I can still feel the sting of the heat of the sun as I stand there, leaning against the post that holds up the make shift straw veranda of this quaint shanty. I catch her shyly peaking around the corner in the background, one huge, beautiful brown eye peering up at me with a mixture of curiousity and fear. She can't help but crack a toothy smile as I sneak a quick silly face behind the backs of the adults talking around me. She's in a ruddy little dress and completely barefoot, but absolutely adorable with her close cut hair and ornamental necklace.
The discussion turns to Swahili around me so I can try and follow along. From what I can gather, the family that we have stopped to visit, has been in this area for about four years now, displaced by the violence that followed the 2007 elections. The mama, a spindely mother of five, is in late fourties/early fifties. She talks animatedly to my counterpart, who tries to relay information to me in English when she can. We ask her some typical questions about different health topics and how their family addresses them. Eventually we get to the HIV/AIDS section of the questionnaire.
"Have you known anyone who has been diagnosed with HIV/AIDS?"
Mama pauses.
She looks fornlornly sideways at the little angel with three fingers in her mouth. She had.
In fact, she was bearing the burden, consequence of this epidemic. The story she tells is one of her neighbor, the little girls mother.
The two mamas had become fast friends when the former's had moved into the area. The girl's mother had found out about a year later that she was infected with HIV, but when she got tested she was already into stage three and her health was in a critical state. As a single mother with three children, she didn't have time to slow down, she had to keep her kids fed and pay for their education. The punishment for being a good mother ended up costing her her life.
The older two kids were old enough to go to boarding school, but the youngest, the one standing before me was taken in by the kind neighbor women and her husband. Currently they are struggling to care, school, and feed eight children, three of which are not their own.
Worldwide, an estimated 34 million women and men are living with HIV/AIDS. 22.5 million of them citizens of Sub-Saharan Africa—where 3 people die every minute from complications related to HIV/AIDS. These statistics while overwhelming, are terrible reminders of the pervasiveness of HIV/AIDS. Sadly, numbers tend to cloak the emotional truths that each number represents. This story is just one of the millions of stories of struggle, courage, and all too often terrible loss.
Today is World AIDS day. A time to remember those loved ones who have been lost to HIV/AIDS by telling their stories and honoring their legacy, but also a time to celebrate the living and bring hope for the future. Yes, please wear the red ribbon and support the cause visibly, but please feed your words with action!
Donate. Write letters to government officials telling of the importance to support research funding and aid/education programmes for community members living with HIV or AIDS. Volunteer at a local event.
Just do.
An HIV/AIDS free generation is possible.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Choodom or Kingdom of the Choo
The choo (pronounced Ch-oh) or as it is more universally know; the pit latrine, is a mixed bag of interesting that is a regular part of one’s life in rural Kenya. If you are unfamiliar as to the visual marvel that is the pit latrine here you go:
Now there are many benefits and disadvantages to the choo that are both humorous and an disasterous to one’s dignity. Let’s run through a cavalcade of pros and cons.
Pro: Squatting - it is said that squatting is the best position for eliminating waste, as it aligns in inner canal for effortless disposal and gravitational assistance.
Con: Squatting - while it is good for a thigh workout, after a long day of walking the last thing you need is
your legs giving out on you and having to put your hand down to prevent yourself from falling over…eww
Pro: Time saving - for many reasons (a.k.a. a need to inhale a non-choo breath of air, leg exhaustion, or
multiple spiders looking on and debating if you are indeed a tasty snack) it is in, out, and on with life.
Con: Choo Draft - that uncouth gust of cold air that rushes out of the hole in the floor to your multisensory
displeasure.
Pro: It’s green (in the ecologically beneficial for the environment) - No water, no fowl, right?
Con: Misses - Dear Kenyan who egregiously covered the floor with your waste, HOW!? I’ve only been
doing this for 5 months and haven’t missed yet… you’ve been doing this your entire life! WHY!?
Con: Choo sniffles - when you have a runny nose and accidentally sniff a huge intake of choo air. Bleh!
Now there are many benefits and disadvantages to the choo that are both humorous and an disasterous to one’s dignity. Let’s run through a cavalcade of pros and cons.
Pro: Squatting - it is said that squatting is the best position for eliminating waste, as it aligns in inner canal for effortless disposal and gravitational assistance.
Con: Squatting - while it is good for a thigh workout, after a long day of walking the last thing you need is
your legs giving out on you and having to put your hand down to prevent yourself from falling over…eww
Pro: Time saving - for many reasons (a.k.a. a need to inhale a non-choo breath of air, leg exhaustion, or
multiple spiders looking on and debating if you are indeed a tasty snack) it is in, out, and on with life.
Con: Choo Draft - that uncouth gust of cold air that rushes out of the hole in the floor to your multisensory
displeasure.
Pro: It’s green (in the ecologically beneficial for the environment) - No water, no fowl, right?
Con: Misses - Dear Kenyan who egregiously covered the floor with your waste, HOW!? I’ve only been
doing this for 5 months and haven’t missed yet… you’ve been doing this your entire life! WHY!?
Con: Choo sniffles - when you have a runny nose and accidentally sniff a huge intake of choo air. Bleh!
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
The Aftermath Pt.3
I wake up to the worse mixture of dillusion, muscle spasms, and of course the after pains of getting cut open through skin, muscle tissue and of course intestine. I need pain killers stat.
The next 32 hours are in a perpetual state of half-consciousness. Barely registering the frequent visits from nurses to inject gallons of anti-biotics and pain-killers into my vein every four hours. Hardly able to move and eat the copious amounts of hospital food, that I get scolded severly for barely touching. Finally Sunday morning the moment of truth and first challenge arrises, I have to pee. Needless to say it is an interesting twenty minute attempt to achieve the crossing of 10ft from bed to toilet, what I wouldn't give to have been a fly on the wall to witness the awkward attempts at standing up without using any abdominal muscles... I'm pretty sure I got stuck twice trying different ways and maneuvers.
*Slightly graphic warning*
The unfortunate thing about the pain-killers that are given is the side-effects they leave for your bowels. They stop you up like the Hover-dam. The second unfortunate thing is the nurses' opening line when visiting your room or when there is a shift change is inevitably "Have you opened your bowels?", and in front of three new nurses having to mutter an embarrassed. "No".
To my torture, I had to struggle with this condition for 5 days following my surgery. Meanwhile, forced to chug sluggey helpings of metamucil equivenlent substances thrice daily in the hopes of freeing my excriments from their yards long prison. When that didn't work at 10pm monday night the head nurse walks in and smacks a small cap full of some yellowish syrup and says ominouslt, "It's time for some stronger stuff." Little did I know that the next 8 hours would be a living nightmare. I was woken at midnight with the worst gas pains imaginable and spent the next three hours doing calisthenics, and one leg bicycle kicks to work it all out. From there I spent the next four hours on the loo. The worst part was feeling it push against the recently operated on intestine.
When I was finally able to walk for more then just to the bathroom, I ventured upstairs to visit my friend Josh who had been hit by a motorcycle about six days earlier. The funniest and saddest part was making each other laugh telling ridiculous hospital experience stories etc. This was cause it hurt to laugh. I would end up doubled over clutching my appendix area and Josh would in turn have to brace his broken ribs. One time *another slightly graphic warning* he got me laughing so hard my wound began to seep a little.
We were forced to spend the next week in a hotel with little else to do than to lie around and watch movies or talk for hours sense we were barely mobile.
