Doctor?

Today, during free choice playtime, three of my kids were playing doctor, as is usually the case. I decided to have an impromptu mini-field trip for them, and took them to our nurses' office, where they marched in declaring that their babies needed to see another doctor.

Here are some photos from the visit. What can I say? My kids are cute! And I love that they could make the nurses chuckle, too!




I'd also love to have the ones who play in the kitchen visit our school kitchen, I think! Who needs long field trips when you can do fun stuff like this??

Yes, I love my job. Especially on days like today.

"Miss Booysen, where does pasta come from? And cheese?"

We were talking about things we're thankful for again this morning. Says my one kid: "I ate pasta last night, Miss Booysen. I'm thankful for pasta! Oh, Miss Booysen? Where does pasta grow?"

We'd been talking about veges recently, and made a chart of which vegetables grow above ground, and which ones under the ground. I asked them to turn to their partners and come up with an answer. When they shared their answers, most thought that pasta grew on trees. I wonder if it is because there are some strange trees in our neighborhood with these strange-looking hairy, rooty things hanging from their branches! It looks kinda like dark spaghetti!

We decided we might have to go back to the market where we bought veges the other day to watch one vendor make pasta!

Then someone said they were thankful for cheese. Asks one of my most curious little kids: "Miss Booysen, where does cheese grow?" (Although it's more like, "Mith Booythen, whe' doth cheeth grow?")

After talking with their partners, some of the boys figured they knew. "In my belly button!" one laughed. "In my socks!" quipped another. Only boys would think of that!

Some thought it grew under the ground, other on trees.

"No!" another one explained. "It's from a cow!"

"It GROWS ON A COW?"

Yip. For real. That's what I like about 4-year-olds.

"No! You take the milk. You hit the milk. You get cheese."

So, there! Now we know!

So tomorrow we're writing down question to ask my friend's dad who used to be a cheese maker, so we can e-mail him or even see if we can set up a Skype call...

Kids are so curious! I love that about them. That, and a million other things. But not the cheese some of them are supposedly growing on their bodies.

"Eggs come from CHICKENS??"

I've realized that in the busy-ness of work and studies, I'm losing some of the really adorable things my kids do and say by not writing them down. At lunch after church, a friend reminded me of this, though...

Last week, I took my kids to a local market. We have been talking about vegetables. Where do which veges grow? And so on and so forth. So during our visit to the market, we saw much more than fruit and vegetables, of course. We also saw slaughtered ducks and chickens, fresh fish, and a cornucopia of Chinese treats.

Passing the egg stand, I asked something about whether eggs were vegetables. Which led to a simple explanation that eggs come from chickens.

One of my girls had this total valley-girl expression on her face, and blurted out, "EGGS COME FROM CHICKENS???" In her world, they've always, always just come from roughly the same spot as the fruit and vegetables at the local supermarket.

Then, on Thursday, when we were celebrating my birthday by baking brownies in class, I asked again where eggs came from. This time, my most expressive boy jumped up from his spot on the carpet declaring, "I know!" and started doing a chicken dance in the center of the group, making clucking sounds to boot.

I really am enjoying working with 4-year-olds! They keep me on my toes, and they keep me on my knees in more ways than one. Some days, they drive me nuts. But most days, they make me laugh. A lot.

I love that. I really do love them. And most of the time, I like 'em, too.

I suspect the feeling is mutual.

Going for a spin

I had asked some boys at the children's home to wash my car today. It was very muddy, and before leaving it under the care of a colleague, I thought it would be good to get it cleaned up.

When I got to the children's home to move my car, some 4 or 5 kids were sitting on my car's steps, just waiting for me to show up, likely so they could see the look on my face when I see my clean car. I praised them for the great work and asked, "Would you like a ride?"

Of course they did!

I let them (plus a few extra kids) hop in and took them for a fun ride, literally driving in circles on the open field by the children's home.

They giggled. They squealed. They laughed out loud.

They were having a blast. As was I. Some of them may have remembered the day I had picked them up in the village two years ago and brought them to their new home. On those drives, we sang songs and drove through mud puddles. We laughed a lot.

Today, little Dennis kept saying my name, even after I dropped them off. "Sema, Katonye" I'd respond. (Literally, speak, but it's kind of a "yes?" when someone addresses you. Katonye is the name he's given himself. It doesn't mean anything. He just has been using that as his name...)

