Worship, Kenya-Style...

Dear church friends in America, imagine this scenario if you can: a church has 2 Sunday morning worship services scheduled, one at 8a.m. and the other at 10a.m, each to last about 90 minutes. Then imagine the first one not ending until 10:30, with the second finally getting started at 10:45 and lasting until 1:45p.m, with a 45-minute sermon thrown in for good measure.

Well, such was the case with the Roman Catholic worship service we attended this morning. We found out later that the priest was visiting from another area and was of a charismatic bent (though I had guessed that along the way) and though the music was wonderful, three hours is a really, really, really long time for a service of worship to last. Oh, and did I mention that we were sitting on backless benches? Of course, being a liturgical service, we were up and down a number of times and there was lots of swaying and clapping which helped break things up, but I was so-o-o ready for the service to finally end.

Lest you think I did not enjoy or appreciate this worship experience, let me assure you that there were some elements of the worship that I loved. The choir not only processed in during the opening hymn, led by a quintet of little dancers, a drum and a shaker, a crucifer, and 2 acolytes, but they also went out and then processed again for the Gospel procession, with the Bible being held aloft by a tall, smiling lay person. AND they again processed to present the offerings which had been received, as well as to present the elements for Communion. Each time there was clapping and singing and swaying and "stepping" by the choir, echoed by the entire congregation.

I also really like the entire congregation coming forward to present their offerings. The imagery is so powerful...the people of God presenting themselves and their gifts in a continuing procession of men, women, and children. Oh, and I might add- there were 5 offerings! Since the service was in Swahili, I didn't get all of the reasons for them, but after the offering by the entire congregation, there was one by the men, one by the women, and one by young people. And last, there was the offering received in behalf of the newly-begun "Kenyans for Kenya", to help with the famine in the northern and western parts of the country. I tried to imagine doing this in either the congregation where I am a member or the one I presently serve and I figure I would be quickly run out of town on a rail! But these folks- living in a poor area, I might add...not quite the slums but the next step up, known as "estates", where people live primarily in apartment buildings which resemble tenements in some of our major cities...dark hallways, laundry hanging from the porch railings, streets unpaved and deeply rutted, and the perpetual mounds of trash everywhere- responded. Giving, like hospitality, seems deeply ingrained in the hearts and souls of the Kenyan people and I suspect more than one of the donors was giving "the widow's mite"...the last of what they had for this day.

One more thing I loved was the painting of the Last Supper on the wall behind the free-standing altar, portraying an African Jesus and 12 disciples. It was simply beautiful and, along with paintings on the other 3 walls, greatly enhanced both the worship space and the worship experience for me. So be prepared, dear friends in America, for this Lutheran pastor to make some slightly daring changes in our worship experience. Be prepared to open your minds and hearts to welcome some of the "gifts" from our African sisters and brothers. After all, we're ALL God's children...and we're all in this together.
Pomoja, watoto!

Ruminations...

This trip to East Africa has been very different from last year's journey. For one thing, I am missing my family so much more, perhaps because of the trip's longer duration, but also, I think, because I am appreciating them more and more in light of what I've been seeing and experiencing. I am so thankful for the health and well-being of my grandchildren...so thankful that they are well-fed and housed and healthy...so thankful that they can all go to school and be educated without their parents having to worry about "school fees". My heart overflows with gratitude for the many ways in which our lives are continually being enriched by the arts- by music, by drama, by the simple act of the children being able to draw pictures which decorate my refrigerator door.

But in the midst of this terrible food crisis here in the Horn of Africa, with drought causing famine throughout Kenya and neighboring Somalia, with refugees flooding into Kenya from the north and pushing into Uganda on the west, I am also deeply frustrated with the governments which should have, could have, anticipated this and did nothing. The newspapers here are filled with editorials and letters excoriating the various government ministers- and the president- for living lives of luxury while people in all parts of the country are struggling just to stay alive. And I find myself very conflicted...wanting those in dire need to be helped and yet realizing that much, oh, so much of this problem has been caused by the very government which was elected by the people but which has failed dramatically to improve the lot of the common person. (Of course, in light of what's happening in the U.S. right now, perhaps our government isn't so very different...hm-m-m.)

