earlier in the week. For more pictures, visit my Flickr site.

Crested crane with three chicks

A dead Thompson gazelle, having been dragged into a tree by a leopard and left there for a few days. The leopard came back for the rotting carcass on Saturday afternoon, and we missed her by just a few minutes!

Cheetah

I love the African sky. The sun was shining bright on the grass (which is ready for the millions of wildebeest and zebras who'll arrive for the migration in about 2 weeks' time), but the sky was gray with rain coming. You can't see any animals in the grass, but chances are great that some lions were watching us. I spotted a couple of lions on one drive merely by noticing one of their tails flicking above the grass once!

Not for the fainthearted

I've been reading an article on the CDC Web site, thanks to a comment on my earlier posting. And judging by the pictures and descriptions, it seems that this is precisely what the children down the road have: sand fleas, or jigger fleas. The condition is known as Tungiasis.

I looked at the pictures, and they look exactly like what the kids have! An excerpt from the article says, "The female jigger flea penetrates into the skin of its host, undergoes a peculiar hypertrophy, expels several hundred eggs for a period of <3 weeks, and eventually dies. ... Within 10 days, the flea increases its volume by a factor of approximately 2,000, finally reaching the size of a pea. Through its hindquarters, which serve for breathing, defecating, and expulsing eggs, the flea remains in contact with the air, leaving a sore (240–500 mm) in the skin; the sore is an entry point for pathogenic microorganisms. The preferred localization for jiggers is the periungual region of the toes, but lesions may occur on any part of the body."

So, tomorrow morning, Laura and I will go with Ruth to carefully remove more of the sand fleas from the children's fingers and toes and inspect their little bodies for other infections. I realized that what I thought were rocks embedded into the young boys' feet may in fact be stage 2 lesions, as the flea's egg sack is growing.

The challenge with removing the egg sack is that one can easily break the sack and release the hundreds of eggs right into the sore! So it's a tedious process, and a VERY painful one at that. I'll take some candy for the kids to chew on to distract them. We'll also bathe the little ones again.

Please pray for the little ones for continued healing! I saw the girls today, and they look a big perkier. But there's still a long journey ahead.

Please also pray for us who are going to help, for protection from the very flies that are attacking the little ones. And for continued wisdom and discernment in dealing with the issues at hand - issues far deeper than egg sacks burrowed under their finger nails...

Adele's Update | July 2007

As I walked into my home earlier this afternoon, I broke down crying, my heart aching in a way I have never before experienced. …

This morning, I met four children whose little faces are now etched in my mind. I had heard of them last week when someone mentioned in passing that there are two girls living in a little hut in the cornfields, and they take care of their baby brother.

On Wednesday, I sent food to them, and I ran into the two girls on the side of the road on Saturday. This morning, I went to their home with two friends. We took a mattress and bedding, and told them we’d be back in the afternoon. We wanted permission from their father to bathe them. Here’s their story, some of it told by the oldest girl, some related by their neighbors, some by the father.

Kiprop, Nancy Jepkemboi, Joanna Jemutai and Kiparono

Maybe a year ago, shortly after the birth of Kiprono, their young mother left. What exactly the story is behind this, we won’t know. The dad says the mom is a prostitute. I don’t know. But she left her three oldest children (Joanna Jemutai, a very small 9, Nancy Jepkemboi, maybe 6, Kiprop, 4?) in the care of their father. He says he went to fetch the baby a few months ago, when he found out that the mom was drinking with the baby tied to her back, and that the baby was starving.

But now their dad is hardly ever home. He works in the area, weeding people’s fields. Colleagues who live next door say the man doesn’t come home till late at night, and when he does come home, he’s usually drunk.

I’ve seen the girls on the side of the road a few times recently, carrying water. I always waved and smiled, and on Saturday, I had a Kenyan colleague with me, so I stopped and visited a little. As I headed home, I knew I had to do something! I shared with Ruth, a Kenyan friend, and she immediately said that when I go, she’d go with me. She’s been praying, asking God to show her if there are neighbors who she is to serve.

Yesterday, Karen (a friend visiting from the US for a few days) and I bought a mattress, some sheets, and a blanket. This morning, Ruth, Karen and I walked just 10 minutes or so down the road to visit the girls and take them the bedding. We knew they’d also need a bath, but wanted to ask the dad first if we could do that later this week.

When we walked up to their home, I called, “Hodi?” (“Can I come in?”)

A little voice answered from within, “Karibu!” (“Welcome!”) and the door of the wooden hut swung open. Joanna’s little face lit up as she saw me, and she flung her arms around my waist. She had remembered me from our meeting on Saturday. But more importantly, her smile said, “You remembered ME!”