All he'd do is smile. Maybe he simply doesn't have the words yet to say what's on his mind. But maybe it's just a way to say, "You're my friend. I know you're my friend."

I'll miss him and his buddies.

"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.

Kiddos, and life around the neighborhood

For those of you who know Ezekiel and Noella, or remember my blog entry about being present at Favor Kiplagat's birth, here's a photo I took of him this morning.

Isn't he beautiful? I'm convinced that he remembers those first 30 minutes or so of his life when I held him and told him what an amazing young man he's going to be...

From his house, I headed to the clinic, passing Brenda and Victor along the way.

(Brenda is Mama Sifuna's kid, for any of you who've been to Kipkaren. She has her mother's smile and spunk.) These two were just heading to the duka (little shop across from our gate) to look for their teacher. They go to the local nursery school. By the time I came back from the clinic (and various other visits along the way), they plus at least 6 others were hanging around the duka. Perhaps their teacher decided not to show up today? That's pretty scary for a 1-classroom school! (Just to clarify, that nursery school is not part of ELI's school...)

I headed up to the clinic, passing this line of safari ants...

I'm glad I saw them before I stepped on them! They are vicious! In fact, they have such a strong bite that they're used traditionally to suture wounds! I cannot imagine what that would've been like. And how many times the nurse would've been bitten himself! (I've heard horror stories of little ones being devoured by them, too. Whether it's true, I don't know. But it's possible. And it's kept me from stepping on safari ants!)

Heading further up the hill, I simply had to take this picture of our neighborhood.
The rainy season has obviously come, washing away the dust from the trees and the grass. Those are Nandi flame trees on the right. Follow the river and you'll see roofs among the trees. Those are new guest housing being built on our compound. My house is about 100 feet further down along the river.

Next stop: The clinic. Took some shots of the staff there, and on my way back to the center, stopped by several homes to greet neighbors. Because it's the right thing to do.

It was lunch time before I could settle in and start my "real" work for the day. But that's not true. The photo sessions--the first one of the day being at 6:30--were definitely part of my job. And visiting with neighbors? If you simply zip by and not take time to visit, there is absolutely no way these people will respect you enough to lend you their ear when you do have something more to share with them.

It's all part of ministry in rural Kenya. It's part of "earning the right to be heard."

Life in the bush. Got to love it! (With that, it's back to the books for me. And dodging flying ants! Inside my house, yes... They're getting in through the crack under the door, or something! But there're more and more coming. Michelle just called. Their house has been invaded by hundreds! Where's Betty when you need her? She'd love to catch 'em and fry 'em!)

"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!

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.

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.

Three Musketeers

I was deep in thought this morning, sitting at my make-shift desk (computer on my dresser with a tall bar stool), working on who-knows-what when I saw in the corner of my eye someone plonk down on my living room seat. Mind you, the seat is all of 6 feet from where I was sitting, but I was so intently working on a document that it took me a brief moment to look over.

There sat Solomon with a big grin. "Habari?" I asked.

"Mzuri," he replied, still grinning.

"You didn't say 'hodi.'" I replied kindly.

"Hodi!" (May I come in?) He was still grinning.

"Karibu sana!" And in walked two more friends. They had been delayed since they were taking off their shoes. Solomon, it seems, had a quick entrance since he had been wearing flip-flops. And he was happy to show his two friends a part of the world they had never seen...

So we visited for a while. Collins (in blue) and Dennis (on the right) gazed around at everything. My world is so much different from anything they know... Collins promptly fetched the giraffe carving and read to it.

Solomon, on the other hand, knows the place well. His dad is our director, so he gets to visit places where our other kids don't usually get to go.

"How's Kids' Camp?"

"Fine." Solomon's English is really improving. It's not bad at all for a 5-year-old for whom English is his third language.

The boys paged through some children's books for a while--Solomon knows where I keep the books. What's funny is that he's usually quickly bored by the books when Tovah brings him over to read. However, today, he was the learned one, looking at one book after another while Collins quickly shifted his attention back to his giraffe pet.

The boys posed for a photo before they walked me over to camp. The hall was packed with about 250 kids aged 4 to maybe 14. All throughout the day, the kids were mostly in one big room, listening to stories, singing songs, memorizing verses.

Kids' camp is very different from a big VBS in the US. The children here are much easier to entertain, and to keep in line!