After last year's trip, I thought I would like to return to East Africa to live for a period of time, perhaps a year, but that is no longer an idea I am considering.
Instead, I will work from where I am to do all I can for the Nyanya Toto Pre-school, and for my Rwandan "family". I will stay in touch with all of the wonderful people with whom I've connected on this trip and do what I can to promote beneficial connections for them.  And I will pray daily for guidance, strength, wisdom, and discernment, that I may use my talents and resources in the best ways possible, to do the most good, both home and away. Perhaps that is the very best that I can do...perhaps...

Beyond Words...

Today we made our second foray into the heart of Kibera, the world's second-largest slum. Our destination was Tabitha's Clinic, a combined project of Carolina for Kibera and the CDC (Centers for Disease Control). From the offices of CFK, a young man led us downhill to the clinic...and what a trip it was. Narrow alleyways bordered by ramshackle buildings of mud and wood, with metal roofs...the ground covered with a combination of garbage, animal and human excrement, discarded clothing and plastic bags, mud, and flowing sewage...dogs and chickens scrounging for feed in the garbage piles, while runny-nosed children stood in doorways and stared with often-empty eyes as we passed by. And the odors were truly beyond description. On and on we went, for what seemed like a very long distance (though it was probably less than a mile) and a very long time, as we had to watch our step so carefully. Never in my life have I wished for hip boots, but today they would have been most welcome!

Tabitha's Clinic was remarkable, a real oasis of calm and cleanliness in that ocean of chaos and filth. The staff we met were amazingly dedicated people who work incredibly hard to bring health care and information as well as improved nutrition to this impoverished area. The patient-families we saw- mostly mothers and babies or young children- were amazingly clean, one of those seemingly-oxymoronic facts which has been rearing its head over and over as we've visited the slums. How do people living in such squalid conditions, without electricity or running water or waste disposal of any sort manage to look so clean when they go somewhere like the clinic? It seems a matter of pride for them...and I cannot cease from marveling at it.

All too soon it was time to return to CFK. This time the trip was all uphill, with more slippery areas to negotiate and rocks covered with a slimy coating to avoid, if possible. I slipped once on a half-buried plastic bag and felt my legs being splashed with mud- at least I hoped that was what it was. Putting my hand out against a mud-covered wall steadied me and I beathed a huge sigh of relief, as landing in that morass of garbage and sewage would have been an experience I would gladly do without! When at last the headquarters of CFK were in sight, I found myself hurrying to the car to get out the wipes I carry everywhere so I could clean the mud from my legs and pant legs, as well as wipe my hands. So deeply shocking was the whole experience that I was unable or unwilling to take any photos at all and it was with much relief that we left Kibera today. The only thing I could think about is how much I would love to hug my grandchildren right now.

Harambee!!! We're All in this Together!!!

Yesterday was a day of celebration at the Nyanya Toto Pre-School Center in Kibera. We held a harambee...a traditional Kenyan festival where people from the community, dignitaries, etc. are invited to learn about what we are doing, to enroll new students (we hope), and to elicit contributions. Though a bit sparse on dignitaries, we had an amazing emcee who kept things going and played great music to keep the atmosphere light and joyful.

But I am getting ahead of myself. First, a lovely Mexican priest conducted a time of blessing, with scripture reading (the story of Zaccheus from Luke), discussion and comments by those present, and prayer. Then, using a fistful of kale leaves, Mary Martin, Nyanya Project founder, and Elizabeth, our teacher, sprinkled all of the participants with water, then went through the building and grounds, blessing every part of the school. It was lovely...and a deeply meaningful ritual, especially with the nyanyas and the children singing a song about "Water of God" all the while.

