"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.

RIP, Kevin Kiprotich Busienei

I received sad news yesterday from Kipkaren.

My dear friends John and Veronica Busienei (or Bush, for short) lost their 8-year-old son Kevin. I have not yet heard what the cause of death was; I was just told that he was being treated during a short illness and passed away yesterday morning at 2 am.

Since Kevin's parents are the directors of Kipkaren Children's Home, Kevin spent much of his time with his 100 "brothers and sisters" at the home.

Kevin (on the left) with Collins and Rooney

Please pray for the Bush family as well as for the community in Kipkaren, especially the kids at the children's home, who are all too familiar with the pain and reality of death.

The funeral will be held on Tuesday.

Two other favorites

What I love most about this photo are the contrasts in color and age. This is Khoboso and her mom, Nabiro.

I was standing on the back of a pick-up and this girl was crammed in sitting with a bunch of other women. None of us could hardly move. But the ride saved them from the 10-mile walk. It also gave me a great vantage point for a cool picture.

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.

I don't get it.

Some say it's because they want to hold on to hope, and this gives them hope. Others say it's because "Now, Kenyans will be able to get US visas really easily." I think many think that the connection will benefit them in more ways than just for visas.

I have no doubt that they'll soon be disappointed. In the West, presidents' distant relatives don't usually benefit from their presidency.

But don't tell the Kenyans this. They're celebrating. BIG TIME. Even as I'm sitting here in Nairobi, drums are being pounded on Ngong Rd, not far from where I am. People stayed up all night last night to listen for the outcome. Tomorrow's been declared a national holiday. On national radio, people are saying that they'll just take Friday off, too. And today. 'Cause "a Kenyan son" is now president of America.

This morning, Obama's step-grandmother was waiting to hold a press conference. His step-brother had already had his...

Kisumu (where the said relatives live) are expanding their airport, making it big enough for Air Force One to land. They're hoping to have it ready by January. It's not a joke. Kisumu's mayor also announced today that the town has to prepare for a large influx of tourism. I'm not sure from where they hope the tourists will come. And for what. To visit "Mama Sarah?" (the step-grandmother)? I guess it goes back to the fact that they want to hold on to hope. Because in January, Kisumu was one of the worst-hit cities when their own presidential candidate was robbed of his victory.

Said one colleague of mine, "If Obama becomes President of America, it will show that America is truly democratic." We explained that the true test of democracy is if the person with the most votes actually becomes President.

For months now, matatus have been driving around with Obama's picture plastered on the back windows. Kenyan radio stations have been playing a local song declaring, "Vote for Obama. Vote for the red, white and blue." Except, Kenyans cannot vote in the US elections.

One guy interviewed in Kisumu this morning declared that "We are all African Americans." Maybe they're hoping to vote in the US elections in 2012. (Some Kenyans have been telling friends of mine that they believe Kenya will now become a state of the US, just like Alaska and Hawaii that's not attached, yet are states...)

I don't get it.

I don't think they do, either.

Some Europeans definitely don't get it. I was sitting at the airport this morning watching the news, when two people from Italy asked a British lady, "So, will Hillary now be vice president?" The Brit thought she would. I explained to them that Biden's the vice president. When his wife walked on stage, they all said, "Ah! There's Hillary!" I didn't correct them the second time around.

(I do understand that Kenyans are proud that someone who has relatives in this country is now the president-elect of the mightiest nation in the world. I don't understand that they think it's going to help them much. Except, of course, if they really believe they'll become a state. Or even a territory, for that matter.)

Anyway. I'm not going to get into political jabbering. Not here. Not now. I just think the national holiday(s) are over the top.

I was supposed to have an appointment at a seminary tomorrow. It'll have to wait till next week.

Speaking of which: My job search continues. I've had some very positive talks with one group, but due to the current economic situation, they've announced a hiring freeze. So the search continues. God knows I'm trusting HIM, and not any president of any nation or ministry, to open the right door to the right place...

I'm going to go to visit another ministry this weekend to see what they are doing. And to spend time in prayer. Going to a desert to do so. Praying that God will continue to guide my steps...

Walking in faith.

Saturday night

A nasty flu virus has been making the rounds in our province. This particular virus typically nails people for about 3 days. My body's been successful at fighting it off, till Thursday, when I started sniffing...

By Friday (during the graduation) my body was aching more and more, but I couldn't leave since I was supposed to take photos. By the time the ceremony was officially over and guests were having lunch (at 4 pm), I headed home, got into bed, and slept. Till the Salvation Army Band woke me up around 9 pm, playing their hearts out. But I got to rest, nevertheless. By the time they started playing again this morning at 7, I started thinking evil thoughts. But they left soon enough for the campaign, and after breakfast, I lay down and woke up only at noon! My body obviously needed the rest. I never sleep like that!