The Scar:
The next 32 hours are in a perpetual state of half-consciousness. Barely registering the frequent visits from nurses to inject gallons of anti-biotics and pain-killers into my vein every four hours. Hardly able to move and eat the copious amounts of hospital food, that I get scolded severly for barely touching. Finally Sunday morning the moment of truth and first challenge arrises, I have to pee. Needless to say it is an interesting twenty minute attempt to achieve the crossing of 10ft from bed to toilet, what I wouldn't give to have been a fly on the wall to witness the awkward attempts at standing up without using any abdominal muscles... I'm pretty sure I got stuck twice trying different ways and maneuvers.
*Slightly graphic warning*
The unfortunate thing about the pain-killers that are given is the side-effects they leave for your bowels. They stop you up like the Hover-dam. The second unfortunate thing is the nurses' opening line when visiting your room or when there is a shift change is inevitably "Have you opened your bowels?", and in front of three new nurses having to mutter an embarrassed. "No".
To my torture, I had to struggle with this condition for 5 days following my surgery. Meanwhile, forced to chug sluggey helpings of metamucil equivenlent substances thrice daily in the hopes of freeing my excriments from their yards long prison. When that didn't work at 10pm monday night the head nurse walks in and smacks a small cap full of some yellowish syrup and says ominouslt, "It's time for some stronger stuff." Little did I know that the next 8 hours would be a living nightmare. I was woken at midnight with the worst gas pains imaginable and spent the next three hours doing calisthenics, and one leg bicycle kicks to work it all out. From there I spent the next four hours on the loo. The worst part was feeling it push against the recently operated on intestine.
When I was finally able to walk for more then just to the bathroom, I ventured upstairs to visit my friend Josh who had been hit by a motorcycle about six days earlier. The funniest and saddest part was making each other laugh telling ridiculous hospital experience stories etc. This was cause it hurt to laugh. I would end up doubled over clutching my appendix area and Josh would in turn have to brace his broken ribs. One time *another slightly graphic warning* he got me laughing so hard my wound began to seep a little.
We were forced to spend the next week in a hotel with little else to do than to lie around and watch movies or talk for hours sense we were barely mobile.
The Scar:
Monday, November 19, 2012
Out, It Must Go Pt. 2
I was awakened at the god-forsaken hour of 5.30am to be scuttled into the ambulance that was to take me to the air-strip so I could be air-flighted to Nairobi before my appendix tried to pull an 'over filled balloon' and blow this joint. Due to the fog the plane couldn't land on the original dirt and gravel air-strip so they had to drive me to the next town over to be launched into a whirl-wind of a morning.
A scenic (and sedated, thank you morphine!) 35 mins later I was being rushed into a check-up room of the E.R. at Nairobi hospital to be pricked and prodded to be absolutely 100% certain that the darn little organ was indeed the culprit that needed to go. So off to a freezing cold ultra-sound where three necessary, and four random people get to examine my internal infrastructure, where it was determined my two-sizes too big appendix was too risky, especially with fluids beginning to build up around it, to remain inside me and my surgery was scheduled for two hours later.
So there I was with two hours. Two hours to contemplate the fact that I was about to have surgery for the first time. Surgery, in a developing country, with nobody I know to be with me, and having general anesthesia, which can kill people even in America.
Suddenly, they’re prepping me for surgery, pushing me down a hallway towards the theatre that looks like the hallway to a basement. For some reason it is deemed necessary to remove my earring and bracelets even though the surgery is on my stomach… They stretch me out, Jesus style, onto the surgery table and warn me that I won’t feel a thing in about 2 minutes. That is when I finally loose it. This is for real…
A scenic (and sedated, thank you morphine!) 35 mins later I was being rushed into a check-up room of the E.R. at Nairobi hospital to be pricked and prodded to be absolutely 100% certain that the darn little organ was indeed the culprit that needed to go. So off to a freezing cold ultra-sound where three necessary, and four random people get to examine my internal infrastructure, where it was determined my two-sizes too big appendix was too risky, especially with fluids beginning to build up around it, to remain inside me and my surgery was scheduled for two hours later.
So there I was with two hours. Two hours to contemplate the fact that I was about to have surgery for the first time. Surgery, in a developing country, with nobody I know to be with me, and having general anesthesia, which can kill people even in America.
Suddenly, they’re prepping me for surgery, pushing me down a hallway towards the theatre that looks like the hallway to a basement. For some reason it is deemed necessary to remove my earring and bracelets even though the surgery is on my stomach… They stretch me out, Jesus style, onto the surgery table and warn me that I won’t feel a thing in about 2 minutes. That is when I finally loose it. This is for real…
Friday, November 16, 2012
Darn the Thumb-sized Organ! Pt. 1
Little did I know an innocent Thursday afternoon would turn in to a whirl-wind of craziness and pain. I was sitting with my counterpart Esther discussing how best to prepare for World AIDS Day next month, when it hit me. I began to sweat profusely, felt light headed and dizzy, and was suddenly gripped with pain through-out my abdomen to the point of vomiting. Thinking that it was likely food poisoning from the yogurt I had eaten earlier that day, I called medical to see what I should do.
Thinking the same, my PCMO had me lie down and try to calm the vasovagal response that my body was having. When my body’s response to the shock did not dissipate she had me press on different parts of my abdomen, when the right side yielded more pain, she worried this was something more and told me to get to the hospital in Nakuru, my nearest larger town.
The ride there was beyond the scope of being quick and easy. It had just finished a near 5-6 hour perfuse period of rain, therefore the 10km dirt road from Ngorika to the main tarmac was a nightmarish battle through thick mud and water for the little Honda hatchback that carried me to my doom.
After a terrifying 2 hour (in normal conditions would have been 30 mins) trip to a tiny private hospital, I proceeded to wait another spanse of time to be seen by a doctor. Following more pushing around on my stomach and stiffling a desire to slap the doctor for pushing on the same inflamed spot eight times, they had to call a radiologist to come in to perform an ultrasound. Any hope of blood-work was for naught, due to the lack the hospital had of a laboratory.
Swelling, they told me. An emanate and sure sign of appendicitis.
I would have to spend the night in this tiny hospital until they could air-flight me to Nairobi and the seeming inevitability of surgery. I spent the next nine hours trying to rest, while nurses came to check on me every hour to make sure I had not worsened, while the thoughts of surgery in a foreign land swam through my brain…
Thinking the same, my PCMO had me lie down and try to calm the vasovagal response that my body was having. When my body’s response to the shock did not dissipate she had me press on different parts of my abdomen, when the right side yielded more pain, she worried this was something more and told me to get to the hospital in Nakuru, my nearest larger town.
The ride there was beyond the scope of being quick and easy. It had just finished a near 5-6 hour perfuse period of rain, therefore the 10km dirt road from Ngorika to the main tarmac was a nightmarish battle through thick mud and water for the little Honda hatchback that carried me to my doom.
After a terrifying 2 hour (in normal conditions would have been 30 mins) trip to a tiny private hospital, I proceeded to wait another spanse of time to be seen by a doctor. Following more pushing around on my stomach and stiffling a desire to slap the doctor for pushing on the same inflamed spot eight times, they had to call a radiologist to come in to perform an ultrasound. Any hope of blood-work was for naught, due to the lack the hospital had of a laboratory.
Swelling, they told me. An emanate and sure sign of appendicitis.
I would have to spend the night in this tiny hospital until they could air-flight me to Nairobi and the seeming inevitability of surgery. I spent the next nine hours trying to rest, while nurses came to check on me every hour to make sure I had not worsened, while the thoughts of surgery in a foreign land swam through my brain…
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
If I Could Tell You (Would You Hold Onto Me?)