Elizabeth and Julius

Pre-school watoto

The remainder of the afternoon's actvities were held in the schoolyard, with songs and poems by the children, dancing by the nyanyas, and the encouragement by our emcee for the rest of us to dance and give "whatever shakes loose" to the fund for the pre-school. Believe me, that guy knew how to ask for money!!! "You are never too poor to give, nor too rich to receive," was the refrain he used again and again. Don't know how much was shaken loose, but I know that dancing with the other nyanyas and some of the mothers of our children was wonderful fun! In fact, at one point Elizabeth said to me, "You are a really good dancer!" and I replied that I LOVE to dance! All in all, the afternoon was an incredible success and a good time was had by all.

Children reciting

Teacher and students singing

Grandchildren performing

A dancing mama

At the top of the slide

Nyanyas dancing

On the playground

Feelings were bittersweet at the end of the afternoon as we bid "Kwa Herini" to the grandmothers. Of course, their oft-repeated question was, "When will you be coming back?" but for Mae and me, there was no good reply because we both realize returning may not happen again...that this was indeed "Good-by" in the deepest and truest sense of the word. Thankfully, the joy of the afternoon pervaded the air and drove away any sadness, so eyes remained tearless and smiles stayed bright, even as we drove away from this place where yet another piece of my heart remains.

Some of our Nyanyas

The Three Musketeers- Mae, Mary, and Me

Arts and Artists...Creativity Abounds

I promised to tell about the second gem in the crown of our Rwandan trip, remember? It was a visit to Ivuka Arts, a wonderful center where about 15 young Rwandan artists share space to paint, confer with one another, offer support and encouragement to one another, and show and sell their work. We met two of the artists, a pair of brothers named Emmanuel Nkuranga and Innocent Nkurunziza (I know- different last names, but we have learned that in Rwanda there is no such thing as a famiy name and parents name each child what they wish...both first and last names. Odd, I know, but there it is.)

Both of these young men are fluent English-speakers and both will be in the U.S. in the coming months, Innocent to have an exhibit of his paintings in Manhattan and Emmanuel to work with a cardiologist in Spokane, Washington, in a program using art with cardiac patients, both prior to and following surgery. Innocent is also working with our Rwandan nyanyas to help them learn some more crafting skills and Emmanuel works with street kids, using art to help them with self-expression, to help get them off the streets and off drugs, and to give them hope and a sense of possibility. A very special couple of twenty-somethings with deep social consciousness, boundless enthusiasm and optimism, and impressive amounts of talent.

Innocent and Emmanuel

The two artists surrounding the travling grandmothers

Ivuka Arts studio

The front wall

Unfortunately, the two most important people in making our Rwandan visit a success mostly escaped this photographer's camera. I did manage a shot of Simon, our guide, interpreter, and friend, when he showed us the Nyanya Project office in Kigali.

Though he looks serous here, he smiled most of the time he was with us and made our trip a great pleasure, as did our driver, Bosco. No way we could have done all we did without them. My deepest and most profound thanks to these two wonderful men.

And all too soon, our days in Rwanda were over and we were winging back to Nairobi where we will remain until August 1st, when we head to the Masaai Mara where
the Great Migration is taking place.
Lala salama, dear ones. Good night and sleep well. My thoughts and prayers and love are with you.

Rwandan Images...

Two experiences from Rwanda will stand out like sparkling gems in my mind's eye for a long time to come. The first was our afternoon with what is now my Rwandan "family", high in the hills outside Kigali in an area called Ngiri, where my "grandson", Emmanuel, lives with his sister, Pelagie; brother-in-law, Japheth; nephew, Partout; and aunt, Florence. Picture, if you can, the smile on both of our faces as Emmanuel and I hugged and held each other for the first time in a year, the connection between us strong, the delight mutual. Picture, if you can, two teachers- literate, educated- living in a brick house on a hillside, 7 miles up a rutted dirt road from the main highway from Kigali, with neither electricity nor water. Picture an elderly couple, Japheth's parents, Maria and Anastas, living nearby in a smaller, darker house, both literate, yet far from any source of books and further education. Picture these people reaching out in total welcome to a couple of Americans, sharing their home and stories with us, offering prayers of blessing and thanksgiving for our presence and the safe travel which had brought us here. Picture two women  (Pelagie and Maria) sitting for hours over a period of 3 months, making- from banana fibers- the gifts they gave us with such a mixture of pride and humility. Picture the joy on Emmanuel's face when I gave him the small computer which the "Friends of Emmanuel" in America had made possible for him and the absolute relief on the faces of Pelagie and Japheth when I assured them that we would continue to send school fees as long as we were able so that their meagre living could be used for other necessities for the family.