I got some reading done this afternoon, and feel a LOT better than I did yesterday this time! No fever. No aching body. I just am still coughing, and I sound like a base. But I feel much, much better. Tomorrow, I'm taking two interns to Kakamega Forest. I have a meeting in neighboring Kapsabet on Monday morning, so it helps that I don't have to drive the road by myself... I wouldn't mind getting away by myself for the day, but it's smarter to have some men in the car with me. And the guys are really excited about getting to go to the forest.

Here are some of my favorite non-graduate photos from yesterday's event.


I was up at dawn on Friday to catch some of the action on the compound. Here, graduates are getting ready for the Big Day by cleaning out their rooms.

In the kitchen, an assembly line was cooking fresh chapatis. Keep in mind, this was around 6 am. Lunch was only served at 4 pm. Since I was up so early, they offered me a fresh chapati, which I shared with all my friends in the kitchen.

The kids love eating clovers! I caught Naomi pulling out clovers from the flower beds while the ceremonies were going on (and on).

This little one is called Navy. He belongs to a neighbor, Mama Sifuna.

Solomon is the son on David Tarus, our director.

Two more neighborhood kids. I don't know the little one on the left's name, but the smiley face on the right is Brenda, another one of Mama Sifuna's kids.

For more photos from the day's events, visit my Flickr page.

Chicken Anatomy 101 ... and The Art of Making Friends

Today, I stripped the guts out of a few chickens. For real. I didn't kill the said birds, nor did I de-feather them. But I walked into the training center kitchen this afternoon, where staff were busy preparing for tomorrow's graduation. Which included the gutting of a half dozen chickens.

We're expecting 500 guests tomorrow for the SACDP graduation, and you don't send people home without feeding them. They will have traveled from far. The family & friends of the graduates (as well as any curious neighbors) will be fed rice and "soup" (sauce with perhaps a bit of meat in it, if you're lucky). The guests of honor (the chief of the village, the speaker for the event, the ELI Board and about 50 other very lucky people) will be fed rice pilaf, chicken, beef, and sodas.

So I found Miriam and friends gutting chickens. "May I join you?" I asked. There's nothing like bonding with Kenyans ladies in a kitchen.

"Have you ever slaughtered a chicken?" they wanted to know.

"Never! Will you teach me?"

Which they did. Miriam showed me how to cut open the backside ever so carefully. "Don't rupture anything! Now carefully cut the hole bigger and bigger so you can get your whole hand into the back end."

"Don't cut your finger!" Oops. Too late. The knife is terribly blunt for a job like this, and my knuckle is stinging. It's but a flesh wound, I console myself.

"Pole," they say. (Sorry.)

"Let's continue," and I do my best not to be a weakling. (Hours later, the cut on my thumb knuckle is bleeding and throbbing. But I'd never complain to my Kenyan neighbors about a triviality like that. It would only prove that we wazungu really are chickens.)

Next, you cut off the neck. "Don't rupture the crop. That will smell badly." Succeeding at the simple procedure of removing the crop (how on earth does one chicken eat so much corn?!) makes me feel like I've just mastered the art of kung-fu.

"Now, put your hand in the opening you had cut in the back. Just use two fingers. Release all the intestines. Be careful not to..." You know the schpiel by now. Don't rupture anything. But how on earth do you pry loose all the guts and not rupture something!

"Make sure you can see your fingers all the way at the neck, so you can pull out the esophagus." Done. The esophagus, heart, spleen, liver, stomach, the large and small intestines, the rectum all come out with a huge plomp! But they're still attached to the final exit.

"Now, you cut that out." No more warnings of rupturing anything!

The final steps are to clean the carcass by getting the lungs out. They sit like two little pink sponges, tucked in tightly in the rib cage. There are also little bubbly thingies stuck to the back bone. "What are those bubbles?"

They laugh at my ignorance. "Those are eggs. These used to be layers. But now they're old."

And dead, I think. But I don't say it, 'cause my sense of humor just doesn't translate. And then I get to fillet open the stomach ("That's the grinder," my friends inform me) and remove the contents and the inner lining.

I feel like an accomplished concert pianist, wanting to make a bow. But I don't. I realize that this is a simple procedure that my friends have performed since they were adolescents. I honestly don't mind that I've had to wait for today to do this and learn from my friends.

"Here's another one. See if you can do this on your own. This is your test." I'm glad to say I passed. With honors, they say. But I think they're just being polite.

Later, after preparing my own chicken for dinner (simple: take the thawed chicken out of the plastic bag, remove the plastic bag of gizzards and keep for my helper, and pop the chicken in the toaster oven), I go for a walk on the compound. I hear laughter from the kitchen. My new friends are sitting down, having a cup of chai. "Join us!" they invite me. Which I do. I try to follow the conversation in Swahili, and ask Miriam every so often what a word means. I'm learning, even though it's taking time.