Time and time again I’ve wrestled my thoughts, uncertain if this end I’ve come to was right or wrong.
I won’t try to pretend I’ve got it all figured out, that I don’t have any doubts.
I’ve gotta busted heart, I need you now.
I wanna tell you that it’s alright. I’m tired of telling lies.
It’s ok. It will be ok.
I wanna travel back in time, to say all the things I should have said...
...to have been who I should have been.
I wanna tell you everything. If it’s not too late. Is it too late?
Will you be there if I told the truth? Or will you leave me standing in the rain?
If I say it’s who I am, will you love me still the same? Or will you walk away?
I understand if you’re afraid, but people change. Understanding changes
Will you talk with me? Tell me I’m not alone? Will you still hug me and tell me I belong?
For so long I’ve felt like I’ve been here all alone. Pushing on a pull door.
I long for the time when all is healed, and hopefully love’s to blame.
I won’t try to pretend I’ve got it all figured out, that I don’t have any doubts.
I’ve gotta busted heart, I need you now.
I wanna tell you that it’s alright. I’m tired of telling lies.
It’s ok. It will be ok.
I wanna travel back in time, to say all the things I should have said...
...to have been who I should have been.
I wanna tell you everything. If it’s not too late. Is it too late?
Will you be there if I told the truth? Or will you leave me standing in the rain?
If I say it’s who I am, will you love me still the same? Or will you walk away?
I understand if you’re afraid, but people change. Understanding changes
Will you talk with me? Tell me I’m not alone? Will you still hug me and tell me I belong?
For so long I’ve felt like I’ve been here all alone. Pushing on a pull door.
I long for the time when all is healed, and hopefully love’s to blame.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Global Hand-Washing Day
Celebrated every 15th of October this day is one set aside to teach kids, and adults alike the importance of proper hand washing for hygiene as well as a highly effective means of preventing multiple disease from simple colds to typhoid and pneumonia which kill thousands every year.
This year we decided that as a way to celebrate we would not only teach the kids how and why to wash their hands but also to have them simultaneously wash their hands to demonstrate what they learned. It was a great idea, unfortunately we weren’t prepared for the number of kids that showed up.
We held the meeting at the local primary school and five other schools showed up upon last minute invitation. Of course it was amazing to have 2,400ish kids chanting and attentively listening (and of course gawking at the gangly white human in front of them) unfortunately we had not prepared for nearly that many and only had a couple dozen buckets and basins.
To give you an idea as to how many kids were there:
Building a Tippy Tap:
Having the kids demostrate washing their hands (P.S that is Esther my awesome counterpart!):
Showing all the clean hands:
This year we decided that as a way to celebrate we would not only teach the kids how and why to wash their hands but also to have them simultaneously wash their hands to demonstrate what they learned. It was a great idea, unfortunately we weren’t prepared for the number of kids that showed up.
We held the meeting at the local primary school and five other schools showed up upon last minute invitation. Of course it was amazing to have 2,400ish kids chanting and attentively listening (and of course gawking at the gangly white human in front of them) unfortunately we had not prepared for nearly that many and only had a couple dozen buckets and basins.
To give you an idea as to how many kids were there:
Building a Tippy Tap:
Having the kids demostrate washing their hands (P.S that is Esther my awesome counterpart!):
Showing all the clean hands:
Monday, October 29, 2012
Locked In the Closet
My utility closet has one specific flaw in its working as a house; the outer gate/door to the building as a whole, locks (with a dead-bolt) from the outside.
I never figured that this would pose a significant problem until the group of contractors that were went to work on my new house arrived. A couple days after they came I had been sitting in my house after making dinner relaxing and I had to use the restroom which is located outside of course. To my shock and horror I tried to use the outer doors and they would not budge.
Slowly I realized that I was trapped and as far as I could tell no one could yet hear my pleas for release. I tried calling a couple of Kenyan friends and of course it is the one time they did not answer the phone. As the hours passed, the bucket I usually use for purifying my water was beginning to look very appealing as a pee bucket. This, of course, I still begrudged to do out of shear stubbornness, not wanting to adhere to fellow PCV’s argument that this is an ok and necessary thing to do. Jenn.
Thankfully, three hours later, I was rescued by a passing patient, who saved my life, my bladder, and my pride.
I never figured that this would pose a significant problem until the group of contractors that were went to work on my new house arrived. A couple days after they came I had been sitting in my house after making dinner relaxing and I had to use the restroom which is located outside of course. To my shock and horror I tried to use the outer doors and they would not budge.
Slowly I realized that I was trapped and as far as I could tell no one could yet hear my pleas for release. I tried calling a couple of Kenyan friends and of course it is the one time they did not answer the phone. As the hours passed, the bucket I usually use for purifying my water was beginning to look very appealing as a pee bucket. This, of course, I still begrudged to do out of shear stubbornness, not wanting to adhere to fellow PCV’s argument that this is an ok and necessary thing to do. Jenn.
Thankfully, three hours later, I was rescued by a passing patient, who saved my life, my bladder, and my pride.
Monday, October 22, 2012
The Kiss
I think I gained a woman problem.
From all the stories that we heard during PST, and all the tips that they gave us to avoid awkward opposite-sex interactions, I swore that I would do everything in my power to make myself undesirable and make it obvious that I was unattainable.
Apparently, I failed.
Now, I have been very careful to never go to any particular mama too often to buy produce, as well as to never always buy the same particular item from the same mama. This mama has been no exception, however I did like going to her stand because her produce was always of quality and she has, from the beginning, always given me a fair, non-mzungu, price.
Then yesterday happened.
As I finished purchasing a couple items, I, as with any Kenyan, was leaving with a farewell handshake. Now it’s rare, but not unusual, for a mama to give what I call the “Double Bro-hug”, keeping the hand-shaking hands in between and proceeding to sort of chest-bump/hug. This is what she proceeded to go for but as I was turning to leave I suddenly feel a kiss on my neck.
My heart-drops and I hurry away without looking back as fast as possible.
On taking counsel with my counter-part, my worst fears were confirmed; this is definitely not normal for a strictly plutonic relationship, even amoung most family units. Ugh. So now I have to put shields up to maximum, phasers set to kill, and utilize every avoidance procedure I know.
From all the stories that we heard during PST, and all the tips that they gave us to avoid awkward opposite-sex interactions, I swore that I would do everything in my power to make myself undesirable and make it obvious that I was unattainable.
Apparently, I failed.
Now, I have been very careful to never go to any particular mama too often to buy produce, as well as to never always buy the same particular item from the same mama. This mama has been no exception, however I did like going to her stand because her produce was always of quality and she has, from the beginning, always given me a fair, non-mzungu, price.
Then yesterday happened.
As I finished purchasing a couple items, I, as with any Kenyan, was leaving with a farewell handshake. Now it’s rare, but not unusual, for a mama to give what I call the “Double Bro-hug”, keeping the hand-shaking hands in between and proceeding to sort of chest-bump/hug. This is what she proceeded to go for but as I was turning to leave I suddenly feel a kiss on my neck.
My heart-drops and I hurry away without looking back as fast as possible.
On taking counsel with my counter-part, my worst fears were confirmed; this is definitely not normal for a strictly plutonic relationship, even amoung most family units. Ugh. So now I have to put shields up to maximum, phasers set to kill, and utilize every avoidance procedure I know.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
If I Look Back Then I Am Lost
I really love hiking and exploring and it is so beautiful up here in the foothills of the Rift Valley that I do it quite a lot. Walking around forces you to meet and greet people along the way, not to mention that it absolutely helps me to clear my head.