The smell of urine hung heavily in the small room and around little Kiprop, whom I lifted onto my lap. The children don’t speak any English, and Ruth started visiting with them in Nandi (a dialect of Kalenjin). As she related their story to Karen and I, I couldn’t fight the tears. It’s impossible not to be moved by their story.

We told the children we’d be back in the afternoon, and as we walked home, I asked Ruth, “How is it possible that they’ve been our neighbors, and we’ve never known of them? How many times have I driven past their house with a car full of food, not knowing that they’ve not eaten for days?”

But now we know. We know their names and their faces. And more importantly, they are sleeping in a clean, warm bed tonight for the first time in years. And the children themselves are clean for the first time since their mother left. Getting them clean, though, is what caused me to break down crying today…

We did go back this afternoon, taking with us a tub of warm water, soap, Q-tips, Triple Antibiotic Ointment, Band-Aids, tootbrushes and toothpaste, and towels. We found their father, Silas, at home. Ruth explained to him that we were caring neighbors, and we visited for a while. He told her the story of their mother leaving and said yes, we can give the children a bath. (When Ruth’s husband Philip came later, he visited with Silas while the dad was chopping wood. He encouraged him that even though he lost his wife, he should take care of the children as not to lose them, too. Philip shared with him that though life seems hopeless, there is hope in Christ. Philip will go back to visit more with Silas, and he’ll help him rebuild the floor of the house as it’s below ground level, causing the wooden hut to flood every time there is rain.)

While Philip was visiting with the dad, Ruth, Karen and I bathed the little ones. One by one, we placed them on a wooden stool and bathed them in warm water. And as we started washing their little hands and feet, I could do nothing but pray for God to restore them. If I didn’t pray, I would have broken down there and then and sobbed.

Their little fingers were black with parasites eating away at the tissue. And so were their little feet. I could not get myself to look at the soles of their feet, but felt every little pebble embedded into the necrotic tissue. I cut their nails, but some were so infected that I couldn’t come near them or they’d start crying. The four-year-old was brave, however. Even as we cleaned out an oozing boil on his leg, he hardly flinched. But later, as I rubbed his body in coconut oil and dressed him in clean clothes, he lay his little head back against me, hungry for some motherly love…

When we were done, we asked the father if we could put the mattress, sheets and blanket on the bed. He agreed, hesitating at first. But Ruth explained that we would like to do that so we could send a picture to the friends who bought the mattress. (In fact, I know she said it to make sure the mattress gets on their bed, not his.) As I removed the layers of rags from their bed, I gagged. Three children have been sharing this bed, and in the seven months they’ve lived there, I doubt the urine-drenched rags have ever been taken outside.

Philip ran home to get some socks and shoes for the children, and as we waited, I sang songs to them and then took out a little bottle of bubbles from my pocket. It seemed so little, but the kids had never seen anything like it, and even little Jepkemboi who had hardly smiled all day broke into a smile as she tried to catch the bubbles floating by…

As we bid the family farewell, I had a sense of hope. These children will know that Jesus loves them! I believe they’ll get to go to school someday, too. For now, they’ll come to Sunday school. In fact, Jemutai had already come this past Sunday because Philip had walked by them on the road earlier in the week. She had asked him, “Will you take us to the wazungus (the white people)?” He said she’s welcome to come to our place on Sundays. And so she came. I believe her family will get to know Christ through her!

So, what am I to do next? I’ve asked Mama Chiri (a neighbor) to take them a quart of milk every morning. Ruth and I will visit them at least weekly and check up on their wounds. We’ll bathe the little ones, and Philip will keep reaching out to Silas through friendship. And we'll take them food from time to time.

1 John 3:16-17 has been on my mind since I first heard of these children. As I shared with the visiting team and our Kenyan colleagues tonight, several of us were crying. “Show us how to love, Jesus! May we not miss the opportunities around us to show your love.”

Thank you for touching my little neighbors’ lives today through being part of this journey.

(In the last photo, next to me is Jepkemboi, then Kiprop, Kiprono, Jemutai and Ruth.)

Traces of a Life Once Lived

I was heading out the movie theater this evening when a book caught my eye. (You've got to walk right through the book store at The Junction to get to the movies. It's like two of my favorite things in one!) It wasn't the title that caught my eye, really. It was the name of the author. Michael Finkel.

Mike Finkel? Can it be? How many Mike Finkels can there be? I skimmed the back cover. ... Montana ... Ah! It's the one and only.