Walking back to my home, I peek into my neighbor's home. "Rebecca, do you have dinner plans? Not yet? Join me. And bring anyone of your choice."

During dinner with Rebecca and Ruto, they ask about my music. "Where does it come from?" I introduce them to the strange world of an iPod. Conversation becomes more serious, and Ruto asks, "Aren't you lonely here?"

As singles, they, too, can understand some of the loneliness we all face. We end the evening by praying together. They had shared with me some of their burdens, and together, we take them before the throne of our God who knows our hearts, our struggles, our desires.

I didn't get all the tasks done on my list for today, but I thank God that the spontaneous events that did occur today (especially those that I don't get to write about here), ones that were obviously on his agenda for me today.

And I'm thankful that nothing ruptured. In fact, the opposite happened. My heart was connected with those of some of my neighbors through simple acts of community and friendship.

For that, I'm infinitely thankful. It was worth the cut on my thumb. In the process, my neighbors were reminded that when cut, we all bleed just the same.

Life

Yesterday, I took a visiting team to our AIDS campaign nearby. I saw this kid wearing this T-shirt which I thought was pretty funny since he'd have no idea what video games are...

The sky was a dark, dark gray, and not wanting to be caught in the heavy rain storm, we left before the event came to a close. I was particularly anxious to get home since I knew that the vehicle I was driving (one of our ministry vehicles), was less-than-perfect for the muddy roads, and as it were, the roads at our center were a muddy mess from several other 4WD vehicles having gotten stuck the night before. When I pulled into the center about 30 minutes later without having gotten stuck, I praised God from the depths of my heart.

This morning in church, Dennis came and crawled up on my lap. The children sang their hearts out and danced and danced for hours in worship (I'm not exaggerating). It really was good to be back in church.

This afternoon after lunch, I baked some cookies and took it over to the new team gazebo by the river.

Every so often, we'd watch a child or a grandma cross the river on foot. The water is getting dangerously high (up to waist-level for the kids), but the reality for them is that they'd have to walk a mile or so to get to the nearest bridge.
This gazebo is my new favorite hang-out spot! It's perfect for early-morning times with God... The team and I (with Michelle) played a round of Phase 10. It reminded me of the night after the attack on my car, when we girls got together to play Phase 10 and diffused some of the tension through lots of laughter.

"What attack on your car?" you might ask. While I was in the US and talking about some of the events that transpired at the start of the year, I remembered that I never posted the story on my blog due to the sensitive nature thereof. So, just so you know, I'll post an excerpt below from an e-mail I had sent friends.

But before posting it, I want to make it clear that things are fine here now. I'm thrilled that our community is talking about changes that need to happen within the church (i.e. in our community's hearts, not the corporate church).

It's bizarre to even think that these events were such a reality just a few months ago. But the evidence of the clashes remain in burnt-down houses and tented camps along the road which never used to be there... At least the remains of the burning truck to which I refer in the letter was finally removed from the side of the road last week.

Here's what I wrote on January 31, 2008:

Today was one of the scariest days in my life. Or perhaps THE scariest one ever.

Everything seemed peaceful this morning. So much so that our director called and asked if I'd like to go to town. He knew I needed to draw money. (The lady who helps clean my house has no other source of income. If I don't pay her, she literally cannot buy food. So I needed to go to the bank.) I agreed to drive.

The road to town was somewhat normal. There were about 3 vehicles still smoldering from unrest 2 days ago. But all the roadblocks were out of the way. Things seemed as normal as it can at this time.

In town, everything seemed truly normal. I went to the bank and did a few other errands, like stocking up on cat food and buying groceries that would last me a while.

Then I went to Tusker's to wait for the rest of the group. As my colleague Michelle and I were sitting in the parking lot, chaos broke out. People were running everywhere. Police came charging down the road. A man ran to my car shouting "MOVE! YOU'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!" But I couldn't. The rest of the people were in the shop, which had been immediately closed. So we locked the doors and waited.

David (our director) came running. "Get in the back!" he shouted. I moved. But we weren't going anywhere. The rest of the people were still in Tusker's.

Slowly, the chaos died down. News came that an opposition MP had been shot right in Eldoret, by a policeman! Then emergency calls started, with people shouting, "Ooooooo-wi!" That's the way they shout when there's a crisis. These cries were for people trying to steal street vendors' goods. We sat in my car watching opportunists trying to steal from vendors and others chasing them... We could do nothing but wait and watch and pray.

Finally, the rest of the group came. About 12 of them, I think. And everyone had LOTS of supplies. We tied one bag of school supplies (worth about $100) onto the roof of my Land Rover, along with a metal trunk for one girl's move to high school next week. Plus 2 mattresses, for that same girl and one boy, for school dorm. EVERYONE crammed into the car. I don't know how, but we did.

But then we managed to finally get through on the congested cell phone network to our second driver, who was elsewhere in town trying to reach us. He returned and took most of the people while 5 of us stayed in my car plus all the supplies were still with us.