I was reading a story about a guy who does a lot of backpacking and other exploring type trips and in it he says something that caught my attention; “When your exploring you are never really lost as long as you keep going, it is only when you look back that you become lost.”
Most days things are great. I feel “in the groove” so to speak. Yet every now and then I start to long for home and dwell on certain things I miss too much and get myself into a funk. This happened to me the other day. I looked back.
The area surrounding Ngorika reminds me remarkably of Oregon, which made me realize I am going to miss our family’s annual Polar Bear Jump on the 1st of the year, which, well you get the picture.
I’m not saying that I shouldn’t remember good times, or try to forget people or things in the past. Simply that now I need to remain forsighted, on what’s to come and the people that are here in my life now.
It is only when I look back that I get lost.
I was reading a story about a guy who does a lot of backpacking and other exploring type trips and in it he says something that caught my attention; “When your exploring you are never really lost as long as you keep going, it is only when you look back that you become lost.”
Most days things are great. I feel “in the groove” so to speak. Yet every now and then I start to long for home and dwell on certain things I miss too much and get myself into a funk. This happened to me the other day. I looked back.
The area surrounding Ngorika reminds me remarkably of Oregon, which made me realize I am going to miss our family’s annual Polar Bear Jump on the 1st of the year, which, well you get the picture.
I’m not saying that I shouldn’t remember good times, or try to forget people or things in the past. Simply that now I need to remain forsighted, on what’s to come and the people that are here in my life now.
It is only when I look back that I get lost.
Monday, October 15, 2012
The Burden Be...
Love is hard.
Often it leads you to places you never expected and to do work that is so rewarding.
It looks like perseverance. A smile when you’re being stared at or attempting a conversation when you know your speech is going to be made light of.
Maybe it’s having your heart broken to see desolation and unlivable conditions, and have them seem viewed as normal by others, all while using everything in your power to keep it together.
It’s being bored out of your mind but sitting through the four hour church service you were invited to anyway.
Sometimes it is going to dinner and spending time with people who opened their home to you when you have a migraine and want nothing more than to lie down and sleep.
It is feeling lonely and missing out on the lives of those you love, maybe even not getting to say that permanent goodbye.
It is sacrifice. But the work that I do and the words I speak to convince a crowd, if they don’t have love, I leave a void attempt to do good and a bitter taste with every word I say.
If I don’t have love I waste my breath.
Often it leads you to places you never expected and to do work that is so rewarding.
It looks like perseverance. A smile when you’re being stared at or attempting a conversation when you know your speech is going to be made light of.
Maybe it’s having your heart broken to see desolation and unlivable conditions, and have them seem viewed as normal by others, all while using everything in your power to keep it together.
It’s being bored out of your mind but sitting through the four hour church service you were invited to anyway.
Sometimes it is going to dinner and spending time with people who opened their home to you when you have a migraine and want nothing more than to lie down and sleep.
It is feeling lonely and missing out on the lives of those you love, maybe even not getting to say that permanent goodbye.
It is sacrifice. But the work that I do and the words I speak to convince a crowd, if they don’t have love, I leave a void attempt to do good and a bitter taste with every word I say.
If I don’t have love I waste my breath.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Put Me back Together
Put me back together. I fell apart.
You Creator, you understand the heart.
I am prone to wonder, I feel it every day.
All of these years trying to escape home, now all I want is to return.
Just a spark to change the heart.
Put me back together. Is there a way?
If I am who I say I am, won’t I be who I’ve always been?
Oh I ache, for the real that takes time, I wanna be something real within a world of fake.
Oh my cynical heart, begs for bread from the stones. Can I live on words alone?
Just a spark, please, will it change my heart?
Put me back together. Teach me words like hope and peace.
Can I know grace? Words to heal this heart of mine.
I want to find a way. Can I be the real thing?
Just a spark for my cold heart:
To breathe in hope and grace, to breathe out peace and justice and mercy.
You Creator, you understand the heart.
I am prone to wonder, I feel it every day.
All of these years trying to escape home, now all I want is to return.
Just a spark to change the heart.
Put me back together. Is there a way?
If I am who I say I am, won’t I be who I’ve always been?
Oh I ache, for the real that takes time, I wanna be something real within a world of fake.
Oh my cynical heart, begs for bread from the stones. Can I live on words alone?
Just a spark, please, will it change my heart?
Put me back together. Teach me words like hope and peace.
Can I know grace? Words to heal this heart of mine.
I want to find a way. Can I be the real thing?
Just a spark for my cold heart:
To breathe in hope and grace, to breathe out peace and justice and mercy.
Using the "Kenyan English" Voice
Monday I got the privilege of teaching a lesson about HIV/AIDS and STIs at the training of a group of new CHWs (Community Health Workers). The class went really well, and it was a chance to practice one of the undiscussed, and personally disliked, “skills” known as the “Kenyan English Voice”.
I absolutely haaaaaaaaaate utilizing my “Kenyan English” voice. I feel like I am being pretentious and speaking down to the Kenyan I am communicating with. However, without using it in some form most Kenyans are less than able to understand what I am saying in my regular Californian accent.
Now, everyone has their own form of the “Kenyan English Voice” but there are some pretty universal traits that one must use for effective communication in English. These include; lengthening of vowels (particularly ‘u’ and ‘o’), the disuse of contractions, and a hard pronunciation of ‘t’s. My personal flavor is these key traits with while adding a light British lilt and a staccato-ish rhythm tends to aid almost perfectly the ability to understand what I am trying to communicate.
When it comes to understanding what’s being said to me, sometimes I get completely lost. Mostly because in KiKuyu 'r's are pronounced as 'l's, 'b's as 'f's, and 'c's as 'sh'.
On the plus side I got complemented by a mama that I had the best English she had ever heard from a Mzungu... something about not "sounding all scruntched up in the nose"... which totally make sense why children "talk" all nasally or plug their noses to say "How are you" as I walk by... Still sounds like their making fun of me =(
I absolutely haaaaaaaaaate utilizing my “Kenyan English” voice. I feel like I am being pretentious and speaking down to the Kenyan I am communicating with. However, without using it in some form most Kenyans are less than able to understand what I am saying in my regular Californian accent.
Now, everyone has their own form of the “Kenyan English Voice” but there are some pretty universal traits that one must use for effective communication in English. These include; lengthening of vowels (particularly ‘u’ and ‘o’), the disuse of contractions, and a hard pronunciation of ‘t’s. My personal flavor is these key traits with while adding a light British lilt and a staccato-ish rhythm tends to aid almost perfectly the ability to understand what I am trying to communicate.
When it comes to understanding what’s being said to me, sometimes I get completely lost. Mostly because in KiKuyu 'r's are pronounced as 'l's, 'b's as 'f's, and 'c's as 'sh'.
On the plus side I got complemented by a mama that I had the best English she had ever heard from a Mzungu... something about not "sounding all scruntched up in the nose"... which totally make sense why children "talk" all nasally or plug their noses to say "How are you" as I walk by... Still sounds like their making fun of me =(
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Storm Clouds Over Africa
Today has been a terrible day, and the weather is expressing the sadness of what I had to witness. I don’t know how else to express the weight of the loss of life:
The morning breaks a mother’s heart, leaves her crying in the rain.
Left alone with her thoughts, as the boy she’s grown slips away.
Melding into dreams and other people’s memories.