I can pretend I have my finger on the pulse of what's happening in the world, especially in the publishing world. But I don't. Not any more. I remember hearing about the Times writer that got fired for fabricating parts of a true story. But I was in Addis when the story broke. I was out of touch with the real world, seeing just a glimpse of it as I walked by a television in some out-of-the-way Ethiopian restaurant. Honestly, my mind was focusing most of its attention on the realization that my Ethiopian driver was mistaking my friendliness for something more, that I needed to get home quickly. I did. But not before he started talking about the possibility of marriage. I know. Crazy. Just because I was asking about life in Ethiopia on the long drive to Addis.

But that's another story all together. One I'd rather forget. Or one I tell jokingly at times, "Oh, and then there was the time an Ethiopian proposed to me..." Back to my story.

Mike Finkel. Never met him in person, but I have edited several of his articles for our magazine in Taiwan. My favorite story of his tells of his quest to ski Kilimanjaro. But he'd also do bizarre things like ski runaway truck ramps. Just for the fun of it, that is. To say he did it. You can understand why I liked his writing, I'm sure.

Seeing his book reminded me that I wanted to look up another freelance writer from whom I'd often receive business articles for consideration. While I was catching up on friends' blogs yesterday, I saw someone (can't remember who!) said that a must-read is Who Are You People by Shari Caudron.

Seeing Mike's book and discovering Shari's book online brought back memories of spending hours upon hours reading through piles of magazines in search of the best articles to reprint, of editing 5,000-word articles into 720-word essays that would be discussed over three days' radio programs, of looking for the perfect pictures to accompany the said articles, and of always, always looking at other magazines in terms of their design. (What grabs my attention, and why? Or why not?)

And every time I think of life the way it was and life the way it is now, I smile at God's sense of humor. He couldn't have placed me in two worlds that could've been any more different! (OK, OK, I could've ended up living in Sudan. At least I have some luxuries in Kenya. But the differences extend far beyond ease of living. Culturally, rural Kenya and urban Taiwan is as far removed as, well, the East is from the West.)

I've been blessed to live in such diverse worlds.

"Your life just isn't normal," a friend commented today. I guess. But then, what is normal? In my world, my life's pretty normal. At least, I've never tried skiing Kilimanjaro.

Last Video: My update for 2006

Looking back: Mozambique

In the summer of 2003 and 2004, I took teams of students to Mozambique to serve with Iris Ministries in Maputo and Dondo. As I was walking down the road in Dondo, Central Mozambique, I sensed God asking me if I'd be willing to return to Africa.

Hope: Rwanda

This evening, I was watching a Joyce Meyer podcast. It looks at Rwanda and the atrocities that happened in that small African countries. You can download the programs from this site. Scroll down to February 5 and 6 and download the podcasts, then watch them on your computer using QuickTime.

This year, my hope is to spend time at ELI's base in Bukavu, in the D.R. Congo, where many Rwandan refugees have found a new home. I am praying that God will prepare my heart for what is lying ahead, that I will be able to share the Hope that we have in Christ.

Truth

Sometimes--if not always--it's easier not knowing the truth. It's easier going through life ignoring the truth and fooling oneself that everything's just wonderful.

One of many things that has caused me to travel down this road of seeking to know the truth, is seeing Blood Diamond today. It is an excellent movie (even though Leonardo DiCaprio's South African accent isn't consistent throughout the movie... But most non-South Africans will most likely not pick that up or be bothered by the inconsistencies.)

The movie made me feel very much like when I first saw Cry Freedom as an exchange student in New York... It saddened me immensely at that time that the bad guys in the movie spoke lines that possibly no-one but I understood as they were in Afrikaans, my mother tongue. Similarly, I do hope that the old man's line in the movie about oil (see the movie, you'll understand) would sadden Americans.

What does one do with knowledge such as that gained from a movie like Blood Diamond? I can certainly hope that it would affect consumers' behavior when it comes to purchasing the ring of their dreams. And beyond that, I don only hope that people will seek to learn more about child soldiers in other countries such as Uganda.

"If we refuse to embrace the truth," a friend recently said, "we are rejecting Jesus. He said, 'I am the way and the truth and the life.'" (John 14:6)

How can we know the truth and refuse the embrace it, yet say we believe in Jesus? Granted, Jesus wasn't talking about how one South African company controlled the diamond supply of the world and financing wars in order to keep the supply down. But I truly believe that His words do pertain to our social responsibilities, how we shop, what we speak out about.

As for me? Someday, if a man would decide to present me with a ring, I'd not want there to be a diamond in the setting.

I'll get off my soap box now.

*****
Tomorrow is Sunday. I'll be doing a 5-minute presentation in all four church services. How does one summarize a year's experience in 5 minutes? I can but pray that God would speak through me and touch lives with the knowledge of what He is doing in Africa.