school and songs

Thursday July 30
We built desks today. Or rather we took apart desks and put them back together. All shiny and new- as shiny and knew as rusty nails and new plywood can be. All we need to do now is put the locks on them and students can use them in the dining room, playground or classroom- wherever there’s room. There will be plenty of room starting tomorrow afternoon since school is closing for holiday. The kids have taken term exams all week, some of them doing well and others not so much (I got to mark some tests today.)
Mainly, the kids are exhausted, some are even falling asleep in class or so they tell me. How we’re all the same. I fell asleep in class, friends do the same. The reasons are different for sure. Homework, 5 nightly activities, facebooking, dinner, more homework and talking on the phone keep a North American kids up to the wee hours. African kids, however, do chores, cook dinner, finish homework, feed animals, walk 30 minutes home, fetch water, clean up after dinner, and care for brothers and sisters into the late night. Like most thing compared to American life, this reality of Africa is neither bad or good in comparison. Culture and opportunities are different. What strikes me as a main difference is the amount of responsibility most African children possess in comparison to a generally low amount where I’m from. Of course, there are the occasional children who raise themselves, learning at an early age how to make mac ‘n cheese and wash clothes. But for the most part, if left to their own devices, American children would have a hard time surviving if their parents died. I heard from an African friend that the main reason for the abundance of responsibility for these children is preparation. If a mother or father left, died, couldn’t care for the children, they would know the essentials in surviving. They could gather food. They could take care of each other. And they could pray until blessing pours down on them.

Tonight some of the kids (those that board at the school) came over to pray and say goodbye before they go home for vacation. It was an interesting time of sharing, singing and praying. There are some things that would take some time to get use to in this culture, one is the singing together in any key. But so long as God hears the song, the prayer, he can probably tune the dissonance. I guess he has to all the time just in general. The amount of times my prayers seem to contradict or fade or scream or wail. I’m grateful God has that skill.

Fort Jesus

Wed. July 29
Today was nice, easy, fun, informative and all with good company. I woke up all night long thinking about the future, my budget, what I needed to get done, and itching mosquito bites. AHH! So this morning was just another time to be up, surprisingly I had slept enough. Jami and I washed clothes, went to the internet, and I had a mango while she slept before we went out for the afternoon. George had offered to be our tour guide to down town. Everyone else had gone to the beach.

George is such a great fellow who likes to laugh, enjoys good company but is both educated academically and in the world. He knows about his country, its people, the good and bad sides. He articulated a perspective of our two countries that helps me understand how differences can be so stark. When USA got it’s independence, it essentially came with a whole new group of people. The “indigenous” people of America have been put in a box, assimilated and melted in with the rest of us. Kenya on the other hand, gained its independence after colonial rule, tribal systems and manipulation from all over the world. When left to its own, Kenya is still made of many different cultures, tribes with their own customs. To run a country with so many faces is quite different from the one that has woven its many customs together to eat hamburgers with French fries and pizza with pineapple. Random but tasty.

Our tour included the many ports and the ferry dock where several hundred people crossed from one side of Mombasa to the other (part of the city is an island). We spent the bulk of our time at Fort Jesus. While not a total crucifix, the fort was still shaped like a body. This fort built in 1593 by the Portuguese was predominately a protection of the port from pirates. The Catholic Portuguese put a chapel in the middle of the fort which was later dismantled when the Arabs took over, torn down the chapel, dug a deeper well and built the wall up for added protection. The soldiers had dug down through at least 2 stories worth of coral in the gut of the fort for storing ammunition and other food. The history of the place sort of leaked out my ears as it came so fast in the great heat of the day in a thick African accent. Needless to say I might have to Google the site later, but it was a fun site to see.

fish: fun and food

Last night for dinner, I experienced a new dish that while I could tolerate the taste (I had to eat something since I had pills to take), I did a lot of praying and swallowing without chewing. Maize meal call ugali has the consistency of hard mashed potatoes. Until they get in your mouth. For those who have very sensitive taste buds with sensory hairs, they will pick up a unique granule feeling that is reminiscent of sand off the beach. Thankfully one doesn’t have to endure the grainy crunch in the teeth. Anyway, it’s quite dry and is best with some sort of stew or sauce. The said sauce for this meal was coconut soup which sounds tasty enough until one finds out its mixed with fish juice, onions, garlic and tomato. Then, the protein of the night looked at me- fish: eyeballs and all. And really if the eyeballs are still intact, one can only surmise that every other part will come with it. Now I know why fish sticks are so good- they don’t have bones, scales, more bones, and eyeballs. The watermelon was my safety zone; I almost ate the seeds I was so excited. But for those who are faithful, they will be blessed. To my surprise, we celebrated a child’s birthday so each of us got a slice of moist marble cake. It was music in my mouth and calmed any anxiety my stomach had of having to digest the eyeballs in sand.

This afternoon we went snorkeling. My time in Jamaica was much more enjoyable since waves weren’t splashing me every 55 seconds and there were more fish. Snorkeling is not my favorite either because I concern myself more with breathing than enjoying the scenery below. Finally, I’m a destination person, not so much a look at, study and take in person. I pray I get better at appreciating the beauty in creation’s details. On a brighter note, the conversation informing the group of these plans went something like this.
Mama: we’re going snorkeling.
Dad: How big is the boat?
Son: Big enough for the 8 of us.
Dad: I mean the motor.
African host: Mota? No we’re taking a boat.
Dad/Son togetherish: no motor, the engine.
Guide: oh 45 horses.
Mama: That’s not very big.
Other son: it’s big enough it will hold all 8 of us.
Mama: I mean the motor. That’s enough to pull 3 people and a skier.
Son: We’re not going skiing.
Mama: I ‘m just saying that’s as much power as we will have.
Daughter: 3 people and a STEER?
ALL sans daughter: (laughter)
Mama: I know you’re a farmer through and through but I said skier. We’re not going with any cows.
Son: MOM-the boat is big enough for ALL of us.

This morning I talked to a bunch of high school girls about relationships, religion, dreams, goals, etc. It was an enlightening time to get to know them and I hope they feel that our time together has not been a waste. Even if we take very little, I will certainly remember the ease and comfort I had in talking to them. Perhaps it’s because I knew I had nothing to lose. Perhaps I felt enough age difference to feel somewhat authoritative, as prideful as that is. Either way, we connected and we learned a from each other.

free

Another day of school, teaching and learning. I learned a great deal about Kenyan government, history, politics, and taught a great deal about the Bible, geography and girl talk. Yep, after my lecture on Saturday about the reproductive system, I got to chat about relationships and sex with a bunch of teenage girls. I’m so grateful for my age. Wisdom comes slowly but I can be a help to those 5-8 years younger than me. I am very humbled by the conversation and their vulnerability with strangers to ask hard questions. One of my favorite phrases in Africa but especially in Kenya is “you are free.” Such was the statement of today’s discussion in class and the girls’ meeting- ask questions, give opinions and answers, discuss: YOU ARE FREE!

singing at church

A new church experience: mainline denomination style. We went to a Presbyterian church half and half. The first service was in English so we showed up late to hear the sermon. The congregation was about a third full. The second service was in Kiswahili and standing room only. They had us share a song and introduce ourselves in front of the congregation. I really appreciate Bud taking the lead but I laughed to myself as he read notes off his hand, the same hand he used to hold the microphone. I’m sure he was chuckling to himself as well, fully aware of his inability to remember speeches. This wasn’t the first time he’s prepared this way. We chose In Christ Alone as our anthem for the day. A lovely selections with rich words, but 4 verses might have been a bit much. I enjoyed it, but for those of us who don’t have quite the same confidence in their voices, it was extra long.