The morning breaks a mother’s heart, leaves her crying in the rain.
Left alone with her thoughts, as the boy she’s grown slips away.
Melding into dreams and other people’s memories.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
It's the Little Things
Today I learned a valuable lesson: Never wear gum boots when someone tells you that you are going to walk somewhere and you have no absolutely no idea how far this place is…
Since I did not think this out thoroughly I ended up walking, what I was told later, was close to 18km round trip (aka 11 miles) in just rubber boots =( Needless to say the entirety of the bottom of my foot is one giant blister.
On the way back I reached to clear out one of my pockets of the old duct tape I had used and pulled out 50 /= (that slash-equals is the symbol for Kenya shillings). I don’t know why it made me so happy (because it’s only the equivalent of about 55 cents, but I guess it’s just the act of a random surprise that made me so happy.
Other little things that brighten my day:
1. Chapati – there is something about this overly oiled flat bread that warms my heart
2. Someone getting so excited that I said something to them in Kikuyu. Not even kidding they love it.
3. Chai – sometimes this tea is waaaaay to sugary, but I still love it (though not after being force feed 5 cups throughout the day)
4. My counterpart Esther’s laugh – it’s not even that funny or peculiar or anything but it makes me smile
5. A letter from home – honestly it can seem like nonsense to whomever wrote to me but trust me the sight of an envelope with my name on it sends me over the edge. (You don't even wanna see me when I get a package...talk about lack of propriety)
6. A kid yelling my name instead of Mazunguu – probably just because this takes me from being a 'thing' to being a person again.
7. Someone greeting me in Kiswahili and not English - I feel less like an outsider.
8. The stars – there is nothing like the stars at 7000ft on a clear non-light polluted night.
9. The smell of the Eucalyptus trees down the road from the Health Centre
10. Squelching around in the mud with my gum-boots. I'm 5 again.
Since I did not think this out thoroughly I ended up walking, what I was told later, was close to 18km round trip (aka 11 miles) in just rubber boots =( Needless to say the entirety of the bottom of my foot is one giant blister.
On the way back I reached to clear out one of my pockets of the old duct tape I had used and pulled out 50 /= (that slash-equals is the symbol for Kenya shillings). I don’t know why it made me so happy (because it’s only the equivalent of about 55 cents, but I guess it’s just the act of a random surprise that made me so happy.
Other little things that brighten my day:
1. Chapati – there is something about this overly oiled flat bread that warms my heart
2. Someone getting so excited that I said something to them in Kikuyu. Not even kidding they love it.
3. Chai – sometimes this tea is waaaaay to sugary, but I still love it (though not after being force feed 5 cups throughout the day)
4. My counterpart Esther’s laugh – it’s not even that funny or peculiar or anything but it makes me smile
5. A letter from home – honestly it can seem like nonsense to whomever wrote to me but trust me the sight of an envelope with my name on it sends me over the edge. (You don't even wanna see me when I get a package...talk about lack of propriety)
6. A kid yelling my name instead of Mazunguu – probably just because this takes me from being a 'thing' to being a person again.
7. Someone greeting me in Kiswahili and not English - I feel less like an outsider.
8. The stars – there is nothing like the stars at 7000ft on a clear non-light polluted night.
9. The smell of the Eucalyptus trees down the road from the Health Centre
10. Squelching around in the mud with my gum-boots. I'm 5 again.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Two Shades of Hope
There are two shades of Hope.
One the enlightening of the soul, the other, more like a hang man’s rope.
It keeps us going, striving for the impossible.
It’s why love hurts, and heartache stings
I can’t help myself but to hope.
It’s written on my soul, Hope’s what we crave
Yet Hope deals the hardest blows:
It gives reason to live, to rise above, and to love again
yet brings despair in death, and hollows the soul
Hope’s what we crave, that will never change;
Just the drop of grace needed to carry us through the day,
And the heavy blow that turns us to dust
Let the drops of tears turn to rust and give me the spark to believe
Hope, she sleeps without me
Her dreams though, they surround me.
They lift me, drop me, fill me up and leave me hollow;
dancing the dance, twirling and reeling between
the two shades of Hope.
One the enlightening of the soul, the other, more like a hang man’s rope.
It keeps us going, striving for the impossible.
It’s why love hurts, and heartache stings
I can’t help myself but to hope.
It’s written on my soul, Hope’s what we crave
Yet Hope deals the hardest blows:
It gives reason to live, to rise above, and to love again
yet brings despair in death, and hollows the soul
Hope’s what we crave, that will never change;
Just the drop of grace needed to carry us through the day,
And the heavy blow that turns us to dust
Let the drops of tears turn to rust and give me the spark to believe
Hope, she sleeps without me
Her dreams though, they surround me.
They lift me, drop me, fill me up and leave me hollow;
dancing the dance, twirling and reeling between
the two shades of Hope.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Life in the Closet
In at least two recent catch-up conversations with other PCV’s, a question has been presented to me with the same wording that created a rather dubious double-take: “Are you out of the closet yet?”
Of course they were referring to my extravagant life-style within the Health Centre’s newly-built utility closet, but the question none-the-less left me raising an eye-brow for five seconds before it dawned on me to exactly what they were talking about.
Of course they were referring to my extravagant life-style within the Health Centre’s newly-built utility closet, but the question none-the-less left me raising an eye-brow for five seconds before it dawned on me to exactly what they were talking about.
The sentiment left me realizing I haven’t discussed my current living situation, nor posted pictures. Therefore I thought it a necessary next topic, and thus I present,
The Closet:
This is where I sleep.
The "Office"
Where I cook.
This be the “bathroom”
(Choo and water are located outside. This is the water tank and the outside of my closet)
The conversations also left me with the inspiration for the new title of the blog. Therefore I present "Life in the Closet"
There is Something About Blood
I honestly don’t know what it is, but some of my favourite fruits are “Blood” fruits. Back in California is was the Blood Orange. Sure a regular orange is delicious but the Blood orange is AMAZING! When my parents planted a Blood Orange tree I was ecstatic!
One of my favourite fruits so far here in Kenya is the Pashoni ya Damu a.k.a. the Blood Passion fruit. I think half of the allure of the fruit is it’s aesthetics, the beautiful drops of red within the yellow fleshy part of the fruit.
It looks like this:
One of my favourite fruits so far here in Kenya is the Pashoni ya Damu a.k.a. the Blood Passion fruit. I think half of the allure of the fruit is it’s aesthetics, the beautiful drops of red within the yellow fleshy part of the fruit.
It looks like this:
And oh mama is it delicious! I mean passion fruits are good and all, but they are a weird texture and have a unique after taste. The Blood pashioni is a whole ‘nother relm of delicious.
All of It Yours
Give up your heart. Hold it within your empty hands.
It’s the sum, the sea, of who you are.
Your hopes, your dreams, all the things and “whos” you love.
All your disgraces, your fears, and “sorrys” for the things you’ve done.
Give up your days. They are like grains of sand.
Look at them. They’re the sea, the sum, of who you’ve been.
Every hour, steal it. Every hour, feel it.
Every day, every dollar, it just washes away.
You just have to reach out and take it.
It’s yours. All of it yours.
Run to the Ocean. Feel it’s currents push and pull.
Let it’s power embrace you, take you, sweep the old you away.
The valley low, make it your home.
This I know. You can see the glory in the world.
Step up to the mountain top. Sing for the hope that you have.
Here and now, embody the things that you believe
Don’t have care about what happens to you know.
Just be changed, somehow find the change.