We learned several disturbing facts about this wonderful family:

• the food at Emmanuel's secondary school where he boards since it is about 2 hours away is insufficient and he has been sick a couple of times during the year. Families are not permitted to bring food, nor are the students permitted to leave school grounds to buy more, lest some students have more than others.
• Pelagie and Japheth have qualified, through competitive exams, for continuing education for teachers, sponsored by the national Department of Education. They are to go every weekend during the school year, and every day during school breaks for a total of THREE YEARS! Though there is no fee for this, they are responsible for the cost involved in getting to Kigali to the university, which will run about $120/month for the two of them (their combined income is $100/month). Of course, they can reduce this a bit by walking the 7 miles down to the main road to get a bus, which they have been doing (Pelagie is 8 months pregnant!), but the uphill climb when they get home at the end of a long day is daunting (and we are talking about up hill, at perhaps a 35-45 degree slope with no leveling out at any point in the climb). The "payoff" for all this effort is the fact that, on completion, their salaries will triple, going from $50/month to $150/month, an incredible amount for them...but at an amazing price in time and money.

Japheth

Pelagie

Clad in my banana leaf garb

 

Mr. GQ, Emmanuel

Grandma Maria and Partout, 3

Emmanuel and Me

Whoops! This has gotten very, very long, so I'll tell you about the other "gem" in my next post. Please- if you're a praying person- keep Emmanuel and his family in your prayers...or send light, love, energy, strength, encouragement their way. They are an incredible family, so determined to have a better life, to keep both Emmanuel and Florence in school, to provide for Partout and the new baby to come. And a piece of my heart remains with them.

Mother Africa

Written on 24 July in Rwanda:
There is an earthiness about
Africa, quite independent of
the red clay dust which darkens every
surface in this arid season...
a pull which seems to come
from deep within the Mother's
breast...
a sense of being birthed and
nourished by the very soil
on which i walk...
intrinsic...organic...intuitive...
Words fail me, for
how do i describe the sense
of being in the place where
my own DNA began? the
elemental sense of knowing
that this is my first "home",
that all the steps that followed
are a journey of exploration,
leaving Mother's arms behind to
learn, to grow, to become more fully
who i am- all the time
carrying with me, unawares,
the soil of Africa on the soles of
my pilgrim's shoes.

The Kigali Memorial

I don't know how to describe our visit to the Kigali Memorial, built in remembrance of the genocide which decimated this tiny country in the spring of 1994. This was my second visit and I knew what to expect, yet some things hit me harder this time around and certainly many things affected me differently. The memorial/museum is beautifully done (if that is indeed the correct word) and despite there being many people there this time (last year we were nearly alone in the place), a silence which was both respectful and stunned pervaded the entire building. How else can one react in the face of the truth of the killing of nearly one million people by their own countrymen in a period of 100 days, while the rest of the world stood by and did nothing? Not our finest hour as a human family, surely.

At one point in the exhibit, there are three rooms which were, for me, especially poignant. All three are round, so you have the sensation of being surrounded...first, by hundreds and hundreds of photos of people killed in the genocide; second, by bones of people killed- skulls and leg bones and arm bones, some bearing the scars of machete wounds; third, by clothing of genocide victims, found in various places throughout the countryside. And in the third room, a video of survivors telling of their experiences...what they saw and heard, what happened to their family members, while several dozen of us sat, unmoving and moved, with tears running down our faces. And, as is my way, I wrote...