Now one of my pet peeves is a presentation or offering at church that just ends. Sometimes it’s enough to finish a song, let the congregation clap and sit down. However, in African churches, everything results in clapping. Way to sing- let’s clap. Way to preach- let’s clap. Way to sneeze- let’s clap. So while I knew the applause was coming, I felt uncomfortable about the 4th wall we had created. (a theatre term to separate actor from audience) At my own church, I know I would have a chance to speak to people afterward, they know me and their response would be in my language. While that’s the benefit of clapping, it’s universal, I wanted a little bit more community in our offering. So I prayed.
I’m not sure I’ve ever prayed out loud as I did then. Perhaps the sound guy had turned me up, perhaps he turned up the Holy Spirit. Either way, it was cool. Rich, expressive and flowing with a vigor I rarely have especially when praying with groups. This has long been a silent prayer in my life and will continue to be, but I desire so much to pray better. Can a human qualify prayer? Not really, so long as it’s sincere, but chaperons with ACC and the kids inspired me with their words to God. I even thought of writing them, thanking them for being such good models, and offering me a bit of a tutorial. I can imagine the response ????? and at the same time being what I already know: you can’t get better at something without practicing. Just do it. Just pray.

Following the intro, the song, the prayer, a riotous applause broke out, or so it seemed in the echo of a cement barn of a church. We exited, I pleased to have left a gift that only our group of muzungus could leave. Smiles, tone-deaf harmonizing, humility and total gratitude for taking us just the way we came- freckled and fragile. If it was my custom to clap for everything, I would have clapped for them, the people of Mtwapa, the people of St. Timothy school, the people of Africa. Three cheers and a big boom cha!

Teach for Africa

I’ve told many people today, but it was one of my favorite days in Africa (minus the headache from lack of water which is my fault.) Today I taught class to 8th graders. With the invitation from their teacher and encouragement of the same to teach whatever I wanted as the students would be comfortable and eager to learn, I ran with my English lessons I had prepared during my time with ACC. I was a little bit nervous that I was teaching something they learned way back when, but as I found even when I prepared these lessons months ago, I took needed some review. As the students have been revising (studying and reviewing) for upcoming tests, a bit of repetition was a perfect program for the day. Plus, I had a lot of fun teaching them previously learned lessons with new twists. (Really anything was new and twisty coming from me, an excitable, expressive muzungu with lots of energy and a joy of not having papers to correct at the end of the day! ☺ )

So we studied adjectives today. Had grammar lessons been this fun when I was in school, I’m sure more people would have embraced the subject. There’s something about diagramming without application that kills the goodness of writing. The kids were intelligent and quick to catch on. The fact that I learned all their names straight off the bat helped a lot too. We created elaborate, detailed sentences with juicy adjectives, expressive while still articulate. I would love to take an Anne Lamott book to class to read those funny and overly descriptive passages to the class. Of course, many authors, more classical for sure than she, exists, but as I still laugh at some of her quotes, I’d be happy to share her light but profound wisdom.

Following the English lesson we (the Canadians and I) had a bit of a trivia game about N. America and then made paper cranes with a bit of a history lesson on WW2. As they were studying Kenyan government in social studies I didn’t feel adequately prepared, so this was a fine substitute. The students enjoyed our class, learned a great deal, and grew comfortable and trusting of me so much so that I’ll go tomorrow for another lesson. Maybe I’ll tackle adverbs…very carefully.

Tonight should be interesting as students and teachers are coming over starting at 9pm for a prayer vigil. I’m sure if I’m awake and cognitive to appreciate the time, I’ll be able to write a complete blog just on this subject. For now, here are the details. Every Friday night a group comes over to Mary’s house, the director of the school, to pray, worship, sing, do a Bible study, and pray some more. As Israel, the English teacher for whom I taught, put it, “We might be there until 3 or 5 in the morning.” In a very humble and cautiously excited way he said, “We never know when He might come back. If we go to bed at midnight, we might miss His coming, so we stay awake. We only do it once a week so it’s not that big of a sacrifice.” Well, if I make it, I pray I do, I pray also for an astounding way in which God will work tonight and the rest of the week. So while you’re at lunch or dinner, think and pray with us. It will be a worldwide event.

On a side note, drinking water is as important as a verb is to a sentence. Just as the verb gives a noun energy, water is crucial for my well-being. Alas, I am not getting enough. Partly, it’s my fault. I don’t look carefully for the buckets of water from which I can drink. However, I am in Africa where hot tea is drunk more than water and the latter is rationed a bit anyway. Drinking fountains, taps, and bottled water doesn’t readily exist everywhere I go. Instead, one has to be purposeful in carrying a supply of hydration for the day. No wonder camels have permanent backpacks.

Indian Ocean

Thurs. July 23
Today I swam in the Indian Ocean. I actually walked to an island in the ocean. Our home for the next nine days is about a 10 minute walk from the beach, a little inlet from the ocean where some sailboats can dock and the tide comes in just the same. The difference between this area and say a resort are the reeds and moss that make up the shoreline. The first couple yards into the ocean is filled with the vegetation, a little slimy and irky but I managed to get all the way under save my head to make it to the rock island. Our host George motioned to a tree that at higher tide was halfway in the water despite the hammock hanging from it. He said just 5 years ago it was never under water. I’m hoping to see another beach without the extra weeds but regardless the water is beautiful blue green and the sand is soft and white. It feels nice on my feet.
I’m hoping to make a habit of running to the beach. The walk there is through the forest and down some back lanes so a muzungu running to the beach won’t look terribly ridiculous, at least not to a large amount of people.

This morning was slow to start and typical of our time here. Jami and I slept in since we didn’t know of any plan for the day and no one woke us up. We eventually made it to the school just avoiding the 2nd of half a dozen torrential downpours of the day. The boys had gone before us to treat the truss with motor oil. Termites are a huge problem all over East Africa it seems so all the hard wood used in construction has to be coated before installed. They had gone about 8am so were utterly wet and black from the work. They continued to endure the rain and the stain for some time until lunch was ready and the last truss was painted. Meanwhile the girls gathered trash, made a rock wall around the garbage and tried our best to stay busy. Tomorrow we hope to hang out with the students more, maybe play a bit of jeopardy with Canadian trivia and maybe I’ll throw in one about Obama (a sure answer). Other than that the next week and a half will be interesting and a good time to meditate for all the “work” that awaits us.

One more addition to the list of characters around here apart from the aforementioned monkeys, dogs, camels, and lots of bugs, are 2 geese! These geese are mean little beasts, like mad cats. They hiss, bark and even nip at us. Plus, like every other fowl animal around on this trip, the SQUWAK! Early in the morning, later in the morning, at lunch, during afternoon naps, in the dark and as we go to bed. My goodness- noisy birds!

wild animals

Today we drove from central Kenya in Nairobi to the coast at Mombasa. We stopped along the way to see a few shops with all the same things- big carvings of giraffes, batiks and jewelry. We did see a few guys carving these detailed pieces of woodwork. To see them working with small axes and pic axes doing this work is astounding. Today also marked the first day of real wild life spotting. Camels running from their shepherds, baboons crossing the road and elephants eating dinner. Good fun all around.
Now it’s time to eat. Hallelujah!