In between various events, groups of children from community churches would get up and perform a number. Or six.

At a stage, they added a microphone and lots of speakers. So much so that I could follow every number back in my home office. As well as the talks in the nearby classroom for the recovering alcoholics. I've gotten used to it, living in a small compound like this where much is happening.


Throughout the day, as I heard them going into a new item on the agenda, I'd walk over and take some photos.

"Adele," some of the boys called me. "Are the children from Ilula still coming next week?"

"You bet!" Ah! I cannot wait to simply watch all the children hang out and visit with their "cousins" next week! I'll take photos, for sure! I bet I'll have a whole slew of visitors in between events during that day. The Ilula kids have been curious to know what my house looks like in Kipkaren. And how Flannel is doing. And if I show the kids here movies, too. (I don't.) Important questions in their world.

As I go to bed on this side of the compound, there are about 100 community kids sleeping in one big room just 100 yards or so away, their mattresses spread out side by side through the entire room.

They have a whole nother day of stories, songs and Bible verses lying ahead tomorrow. I bet the Three Mini-Musketeers will head over this way again for a short visit. But I won't be here. I am taking seven guests to Poa Place for the day.

When I'm back, I'll head up the mountain for our Saturday afternoon service, an outreach to a nearby community who has no church.

Life in Kipkaren is never, ever without new things to do, places to go, or people to meet.

And if you don't go to them, they'll come to you. With a big smile, and maybe some friends in tow.

Laughter and Tears

This afternoon, I arrived at Ilula after being in Kipkaren for four days. Though I had had a regular routine of 4 days in Kipkaren and 3 days here for a while this year, the kids here got used to me not traveling while teams were around. One would've thought that I had been gone for weeks!

Little Brian waited patiently while I visited with his dad, till he realized I wasn't seeing him. He threw his arms around my legs and gave me the tightest hug a 2-year-old can give. Edison just hung out next to me, smiling shyly at my every so often. And then giving me his yellow rubber band as a gift. Jesse had to show me how he can do a roll. Raymond brought "Where's Waldo" to point out on every page where they had found not only Waldo, but also the wizard and some of the other hidden objects. Scopia came to show me her new dance moves and asked me to give her one of my signature hugs. ("No, not like that! One of those...!" she'd say and stand on her toes to try and get her arm around my shoulders from behind me.)

I joined my friends Mary and Ruth in the kitchen, and while sitting around a little fire where Ruth was cooking rice for a special dinner, we shared some news, even some tears. Then I joined them for dinner at Ruth's house, where we welcomed some new staff. Over dinner, chai and fellowship, we laughed till the tears rolled down Ruth's cheeks for the second time today. Exactly what we laughed at, I'm not sure. But it was good. And I think the new staff (Luka, Leah and their 3-year-old Carole) felt at home.

Though it was cold and rainy when I finally walked home, my heart was warm. I have grown to love my friends (big and small) here at Ilula.

Starting next week, I'll be spending almost all of my time in Kipkaren. I'll come to Ilula for a weekend visit, perhaps once or twice a month, to show the kids a movie, to have a meal with my friends, to check on the Sifuna kids... But there are far more projects in Kipkaren that need my attention, and in order to get more done, it would be beneficial to be in one location.

I could not tell the kids. I will wait a few weeks before I tell them. How does one make a change like this and not make the little ones feel rejected?

Yes, please. No, thank you.

Back in Ilula. Tonight at the farewell dinner for Olesya, our Russian intern, I helped serve. After all the kids had gotten their food, I went around with the left-overs, dishing out little bit more to whoever wanted some. So I taught the kids some good manners in English. Usually, they'd just say, "Me! Adele! Me!" and hold out their plates. I taught them to respond to "Would you like some more chicken?" with a "Yes, please!" or a "No, thank you." They actually found it quite amusing to have to say that, but I wouldn't give them more food unless they'd ask me properly. Blame the Brit in me, I guess.

Afterwards, I stopped by the Rotich girls' room to get my Where's Waldo? book. A friend had sent it in a care package last week, and the kids LOVE it. In fact, they even covered it in plastic to protect it. They pointed out Waldo on each and every page. Now the book's going to the boys' room. They were thrilled when I explained to them how it works, but I had to bring the book home with me rather than leave it there tonight, since it was after bedtime, and they'd want to stay up and look.