Look to the sky and be free.
Don’t build temples and walls to hold yourself in.
It’s the sum, the sea, of who you are.
Your hopes, your dreams, all the things and “whos” you love.
All your disgraces, your fears, and “sorrys” for the things you’ve done.
Give up your days. They are like grains of sand.
Look at them. They’re the sea, the sum, of who you’ve been.
Every hour, steal it. Every hour, feel it.
Every day, every dollar, it just washes away.
You just have to reach out and take it.
It’s yours. All of it yours.
Run to the Ocean. Feel it’s currents push and pull.
Let it’s power embrace you, take you, sweep the old you away.
The valley low, make it your home.
This I know. You can see the glory in the world.
Step up to the mountain top. Sing for the hope that you have.
Here and now, embody the things that you believe
Don’t have care about what happens to you know.
Just be changed, somehow find the change.
Look to the sky and be free.
Don’t build temples and walls to hold yourself in.
The Explorer's Heart
The path softly crunches beneath my feet. It’s gentle moan assuring me that it supports me. Each step though, a risk, the unevenness threatening to do me damage, but I like it. It is a game to be played, not but a challenge to overcome.
The sun’s piercing rays lick at my skin, beaming down with the promise of life and punishment. The carefree clouds float lazily across the vast spans of the African sky. Twisting, forming and reforming their delicate shapes, as they move the spirit with the beauty of their dance. Leaving the heart to groan with the longing for the promise of freedom their movements represent.
The sweetest of smells assaults my nose and clouds my brain with its overwhelming allure. The seas of grass shake their long appendages at me, trying to point me in the opposite direction. The wind that blows them whips across my face. Each soft touch of grace whispers with encouragement.
Moving through the underbrush, I let the strange alien succulent’s needles to scratch at my flesh. It is a masochistic enjoyment, as my cells part to give way to bushes sharp protectants. It is a reminder that I am alive, a form of penance.
A brilliant, black and white bird’s song carries me to the peak, giving musical theme to my journey. I crest the rise of the earth and the air escapes my lungs. The awe before my countenance is wide and vast, beckoning with the promise of adventure.
Wildebeest graze far below, dotted beneath the canopied arms of the acacia, moving slowly towards the lusty interior that spans between the legs of the foothills. Completely unaware and unthreated by the humbled presence above them.
The sun’s piercing rays lick at my skin, beaming down with the promise of life and punishment. The carefree clouds float lazily across the vast spans of the African sky. Twisting, forming and reforming their delicate shapes, as they move the spirit with the beauty of their dance. Leaving the heart to groan with the longing for the promise of freedom their movements represent.
The sweetest of smells assaults my nose and clouds my brain with its overwhelming allure. The seas of grass shake their long appendages at me, trying to point me in the opposite direction. The wind that blows them whips across my face. Each soft touch of grace whispers with encouragement.
Moving through the underbrush, I let the strange alien succulent’s needles to scratch at my flesh. It is a masochistic enjoyment, as my cells part to give way to bushes sharp protectants. It is a reminder that I am alive, a form of penance.
A brilliant, black and white bird’s song carries me to the peak, giving musical theme to my journey. I crest the rise of the earth and the air escapes my lungs. The awe before my countenance is wide and vast, beckoning with the promise of adventure.
Wildebeest graze far below, dotted beneath the canopied arms of the acacia, moving slowly towards the lusty interior that spans between the legs of the foothills. Completely unaware and unthreated by the humbled presence above them.
Chance Encounters
I love walking. Especially around this area because it is so green and beautiful, it just puts me at ease. Several of my new Kenyan friends have commented on and, of course, had to have a good laugh about my affinity for walking.
There is also another, less advertised reason for my walking. It is a great way to be able to interact with people. Especially in the settlements even more interior than Ngorika, people want to greet me and ask what the heck a white guy is doing
way out here.
Today my walking led to a chance encounter that turned out to be more brilliant than a simple conversation/greeting. I was troddling along when I hear “tssst tsst, come to us!” Now usually I ignore people when they due the “tsssst” to grab your attention because it just grates on my nerves but some feeling within me told me to stop and see what they wanted. When I hit reverse I see that it is a man and a woman (and when I got closer another man deep within the hole) working to dig a well. I stop and chat for a little when I quickly find out that one man is a carver and road worker and the other is a mason.
Ding.
My interest alert goes off and excited level goes up. Why, do you ask? Because one of the major issues I have come to notice here in Ngorika is that unless you have a little extra pesa in your pocket (and even then sometimes) most people use the three stone cooking method. It is literally three stones put closer together, fire in the middle, and pot on top. This is highly less effective fuel wise aaaaand produces a lot of smoke. Upper respiratory infections are a high in the area.
The problem I have been encountering with further enquiry is that ant hill soil is hard to come by and much more expensive to purchase in this area and because of the many quarries in the area the use of brick is little to none, yet still much more expensive than many are able to afford.
Long story short he has offered to assist in creating a more cost effective means of creating the improved stones with resources available! He gave me his contact information and I left sunburned, yet satisfied that my little walk had proved to me more valuable than I could have imagined.
There is also another, less advertised reason for my walking. It is a great way to be able to interact with people. Especially in the settlements even more interior than Ngorika, people want to greet me and ask what the heck a white guy is doing
way out here.
Today my walking led to a chance encounter that turned out to be more brilliant than a simple conversation/greeting. I was troddling along when I hear “tssst tsst, come to us!” Now usually I ignore people when they due the “tsssst” to grab your attention because it just grates on my nerves but some feeling within me told me to stop and see what they wanted. When I hit reverse I see that it is a man and a woman (and when I got closer another man deep within the hole) working to dig a well. I stop and chat for a little when I quickly find out that one man is a carver and road worker and the other is a mason.
Ding.
My interest alert goes off and excited level goes up. Why, do you ask? Because one of the major issues I have come to notice here in Ngorika is that unless you have a little extra pesa in your pocket (and even then sometimes) most people use the three stone cooking method. It is literally three stones put closer together, fire in the middle, and pot on top. This is highly less effective fuel wise aaaaand produces a lot of smoke. Upper respiratory infections are a high in the area.
The problem I have been encountering with further enquiry is that ant hill soil is hard to come by and much more expensive to purchase in this area and because of the many quarries in the area the use of brick is little to none, yet still much more expensive than many are able to afford.
Long story short he has offered to assist in creating a more cost effective means of creating the improved stones with resources available! He gave me his contact information and I left sunburned, yet satisfied that my little walk had proved to me more valuable than I could have imagined.
Monday, September 24, 2012
When Frustration Leads to Murder
Well not murder exactly.
This is a story about how an accumulation of personal issues led me to murder a chicken against my better judgment.
There are a couple things I like about my personality; I have a wide variety in things that I love, and as such I like to remain relatively unpredictable or surprise people because they don’t expect me to have done, or enjoy, one thing or another.
There are also a couple things that I hate about my personality; I have an insatiable need to prove people wrong when they doubt my abilities. This is doubled when my masculinity is brought into question.
This weekend I was over at a family’s place that I have recently become friends with. As with many interactions with Kenyans, this visit was full of “In your place (America) do you have, do, use ______?” This particular time we were going to prepare dinner and the son upon being asked to go slaughter a chicken asked, “In America do you slaughter chickens?” Which lead to an argument about whether I have ever killed anything, and ended with a statement of absolute assuredness that I have not, and would never, kill anything, followed by my angrily grabbing the chicken by the head and proceeding to take off it’s head in one clean stroke. (To the slack jawed gaping mouths of 6 Kenyans and 11 chickens)
Internally I wanted to vomit but for the sake of saving face and upholding my pride and honour, I continued to pluck and gut the chicken with not so much as a grimace.