Oh also I started and finished a great book called Assaulted by Joy by Stephen Simpson. It’s funny, deep, insightful and a quick read. I highly recommend it, especially for light travel reading.

Shopping with Mama

Tues. July 21
Today we made our way back to the city. The capital. The busyness of the country. Oh man! It’s crazy how quickly I get tired from the constant commotion, movement and quickness of big cities especially Nairobi. We have been warned on several occasions that this is a “mean” city by natives, other Africans, and muzungus who have visited.

Anyway, Nairobi here we are here and the benefits come in the package. We are staying in the same hotel that we stayed before going to the country. A nice bed, pillows, and even a hot shower tonight on the docket. It’s too good to be true. The only thing left is a slice of pizza and I would be in heaven. But alas, I am still on earth and enjoying a PBJ and Pepsi Light.

Such is the life after a crazy day in the market. Imagine if you will a parking lot that has been left to rot and collect trash, mud and weeds. On top of that put 1000 people in random rows, sitting on tarps, blankets, small stumps. On top of that are wares from all over the city and village and China probably, waiting to be bought for that “really special price” that only Muzungus can get. But in case you were afraid of getting lost or overwhelmed by the choice, you could have 5 of your very own tour guides to lead you through the market. “Touch is free.” “For you a good price.” “Where are you from?” “Come see my shop.” “I haven’t sold anything-be my first customer.” (@ 1:30pm) These guides will help you navigate between the guy with carved encklaces to another guy selling seemingly the same necklaces. But don’t forget that bowls, purses, scarves, shields, masks, utensils, batiks, drums, hats, dresses, baskets, chess boards, note cards, bracelets, and “laptop” bags are all available…essentially on every row. “Just look.” “Support me.” “It is yours for a very nice deal.”

Thankfully, we took Mama Monica with us. She shows no mercy and no white skin so our money and pride was saved and well spent. Jami and I decided to look around first, just to confirm that most plots sold the same items or very similar. And we were certainly accompanied. Brokers were on the two blondes like bears on honey. But we walked slowly, remained calm, looked with our eyes, and kept our few possessions in tight grip. Eventually, they disappeared, their efforts fruitless. One of the guys who left early told the remnant following to leave us alone. “They hate you.” I’m not sure if he thought we showed animosity or if he was doing us a favor. Either way, we looked freely from then on, only confronted every once in a while be a very persistent man selling copper bracelets. I could get 10 for 100 SH to 1000 SH ($.80-$13). I declined all the offers, sorry friends. After perusing for a good while and finding just the right things for those special folks in our lives, we called upon Mama to make the deal. She did not fail us, not once, and even made sure the quality was up to standard.

These exchanges between vendor and muzungu, Mama and her white kids, and money hand to hand reminded me of my shopping with my mom when I was seven. I had saved my allowance and birthday money for a very special something, or until it started burning a hole in my piggy bank. I had spotted a very small furry pink chair at Kmart that was meant for me. It looked like just the throne for a princess. So here is the kid, giving the mom her money to make a deal for this unique item. Well, just as Mama Monica helped us find just the right thing and avoid the rest, so did mine way back when. I was better off without the pink chair in the end (seven year olds grow pretty quickly) and I am better off without the overpriced necklace and scarf.

Serving My Neighbor

Sat. July 18
I went for a vigorous walk today. The only outlet I could find in the midst of this foreign land where I can’t run, be in a room alone or even speak plainly. Frustration, exhaustion and self pity had set in. I cried and walked with such gusto the dust from passing cars couldn’t stick to my face. I was completely dirty from work and wearing the same clothes from all week but still I walked, blew my nose in my sleeve and prayed. I prayed for a reason to feel as I did. I prayed for forgiveness for feeling selfish about my time when I’m not serving others or connecting with the students. I prayed to be thankful for my strength.

And I came to this conclusion:

I am here to serve Christ. If in my efforts I feel glorified and exalted for my efforts, they are without real merit. If I love only to be rewarded even with a thanks, I have not really loved. If I seek comfort or reprieve from carrying the cross, it will only get heavier. If I simply look to serve my “neighbors” across the world but lack the efforts and desire to serve those sleeping next to me, I might as well stay home in bed.
I cannot hope to serve others across the world if I see them as the object, a game or project to accomplish. Instead I have to serve Christ. If he is my object and then reward- as in I’m only concerned with how he judges, values, and appreciates my efforts- then I will end up serving others. It will be wholly holy, no pretention, no arrogance or self righteousness, no human disappointment. Sometimes serving Christ will look different than what I would do if left to my own devises. I might work all day in the field but forget to sing and talk with others. I might write great stories and fine essays but miss connecting with those right beside me and helping them complete a more pressing task. I might remain closed in my book, my computer, my thoughts and miss sharing in spirit with friends and strangers alike.

While I’ve been in Africa the question of who is poor, who is in need, who deserves has been plaguing me. Africa, India, the developing world must need the most and therefore I should give them my resources. But what about the guy next door who’s son doesn’t get a shower or breakfast before school? What about the abused mom who has to work 3 jobs to make ends meet? What about my sister who is sick or brother who needs counseling or grandma who needs yard work done? Do these people deserve less of my time, energy and resources? In the end I’m serving Christ, where I am, where God calls me, where holy discontent requires I go.

things I miss

Many meanings of home exist: home is where the heart is. Home is where you’re loved. Home is the place of comfort. And so on. While all of these might grasp a bit of my longings now 3 weeks into a visit of East Africa, I think a different phrase might sum it up better.
Home is where and what I miss when away.

- Tap water: Being a avid water drinker, gallons a day, I miss the abundance at my finger tips. Not being able to take it from the tap is even worse because the supply is not only a health risk but unavailable. I’m not parched but I truly appreciate the ease of drinking at home.

- Space: City life is more natural to me then living on a farm in the middle of nowhere but living on top of my neighbor is not necessarily my forte either. I have enjoyed community living for a good majority of my life since leaving for college so I’m not new to the sharing of space. The difference in Africa is that with a house that can only accommodate 2 or 3 maximum rooms for EVERYONE, brothers, sisters, moms, dads, babies, grannies, aunties, etc. a place to go away from others for silence or to simply stretch out is hard to find. Going outside unless in the middle of the night does not afford that luxury very often either as random animals are always clucking, baying, or mooing at me. I am very grateful that I have my own twin bed so at least my sleeping space is uninterrupted and uninhibited…at least until 4am when the rooster crows.

- Stimulation: It seems with my computer with me I would be as much at ease here with technology and possibilities as at home, but the truth is life is simple. Electricity is random and unpredictable. Conversation can be very enlightening but language is sometimes a barrier so I’m left to make small talk as much as I can. I’m glad I have a book but those pages will soon be finished. So am I complaining? I hope not, I’m just not sure I could handle the simple life of working in the field, eating, going to bed, attending church and meeting neighbors. I want to know what’s going on in the world via newspapers or the internet. I like to play soccer or take dance lessons. I appreciate going to the library for new books and study.

-Running: I can’t stand it. Not only is it not culturally acceptable, but I would probably break an ankle if I tried to jog down the dirt road. I miss this activity I think more than any other. Of course, I’ve done a lot of cross training lately, which also gives me great pleasure, but overall I feel like a sloth. I’ve walked 3-6 miles everyday and yet it’s not the same. Is it ok for me to do exercise and activity for no reason but to simply do? It’s my outlet more than any other and without it, my spirit feels a bit flabby.