Tonight, even little Dennis started talking with me. He was already in bed with the covers over his head when he kept saying, "Adele!" "Sema, Dennis!" (Speak!) Then he'd just giggle. The kid just turned 3 last week, so he's still learning English. Finally, he just say, "Adele! Kwaheri, Adele!" (Good-bye!) It was time to sleep, indeed.

I'm fighting a cold. Haven't had one in what seems like months. In fact, I can't remember the last cold I had. Not sure where this one came from! Must be from walking home in the rain last night after having chai and Davis and Jen's house.

Do I want a cold? No, thank you!

Would I like to sleep now? Yes, please!

The Surgeon's Toes, and other highlights of my day

Nancy Jepkemboi and I (photo taken on Tuesday by Laura)

We finally got permission from Silas (the dad of the kids down the road) to take his children to see a doctor and spray his house and yard with insecticide to kill the rest of the jiggers. The kids came to our center early in the morning so the spraying could begin without them being exposed to the poison. Plus, I wanted to be sure that they were nice and clean before taking them to see the pediatrician. But before they came, their dad made sure they were cleaned up. He's coming around, I'm telling you!

Their wounds needed to be cleaned, however, so we got a couple of basins with warm water and Dettol (antiseptic), and soaked their little feet in it. One by one, Ruth, the interns and I scrubbed their little feet. Mud is caked into the holes in their feet, and we literally had to scrub it out with a nail brush. It hurt me to do it, but it didn't hurt them. Not for the most part, at least. We embalmed their feet, if you will, in Triple Antiseptic ointment, put on their dirty little socks, and got ready to load up the car.

The urine running down (Brian) Kiprono's leg as we were finishing up should've given me a clue that the kid's not really potty trained, but what can you do? I asked (Joanna) Jemutai to hold her little brother on her lap while we rode to town, but no sooner had we left our compound, or he was on the seat. Good thing I have removable seatcovers.

First, we picked up Anne Chebii, a colleague who works in our town office. I realized I'd need another pair of hands. Anne and I then took the kids to the pediatrician, where we waited for about an hour before he could see us. He suggested that we see a surgeon, but prescribed antibiotics for the three youngest ones, plus medicine for Joanna's fungal infection on her face. He charged me only for one consultation rather than four, which was nice!

Off to the surgeon's office, just a few doors down. Here we waited for another two hours for the surgeon to arrive. Since there was a cafeteria downstairs, I took the kids to lunch. We ordered ugali and chicken (there was no beef, which would've been easier for them to eat), and I got them all a bottle of soda, too. They beamed at the sight of the food! I soon realized, however, that it would be a total mess to stay at the table. These kids had probably never eaten at a table. We moved outside and sat on the grass, and boy, were they happy. They gobbled down the food like it's their last meal, cleaning every single plate so only the bare bones remained. As they stood washing their hands, I saw a huge puddle form at Richard Kiprono's feet. Now, his sweat pants were drenched in urine, as were his cute little Bubblegummer shoes. Off with the pants, it was!

Back at the surgeon's office, the man was surprised that we had been sent to him. "It would take me at least four hours to remove these jiggers," he explained to me, "and in four hours, I can do several major surgeries which I'd charge 150,000KES for each (more than $2,000). It's not the right thing to remove these surgically. What you have to do is simply spend an hour a day digging out the egg sacks..."

He explained that he himself had a worse case of jiggers when he was a kid, and proceeded to take off his shoes and socks to show me how deformed his toe nails were as a result. I know, totally bizarre! The point is, though, that he had empathy, but couldn't help us. He told me that he'd read up more about specific medications that would help. He asked me to bring in copies of the articles I had found, and commented that these truly were the worst cases he has seen since his childhood. "Eldoret doesn't have jiggers," he explained. "It concerns me that these children look so bad. I might have to contact the government to go and spray the entire area in order to contain this disease."

Point is, I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that these kids are in bad shape.

Little Richard fell asleep on my lap while the surgeon and I talked about the options before us. And as the doctor talked about various topical anesthetics I might be able to use to make the removal process less painful, I felt how my lap became a warmer and warmer from the little one urinating on my lap. I tried to focus on what the doctor was saying without letting him read my mind. Thoughts flashing through my mind included, "I hope the urine stays just on my skirt. I wouldn't want to get up and leave a wet seat behind. I'm glad I'm wearing a thick denim skirt - it's soaking up more urine than a cotton one would've. What did he just say about which medicine might work??"

