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.

After the storm

This afternoon, we had one of our typical afternoon storms. Rain. Lots of it. Thunder. Lightning. Hail. More rain. I love the sound of it on my metal roof. But I always wonder which of my neighbors might have gotten caught in the storm as they're walking from one place to another...

After the storm, I put on my gumboots and a rain coat, and headed over the children's home for devotions. I love watching the kids sing and dance.

Rooney, dancing in his onesies! Got to love it!

Collins

Reading Bible

Improvising - using water barrels for drums

They get so excited about sharing their testimonies and memory verses! Kit, an intern, led the devotion, and then the kids were asked if they had payer requests. Hands went up and many kids all wanted to say they have to remember to pray for Jeptum!

Kit, leading devotions. The girl in front of him is Flovia. Read her story here. She came to us in May, too, severely malnourished. The staff nurtured her back to life. She's now the newest member of our children's home.

Jeptum (in the photo below) moved to our community in May. She's 17, and has diabetes that is out of control to the point that Jeptum is blind. Since she has moved here, staff and members of the home-based-care team have been taking care of her, trying to get her sugar levels under control so she can receive surgery.


Her condition has improved greatly, but not to the point yet that she can receive the eye surgery. The kids, however, have been fervently praying for her healing. I am joining them in believing God for Jeptum's healing!

I love being part of this community, where people care deeply about their neighbors. I am learning much from my Kenyan neighbors...

Heading back home, I chatted with some of the little neighbors, kids who go to our school and live in the dorm. They love having me take their pictures!

Then I stopped by the kitchen to visit with the staff who were cooking for a group of trainees. Here's Ruth (not one of the kitchen staff - she's our social worker).


I headed home, not sure what I'd cook tonight. I have lots of veggies in the house, and with it still being pretty cold after the storm, I made a pot of vegetable soup.


I took some to my neighbors, too, and am now ready to finish another book from my reading list. Right now, I'm reading a book on the traditional cultural practices in the Kalenjin culture. Though most of them are no longer practiced, there are still some remnants of these practices left today. In fact, even as I was working on a project with my colleague Mwei this morning, he was telling me about some of the traditions which are contrary to our Christian beliefs.

I'm learning much from my neighbors. All it takes is a curious mind, a listening ear, and a relationship built on trust.

Some of these components come easier than others.

At home with the Clarks

About six years ago, a quiet high school graduate walked into my office in Taiwan and with it, walked into my life. Jessie was an intern for the summer, and returned the next 2 summers. Her family lived in California, and when I was in LA for a Folio conference, I got to meet some of the Clark family. When APU offered me the opportunity to come and earn a master's degree the next year, Jessie's family offered me a place to stay. We thought it would be a part-time arrangement, me living in their garage-turned-into-a-bedroom. But we all decided that it was a good arrangement, so for two years, I was the GD/"garage dweller" at the Clarks'.

Tonight, I returned home to spend the week at their house while in SoCal for meetings at the ELI office. How very blessed I am to have such amazing friends in my world. As we sat around the dinner table tonight, telling stories and laughing, my heart was warm with love for this, yet another of my "adopted families."

I can say much about them and how they've blessed my life, but it's 1 am here, which means it's 3 back in Iowa... I'm tired. Time to sleep. I'm falling asleep to a worship song, "You are good." God is good, indeed!

Overwhelmed

Yesterday, I sent Sunday's post out as my January update. I've gotten an overwhelming response from friends all over the world, many sharing how they themselves have dealt with depression.

One of the lessons I'm learning from this chapter in my life is how, when we're authentic about our challenges, it begets authenticity from others. In the process, we can encourage and support others better. We can pray with insight

And that, my friends, is true community.