We stopped on our way out to fill my tank with diesel (in case we may have had to flee by car later and would need fuel). Then, at Mayine, a little town right outside Eldoret, things were BAD. (For those of you who've been here/know the area, it's when you pass the first Muslim mosque on your right.) A truck was on fire right on the road. "We've got to keep going," David said. There was no way we could turn around. He had to drive right into the mob.

And then we were surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of angry men. David had his window down just a bit, trying to tell them that we're from the area and we work with orphans, that we're Nandis, that they should let us through. Meanwhile, people were banging against the car, hitting the windows with what sounded like iron pipes!!! I literally sat with my arms in the air praying out loud for God to protect us from the evil that surrounded us. As I was sitting in the passenger seat, people are banging against my window too, shouting for me to give them money. I looked right into the eyes of a man standing in front of my car with a football-sized stone, ready to throw it right at me. I just prayed!!! David told one of the guys, "Tell that man not to throw the stone at us." The guy said, "Hey, don't hurt the bishop!" He knew who David was. So the guy didn't throw the rock...

Guys had climbed on top of the car in the meantime and got the bag of school supplies and both mattresses.

When the men started shouting "Burn the car!" and "Give us the white girls!" David just started driving, because you could FEEL the heat from the burning trucks which were about 10 feet from us. (I honestly believe God opened a path through the mob. There's no way we could just get through!) Then we heard one rear sliding window break, and next, a pomelo-sized rock came through the rear window. There was glass all over, but no-one was hurt. Not even a bit. (If there were people in the back, it would've been different!) David went through about 3 more road blocks like that, just telling the guys in Nandi, "What are you doing?? We're just going home!" When one guy came at the car with a pick axe, David said, "Don't hurt the doctors!" The guys assumed we were medical doctors and said, "Pole!" (Sorry!) But you could just see the evil in people's eyes. It was scary!

As soon as we could, we got off the main road and took back roads. We must've passed through another 20 road blocks easily! There were signs on the road blocks saying things like "STOP. ODM ROAD BLOCK." But now we were in Nandi country, and people knew David, so we were let through everywhere. It was still scary, though. At one place, guys came at the car with bows and arrows, and more rocks, of course, and machetes, but David just calmly talked us through all those blocks to the point that everyone wanted to shake hands with us in the car!

By the time we were about 5 miles from home, the side window fell out. It had been completely shattered. The rear window just has a big hole in it and is completely shattered, but it's still in place. There's not a single other scratch or anything on the car!

I can honestly tell you that I had NEVER been so thankful to pull up to our center!

I KNOW that I know that I know God protected us. BIG TIME. How else does a mob bang on your windows and only ONE window shatters from the banging, but doesn't break and allow the guys to loot the car?? (The rear window was different. It was a rock thrown from further away. But it didn't hurt anyone!)

The second car reached home shortly after us, having gone through a lot of stuff but nothing quite like our ordeal.

Tonight, I thank God for his protection.

I stared evil in the eye. I hope I never have to go through anything like this again.

I am not planning on going to town again at all until I have to leave for Ethiopia for class later in February. When we're in the village, we're safe. But please, please keep praying for God's protection on us, and on every vehicle.

Today, 5 months after that terrible day, I praise God that deep changes are occurring in our community, and that we have not lost hope since we have not lost faith in Christ. As a community, I believe we're walking through this and coming out stronger.

It's been an eventful year so far. One I won't forget easily, I'm sure.

Impasse

This morning's news is the same as yesterday. Kenya's opposition has withdrawn from talks as the government isn't sticking to the 50-50 power sharing agreement mediated by Kofi Annan earlier this year.

This far, there has been no news of protests from Eldoret area. For that, I praise God! This is the essence of the issue right now according to AFP.

Kenyan newspapers urged the leaders to end the stalemate that touched off fresh protests in the capital's slums and western city of Kisumu in the past two days.

"There are legitimate fears that if the impasse is not speedily resolved, Kenya will slide back to the kind of violence unleashed in the wake of the disputed presidential elections," top selling Daily Nation said an editorial, which appealed to Kenyans to remain calm.

"Tensions are already running high. President Kibaki and Mr Odinga are squarely responsible for leading Kenya out of a possible quagmire. They cannot afford to wait until there is another explosion before moving frantically to put out the fires.

"The two leaders must meet immediately, without preconditions and without threats, and live up to the expectations of their people by forming the unity government in line with the accord they signed," it added.

Canada joined the United States, the European Union and Britain in calling for a quick resolution of the problem that has scarred the country's image as a tranquil zone at the heart of a tough, conflict-ridden region.

Not good

So, things seem to be heating up in Kenya again. Not good. Not good at all.

"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.