3 rooms...
surrounded by photos
of genocide victims..
walking among their bones...
staring at remnants
of their clothing...
I am overwhelmed...but why?
after all, not my brothers or sisters,
fathers or mothers-
     yet they are,
     they surely are...
the molecules from distant stars
dwelled in them as fully as in me...
their blood ran red, their laughter
echoed through these hills,
their lives were full & meaningful...
     until, untimely dead,
     they breathed their dreadful last,
     releasing star cells back
     into the universe to
     live in other souls, to bless
     other lives...
          even mine.

Broad Brush Strokes...

Back from Rwanda, back on-line, back to blogging. I'm including several posts which I wrote over the last four days and I'll indicate when they were actually written. Hope it won't be too confusing.

Written on 22 July:
Here we are in the Nairobi Airport, all checked in for our flight to Kigali. Time ahead to just relax...sit...read...write...process. No rushing...time & space to breathe. A lovely cappuchino, a clean bathroom...such small "luxuries" seem huge in this country of startling contrasts...modernity smack up against the primitive...

• Maasai herdsmen driving their cattle down up-scale suburban streets in search of green grass for grazing...
• herds of goats grazing along high-speed highways...
• women clad in traditional khangas bearing babies on their backs or burdens on their heads alongside women in business suits and high heels, talking on their cell phones...
• cars, SUVs, matatus, and buses creating traffic patterns which make Western hairs stand on end, intermingled with pedestrians, people on bicycles and motorbikes, and men pulling heavily-laden carts by hand to deliver products to their slum communities...
• beautiful, modern, fully-stocked shopping centers, surrounded by small outdoor stands where people peddle vegetables, fruits, used shoes and clothing, charcoal, paraffin, and other essentials to eke out their small living...
• luxury restaurants rivaling America's finest, where waiters bring heated towels for diners to wash up before eating and tables are set with starched linens, fine china, and sparkling crystal, while not far away women cook ugali (corn meal pudding) on open fires for the family's one meal of the day, often eaten from the pot with less-than-clean fingers.

Perhaps such contrasts exist everywhere, even in America, but somehow they have not seemed as startling to me at home- because I have been accustomed to them and am less likely to SEE them? I know food pantries are stretched to the breaking point in every U.S. city but we have food pantries! And do we have 10% of our national population facing starvation in the foreseeable future? (I do hope...trust...believe, though, that this summer's trip will make me more sensitive to those in need in my own community and less likely to make comparisons between the poor here and there.) Just as our governments and political systems cannot really be put side-by-side, our ways of living are in many ways so disparate that comparison seems ludicrous (like comparing apples and oranges). And Kenya has had self-rule for less than 50 years, while we Americans are among the world's "teen-agers", with more than 225 years under our belts.

I would just hope and pray that we can do a better job as role-models, sharing our best with the developing world rather than exporting our worst...we, who have given the world the electric light and the wonder of flight can certainly contribute more than fast food and genetically-modified seeds and product-advertising T-shirts. And surely we can step out of our paternalistic, overbearing stance of "the U.S. knows best" long enough to learn from and appreciate the Kenyan focus on family and community, their amazing art and music, their resiliency and determination and near-mysterious ability to find joy in the midst of hardship. After all, UBUNTU! I am because you are...we are all in this life enterprise together. This is one world, one planet, and we are ONE!

Questions without Answers...

Actually wrote this melancholy poem in the midst of today's errands, etc. but prior to our time with the Nyanyas. The words still ring true, but the time with our wonderful women convinced me that I am indeed where I am supposed to be at this moment. Let it be so...

which way now?
I walk the path before me,
and though the way has
long seemed clear,
the light strong and my tread certain,
i stand now at a crossroads,
an intersection where the
roads diverge. No signposts
mark the way and gazing
far ahead, the road is dark,
regardless which i choose
to follow. No guiding light.
No leading hand. And i
feel lost and all alone,
uncertain and a bit afraid.
From the far distance, i hear voices
calling, "Come this way!", the
sounds echoing from family and home
and church, responsibilities
both comfortingly familiar and
familiarly onerous...
while other songs sound
as dirges in my ears, fraught
with sadness and the anticipation of loss.
Where is the laughter? the songs
of joy? Where is the sunshine?
Where the light and clarity of
purpose that i seek?
And where, oh where, shall my
steps lead me next?