-Cat calls: Some might find the attention from the town as a flattering call, but the yelling, calling out and general cat calls to the muzungus is getting old. The children all shot out “How are you?” in the voice of a mouse. While I would answer them in a typical day, they have know idea what I say in response to their call nor do they have any desire to talk to us. They just like calling after us and laughing when we speak. I will enjoy not being a part of the circus when I get home.

-Steady Internet and reliable electricity: need I say more? I’m spoiled at home. And I am thankful that I can post this even a week after my last internet connection.

dripping in wood

Fri. July 17 Today went left home late in the day, not knowing what or what not there would be for us to do. I ventured to the school in hopes that some great project awaited me. Well I was in luck. Four of us were commissioned to gather wood and lumber from the forest.

Now this might seem like a silly project and a waste of time. Why not go to Home Depot? Why not have the lumberjacks come to us? Well middle men did not exist in the exchange of yesterday’s materials, instead we were on the ground chopping, gathering, hauling, and delivering. I will forever be grateful for the ease of going to the store, though without this experience I would never have understood the sheer strength, ingenuity and endurance required to start such a big project as building a roof from the tree.

We walked for about 45 minutes in the moon dust road, the red dirt flies all over the place, especially in my teeth. We stopped by the carpenter’s boma (home) where his parents, brother, and immediate family lives. We avoided tea though it was offered for the first of many times that day. Finally we arrived at the chopping site- the tree had be cut down on the side of the mountain where the lumberjacks worked to cut boards for timber framing. It was a pretty incredible process to see 3 guys cutting “straight” board with a taught string and chain saw. For the next 2-3 hours we hauled up their work- from the bottom of the hillside (think steep incline for about 150 meters) to the road (another 200 meters).

A blue gum tree was the victim of the day though it has been accused of playing the persecutor of Kenya by sucking up all the water. The tree can take in a whole barrel a day which would explain the dry ground. When it’s cut, water leaks out of it like a siv. One time I carried a 12 foot board that was so wet that it dripped all the way down my body. My shoulder was so wet that I could ring out the water. I didn’t know a bath was in the work schedule.

All in all, it felt good to work hard and have a fun tale to tell, but each step of that mountain was mixed with a prayer for strength and breath. At 8500 feet and 2.5 weeks of no real exercise heavy lifting, my heart pounded and my breath came hard and heavy.

Playing with Harrison

Yesterday family time with low lights and full bellies allowed us feel and ease and play a little. Our hosts have a two young children, Susan (8) and Harrison (6), who love to play despite not knowing a ton of English. Jami and I were just teasing Harrison, poking him and then pointing to someone else as if to blame the person across the room. He giggled and tried the same trick. Then we played the old camp skit where one person is the body while another person hides behind so her arms can be the body’s new arms. It’s a funny game especially with silly activities like brushing your teeth, writing your name, combing your hair, and my favorite, drinking water. Jami (my arms) did pretty well except when it came to drinking water. I should have seen the shower coming but my failure to get any in my mouth was a success in comedy.

After the comedy hour Jami showed Harrison all the cool tricks she could do with her feet. Pinch, write her name, fold napkins- all the typical feet/toe activities. Harrison gave it a try in his new yellow crocs but did as well as I would with bare feet. I can point and flex-but my toenails are painted ☺

Finally we played like we were asleep and Harrison had to wake us up. We curled this way and that on one big chair until Jami eventually fell to the ground- that woke her up. Harrison laughed and laughed as did Susan and any watching from a distance. Our theatre degrees came into handy and so did our silliness degrees. Mom, you should be proud!

Traveling African Style

Monday July 13: As I experienced last week, travel is quite different in Africa than in the States.  After today’s trip I have ever more evidence to report of considering the uniqueness of the African way of moving. 

The final destination for today was Mukeu, Kenya.  This is a small village outside of Nairobi, the capital city which is located pretty close to the middle of the country.  So rather than book a 45 min flight for $300, the group of 8 bought bus tickets on Akamba Bus for a tenth of the price per ticket.  Now this ticket compared to those to Rwanda are almost double the price.  But every penny/shilling was worth it since we had double the luxury to Kenya.  We rode first class! 

First class provides reclining seat, enough elbow room to feel excessive, a small bite to eat when we boarded of Samosa and a French bread tasting treat sans the syrup, and drapes to cover the windows when the intense sun wants to share in the ride.  (A reminder about the previous bus: dust, people boarding randomly during the trip and sitting on my lap because oddly they sold all the seats but forgot to check the books, and musical accompaniment that was only enjoyable elevator music to a rock band, volume included.)  So I was a little overwhelmed at the possibility of riding 14 hours across the countryside in somewhat comfort. 

 

First class people here versus the States is a little bit more distinct.  If one were to ride business class on purpose, not a lucky upgrade on one’s honeymoon, a variety of accoutrements and activities would be quite visible.  First, Blackberry’s, iPhones, laptops, champagne or other spirits, poodles or their cousins, cockerdoodles and labradoodles for company, lots of jewelry and shiny watches, and suits are typical but the added bonus of a private lavatory, lots of leg room, a massage, and food that has more than a cardboard consistency make traveling bearable in the least.  In such accommodations patrons will busily work away on business projects, nap without disturbance, drink as they please, and think grand, profitable thoughts. Flying is necessary in order to make money with saved time.  I’m sure turbulence is even avoided near the front of the plane and if heaven forbid the flight encountered loss of cabin pressure, masks would drop to provide flavored oxygen.

Here, we appreciate the space not shared with 3 other people like on a taxi, room for our knees enough not to puncture the back of the person in front, and chances to get out to scrounge up food among the street vendors and relieve ourselves. 

Of course this last subject produces it’s own excitement and experience that is available regardless of the African ride.  Today I decided after 12 hours, I shouldn’t torture my bladder anymore, so I found a porcelain long drop.  In other words, the toilet had been suck into the ground and one has to do her best a) to make it in the hole, b) not be too zealous to avoid splashes, and c) try not to wonder why all the smooth service of white porcelain is reserved simply for catching as opposed to supporting as well.

But in the end, I greatest difference I observed was the use of time.  Apart from Jami and I who would be mugged of all our gadgets if we weren’t careful, everyone on the bus simply sat.  Some talked on their phones or read, but most people peered out the tinted windows at the changing sites from village to field to dirt.  And even I, despite finishing a book, writing a few blogs, and listening to music, am simply riding along, subject to any and every bump, stop, change of outside temperature and therefore increased cabin heat, and a day of traveling that seems as endless as the desert.

to wed-the finer details

Sat. July 11: The moments before a wedding are always the same regardless of the culture.  We had a hurry and wait morning with lots of excitement all magnified by no electricity.  I hope someone else in town had a good time with the extra.  So between the wrinkled clothes, unknown departure time and vehicles, and an unfortunate theft last night of all the groom’s most important things and documents, starting the wedding on time was just impossible.  Not mention of course that we’re in Africa.  Sharp and time are like oil and water together. 

Jami and I anticipated a bit of this running around and seeing as we couldn’t do anything to quell the situation, we did some chores.  We washed clothes and hung them to dry, cleaned the kitchen (props mainly to Jami for washing 10 people’s dishes) and washing our hair.  So lots of soap and water.  Next time we’ll have to do 3 in 1 to conserve, good karma for the next three weeks in Kenya.  When the time/taxi finally arrived we were ready and feeling accomplished and clean. 