I asked about tetanus shots, and he referred us to the third stop for the day: ER. There, a friendly nurse gave each kid their shot. The three youngest ones took things in stride. They cried when the needle went in, but the tears stopped almost immediately. Joanna, however, put up the biggest fuss I'd ever seen. She was paranoid of a needle, and two nurses and I ended up having to hold her down! I never thought I'd ever do anything like that! But the moment the needle came out, she was all smiles. She remembered that I had told them I'd buy them each a candy if they'd endure the shots!

The last stop for the day was to get their heads shaved to prevent any diseases on their heads, and the kids looked really cute with their clean-cut little heads! They were beaming when I dropped them off at their home with some fruit to take with them.

Thank you to each one of you who have expressed care for these precious little ones. The journey ahead is still long, but they're already doing much better than when they first walked into our lives 11 days ago.

Once they're healthy and their home is jigger-free, we'll talk about options in terms of hiring someone to help at their home every day and to take care for the two boys so the two girls can go to school. But these are issues for which I'll seek insight from my Kenyan directors. I want to do what's best for the children, but also what's best for the dad. I don't want to enable him and make him dependent on us. Instead, I want to find ways to empower him to be a better father.

Some sights I don't want to forget:

1. Their amazement the first time they used a toilet. They're used to outhouses, or quite frankly, to simply go in the field. Before we went to town, I asked them to use the chou, and they literally gawked as I flushed it after them, as in, "No way! Where did my 'stuff' just go??"
2. The excitement on their faces when they realized we're going to ride in my car. "The big car!" they told each other as we walked over, smiling from ear to ear.
3. Their curiosity as we were in the doctors' offices. They'd sit on the doctor's chair, look through his stuff, peak through the windows at the world a floor below them...
4. The care among the four of them. The girls, especially, are really looking out for their little brothers. While little Richard's feet were being soaked, he literally had to stand in the basin of water. Joanna leaned forward and whispered in his ear in Swahili, "Don't be afraid. You can't fall over. I'm right behind you." It was so endearing!
5. Little Brian's smile... He's really crept into my heart more than the others, and wherever we'd walk, he'd come and slip his wound-scarred hand into mine. As he and I sat waiting in the surgeon's office while the others were still eating, he took my hand in his and started rubbing his arms, a "please tickle my arm" gesture. As I did so, he leaned back against me, smiled, and fell asleep.

In about 2 weeks' time, a team will come to do a VBS. These kids will be invited to join. Will you please pray that God will prepare their hearts so they can know how much Jesus loves them? I've been praying lots for them, including soaking them in prayer as I wash them and treat their wounds. I have no doubt that God will heal their little bodies, but even more so, that he'll heal their hearts.

"It's a synonym!"

My next-door neighbors in Kipkaren, the Davis family, has a two-year-old girl named Tovah. (She'll be three in August.) Davis and Jen have been teaching Tovah about synonyms recently. The other day, they were walking to the children's home when Tovah said, "Look! That's Sammy!" (Sammy's the guy who milks the cows and delivers the milk to their home.) Realizing it's indeed not Sammy, she said, "No, it's not Sammy. It's a synonym!" (As in, it just looks like him!)

Let the children come...

Yesterday, the children's home ran out of water. Not sure what the issue is. Probably similar to mine. There's city water, but it's not filling up the tank that provides water to the home... So by 6:15 this morning until now (11), there has been a constant chatter outside as little ones were filling up buckets from this side of our compound and carrying them over to the home. And since they're on this side of the compound, all of the kids want to say good morning to me.

I know, this is reality for many a missionary who works at/near an orphanage! I've visited my friends in Mozambique and experienced the same. It's also day-to-day reality for mothers, I believe. Except, as a mom, you can't tell the visitors to come back later... :)

As I've been trying to do Bible study and to read, I've had a knock on my door every few minutes. Literally!

"Adele! How are you? Which movie will we see today, Adele?"

"Wait and see."

"Wait and see? What is that one about?"

I chit chat for a little bit, then tell the little ones I'll visit later this afternoon. A few minutes later, someone else knocks.