Lessons learned: - Chickens can still cluck without a head
-The scales on their feet peel off like snake shedding it’s skin
- It’s ok to let people doubt you, they’ll get over it, but even so, there is odd satisfaction in proving that a Mazunguu can do (almost) anything a Kenyan can.
This is a story about how an accumulation of personal issues led me to murder a chicken against my better judgment.
There are a couple things I like about my personality; I have a wide variety in things that I love, and as such I like to remain relatively unpredictable or surprise people because they don’t expect me to have done, or enjoy, one thing or another.
There are also a couple things that I hate about my personality; I have an insatiable need to prove people wrong when they doubt my abilities. This is doubled when my masculinity is brought into question.
This weekend I was over at a family’s place that I have recently become friends with. As with many interactions with Kenyans, this visit was full of “In your place (America) do you have, do, use ______?” This particular time we were going to prepare dinner and the son upon being asked to go slaughter a chicken asked, “In America do you slaughter chickens?” Which lead to an argument about whether I have ever killed anything, and ended with a statement of absolute assuredness that I have not, and would never, kill anything, followed by my angrily grabbing the chicken by the head and proceeding to take off it’s head in one clean stroke. (To the slack jawed gaping mouths of 6 Kenyans and 11 chickens)
Internally I wanted to vomit but for the sake of saving face and upholding my pride and honour, I continued to pluck and gut the chicken with not so much as a grimace.
Lessons learned: - Chickens can still cluck without a head
-The scales on their feet peel off like snake shedding it’s skin
- It’s ok to let people doubt you, they’ll get over it, but even so, there is odd satisfaction in proving that a Mazunguu can do (almost) anything a Kenyan can.
Donkey Blues
Donkeys are the bomb.
They are so useful here in Kenya; keep down the lawn, great source of transport, and excellent for labour purposes and they are so mopey it’s cute.
Yesterday, as I was walking home from Nyaitoga (a “nearby” community) and witnessed a poor donkey with a ridiculous load slip and fall over into a ditch. The owner was in a slight panic and I rushed over to see what I could do to help.
It was at just a wrong angle that even when we released its load from around it, it couldn’t wriggle to its feet. We were trying to help it by pushing its back end around so it was more downhill, when it freaked a little, and kicking, made contact with my thigh.
Needless to say it hurt, no broken skin, but the fattiest bruise is probably going to show up. We managed to get the donkey up, and I proceeded limping the last 5 km home.
Just another crazy day in Kenya.
They are so useful here in Kenya; keep down the lawn, great source of transport, and excellent for labour purposes and they are so mopey it’s cute.
Yesterday, as I was walking home from Nyaitoga (a “nearby” community) and witnessed a poor donkey with a ridiculous load slip and fall over into a ditch. The owner was in a slight panic and I rushed over to see what I could do to help.
It was at just a wrong angle that even when we released its load from around it, it couldn’t wriggle to its feet. We were trying to help it by pushing its back end around so it was more downhill, when it freaked a little, and kicking, made contact with my thigh.
Needless to say it hurt, no broken skin, but the fattiest bruise is probably going to show up. We managed to get the donkey up, and I proceeded limping the last 5 km home.
Just another crazy day in Kenya.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Consolidation... Practice
In case of an emergency within Kenya, the Peace Corps has in place a drill to consolidate all volunteers into secure locations around the country. This last weekend was a practice so that we know how, for what prices, and how long it takes to get to our designated city.
My designated city is a town called Nanyuki at the foot of Mount Kenya. Seems really exciting to see this part of Kenya and travel right? Not completely. While this was the general feeling I had, I get extremely carsick and Matatus are the worst possible agitator of said sickness and the trip to Nanyuki is about 5-7 hours by Matatu. =(
This generally wouldn’t bother me too much except there is another consolidation group that meets in Nakuru (which is only 40 minutes from my site) and I actually have to go to Nakuru to transit to Nanyuki. So the thought that there is a less torturous consolidation point is disappointing, but what can you do?
We all make it to Nanyuki and proceed to Old House which is the Hotel/conference centre where we are to stay. It is really nice! It has a rustic-y wood feel and plenty of green space to walk around w/o shoes (which is not possible most places unless you want to get some sort of parasite or bacteria up in your feet), which for someone who loves the feeling of grass between their toes is AMAZING.
The only sad thing was that we were only to stay one night, so little time to recover physically before having to do the nauseating matatu trek all over again. But two free meals, a soft bed and a SHOWER and of course time with fellow volunteers was definitely something that I needed.
My designated city is a town called Nanyuki at the foot of Mount Kenya. Seems really exciting to see this part of Kenya and travel right? Not completely. While this was the general feeling I had, I get extremely carsick and Matatus are the worst possible agitator of said sickness and the trip to Nanyuki is about 5-7 hours by Matatu. =(
This generally wouldn’t bother me too much except there is another consolidation group that meets in Nakuru (which is only 40 minutes from my site) and I actually have to go to Nakuru to transit to Nanyuki. So the thought that there is a less torturous consolidation point is disappointing, but what can you do?
We all make it to Nanyuki and proceed to Old House which is the Hotel/conference centre where we are to stay. It is really nice! It has a rustic-y wood feel and plenty of green space to walk around w/o shoes (which is not possible most places unless you want to get some sort of parasite or bacteria up in your feet), which for someone who loves the feeling of grass between their toes is AMAZING.
The only sad thing was that we were only to stay one night, so little time to recover physically before having to do the nauseating matatu trek all over again. But two free meals, a soft bed and a SHOWER and of course time with fellow volunteers was definitely something that I needed.
Just A Little KuKu
Herein lies the story of a most peculiar occurrence during one of my opportunities to teach at a women’s group.
We were meeting in the living room of one of the women of the group. Now, in rural Kenya it is rather typical for animals, especially chickens, to come roaming through the house and then leave and nobody usually minds unless the animal is getting into or doing stuff it shouldn’t.
While I am teaching on proper hand-washing technique one such chicken marches into the living room and proceeds to sit between two women who are sitting on the couch. Though this is odd enough, the chicken proceeds to lay an egg. Yes, full on squawking, painful, awkward laying of an egg.
And nobody tries to shoo it out of move it. They just let it proceed with it’s business.
After about five minutes of complete distraction, and me trying to focus on the lesson without busting up laughing, it nonchalantly gets up and walks out the door like nothing ever happened.
Talk about child abandonment…
We were meeting in the living room of one of the women of the group. Now, in rural Kenya it is rather typical for animals, especially chickens, to come roaming through the house and then leave and nobody usually minds unless the animal is getting into or doing stuff it shouldn’t.
While I am teaching on proper hand-washing technique one such chicken marches into the living room and proceeds to sit between two women who are sitting on the couch. Though this is odd enough, the chicken proceeds to lay an egg. Yes, full on squawking, painful, awkward laying of an egg.
And nobody tries to shoo it out of move it. They just let it proceed with it’s business.
After about five minutes of complete distraction, and me trying to focus on the lesson without busting up laughing, it nonchalantly gets up and walks out the door like nothing ever happened.
Talk about child abandonment…
Stars
I wish I could describe the stars at several thousand feet.
The unpolluted, all-consuming wonder they bring.
Millions of pin-pricks twinkling with hope, pierce the inky blackness surrounding me.