The wedding, meant to start at 11am start promptly at 11:55 and not a moment later.  The decorations were spray painted vases with sticks with burgundy and gold. So cool.  The wedding party all wore beautiful garments of the same colors which had accents of intricate embroidery.   One Voice, a choir maid of former choir kids, gave a couple songs to welcome us and accompany Prossy as she walked down the aisle.  The Pastor spoke for some time, nothing short for sure, but unlike the uncomfortable pictures we try to create in the states when everyone in their new heels and dresses stand silently looking on, the entire wedding party sat and listened.  Once the vows and the rings were exchanged, they should at attention, looking quite beautiful.  Lots of cheering, singing, and clapping brought the ceremony to a close and then off they went.

Now, a reception did occur immediately following.  Dad- you could go get lunch and take a nap before getting white cake.  In between these wedding and reception, the wedding party gets pictures, takes naps, etc to arrive about 3 hrs later for the food and fun festivities.  So we went to have lunch near the reception hall and check email.  I enjoyed some mango and pineapple ice cream which was refreshing and tasty.

The reception started at 3ish, do the math, and so we walked into the decorated lawn that was about a third full.  The wedding party came about 20 minutes later and welcomed us all even though all of us felt right at home, chatting with friends and meeting new ones.  Cut cake which Jordan served to Prossy while she kneeled to him, ate food which was a lot of starch and soda, clapped for speeches, enjoyed One Voice sing and dance, and finally danced all night.  I learned some good moves from JP and again felt completely at ease despite my no-beat muzuguness. I’m not overly tired but certainly hot and sweaty and thankful that I can get away to my bed to write a little.  I left it all on the dance floor I guess.  

Wedding= Family

Sat. July 11: 

Most people don’t get married twice to the same person in the same week.  But that’s what happened, or that’s what it looked like to this American’s eyes.  Last Sunday we attended the traditional Ugandan introduction which is when the woman’s family officially hands over their daughter to the man.  With such hoopla and formality, not to mention the outfits, preparations, food, dancing, and gifts, I can’t imagine what would possess someone to do it again.  And then not less than 6 days. Crazy.

But what is crazy to me initially was a beautiful celebration of family and friends giving their son and daughter to God as a bonded couple.  Each moment, each verse, each speech, dress, bow, smile, prayer had a special meaning and made the union much tighter as it was fully interwoven with family. Every auntie, uncle, dad, mom, and friend was there to support the couple, even if it was at a distance.  Jordan’s aunts and godparents from Canada sent emails.  So between the 2 hour long wedding, full with sermon, choir songs, signing of the marriage certificate, pictures, and all, and the reception, again a full blown introduction and offering warm wishes of happiness to the couple, we all felt the love. 

I thought after the celebration on Sunday, I would be done- I can only imagine the desires of the bride and groom, and yet the wedding was a great cap to the week.  And I believe it was the week or 2 weeks of spending time with the family, friends, new family, and all those who invested so much time into their lives as well as the wedding, that allowed me to completely enjoy myself.  In the past weddings I’ve attended or worn a special maid dress, I have experienced a varied amount of closeness with the married couple and also their family and friends.  But even still, come time for the reception or even standing in the pretty little picture that is the wedding party, I felt like a stranger.  Those next to me were aquaintences at best apart for a few close folks.  I dance only to go crazy without ridicule from strangers and to work off the extra piece of cake. 

Here it was different.  So goes the story.

I felt as if I knew these people like brothers and sisters.  Even after meeting some only 20 minutes into the reception we danced together, ate together, shared stories and dreams together in a way that was genuine, authentic and toally life giving.  My family has grown to another continent and I didn’t even have to by a new dress (just an expensive plane ticket).  While I don’t think this is possible for most weddings in the USA, I now know better how to make it an event of familiarity and unified spirit.

Yes, the pastor (and Prossy’s dad) gave a sermon that doubled as an alter call. Yes, I was sweating (what’s new really) and sitting through ceremony. Yet, I learned a great deal about what family is for: to hold each other accountable, to support through hard times and screw ups, to plan a wedding, and to be honored.  Pastor Sebealis preached on the prodigal son, who might have brought shame to his family especially his father.  But in the end, his presence in the family was all that was important.  His presence is the honor.  That is joy of bringing in a son or daughter into the family as two are united in marriage.  I enjoy celebrating, I’ll go to weddings when I can, but flying half-way around the world to learn how to be a better daughter, sister, niece, granddaughter, and friend to my family was worth it all.

home at last

Fri. July 10: 

The second bus ride of this African trip had its advantages as well as its unfortunate points. 

Highlights (and the lowlights):

+3 of us shared 3 seats.  Novel concept.

- Dust flew through the windows by the buckets full, but the heat prevented the other option

+ lots of Bumble bars

- the bumps on the road kept my stomach lurching and book hibernating

+ quicker border crossing

- picked up random people along the route who might have had a seat

+ we arrived with time in the late afternoon to do visiting

- bus was still 9.5 hours!

The first bus ride provided me more material for pondering as it was new, but the thoughts that dominate this day happened after what in other circumstances would have been the end of any productive functioning.  Instead Jami and I met Robert from Base Choir who took us to the African Children’s Choir Primary School.  Here we were greeted by kids from Base Choir and about 100 other kids who range from grades 3-7.  This is when I knew was home not only from Rwanda but in Africa.

Robert drove us down the drive of the school which just moments before furnished the pitch for a small soccer game, volleyball practice and random running and playing of students out of school for the weekend.  I wasn’t out of the car 13 secs when children plowed me with their hugs.  Oh my, the kids have grown in statue, beauty and mostly maturity.  With the onslaught of my kids and several others I remained trapped by the car, telling stories intermixed with hugs and hearing reports of everyone’s work in school or the sport’s field.  The bell rang for snack of sugar cane so we migrated to the chopping table to prepare the cane for eating.  While Brenda readied some for us, Mark, Rita, and Peace gave Jami and I a tour of the school and boarding house.  How proud they were of each floor whether it was their classroom, devotion room or rooms.  Each girl wanted me to see/inspect their beds which I gave a fair rating.  Some had just done laundry and decided to fold the sheets in odd shapes like letters or big pieces of hard candy.  So silly but perfect.  Home for them in every way. 

We grabbed some sugar cane and told more stories and answered questions about other aunties and uncles.  I heard great reports from the older ones, many of whom have taken leadership positions at the school as head prefect or sanitary regulator.  Martie has grown so much in stature- his muscles are hugs and voice deeper- but the mind and soul of this one pleased me beyond belief.  I asked him what he was learning and he answer with leadership.  Since he’s an older boy in the school, he has taken a big brother role.  Such a position has caused him to make hard decisions maybe against his selfish desires but surprisingly fulfilling for him.  

Heaven Indeed

Thurs. July 9:

The second day in Kigali was utterly relaxing.  Heaven indeed.  About 8 years ago I read a book by the famous travel book writer Rick Steeves which said, “Tell yourself you’re coming back.  There is no way you can do everything and see everything on your adventure abroad. With this mentality you can make plans to see what you can fit in without over-stressing your body, mind and spirit all the while feeling confident that if the opportunity presents itself and interest remains, you can visit again.” (This might not be verbatim but it certainly grasps the essense of his message.)  So I am liberated  Heaven indeed.