"Adele! How is your day? Will we see a movie today? Where is the kinyonga (chameleon), Adele? What is this flower called? Did you have a good safari (journey)? Your house is clean, Adele! What are you doing? ... Studying the Bible? What are you studying in the Bible, Adele? Adele, what is this basin for? ... A bird bath? Why would the birds bath, Adele? ... Is it just so you can watch them, or to catch the birds?"

So I visit a while, silently praying that I would not get so caught up in the stuff that I need to do that I miss out on the opportunity to just love the kids, to minister to their little hearts by listening to their stories, by answering their plethora of questions. Could it be that that was the dilemma the disciples were facing when they sent the children away and Jesus interrupted, saying, "Let the children come to me..."

God, grant me wisdom to know how to truly minister to the little ones' hearts while trying to be wise in having healthy boundaries.

What would Jesus do? I think I know.

If your phone, power and water all work at the same time...

... you're probaly not be in Ilula. A good friend used to say that of Malawi, where she was a missionary. It's more and more true of this neck of the woods.

We've had a lot of issues with water recently. I have to remember to turn on the water before getting soap on my hands. Or test the shower before getting ready to get clean. But even if you do so, often times, when you're halfway through a shower, the water would just stop. Just like that.

Similarly, we've been having a number of power outages recently. I am not sure how things work at home, but out here, the fuses in the huge transformers seem to blow every so often, as it did today. By the time I got to Ilula, power had been out all morning. Kenya Power didn't know of the problem. They came out to fix the fuse 5 hours later. I'm thankful indeed that they did come to fix it. As Westerners, we're pretty dependent on power. (I am, at least. My computer battery only lasts that long. And the stuff in your fridge gets bad after the power is off for some time.)

On a different note: Today, before I left Kipkaren to return to Ilula, I stopped by the school to take some pictures. A first-grader was crying really hard out on the playground. I went to check on her and found that little Viola had a terrible sore on her toe. Puss was oozing out... I was trying hard not to look grossed out by it. I could never be nurse! I did take her to the clinic, though, where they took good care of her.

Back in Ilula, I visited with the kids for a few hours this evening. Like they often do, the kids had a million questions about everything under the sun, from Osama to earthquakes! They also got to sing "Happy birthday" to my brother Henk. The kids were laughing hard at me speaking Afrikaans on the phone to him. Henk is 42 today. This is a photo of the mountains in the town where he and his family live. (This is where Henk works.) South Africa's been exceptionally cold recently. Places that rarely ever get snow, got snow.
So, happy birthday again, Henk. Hope you have a wonderful year!

On that note, I'm off to bed. Lots to get done in the office tomorrow.

This made me smile

Something cute that happened tonight. When I went to say good-night to the kids, I rubbed their heads affectionately like I often do. Little Margaret came to hug me, reached up, and rubbed my head. :) I couldn't help but smile. Even as I'm sitting here, ready to crawl into bed, it's making me smile - especially thinking of the expression on her face when she did it, as if to say, "I have figured out what you're saying when you do that. So I'll do it, too."

... and then he cried

After I got back to Ilula this afternoon, bringing a new intern to the home, I sat with 10-year-old Rogers and explained to him that one of his sponsors is in the hospital and not doing well at all. He just buried his head in my side and started crying hard. Rogers had never met the man. He had never even gotten a letter from him. But he knows that the man cared enough to support him, and it hurt to hear that he wasn't doing well. At times, I think I forget that these kids know first-hand the pain that death brings. Each and every one of them had buried their moms, and even their dads, had they been around. Death is a harsh reality in their world.

It's good to be back in Ilula. It was good to see the kids today. They were in rare form when I quickly went to say good-night to them, imitating scenes from VeggieTales' Queen Esther. I had shown them that movie 2 weeks ago, and they had memorized lines and songs from it, even with a complete American accent. It was really funny listening to them!

I am preparing for a leadership retreat I'm leading this weekend. I'm taking the management team from Kipkaren to the forest for team building. I am really looking forward to getting to know each one of them on a personal level, and doing some activities that will challenge us all.

Had Swahili lessons today. It's good to be able to study with someone else - Jen Davis in Kipkaren. Their family is new to ELI, but her husband grew up in Kenya, so he speaks Swahili fluently. Jen had taken Swahili in college, so she's ahead of me, but I don't mind that. That makes for a good challenge to try and catch up. I look forward to being able to carry a conversation in Swahili. I catch myself thinking a lot in Chinese lately because of trying to learn Swahili. I read one time that any languages you learn at a later stage get saved in one area of your brain, hence the tendency to think of phrases in a second (or fifth) language when trying to acquire a new language.