Her Majesty, the Queen

I was working on my book reviews this morning when two members of staff headed my way. “Have you seen the queen termite before?” they asked with a smile. And they produced this thing.
Yikes, indeed.

Want to take a closer look?

It’s as big as it looks. And as gross. Not sure if it’s eggs inside or live larvae, but her whole body was moving. I was afraid she might give birth to thousands of termites in front of my eyes.

Actually, it would be millions. According to this page on Wikipedia, "one queen rules over five million of her offspring. And she's 20,000 times bigger than her subjects."

Rather than do what my gut told me to do ("RUN!") I did what I knew I should do ("Shoot it!" As in, with the camera.) I wanted to share the moment with you all, so I photographed her. When I showed the picture to another Kenyan colleague later, he commented dead seriously, “That one, she must be soooo sweet!”

Crunch… Or perhaps she'd be chewy. Or mushy. But not a chance under the sun is she tasty!

By now, you may think I have a fascination with bugs—termites in particular. I don’t. There are just a number of them around these days. Hence my third post on this topic for this week.

Earlier this morning, I did a photo shoot at the school. I like this picture. It's all of our teaching staff at "Brook of Faith Academy."

A wild life.

I love how untamed life still is around here. To some extent, at least. Though there are no longer zebras on our main roads (not in this part of Kenya, but in other parts, yes), we have our share of critters. And because of the rains today, they seemed to all have wanted to come out and party.

I was sitting outside for most of the day, trying to get through a rather dry text book. I was happy to be distracted by lots and lots of birds. A bee-eater kept stopping by, and I'd watch it dive through the sky to catch insects. Same with the malachite kingfisher, probably my favorite of small birds.


The white-browed robin-chats were all over the place, coming after the goodies that had just been dug up by the tractor in preparation for planting. And the blue flycatchers seemed everything but blue. They were bouncing all over the place. The yellow weavers were rather raucous! The males have been working very hard at weaving perfect nests from the branches hanging over the river, and they seemed intent on making sure the right females catch their eyes and they'd soon fill those nests with eggs... The cinnamon-chested bee-eater seemed to be the only solitary bird out there today. (Can you spot him in the tree?)


Colleagues stopped by for lunch and shared how they saw a dik-dik along their walk. It had been caught and slaughtered. "Those big eyes looked like they were still alive!" they said. I felt sorry for the creature. This smallest of the African antelopes are hardly bigger than a hare. And they're fiercely loyal to their partners, to the point that if one gets killed, the other would starve itself to death, or even do something as serious as jumping off a cliff. So, within a few days, there's bound to be a second dead dik-dik in the area.

Later this evening, while I was enjoying home-made sushi for dinner, I saw something in the corner of my eye. Hop. Hop-hop-hop. A frog. Just a little one, though. I carefully helped him find the way out.


Not the same for the next two critters, though. A huge, fat spider ran across the kitchen floor. Squish! Fortunately, I was wearing shoes.

The grossest of them all, though, was when I opened my eyes in the shower after rinsing my hair, and I kid you not, there was a slug no shorter than the length of my hand and at least the width of my thumb, just clinging onto the wall. I didn't want to throw him out the window since he's bound to eat my tomato plants. So he might currently be trying to find his way out of our sewage tank. Flush!

Fortunately, that was the extent of the critters around my house for tonight. The other night as I was walking home from dinner at friends' house, I saw something move in the beam of my flashlight. It was a huge snake, crossing the road in front of my friends and I. We let it pass before we continued our journey. But after I sent staff out on assignment to take photos after the workshop I presented on Tuesday, one came back with this picture... It might be the same snake we ran into. I doubt it. I cannot remember ours having markings like this. With all the plowing going on at this stage, these guys are bound to be coming out of hiding to find someplace safer.


I've closed the window for the night. Flannel will just have to stay indoors. I don't want any more critters coming into the house tonight.

"The Dentist and the Crocodile"

That's the poem I read to many of the rooms tonight. The kids were giggling as I read it. "Adele," they'd ask, "do some people really keep crocodiles as pets?"

The poem is one by Roald Dahl, my favorite children's author, and from a book my friend Tom had sent. I love reading poems to the kids. Especially Roald Dahl's.

Other than visiting with the kids about crocodiles and, of course, pet chameleons (since I used to have one), and chatting about how Flannel is (since they had found her when she was a kitten and in terrible shape), the kids were telling me about the unrest in this area.

"We were really scared, Adele," Vitaline confessed. "Especially the day Shadrach was almost slaughtered (!). You know Shadrack, our Sunday school teacher..." and she went on telling me how the son of Linus and Angelina, two of our staff, had been captured, blindfolded, and made to count dead bodies, then told he's the next one... It was an act of God that he wasn't killed, truly! These kids had already been through so much in their short lives. It's sad that they've had to see their world crumble again.