     And a voice says clearly,
     "Just take a step...reach
     out your hand. The way
     will open. I will be here...
     no matter what the choice,
     I will be here."

A Long and Lovely Day...

So much happened today: several errands, visits to two craft centers, but the best part was our time at the Nyanya Toto Preschool Center in Kibera. Six of our eight gradmothers were present and, along with wonderful teacher, Elizabeth, had prepared a traditional Kenyan meal for us. Expecting only light refreshments, we had eaten lunch just before, and so were more than overwhelmed. But I think we did pretty well, since refusing to eat would have been considered quite rude.

The grandmothers were dressed in their very best and looked wonderful in colorful headscarves and khangas (the traditional cloths which are used by African women in so many, many ways). I truly love the way in which these women mix colors and prints, with no real regard for matching. Gathered together, they resemble a garden of beautiful flowers in full bloom.

The biggest surprise for us- Mary Martin, Mae, and myself- came after the meal, its clearing away, and a rather lengthy meeting to discuss problems and concerns of both the Nyanya Project and the nyanyas themselves. One of the grandmothers brought out a bag which contained their gifts to us...and they proceeded to dress the three of us in beautiful khangas of our own, all the while singing and smiling and ululating and enjoying themselves greatly as they made us a part of their group, their "family".

Mary Martin and Mary

Mae and some Nyanyas

Another Mary and me in my Khanga-
a colorful picture in black and white

We joined in with the "dance" as my eyes filled with tears, so over-whelmed with gratitude for these gifts from women who have so little...who are existing on one meal a day, whose profits from their small businesses have, in some cases, been cut in half due to inflation and the economic downturn.  

I was especially overjoyed to be with my friend, Beatrice, and to see both her and her grandson, Eugene, looking so well. Beatrice lost an eight-year-old granddaughter during our visit last year, and we never had the chance to say goodby. Our meetings this summer have been especially meaningful to me and her hug was warm and long-lasting. We'll meet again at next week's Hurambee and this time we'll have the chance to say a proper goodbye.

Friends

Beatrice and Eugene

 And then it was time to go...and we discovered that the young man employed to paint the front wall was already hard at work. Mary had handed gifts all around for the grandmothers, Mae had presented the necklaces made by her friend, Lauren, and Elizabeth had a bag filled with toothbrushes and flip-flops from her granddaughters. All in all, a great day for everyone.

A happy Elizabeth

Mae & Nyanyas in front of the blue wall

And now it's time to sleep, after a long and deeply emotional day. Tomorrow, a flight to Kigali, Rwanda, where more visits and emotions await. No posts for several days, as my computer will remain here in Nairobi with my big luggage. Small carry-on only for the 4-day trip. Returning here to the Biblica Guesthouse on Tuesday afternoon, so expect a post- perhaps several- that evening. Love to all of you who read this...wishes for a happy and healthy day ahead...and may you live in appreciation of all you have. love, linda

And So It Continues...

So...Linda's prescription for all of you world travelers out there: when GI difficulties arise- as they inevitably will- I recommend my own tried-and-true remedy: STOP EATING for about 24 hours...keeping yourself hydrated, of course. This has worked quite well for me, so I'm passing on the "good news". Actually, it's a good prescription for any GI disturbance, foreign or domestic. But enough about that...