When we planned our outing to Rwanda, we hoped our tour guides/friends would be a good help in making our dreams come alive while providing the necessary insight to the praciticalities of our plans.  So after traveling all over the city of Kigali the first day, but more intensely visiting worlds that cut deep to the heart, we slept in.  I have many friends and myself included who believe sleeping is for home, no one needs to go across the world to sleep. But in the midst of 5 weeks on the road in Africa, I rationalized it in my head, and made myself relax at least until 8am. Heaven indeed.

The lazy morning allowed us to read a little, catch up on writing in journals, watching the news, and showering!  Wathcing the news is rather interesting since Rwanda has one station for the entire nation.  The station seems to be pretty objective and broadcasts news from the BBC and other stations in 3 languages- English, French, and Kinyaranda.  I learned about the G8 summit to make a proposal for about climate control and that Google launched an OS that revivals Windows.  It will be interesting to see how that plays out when I get home.

Eventually, we left to buy bus tickets back to Kampala, search for African crafts and garb including soccer jerseys, and visit Honoline at work. We were successful on all of our in town shopping apart from the jerseys (there’s no Rwanda team) so we rested at Heaven, restaurant and bar.  Being the friends of the office manager helped us a great deal with FREE WIRELESS internet and a few sodas.  I don’t know that I’ve ever spent so much looking at pictures on Facebook or writing emails, but diving into a technological oasis wwas  refreshing.  Heaven indeed.

I went for a quick walk around the neighborhood.  There’s something to be said about posh in a developing country.  Posh equals really tall walls with an elegant gate.  But there we were as Heaven was about 7 blokcs from the famous Milles Collines Hotel from Hotel Rwanda and another half mile from the president’s house.  I walked along the smoothly paved streets and even sidewalks (the first I’ve seen since being in Africa) and took pictures.  As I passed a construction site of a high rise building, a few workers on break who sat up on the scaffolding shouted down to me.  I was alone on the street, but the word Muzungu concluded that I was the object of their catcalls.  Playing off as if I spoke French as they spoke English or American as they parlayed me, I trotted on.  The promonade took me in several directions so I found some joy in finding my way back by the floral landmarks.  I can’t say that such landmarks could be used anywhere for a majority of the year except for places of such agreeable climates. Heaven indeed.

Dinner time came just in time, and the wait was worth every bite.  Since we were in international diplomat neighborhood, Heaven served a variety of familiar foods such as chicken and mashed potatoes, ravioli, salad, and fish.  Heaven indeed.  The atmosphere reminded me a great deal of the lodge restaurants of national parks, with candle light, comfy seats, a great view, and blankets since the temperature dropped a bit.  We treated our hosts to an elegant meal, especially in comparison to the granola bars or rice and beans Jami and I have consumed more regularly.  After pork chops and mashed potatoes, we finished the meal and lovely evening with a brownie and ice cream.  Heaven indeed.

Despite sleeping in, a departure time of 4:50am and filling meal sent me quickly to sweet dreams.  The day was like Christmas or vacation or a dream.  Or heaven.  Heaven indeed.

1000 hills

Kigali is a nice city that seems clean with good infrastructure and less poverty than Kampala. There are some people along the street who are missing legs or have poorly developed limbs who beg in the city center but it doesn’t seem overwhelming. It seems to me that the pleasantness of life here is due to the fact that it is not overly populated; their means and needs match pretty well. Plus, President Kagali is a popular leader who is said to have done more for Africa in the last 10 years than most people have done in the last 100 years.

I like the hills of the city. It creates a sense of closeness with one’s neighbors. Not that we’re not on top of each other but that we can see those who live across the valley. It feels like a big blanket with ripples that hugs the city.

Wed. July 8
For lunch we ate out, the first time since being in Africa. We had sausage and chips which was a nice change. Same starch I guess but in a new and spicy form. It hit the spot and almost put us to sleep on the way home. The taxis and min-buses are packed 4/seat (a seat which is designed for 3) and bit hot and noisy. The taxi guys buy their vans so they can paint them however and play whatever music they would like. Some guys painted snoop dog on the outside while another advertised for Spiderman. We did a fair amount of walking which felt good, especially being on the bus for so long. Kenya should be interesting with all the walking we’ll have to do but I’m looking forward to loosing some of my potato belly.

I showered in a bucket this afternoon. I didn’t really care since after playing soccer, Frisbee and walking in the dirt all day, my feet were atrocious and my grime of two days especially the bus stuck to me. There are certain decisions one has to make with limited water, lots of dirt to be scrubbed and muzungu hair that has to be washed pretty regularly. I decided on what I felt to be a pretty successful execution process of washing and emerged in my towel clean, fresh and happy. Nap time?

Rwanda- day 1, part 1

Wed. July 8 We slept hard, for a good 10 hours and still we were up at 7am. That’s the joy of crossing time zones. I’m praying for a good recovery when we return to Spokane. We have pillows! And towels and mosquito nets and cab fare until be can exchange money and well, great hospitality. Honoline has been so good to us so I’m glad we didn’t cut our trip here short.

This morning Clemens, a friend and choir kid from 14, showed us around the town while Honoline was at work. Clemens is in P6 and hoping to study law in University. I told her I would get her To Kill A Mockingbird Bird since she not only likes to read but wants to be a lawyer of integrity and character. She was great all day, interpreting, getting us good deals, and keeping us safe while not being over-protective. It’s a great skill to be a hostess and tour guide so I’m grateful for her patience.

We started our tour at the orphanage. Gisimba Children’s Orphange opened in 1950s and remains in the family as Papa Damas took over his father’s work. This is the place where all of the ACC kids from Rwanda are found and also a great shelter as Papa Damas was instrumental in saving hundreds of children during the genocide. The place is quite clean and has a good amount of land considering it’s in the middle of the city. There’s enough room for a soccer pitch and 6 dormitories. Such buildings are labeled Dorm of Hope, Dorm of Prosperity and my favorite, Dorm of Smart Boys. The orphanage houses 125 kids, sometimes more and sometimes less but the kids can be there until they’re 20ish yrs old. We had delivered our bag of clothes to them yesterday so we went back to connect with kids.

It was kind of strange since I’m sure they have muzungus come in all the time and larger groups of us draw larger crowds. Even still we played Frisbee with some and I spent a good hour or so talking to a boy in sign language. Salehe is 17 and expresses himself through eyebrows, sign language and drawing pictures in the sand, the last being the most impressive and helpful form of communication. Theophil was there to help interpret for both of us as he spoke enough English for me to ask questions and enough ASL to clarify when pictures or facials expressions didn’t quite convey the message. We talked about soccer, the Brazilian team, Rodolfo, and his likes such as soccer, running and biking. We have a lot in common. He taught me words in ASL like to teach, fly, umuzungu and umwirabara (black person). While this testimony seems to describe a quaint conversation, it was anything but. We enjoyed talking but sometimes the subject or a simple sentence took 15 minutes and dirty, sandy hands to convey and understand. We left with a picture and I took away lots of hope and possibility for the kids there. I don’t know much about the place though I can find out more online, but the programs and seemingly well-executed administration confirmed this feeling.

Shopping was next on the agenda so we went into town more to Nakumart. This is the Wal-Mart of Rwanda. No, it doesn’t take 5 cit blocks but it sells a little bit of everything from flat screen TVs and clothes to mushrooms and foil. Running on low blood sugar, I grabbed a lemon Fanta for the road. Man alive it was refreshing a rejuvenating, just what I needed before craft shopping at the Simba shops and attending the Genocide Memorial. The craft shops and employees were not as insistent as the ones at the equator, but they sold pretty much the same wares. I bought some cards but otherwise looked with my eyes and not my wallet.