"But now we are fine," Vitaline declared with the biggest smile. "God is good. We are safe. When will the interns come?" I had to tell them that I don't think we'll have interns this year. "Aaaaah, Adele. Why? Because people think there's no peace?"

How do you explain to them that yes, there's peace, but things are simply still too volatile in Kenya. You don't. You just say, "Right now, we cannot have teams or interns. But they will come again. Don't worry."

I got to read to all the rooms and explain to them that I'll be away for a while since I'll be attending class in the US and need to attend to business there. "But will you come to guardians' day next weekend?" they all asked. I assured them that I'd try my best.

It was like balm to my soul to hang out with the Ilula kids for a bit. I came this afternoon, after doing a photo shoot at Kipkaren, and pulled into the compound just as the first big rains of the season started to fall. You could hear the kids coming down the road from school, passing my house, saying, "Adele's car is here! Adele is here!" I went to invite them for a movie, and they were giddy with excitement. We watched Ratatouille, and the kids giggled at Remy and Linguini's antics. (At first, because it's almost Easter, I considered bringing the Jesus Film for Kids--honestly one of their favorite movies--but decided that after the intense few months they've had, they needed a movie that would make them laugh. They usually memorize some lines from the movies and entertain each other for weeks quoting silly lines. Or for years, sometimes. Last week, when I visited them, they were still quoting lines from The Gods Must Be Crazy, and we watched that almost 2 years ago!)

I love these kids. I miss them a lot. My relationship with the kids in Kipkaren is nowhere like my relationship with the Ilula kids. Partly because my work in Kipkaren keeps me much busier. Partly because of language barriers (the Kipkaren kids' English isn't nearly as good as the Ilula kids'). Partly because I've chosen to focus on adult ministry in Kipkaren. But it doesn't make me miss the kids any less.

One of the boys, in a letter about the post-election violence, drew pictures of the gate to the home, how it had been decorated with branches and a gourd, to show that it's a Kalenjin institution. Today, as I drove here, I noticed house after house still having gourds hanging by the door. To me, it's unsettling to see remnants of the violence. It's like the burned-down homes and shops along the way. Or the huge rocks still lying on the side of the road, all reminders of what transpired since December 31.

So, tonight after dinner, I went to every room, read to them, chatted with them, prayed with them, answered their questions, and hugged each and every one of them. Because the memories of the past few months won't go away soon. But little by little, they can be replaced by new, good memories.

The journey to healing is still long. But it has begun. For that, I praise God!

Old friends

This morning, Juli and I went to visit Hannah's family. I hadn't seen them since she passed away, and both of us were missing the family who had very much become like our own after our weekly visits to their home. As we drove the all-too-familiar road to their house, driving up the really rocky final stretch (the part of the drive where I thank God every single time for my incredible car), I so wished we'd find our friend by her back door, on her 1"-thick mattress pad, basking in the sun. But at the same time, it was very comforting to know that Juli no longer has to try and figure out how we can adjust her medications to alleviate the growing pain. She was now with Jesus, singing her heart out, I'm sure.

We walked up to the Bandes' humble home, and Nancy immediately came to greet us. She gave me the biggest hugs, and her eyes filled with tears, possibly from joy to have us back with them, or with pain of remembering her mom. Who knows.

During all our other visits, we either joined her in the sun, or, if she were in bed, we'd make ourselves at home at the foot of her bed. Today, for the first time ever, we sat in their simple living room. And we visited about life. Like always, we sang together, and prayed together, promising we'll be back. We won't forget them.

But as we drove off, Juli commented how things are just not the same anymore at the Bandes. Hannah's spunk was missing. Her daughter Nancy has a bit of it, though, and we had laughed with her when she was acting in a way that so closely resembled her mom. But we miss Hannah. A lot. As does her family.

***

I found out today that I will be able to come to the US for a missions conference at my church in Iowa early April. I don't know my specific travel schedule yet, but I do know that I'll be spending time in the Midwest, some time at our office in the LA area, and then some time in the Northwest for class.

I look forward to seeing many of you soon!

Sights and Sounds of Kipkaren Tonight

Tonight, after dinner, I walked over to greet the kids. I was very thankful that I had remembered my torch (translate: that's a flashlight in British English), 'cause the moon was but a sliver in the sky. I wouldn't've been able to see the bumpy road at all, had it not been for my light. Not that I've not walked the road in the pitch dark before. It just goes much slower then, especially in the parts where I know the potholes are. :)

It seemed like crickets, frogs and a plethora of other bugs were going at it tonight, singing their hearts out. I could even hear the river. Across the river, on the hill, neighbors were burning their field, preparing it for planting new maize soon. Both the sounds and this sight reminded me of but a month or so ago when you could hear emergency cries throughout the village, and it wasn't fields burning but homes.

Most of the older kids were in evening study hall, so it was just the young 'uns in their rooms. "Hodi?" I'd call at every room. "Karibu, Adele!" they'd shout and get up from the table in the center of the room where they were reading.

