Sunny Sunday

Can you see how red my face is? OK, I know it doesn't look so bad in this picture, but believe me, it's red. I look like I'm having a hot-flash like my Yaya friends, but rest assured, I'm not. It's from the sun. I was outside for a couple hours this morning taking new photos of the children in Ilula. Didn't think of putting on sunscreen. Came back home with my face on fire. OK, not really. But burned. I usually am careful. Just didn't think of it today since it was rather chilly in Ilula.

I went to Ilula yesterday afternoon, just to go and visit my friends there. Spent much of the afternoon visiting with the children. It was SO GOOD to see them. They always have a million questions! Then I had dinner with the Rono family, went to say good-night to all the kids, and had a conference call till late in the night. Today was spent taking photos, catching up with colleagues, and finally heading back to Kipkaren, after much chai and talking. It was dark by the time I rolled in.

I don't like driving here at night. You don't see African pedestrians easily, and there are many pedestrians. More than there are cars and trucks on the road. The other reason why I don't like driving here at night is because of the trucks. It's a 2-lane "highway" out to where I live. It's the road that goes from Mombasa all the way to Kampala, Uganda, so there's a lot of truck traffic on the narrow road.

Anyway, I'm home safely. Flannel's glad. She rearranged my home for me while I was gone. How nice of her.

Oh, I saw the Sifuna kids while in Ilula. Tomorrow, they are going to school to register! They'll start school in January. Three of the four kids, that is. Kiprop and Jepkemboi will be in Baby Class (preschool) and Jemutai will be in Middle Class (Pre-K). I love knowing that these kids will have an opportunity to learn.

Their dad, by the way, has been working at the ELI training center in Ilula for the past month, helping in the gardens. Apparently, he's doing a great job and they'll keep him on. What a huge change in their lives. Now he won't have to walk around every day looking for a day job!

Other than that, I'd love to upload some of the photos I took today, but I am wiped out from the sun. And am going to end this day by relaxing a bit, perhaps watching a movie. You'll have to see the photos another day.

Lala salama. Sleep in peace. I'm sure I will. If Flannel will let me.

P.S. In case you're looking at the picture wondering what's behind me: I don't have space for a closet in my house, so I put up a bar on the wall where clothes hang from. And the white thing is my mosquito net. Wouldn't want to live without it out here.

Passion

Recently, I had a conversation with a friend about something she felt strongly about: the plight of women in the D.R. Congo. "I'm not usually passionate about anything," she commented somewhere in the middle of the conversation, and continued to talk about the issues the women in that part of the world face, and what we can (and cannot) do to help.

Her comment about passion has been turning in my mind. Am I passionate about things? I would surmise that my friend and I are very different in that area. When I feel strongly about something, you know it!

Like gender issues in rural Africa. A definite hot button for me. It never was. In fact, gender issues per se never has been an issue to me. Until I moved to rural Kenya and I started seeing things from a different viewpoint. Even now, as I'm typing this, I go back and delete much of what I had written, because I can so easily get going on this... But God has been teaching me when to speak and when to be quiet. I don't always "get it," but I'm learning. Often, though, I don't want to be quiet. I want to speak for those without a voice in this culture. But not here. Not now.

Other things that get me going? They're not hot buttons, just topics I am passionate about, that usually get me talking. Like the fact that Macs are far superior to PCs. Or simply the incredible bird life around us in Kenya, especially in Kipkaren. Or African wildlife. And the correct use of adverbs.

Or God. In fact, I heard a quote this morning by Beth Moore that's been playing in my mind. "Whatever our perception of God may be, he's MORE, and BETTER."

I can go on and on and on. But I won't. Not now. Meet me for coffee at Java Creek, and we can talk... (Ah, I wish.)

Wondering, again

Though there are far more complex issues to wonder about, tonight, there's merely one simple question on my mind:

Why is it that Flannel sleeps all evening while I'm at work, and the moment I lower my mosquito net and get into bed, she starts playing?

Rituals

Every night, before I go to sleep, I get to rearrange my small house. OK, not the entire place, but a few things. I get to put away all the loose knickknacks on my dresser. I am not a big knickknack person. I have only a giraffe, two angel statues and a little plaque on my dresser. It used to be 3 angels. One lost her head. Literally. That's why I get to put everything away.

Because at 4 a.m. sharp, Flannels is done sleeping for the night. She starts rearranging things. (Hence the beheading of my favorite angel figurine. It'll have to be glued back together.) If I leave papers on my desk, she rearranges those on the floor for me. If I want my house in relatively good shape when I wake up, I have to put away any potential kitty toy. Every night. So every morning, I get to redecorate my dresser. Because I only have so much drawer space in my house. Three drawers in total, to be exact. Unless you add the two small ones in the kitchen, too. (That's five more drawers than I have in Ilula...)

Alas! Flannel finds other ways to amuse herself. Many nights, she climbs up my mosquito net, chasing mosquitoes. Not a good thing. It's not really built to withstand the weight of a growing kitten. Or she chew my toes. Or takes things off my walls. A Pokot arrow, to be specific. She loves taking it off the wall around 5 a.m.

Hence, the other thing I have to do every night, is move the little stool on which I keep my computer. It's next to my dresser; the best spot to get Internet reception. It also makes for a perfect spot to sit and play with the arrow mounted on my wall. Flannel has managed to dismount the arrow many a night. Unless I move the stool before I go to bed.