Time for bed. It's way late! Lala salama.

Amazing grace

I could've never anticipated all that happened today. It was a wonderful Sunday. Started out really early (5:30) with a phone call from someone who accidentally called my number. I was wide awake, thinking I should just get up and go spend time with God, but alas, I decided I'll have plenty of time still, so I ignored God's invitation to an early-morning commune. When I did get up 2 hours later, the power was out. I had a great time studying/worshiping nevertheless. Then went into my greenhouse, and while I was listening to a great sermon on my iPod, I got my hands dirty planting some new seeds. Cleaned up for church and was blessed by worship without the keyboard that is like nails on a blackboard to my ears most Sundays. (Yeah, I know. God's still working on me...)

The sermon was on dreams and visions, and the speaker basically just said that God can speak to us through dreams and visions, and not to be afraid of the night and of nightmares, to pray when you have bad dreams in order to cancel them.

The sermon concluded and then Pastor Philip got up, saying he knows there are some people who are taunted by bad dreams. Before he could even invite anyone up for prayer, one of our staff was up there! (She told me later that her dead mother talks to her in her sleep, telling her current things about their family.) Others followed. We prayed for them to be delivered from the constant nightmares. As we sang during the offering, we noticed one of our 8-year-olds crying really hard. He told Philip that "I see really bad things..." so we went and prayed for him. After praying for the boy, I shared briefly from Ephesians 4, encouraging the church not only to put off the former things (or cut off dreams), but to clothe ourselves with Christ, to invite God to take control. I also encouraged others who might still want prayer to come and talk with Philip, myself, or any of the staff.

After church, Nicole (intern) and I went to the room of the boy who had been crying. We found him still crying hard, this time perhaps out of embarrassment for having cried in front of everyone. He told me that he has bad dreams every single night. I was able to pray with him some more and encouraged him. And simply offered him a shoulder to cry on. He's a really great kid, and I believe God will use him to help others find freedom, too!

As we headed out, a group of kids came to talk with us. One of the older girls shared about visions that she sees during the day, of the skeleton of her dead mother coming at her... As I prayed for her, she broke down and drenched my other shoulder in tears. Again, I left amazed at what God is doing in the midst of these children.

I had some time out in the afternoon (went to town to get some ice cream, yummy!) and when I came back, I had a visitor. Joyce came to visit, just because. She told me all about school and enquired about the kids she had taken care of before. Little Kipkurui showed up, too, and while Joyce and I visited, I gave the 5-year-old a much needed manicure and some TLC.

Next, two of the young guys from church showed up, saying, "You had said we could come for prayer... We have very bad dreams every night..." I called Pastor Philip to come and assist, and another amazing time of ministry followed! Yeah GOD!

Before Joyce left, I was able to pray with her, and what blessed me even more is that she had the courage to say, "Wait, I'd also like to pray for you..." She's usually very quiet, so I especially appreciated her boldness!

Then, the power came back (it was off from 8 am till 7 pm) and I was able to get onto my computer for a bit.

What could've been a challenging Sunday (no power, challenging time at church) ended up as a day where I saw God bring healing and courage! I smiled when I remembered how God woke me up earlier, probably to prepare my heart for what was lying ahead. And though I am not trying to justify my disobedience in getting up right away, I love that we serve a God who is not limited by us. He ministered to people's hearts despite me, not because of me.

As the kids are in bed now and falling asleep for the night, please join me in praying that God will continue to fill their dreams, that he would transform them through the renewing of their minds (Rom 12:1-2) and bring deep, deep healing in each and every life so they in turn, can be used by God to bring healing in others' lives. Please pray, too, for those in the community who received prayer today, that God will continue to protect and fill them.

What an amazing God we serve.

What amazing grace he bestows on us.

The Juggle

This morning, after spending several hours in the office working on projects, I got to go and see my friends at the ELI Drug and Alcohol Rehab Center. I've been back in Kenya for a week now, and the times spent visiting and greeting people is far from over. Many others have invited me over for chai. I may have mentioned this before, but the driving value in Kenyan culture is relationship. (In the US? Entertainment/Leisure) So, unless you spend time visiting people and building strong relationships, your work might as well be in vain. It's simply not received well.