The kids here pronounce my name funny, so to imagine their little helium voices, you've got to say it like they do: Ah-tel!

And then, one by one, they'd give me hugs.

"Habari zenu?" (How are all of you?)

"Mzuri!" (Fine!)

"Habari ya shule?" (How's school?)

"Mzuri!"

And so on and so forth. You have to ask about everything. School. Your brothers and sisters. The dorm parents. Their exams. Then bring greetings. From their friends at Ilula, especially. Their little faces lit up every time I told the different room that their brothers and sisters in llula send greetings, that they've been praying for them, that they miss them. And that I've missed them, too.

"Even us, we've missed you," they'd say.

But unlike at Ilula where the kids are much more used to me and tend to ask a million questions (this past weekend's questions included "Why is Israel attacking Palestine?" "How does inflation work?" "What's the smallest country in Africa?" "When are the Kipkaren kids coming to visit us?" "When will you be coming back to see us?" "Will we see a movie then?" "Can we see the Bushmen movie again?" "Where were all your classmates from?" "Is there a war in Angola?" "Have you been to Angola yet?" "How long can the South African president be in office before he has to retire?"), the Kipkaren kids wait for me to ask them questions.

It could simply be that the bigger kids who can actually hold a decent conversation in English are usually at study hall when I go to visit, and since my conversational Swahili is more limited than their English, we don't usually visit too long.

"Welcome again," they'd say when I leave. "Karibu tena!"

It seems like such a futile practise, really, just popping in for a while, chatting about their homework, looking at their test papers, giving out hugs, but every mom I ran into afterwards was telling me, "The kids told me you came to visit. They are so excited." I guess it's the mere fact that someone not in their direct family circle cares enough to come and say good-night, to come and give out hugs.

Ziporah, one of the moms I ran into, invited me in for chai. I promised to come back later in the week as I had already told Emily that I'll come for chai. I want to go and visit with Ziporah. She told me briefly about life the past 2 months, about her family having lost their homes in our area, about how painful it is to walk past where her mom used to live and see only the charred remains of their home, to see neighbors wearing her brothers' clothing...

Later, after chai at Emily's, I pop my head into the last home to say good-night. The older kids are still at school. It's shortly before 9. "What are you going to do now, Adele?" one kid asks.

"I'm going to study," I explain. The little ones giggle. They cannot imagine me having to study at night. (And really, I do have to read at least a few chapters from one of my texts tonight. Just wanted to be sure to write an update first.)

When I walk back home, the stars starting to fill the sky from horizon to horizon, it is with a song of praise in my heart for these little ones, for little Dennis who wanted to read me every word on his test page in his raspy voice, for Rooney who giggled when I recognized him in the dark, for Eulita who just about knocked me over she ran so fast to hug my legs.

For a long time, I didn't want these kids to get too close, to take the space in my heart of my kids in Ilula. But more and more I realize that there truly is space for all of them. All 200.

Highs and Lows from the Past Two Days

1. (H) Being back in the Eldoret area, in my own car!
2. (L) Being weary of the young guys on the side of the road, wondering if they were part of the mobs that burned down homes, cars, and chased away neighbors.
3. (L) Seeing several homes and businesses in the Ilula neighborhood burned to the ground.
4. (H) Seeing the kids! I stopped by the Sifunas' home first to greet them, and then went to Ilula. I hadn't seen those kids since their Christmas party. They came running, shouting "Adele! Adele!" when I pulled into the Ilula compound.
5. (H) Giving and receiving hundred-some hugs! Each and every child came to hug me.
6. (L) Not seeing little Kanmau... I found out later that he's down with toncillitis, and was able to go and see him today.
7. (H) Seeing many of the staff. They're amazing people, really. The night watchmen came to my house to greet me and announced joyfully, "Happy New Year, Adele!" Due to the post-election violence, many people are really celebrating now for the first time that it's a new year...
8. (H) Having dinner at the Ronos' home.
9. (L) Hearing from them some of the details of all that had transpired around the Ilula area...
10. (H) Catching up with Don and Amy by phone.
11. (L) Waking up to terrible winds blowing for what seemed like hours throughout the night! And since this is the height of the dry season, the dust finds its way into everything. My counters, plates, cups, everything was covered in a thin layer of red dust this morning. Yes, yes, the windows were closed.
12. (H) Hearing the kids sing worship songs at the top of their lungs during Sunday school.
13. (L) Seeing the kids' faces when they realized I was really leaving again for Kipkaren...
14. (L) Seeing more of the devastation in the neighborhood and all along the way to Kipkaren.
    
15. (H) Seeing friends and neighbors at Kipkaren.
16. (H) Being welcomed home by Flannel. She's not the most affectionate cat around, but she literally came to sit with her front paws on my feet as if to say, "Don't go away again!"
    