Today was quite lovely here in Nairobi...mixed sunshine with temps in the mid-70s. We stopped in at the Kibera newspaper to tell them about the Harumbee (big celebration) we're having next week at the pre-school, and then went on to Carolina for Kibera in hopes of touring their Tabitha Clinic. Imagine our surprise to find that the new American ambassador and his entourage had arrived to tour the place, with security people everywhere (you know, the ones with the wires coming from their ears? quite obviously bodyguards, Secret Service or whatever.) Needless to say, we were not invited to be part of the group and so we left, intending to return another day.

We then headed to the Nairobi National Museum, a fascinating place in which we learned a great deal about the history of Kenya, the birthplace of civilization. Artifacts, fossils, amazing art, and lots of information greeted us and we spent about 90 minutes absorbed in the world in which we have found ourselves for the past two weeks.

I still find it distressing to read about the attitudes of both colonialism AND Christianity toward these incredible peoples, considering them as "less than", as unable to learn anything more than basic skills like farming or mining, as being totally unable to think for themselves in any meaningful way. The missionaries wanted to wipe out any vestiges of the tribal past as the only way to convert the "savages",
though I suspect some of those good people are turning over in their graves at the ways in which African Christians have retained much of their tribal belief system and incorporated it into their version of Christianity, quite different from our Western version.

I continue to be both astounded and ashamed by the ways in which the history of this- and so many other African nations- has been distorted by our Western press, the stories presented in ways which
seem to indicate that Africans are less "civilized"- when civilization has been here for well over a million years! Yes, the organization of government is different...African democracy wears a different face...
but this grows from necessity, since the history here has been so different from our own in America. And in general, Kenyans seem far more interested, really interested, and conversant in politics than we Americans, perhaps because they see themselves as having more at stake. We have had political discussions with cab drivers, cooks, waiters, and our driver/translater, Julius. With an important election coming up in August 2012 (including the Presidency, as well as all of the ministers and members of their congress), it is the rare Kenyan that does not have an opinion about the direction they want their country to take...and this includes young people, who make up at least 50% of the population. Are there problems here? Certainly! But name me one country on the globe that does not have one sort or another. The thing that impresses me about the Kenyans is that they are determined to make this country responsive to the needs of ALL their people- though, admittedly, they fall far short on so many fronts. I know that I will follow next year's elections with much interest and will be far more discerning when reading and hearing news stories from this part of the world. Pamoja! We are united!

TIA...This Is Africa

Ate something yesterday which did NOT agree with me and spent the night ridding myself of it, both fore and aft. Weak as a baby this morning, and so am missing the home visits with the women from Liverpool VCT, the HIV/AIDS service I have been in touch with for several months. To say I am disappointed would not even come close, but since my friend, Nancy, back in the states, has been railing against whiners, I don't want to whine too much. Okay, I do...whine, whine, whine. It is frustrating to set something up, to make contacts and look forward to an opportunity to learn and meet people, etc., only to have the body rebel and say, "No way!" So I'm resting here in our room...walking into the slums and visiting in people's homes does not seem the better part of valor today in this depleted state. I'm trying to make the best of it, to find the "gift" in this GI uprising (not easy, I can tell you), and to fortify myself with rest, sleep, for the remainder of this busy week. Keep those prayers coming, dear ones...I need all I can get this day.

Meeting the "Sheep Grandmothers"...Reflections...

How do I begin to describe the “Sheep Grandmothers” of Mt. Kenya? They are an incredible group of fourteen women who have formed a collective, a community, a family over the past 4 years, raising sheep and making kiondos (woven sisal baskets with leather handles), pooling their money, and sharing the proceeds of their labors with one another. Seven of the women are over 65; the rest are in their 50s and early 60s…all are raising AIDS-orphaned grandchildren. Eleven of them met with us to tell about what they have been doing over the past year since Mary and other Nyanya volunteers met with them: Susan, Esther, Catherine, Ruth, Lucy W., Philomena, Grace, Mary, Ruth M., Edith, and Lucy.