Let me tell you about the Ronos who are the directors of KAA (Kenya Anti-Alcohol). Pastor Philip (or simply, Rono) is younger than I, and for the past 8 years, he's been directing the KAA program. It started in 1999, when a visitor came. The man was a recovered alcoholic, and Rono was asked to take him around and be his translator. During that time, the visitor and others encouraged Rono to start an anti-alcohol ministry. He wanted nothing to do with it since he came from an house where alcohol was a problem. (He himself never was an alcoholic, though.)

But before the visitor left, God spoke clearly to Philip. “You’ll continue this ministry,” God told him. Philip says that he was scared at first, but God taught him and strengthened him. The first group to meet consisted of just 5 men and quickly grew to 18. When he started meetings across the river, there were 38 men who got saved from the grip of alcoholism. He then started meeting with officers at the nearby police station, and soon afterward, a group of soldiers at the Kenya Army Barracks.

Since that time, 1200 men and women have graduated from the Kenya Anti-Alcohol program. “But there are more,” Philip says. “Many of the men and women have helped others get free. I want to continue doing this ministry till the day I die. I have seen the hand of the Lord here. It is so moving to see the reconciliation between families when they come to visit for the first time after their husbands/fathers are sober!”

I love being able to work alongside people like the Ronos. They have an amazing heart to see people set free!

***
After coming back to Ilula, the team returned from Sudan. They were tired and ready for showers. I listened to their stories till our last visitor for the week arrived, a lady from Saddleback Church named Tammy. After dinner (and the usual post-dinner team meetings) I took Tammy to say good-night to some of the girls.

It was 10 by the time I got back to my home, and then I had to type up information from interviews (such as of the visit with the Ronos) for a project the home office is working on. It's after 11, and I'm ready to start heading to bed. I have a 5:30 am prayer commitment with Ruth, one of the moms at the home, 7:30 breakfast with the team, and then we're off to Kipkaren.

In Kipkaren, I get to track down the last of the staff whom I need to interview/photograph and will see what other opportunities God brings. If nothing (and if the team doesn't need my company), I have a very long list of tasks to tackle, including working on learning Swahili.

Friday we'll probably leave for Moi's Bridge/Natwana no later than 7:30 and we'll be at the AIDS campaign the ENTIRE day (and into the night), where I'll be taking photos and praying for those being tested.

I'll head back to Ilula early on Saturday morning, attend Laban and Angelina Rono's 25th wedding anniversary celebrations, whereafter I'm putting on the first-ever Ilula Birthday Bash. Since there are 100 kids, it's hard to celebrate birthdays. The moms had mentioned to me last year that they'd love to do a monthly celebration, but they're not sure how they can do it. We visited about it again last week and have come up with the plan to celebrate the first Saturday every month. Ruth (a mom) is baking a big cake. I've got cards for the 35 kids who've had their birthdays from January till April. And then we'll watch Happy Feet. Or Cars. Or Charlotte's Web. Not sure yet. The boys want to see "the movie about the cars that talk." The girls want to see "the one about the pig that can talk." I'm thinking I'm going to have to show them something else, just so no-one wins! :) And then I need to remember not to say much when the kids ask me what other movies I brought back... :)

In case you're concerned about me showing the kids movies and basing my relationship with them just on that, it's far from it. I was hesitant to start showing movies again right away, but the parents asked me to please show the children movies whenever I have time on Saturday afternoons. They say that the teachers at school have been commenting how good our children's English is, and what amazing stories they come up with for their creative writing assignments.

I've started showing the children one or two pictures I've taken of birds in the area. My goal is to create an awareness with them of the intricacies of God's creation, and show them what to look out for in identifying different birds. I'm hoping at least a few of them will realize what a wealth of bird life they have around them, and who knows, perhaps they might grow up to be game wardens in Kenya's parks. At least they'd know about the birds in this area, I hope. :)

Anyway, it'll probably be Saturday evening before I get to connect online.

As you can see, the lines between work and leisure are very blurred in my world, especially when teams are here. It's not like you can walk out of a late-night meeting or choose not to show up for early breakfast.

I'm babbling. It's late. I still need to pack for my 2 days in Kipkaren.

Lala salama. Or have a blessed day, wherever you may be.