17. (H) Getting all my stuff unpacked and my new picture hung.
    
18. (H) Having incredible chicken parmesan with rice and crunchy green beans at William and Michelle's house.
19. (H) Getting to bed at a decent hour. Or so I hope, at least.
    
20. (L) Having issues trying to post photos along with this entry. Click on the pictures on the right to see some photos from Ilula.
    

Here's the Deal

Below are the details of the power-sharing deal signed by the government and opposition last week. It's hard to believe that getting both parties to agree to these eight points cost the country so dearly.

• The post of prime minister will be created, with the holder having the authority to co-ordinate and supervise the execution of government functions.
• The prime minister will be an elected member of parliament and the parliamentary leader of the largest party in the National Assembly, or of a coalition if the largest party does not command a majority in parliament.
• Two deputy prime ministers to be appointed, one to be nominated by each member of the coalition.
• The prime minister and deputy prime ministers can only be removed if the National Assembly passes a motion of no-confidence with a majority vote.
• A cabinet to consist of a president, vice-president, prime minister, two deputy prime ministers and other ministers.
• The removal of a minister of the coalition will be subject to consultation and agreement in writing by the leaders.
• The composition of the coalition government will at all times take into account the principle of portfolio balance, and reflect the parties' relative parliamentary strengths.
• The coalition will be dissolved if the current parliament is dissolved; or if the parties agree in writing; or if one coalition partner withdraws from the coalition.

Oh, the joys of international travel

I've flown Ethiopian Airlines (ET) six times in my life. Of this rather small sampling of their services, I've not been impressed. They have yet to prove to me that they are capable of having an on-time departure.

This morning's flight to Nairobi was rather comical, quite honestly. The check-in area was semi-chaotic. There was a group of 30-some cyclists on the same flight as I. They are riding from Cairo to Cape Town, but are skipping Kenya due to the unrest. So they rode to the border, bussed back to Addis, and are flying to Arusha. (Some are taking a detour to Uganda, or Lalibela.)

Either way, they can't be the reason for the chaos. They're just ordinary passengers, like I am. Their bikes were being carted by road, so that didn't cause a delay. But every so often, an ET official steps up and calls all the passengers going to such-and-such a place to urgently step up. When it came to "Passengers to Nairobi/Kilimanjaro," the guy's eyes just grew big when he saw that there were still several of us in line.

We finally made it through check-in, headed through customs and then upstairs, falling in line for the second X-ray, one at the gate. This took ages, and soon enough, a semi-frantic officer was walking up and down again, calling, "Passengers to Nairobi/Kilimanjaro?!" He then diverted us through a different gate (1A) to ours (1), but soon we were all herded back to 1A again, downstairs, and told to form one line. (Except, you cannot get roughly 250 people to form a single line in a small room.)

And then ensued a huge argument. One group of ground staff were confronting a second group for bringing us down too early. (By then, however, it was already past boarding time.) Their fight continued for a good 20 minutes easily, until they herded us onto busses, carted us off to a plane on the other side of the runway, where we sat again for another 15 minutes or so.

When the captain finally addressed us, he didn't even find it necessary to apologize for the delay and any inconvenience it may have caused. C'est la vie, right?

Fortunately, I didn't have a connecting flight. I really wasn't in a terrible hurry. Just wanted to get to my destination for today: a colleague's home in Nairobi.

But first, I had to
a) find both pieces of checked luggage (one piece, the one with my toiletries and my books in), seemed to have been left behind in the rush of getting out of Addis, or it wasn't unloaded from the plane and was en route to Kilimanjaro. They promised it would be here tonight. (Which it isn't. They're hoping it will be on tomorrow's flight. I'm REALLY hoping it is on that flight. All my clean clothes are in there!)
b) go to the British Airways office to follow up on a damaged luggage claim from 11 months ago. For the past just-less-than-a-year, BA has been telling me, "Come back next time." But praise God for the supervisor I got to talk to today. She apologized for the delay in getting my luggage back to me and asked me to go and purchase a new bag and bring her the receipt tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, my other piece of luggage will have made it from Addis, well rested and possibly fluent in Amharic.

All that to say: It's good to be back in Kenya. There's a definite change in atmosphere here! But my taxi driver on the ride from the airport was quick to tell me, "It would be difficult to trust our neighbors again! In fact, we were very ready for war last week!"

I'm working on a follow-up project for class in the city this week, after which I'll be returning to the village. I especially look forward to seeing the kids in Ilula. It has been far too long since I've seen them. My heart truly longs to sit with them and hear their stories, to hear what they felt, to pray with them, and to laugh with them.

It's good to be back, though some uncertainty about the way toward healing in Kenya still lingers.

P.S. A day later and I have my second piece of luggage back (it had indeed stayed on for perhaps a massage in Addis), and I got a debit card from BA today for the cost of a new piece of luggage. Nice. Very nice.