Susan Wanjiru

Catherine Gahoni

Lucy Wangoi

Grace Wangiru

Ruth Wanjiku

Mary Wanjiku

Lucy Wainuku

The on-going drought in Kenya has taken a great toll, even here in this usually-lush place and my eyes filled with tears as the Nyanyas shared with us that they are down to one meal a day, due to the drought. Their sheep, lacking grass, are eating dirt, which has caused the death of several of them. But these beautiful, strong, courageous, indomitable women persist in their dedication to their grandchildren and to one another. Meeting every other week, they have a “president”, Susan, and a secretary, Catherine, who presented us with her carefully-taken “minutes” of their meetings when problems are discussed, solutions found, plans made. They have a joint bank account and save a portion of each month’s earnings for future needs. I have seldom met a more amazing group of women and I was in awe of all I saw and heard. The welcome extended to us was warm and hospitable; the hands extended were ones of hospitality, not request.

All the beautiful Nyanyas

 On the way back to our hotel, we took Mary Wanghiko and her grandson, Clinton, home and she invited us to see her house. I think the pictures say more than my poor words ever could. 

Early on Sunday morning, sitting on the porch outside our lovely comfortable room, hearing only animal sounds and reveling in the beauty and the silence of nature, I reflected on the previous day:

Here I sit, in a luxurious lodge barely 10 miles from where the Sheep Nyanyas live…where they have small sick houses with windows covered only by cloth… where cooking is done either outdoors or on a tiny wood fire in one corner of the house…where animals share living space…where drought has reduced them to one meal a day. Yet they persevere, empowered by a deep, shared spirit…united, acting as a family. Thin blankets protect against the cold nights…life a continual, on-going effort to simply survive…to pay school fees for their grandchildren…to raise their sheep and make kiondos to sell at market.

Here I sit, my appetite sated by a lovely breakfast…bottled water is plentiful. Last night, a hot water bottle warmed my feet and I slept under a down comforter. Today we will make the return trip to Nairobi in a comfortable van and will go to bed in a safe and secure guesthouse far removed from the Kibera Slum (where our grandmothers here live), in kind if not in distance.

Is it any wonder that I am so conflicted? Any wonder I am suffering bouts of melancholy, even as I revel in the incredible resilience of spirit in the people I meet, the breath-taking beauty of the countryside? I drink bottled water while the earth and its people here are parched with drought.

  O God, whose wisdom far exceeds mine,

            What is my place?
            How do I cobble together
            The disparate pieces of myself into
            A shape that makes sense?
            That functions in this often
             Oxymoronic, conflicting world
                        in which I find myself?
          I lift my eyes to the mountains…
             I breathe in the cool, fresh air…
             I seek…
             I search…
             I ask…
                        May my feet fall on the
                        Right path…the path of
                        Compassion…of justice & peace…
                        Of wisdom…
                        And may your still, small voice
                        Continue to guide me,
                        Even in the midst of my question & doubts.
                                    Let it be so.
                                    Amen & amen

           

Back from Mount Kenya

Good morning, North America! Returned last evening from Mt. Kenya, our visit with the "Sheep Grandmothers" (much more about that later), and our stay at the lovely Mountain Lodge. Though the summit of Mt. Kenya (the second tallest in Africa) has been hiding for much of this season, it was fully visible for our visit, something for which the lodge staff was very proud.

The summit of Mt. Kenya

Especially for the "grands"...there is a watering hole just outside of the lodge, which is fully visible to each guest room. During our overnight stay I saw several small deer, 4 warthogs, 5 or 6 water bucks, 4 or 5 wild oxen, 8 monkeys, and ONE elephant. Usually there are many more elephants here but they are on the move in search of more feeding grounds since the drought in Kenya is extreme (and in its 4th year!) and it is becoming more and more difficult for them to find adequate food. 

Female waterbuck

Male waterbuck

The Lone Elephant

Isn't he lovely?

Wild Ox rolling the the mud

Hog heaven!

Much, much more to tell about our trip but that will have to wait for the next post. In the meantime, stay well, my dear ones, and know that I think of you every day, even as I am in the midst of much that both breaks and feeds my heart.