ACC Primary School

The new African Children’s Choir Primary School captures the beauty of the landscape as well as the children it will serve. On Monday afternoon we went with a former choir kid to the site which is in Entebbe near Lake Victoria. From the middle of the campus one can see the expanse of the Lake as well as beautiful homes along the other banks while it is all surrounded with mango, banana, and jackfruit trees.

We met the project manager, Steve, an American working with Engineering Missions International, and the foreman, Jonah, a Ugandan who had been with the project from the beginning. Steve gave us a tour of the rounds, which from the pictures I saw April ’08 have progressed a great deal. The school buildings and dorms are both structurally done. They need the ceiling plastered, walls painted, and detail work finished.

The structure was created with earthquakes in mind since the site is on a fault line. Every other section is reinforced with a hand poured column of cement. The 80 meter (length of a football field) school building is so square and exact it’s amazing. It reminds me of God’s work. I guess that’s why he made us so intricate and precise so that we might be able to do the same with that which we build. Every stone was laid and measure by hand at the school.

The windows, which are made out of a local wood called mugavu, have been cared for a great deal. Each one is shaped and sanded by hand. They varnish the wood and joint pieces just perfectly so that each part seems to flow as a single unit. The beams holding up the roof are arranged in a beautiful rhythmic style that is both functional-providing a 2 meter overhang without interruption from columns, solid connection with the building to avoid a roof flying away- and educational- once they are stained they will be left open to teach kids how the building was constructed.

An impressive work of art in my opinion and definitely a labor of love. I’m glad my church in Casper could be partner financially. I’m also pleased to know the mission of ACC will continue on in such beauty.

African nuances

Washing clothes should not be under rated. The dirt here is red and seems to get over everything especially in the wind. Sometimes it’s hard to tell on my feet as I feel like I have tanned that much, but at the end of the day when I wipe them off with a wet wipe, I discover I could have painted an entire canvas with the dirt clinging to my skin. If not washed before sleeping or changing, this dirt form the body with transform white sheets to brown, crusty pieces of parchment. The dirt already creates a nice gradient look on the walls of the white stucco houses, so it’s wise to wash. All that said, Jami and I took our laundry out to the washing spout to clean the sweaty pieces that could no longer be passed as acceptable for public. Hand washing is not that bad with wik away clothing since they soak up water and then ring out quite easily. I did the squatting over the bucket of suds and clothes while Jami rinsed. Jordan’s mom helped us nag our clothes on the line and all was well. I don’t know exactly how grass stains or other nasty gross stuff can be taken out save for lots of scrubbing but thankfully I didn’t have to this round.

In order to be prepared fro Africa, one must know the hurry up and wait game. So our goal to leave at 11:30 became 12:15 and meeting Joshua at 12 became 12:45. It’s a little bit strange being a muzungu hanging out in the middle of a gas station waiting for someone, talk about a landmark. “Go to the gas station where the 2 muzungus are looking lost. You can’t miss them.” We hopped a taxi to Entebbe, but our guide wasn’t exactly sure of the stop. Of course, it’s not like the streets are marked or distinct, no muzungus on the corner, so Joshua had to do a bit of guessing, but we figured it out. Thankfully we got out of the taxi a little early and walked from there up the hill to the correct street rather than driving all the way to the airport. Boda bodas were the next form of transport to the school site. After telling Harriet our story she said that we could have directed them to the Muzungu school and everyone would have know what where to go.

Negotiating prices has always been my least favorite thing to do. I do it way to much in my head as it is when I try to decide the benefits of buying the generic and cheaper brand of something over the brand name. Usually I can console myself with one reason or another, habit and preference help, but this is not possible in Kampala. Everything has a price or kind of a price. Set in stone is not a cliché used around here. So whether I’m buying a dress, finding a good internet café deal or simply trying to get home from town, I have to negotiate. And by I, I mean someone who a) doesn’t have white skin b) speaks Luganda. Now, I could survive without such assistance. It would take me just a time or two to be jipped before I said, TRY AGAIN! But in these circumstances, especially with transportation I don’t know where I’m going and so the price carries not only the route price but the ignorance tax as well.
I really hate that this is the way of the world, of my world right now. At first I thought how grateful I am not to live in a country so dictated by money, but then I blink and realized that was hardly the case. I just live in the circumstances of a place that doesn’t require daily, situational bartering. Really what I should be thankful for is my ability and means to do such negotiating. I am rich in many things and I hope that a taxi price won’t change those things that can’t be paid for with shillings.

Banter for the Daughter

Today centered around the Okwanjula, the traditional Ugandan ceremony where the girl’s family gives her to the man’s family after discussing and presenting gifts and dowry’s and much game playing on either side.

The highlights included a variety of dress, the banter, food, and dancing:
Dress: As I mentioned earlier traditionally the men wear Kanzus (long white robes). They wear these over pants and then have a suit jacket on. As close to the hotness and discomfort as a tux as an African can get. The women wear gomesis (long, bright robes). These dresses are accompanied by a huge belt that has to be tied a certain way with a square in front on top of this satin dress with sleeves that are a cross between the Grand Tetons and 80s prom dress. The square necks make for a unique tan line. Those in the wedding party dress formally too with different outfits. Prossy, the bride to be given, wore 3 different outfits but sometimes this person would change 5-7 times in one afternoon.

The Banter: The entire ceremony is an exchange between two representatives for the family. They talk to one another about the terms and conditions for this arrangement. They discuss the background of the man’s family, the way he “spied” her, the flower, and then wooed her into this relationship. The entire time the men go back and forth making jokes and requiring another gift or form of appreciation to console the family who’s leaving the daughter.
Near the beginning, Jordan’s rep, Dickson, (the side most of the Muzungus sat on) offered bottle soda to the daughter’s rep. But he told them the Sprite was from a special spring in Canada. When the father approved of this gift, the negotiations continued. Jami and I thought either Canada Dry or Tim Horton’s would have been a better offering but they didn’t ask us. Dickson would then give the ushers their own gifts. The ushers were each introduced as daughters of the courtyard majoring in such things as a masters in Kneeling or a Bachelors in Prayer or a Masters in the book of Nehemiah. Dickson gave one of them a dollar and the daughter’s rep had her make sure it wasn’t a Zimbabwean dollar. Dickson also gave Prossy’s brothers a phone so she could always reach her. Of course he went on the Mangoe network (like Verizon or Cingular) so he got the two for one deal- 2 green mangoes for the price of one daughter.

Food: Typical Ugandan food: 4 different kinds of potatoes, 3 different types of bananas, chicken cooked and tied up in a banana leaf and chapatti. The cakes were fashioned in the shape of a melon while another had the shape of a basket that help real fruits and veggies. I had my first Fanta from a bottle this trip.