Why don't I just let her out? At 4 a.m., the cat-eating dogs are still too much of a hazard. By 6, I usually throw her out the front door. Just as I get up and start my day!

For the non cat lovers out there . . . you probably can't understand why I'd put up with this. Feed Flannel to the dogs, I imagine some of you thinking. Ah, but I won't allow that to happen. 'Cause Flannel's my friend, you see. She's the one I come home to every day. The one who is happy to see me, and who curls up with me when I take lunch-time naps. Just so she can have lots of energy by 4 a.m.

Finding Hope

Victor, originally uploaded by Boyznberry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What kind of cancer?"

"It moves all over my body..."

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

"We can try!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How did that happen??!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday Events

Just some pictures that I took this afternoon. After I came back from town, I went to watch the friendly (yet fierce) game between the Kipkaren staff (men) and some of the agriculture students. The staff won. (The students won last weekend, so I guess there'll be a final playoff next weekend.)Brian is a 1-year-old who's a biological son of one of the parent couples. He's usually all smiles, but wasn't feeling too well today.
After hurting a muscle, Pastor Peter decided to head up a cheering squad of kids from the home. (Behind them you can see a new classroom that's being added onto our school.)
I was delayed in heading home since Rooney and his friends had found a baby bird, so we had to get a ladder and put it back in its nest. (I hope it'll survive!) But in the process I got to watch the most beautiful sunset.

Walking home as the sun continues to set... Sometimes, the African sky can take your breath away!

Post Script: Faith

"Faith is not the result of striving, it's the result of rest. It's yielding; you yield your way into faith. We strive only to impress people." Says one of my favorite Bible teachers, Bill Johnson.

Wondering out loud

This morning, I left home too late to make it in time for an English service in town. So I took my Bible, my Believing God Bible study guide, and my iPod. And I went to Poa Place, an outdoor restaurant-type-place. It's really a family place, and I have discovered that when you go there alone, you get ignored. Which is nice, sometimes. But not when it's your waitress ignoring you. That's an all-together different story. Besides the point.

Point is: There I was sitting, surrounded by families coming for a Sunday afternoon buffet, kids swimming, some young foreigners basking at the poolside. And I was in my own world, under my umbrella, visiting with God about Hannah.

Because I don't understand. In Matthew alone, time and again, Jesus says things like, "Your faith has made you well." Or "According to your faith, let it be done." "Let is be done for you as you wish." And then the famous "If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you." Sometimes it was a parent believing on behalf of their child. Sometimes someone for their own healing. In the famous passage in Acts, the lame man is healed because of Peter and John's faith.

I believe God can heal Hannah. I have no doubt about it. Every time I go to visit, I go expecting to see her well! Yet her condition is deteriorating fast. Despite the fact that God can heal her. Despite her faith, and that of her family.

So I started wondering about some things. Like if I am trying to manipulate God. If I pray this way, or if I do that, surely God will answer. That would be like Romans 4: 4-5. It would be like expecting wages for work done. Or not? So what am I to do? Simply believe.

In the meantime, I will keep asking God to heal Hannah. And, I will not be offended at the fact that in the meantime, God has not yet healed her. Because God also reminded me of the passage in Matthew 11, where he was talking to John the Baptist. John was in prison, waiting to be beheaded. He was in prison despite the fact that Jesus came to set the captives free.

I don't understand it. I honestly do not believe it is God's will for Hannah and her family to be suffering the way that they are. Jesus was always about fixing what was broken, healing the sick. I do not believe this tragedy is the will of God. But it is.

Why?

I don't know.

I'm not putting this out there to ask for a theological explanation. I honestly do not think we can come up with the answer. Point is: God is God. We are not. I believe he can heal Hannah. He has not yet. But I will not give up asking God for her healing. Because I've seen him do even greater things.

And so, I will keep believing. I will keep seeking him. And I will keep asking God to show himself to Hannah and her family throughout this time. And to heal Hannah. Because he can.

What you wouldn't do to watch a game...

So there we were, driving in the boonies, trying to find Hudson's home. Cosmas was our guide, but he had never driven to the house; he's only walked, taking shortcuts. There's no electricity in the area where Hudson lives, and hardly a road to speak of. We were driving along a footpath, looking for the home. Finally, we made it. And then Hudson only had a few channels, none of which had the rugby on... (He has solar power, just in case you're wondering.)

It's about 90 minutes later, and we're finally home. Saw a mongoose on the drive home. And a hare. So it was sort of a night safari.

Right now, at half time, South Africa's leading 9-3. I tried finding the audio on the radio, but no luck. I'll just have to get score updates from home.

***
Later: And South Africa is once again rugby world champions! I can only imagine the excitement at home!

Rugby fever

I LOVE watching a good game of rugby. It's what I grew up on, Saturday after Saturday...

And tonight, South Africa is playing England in the finals of the Rugby World Cup. I'm told everyone at home has rugby fever. Some burger joints are selling green burgers this weekend. (Our national team's color is green and gold.) The newspaper was printed in green ink yesterday. A blimp was flying over the N1 (highway connecting Pretoria and Jo'burg) saying "Go Bokke!" (Our national team is the Springboks, or short, the Bokke.)

So there's no way I could not watch the game. My rugby-loving neighbors found out that our one colleague has cable TV, so we're heading out now to watch the game. Fortunately, we don't have to make the trek to town to watch it there. We only have to find Hudson's home, somewhere around Kipkaren... :)

I hope SA creams England!