Dancing: Traditional dancers entertained us with familiar dances from Rwanda. They also brought out the rattles on their legs to bring out the aunties. Following the ceremony we danced to the Ugandan beat. I can dance to that!

gundi and other profound words

I’ve learned a lot about Luganda these last few days. I’ve been saying quite a few things wrong. Sebo for instance is “sir” or “boy” if he’s in trouble not just boy. Plus you wouldn’t call to a kid, hey boy. It’s rude. Gundi is the best word for that but it is all inclusive for "hey you," "thing," "what’s her bucket."
Sula- night
Jangu wanu- come here
Genda webake- go to bed
Wanji- yes
Ngabakilaba- obviously
Nsanyuse- I am happy.
Bonga- Rock. (can be used even with small children to teach them the fist pound we do in America.)
(Luganda vowels are always the same: a=ah like approach, e=ay like neighbor, i= e like meet)

Saturday, July 4: We loaded up to head out to Kayaga’s house. She is an auntie who has worked with ACC for so long. Currently, she is housing kids from the choir when they go on holiday. She also adopted two boys to add to the bunch. Her house which she built and designed herself was beautiful, full of color and wood work. It reminded me of a safari lodge or ski lodge with rhinos on the upholstery as opposed to moose. Jordan has bought some land in the area and Barnett’s house is next door to Barbara. He has a huge house that is sure to accommodate a great many people, all his kids and the ACC forever.

While the family went to Jordan’s land, Jami and I stayed at the house to help cook and chat with the older choir kids. Great conversations with Kate, Fatima, Herbert and Eve while Farida and Auntie looked on. While we rolled chapatti, we talked about the JOH tour and Jami tried to sing. Herbert told her she was bad and everyone pretty much agreed. The chapatti was just right and Kate told me I should use warm water to get it nice and sticky or at least to the right consistency. Once we got them all done and repeated a bunch since the dough was sticking under the sun we sat to talk.

Jami started by asking Uncle Steve’s question: What is your opinion about having aid workers come to their countries to work? Overall they thought it was good and necessary. There are just not enough resources to go around to all the people who need something and the government takes too much of a cut especially from big donors like other countries or World Bank or whatever. The problem too is that people can’t get a job without knowing someone directly or being related. Without those connections, there’s no hope of work. All these kids have the perspective of the west which has broadened their minds and hopes but unfortunately they don’t see it happening in Uganda. They also said much of the wealth and employment in contained in Western Uganda as opposed to being distributed amongst all the citizens of the country. Most of that wealth is remaining in the government official pockets. So really it comes down to a matter of networking, joining forces within a neighborhood and building out from there.

Jami helped me open my eyes to the goodness of what was going on around us and take perspective of the communities. We’ve seen the really hard lives, heard the stories, too, but we’ve also experienced the life of those who are making it, who are thriving beyond their needs and are able to give more to more people such as Kayaga. Her house will never be for just her or a few family members. It’s built for many with a big homemade wooden kitchen table for 10, lots of bedrooms, a good kitchen and plenty of space for others to read in one corner while playing a game in another. Also we see many people working the hard jobs and making ends meet and providing for their family.

Uncle Steve's question will surface again I'm sure. looking forward to those words too.

market madness

Saturday July 4th
We went back to the market to size and pick up the gomesis and go to the bank. It’s amazing with a little help in direction from Harriet, how at ease I felt this time walking through the crowd. Perhaps it was because I had less of a pack on, but I think it was because I knew the area, what I was looking for and what I would encounter. It was a little overwhelming at first to go through the market with people shouting at us and calling out “Muzungu” and not wanting to be rude but knowing that answering might lead to a lot more. Now that I’m comfortable I would be more than willing to say hi to those close to me. I hope that doesn’t make for a bad 1st impression. Am I standoffish when I’m out of my comfort zone? Something to think on…

wiles of transportation

Friday, July 3
We took the land cruiser (the vehicle of choice in this country) to town. With the introduction and wedding quickly approaching, the couple has lots of errands to do. In order to avoid traffic jams, crossing the street and long and expensive parking excursions, they took us along to many of the spots. First we went to the tailors. Fozia is a great gal who does beautiful work. She has fashion shows and makes majestic Indian clothing. She told me some of the women get 5-7 outfits for the wedding, all more immaculate than the other. The more money one has, the more they will want to show it off. So we went to size Grace for her introduction/wedding outfit. It’s a lovely gold with red embroidery. Embroidery is the fashion and so intricate here. While we waited and looked around, I came upon this shirt that has leather weaving, beads, and beautiful blue colors. I kept looking at it and wondering if it could be mine. I eventually tried it on which concluded in an exchange of money and wares.

Following this stop and quick stop buy the photographer through the government district, we got to the real market. The government, Aid, and embassy buildings were all pretty elaborate, or at least compared to the country’s average standard of living. I know this has to be the way, but the juxtaposition within the same city is hard to comprehend and swallow. Jordan found a parking spot on a round-about for which he bartered the price with 4 different guys. From there we strapped our bags carefully around us and went to get sized. We picked out a fabric of choice and then negotiated a price. Jordan is very good at that so I’m glad we were there. Jami and I decided early that we would be in different colors, blue and green to avoid matching gomesi(a customary dress for women with flowing fabric and big puffy sleeves) being confused as twins. Sisters maybe but not nalongo (twins).
nakato (Younger twin) and babirye (older twin), this time. (Kato and wasswa.- the words for boy twins. I hope this has been eduacational.)

We walked back through the crowded bustling streets where they drive on the leftish, yell all over the place, suck in nasty diesel fumes and pass alongside, taxi and person, close enough to kiss each other.

Transportation has been interesting but not altogether unpleasant. After finishing our shopping excursions, we grabbed a taxi which looks like a van and holds at least 15 people. Seatbelts are unheard of, enough room is also rare. This time we had 18 I think. The taxis work like buses in that they take a certain route and a person finds the right taxi to take. The vehicles are all parked, jammed in this one lot where a person goes to find a ride. Once the taxi is full, off it goes. Don’t be on a schedule because stops might be frequent and departure time is unknown. Certainly not NYC. So we rode to our area for $1.50 for the three of us. A real steal I think since it was a good 5-7 miles. From there Grace got us boda bodas to ride. I’m so thankful we went with her because as I told Jami earlier, I did not have the guts to ride one, or at least not the guts to carry out the transaction. I know I need to get over that. Lord help me. But Grace had a friend who hooked us up and we rode all the way home. She and I were on one and Jami rode by herself. What with her Mt. Dew, bag and awkward balance, she was excited and proud to get home in one piece. I told a new African friend when he came about our experience on the boda bodas and he was quite impressed with our courage and adventurous nature, I think. Me too. The drivers did well to avoid the pot holes, take the bumps slowly and get us there in one piece. Good fun for sure. Oh and along the road down town one can learn how to speak several languages. Jambo. Hello. Oli otiya. Agandi. Yoga (pronounced yon ga for the Indians).
Crazy and educational- the best kind of learning.

cows are crying outside to use the internet

It’s almost dark after the first full day in Uganda. Already we have a book full of memories. So much can happen in an airport or four, as was our case in four different countries.

Highlights:
All our bags arrived with us despite being tagged for Nairobi and being heavier than we planned when we checked in. Even though we made every effort to get the basement full of clothes, school supplies, drugs, and balls to Africa, weight restrictions prevented us from carrying the 420 lbs we planned. Instead we got away with 270 lbs (with an extra 40 each on our backs!)

A beautiful visit in the depths of Kiyonsa Village in Kampala. Morris, a former ACC child took us to introduce his family, show us the sites (termite mounds and pigs) and wanted to give a wedding gift to our friends. He and another choir member gave them a goat that was affectionately names JaSa after Jami and I. Morris' sisters made us a great lunch after we walked through the forests and herded cows.

Prossy and Jordan greeted us at the airport with fresh fruit, water, and big hugs.
It’s great to be here, now to writing out the rest of the thoughts for future posts. The cows are calling us home