The crisp, thin air that already labours my breathing, cannot compare to the manner with which they take my breath away.
The arm of the galaxy lazily floats transverse, a trail blazed by millions of years, a glimmering haze in the darkness.
Constellations I am not used to, dance their balled across the sky.
The ones un-named to me, them the western world has no myths for.
The howling and chirping of unfamiliar animals sing their melody but they cannot capture the symphony echoing from my heart.
Praise that would not be coherent in words, You, the stillness I rest in.
I wish I could describe the stars at several thousand feet.
The unpolluted, all-consuming wonder they bring.
Millions of pin-pricks twinkling with hope, pierce the inky blackness surrounding me.
The crisp, thin air that already labours my breathing, cannot compare to the manner with which they take my breath away.
The arm of the galaxy lazily floats transverse, a trail blazed by millions of years, a glimmering haze in the darkness.
Constellations I am not used to, dance their balled across the sky.
The ones un-named to me, them the western world has no myths for.
The howling and chirping of unfamiliar animals sing their melody but they cannot capture the symphony echoing from my heart.
Praise that would not be coherent in words, You, the stillness I rest in.
I wish I could describe the stars at several thousand feet.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Love's Purpose -- Pt. 2
This is why I want to step away from those types of love, and yet this is why I am not saddened so much if someone doesn’t love me as much as I love them:
1. The line dividing positive and negative should be low. The ideal is that it should take very little to bring pleasure, and much to bring displeasure. I want to find more satisfaction in loving rather than being love. This. Is. Hard. But I want my joys to be wrapped up in the giving instead of the receiving.
2. It is good to take a trip, it is better to have a partner. I have not come to understand this more than being here in Kenya. Being alone is SO HARD. Yet I feel every day that it is better for me to love while alone, than to not love at all. Sure I am on this leg of the journey physically alone, and it isn’t as great at sharing it with another, BUT it is infinitely better than not knowing at all.
3. An unreciprocated love is a window into G-d’s heart. In that moment that love is unreturned, we get a glimmer of G-d’s nature. The purpose for creating humanity was so that we might love and have a relationship with G-d. We choose (often times daily) not to share in that relationship, nevertheless G-d does not withdraw that love. When I feel unreturned love it sucks, but it reminds me of my selfishness and to choose Love.
4. Love shouldn’t stop when it is unreciprocated or the ‘times’ change. I don’t want to forget the pretty when it becomes ugly, the young when it becomes old, or richness when it is poor.
I want to remain lovable even if it is never returned; to keep my character and personality full of the things that satisfy what other people crave. If someone needs a kind word, I want to provide a refreshing sentence, and if someone is desperate for a shoulder to cry on, I want to be that shoulder. I want to keep having what other people need.
1. The line dividing positive and negative should be low. The ideal is that it should take very little to bring pleasure, and much to bring displeasure. I want to find more satisfaction in loving rather than being love. This. Is. Hard. But I want my joys to be wrapped up in the giving instead of the receiving.
2. It is good to take a trip, it is better to have a partner. I have not come to understand this more than being here in Kenya. Being alone is SO HARD. Yet I feel every day that it is better for me to love while alone, than to not love at all. Sure I am on this leg of the journey physically alone, and it isn’t as great at sharing it with another, BUT it is infinitely better than not knowing at all.
3. An unreciprocated love is a window into G-d’s heart. In that moment that love is unreturned, we get a glimmer of G-d’s nature. The purpose for creating humanity was so that we might love and have a relationship with G-d. We choose (often times daily) not to share in that relationship, nevertheless G-d does not withdraw that love. When I feel unreturned love it sucks, but it reminds me of my selfishness and to choose Love.
4. Love shouldn’t stop when it is unreciprocated or the ‘times’ change. I don’t want to forget the pretty when it becomes ugly, the young when it becomes old, or richness when it is poor.
I want to remain lovable even if it is never returned; to keep my character and personality full of the things that satisfy what other people crave. If someone needs a kind word, I want to provide a refreshing sentence, and if someone is desperate for a shoulder to cry on, I want to be that shoulder. I want to keep having what other people need.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Case of the Ng'ombes
I’m assuming that it is because cows used to be (and with some ethnic groups still are) the source and expression of someone’s wealth, that they seem to become the topic of conversation quite readily.
A perfect example of this is Chief Mburu. Often times I get to go around with him to visit different parts of his jurisdiction and, honest to G-d, every time we stop by to visit a homestead, he, mind you not the property owners usually, insist we visit the cows.
“Look at these cows, they have some very good cows. Well bred, very good.” As we inspect every aspect of the cows holding area and feeding station, typically.
The best is when we’re on a completely different topic while walking passed a cow that is tethered close by. “Ashhh. Look at this! Bad breed. These owners shouldn’t be allowed to tether them like this, what it that male tries to breed with that very good female? It’s just not right I tell you.”
Gets me every time.
P.S. Where do little pointy-hatted bearded men and Clostridium Tetini (Tetnus) like to go swimming?
A perfect example of this is Chief Mburu. Often times I get to go around with him to visit different parts of his jurisdiction and, honest to G-d, every time we stop by to visit a homestead, he, mind you not the property owners usually, insist we visit the cows.
“Look at these cows, they have some very good cows. Well bred, very good.” As we inspect every aspect of the cows holding area and feeding station, typically.
The best is when we’re on a completely different topic while walking passed a cow that is tethered close by. “Ashhh. Look at this! Bad breed. These owners shouldn’t be allowed to tether them like this, what it that male tries to breed with that very good female? It’s just not right I tell you.”
Gets me every time.
P.S. Where do little pointy-hatted bearded men and Clostridium Tetini (Tetnus) like to go swimming?
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Lost; The Truth of What Makes a Man – By Tanim Awwal
I just rediscovered this poem, my fellow PCV and good friend Tanim, wrote for me. Check it:
Light is the Way that people pray
Yet easy burns the match that engulfs this bed of hay
Burnt becomes the skin, the flames will sickly sear
Hollow are their eyes, intently as they leer
Strung tight the rope, ready to embrace what they fear
Am I not their Christian brother?
Raised and loved as by a mother?
Hate me not for what I am
For lost is the truth of what makes a man
Light is the Way that people pray
Yet easy burns the match that engulfs this bed of hay
Burnt becomes the skin, the flames will sickly sear
Hollow are their eyes, intently as they leer
Strung tight the rope, ready to embrace what they fear
Am I not their Christian brother?
Raised and loved as by a mother?
Hate me not for what I am
For lost is the truth of what makes a man
A Bitter Taste of Corruption
These last few weeks I have had the blessing of being taken under-wing by the Head Chief of the Ngorika area. This has been awesome for many reasons:
Firstly, he is an amazing leader. He refuses to use a pikipiki (motorbike) or take a car when visiting any part of his constituency. His reasons are that by walking he is able to greet and have conversations with individuals as he heads to his destination. People feel more comfortable coming up to him and discussing policies and issues.
This leads to the second reason—he knows EVERYONE. I have met many leaders within the community and he is always explaining to people why they are seeing a White guy walking around their town. This gets my name and purpose out into the community which will be so valuable later on.
Lastly, he is constantly looking out for me and is just fun to be around. He always has a story for something that has happened and is an amazing source of cultural and social information for this area. Anyway, all this to lead into a story about one of my outings with him.
Last week he had obligation at the District headquarters in Nyahururu (yeah, say that 10x slow… nyah-who-rue-rue) and asked me to accompany him so he could show me some of the surrounding area. Along the way we were stopped at a Police Check-Point. There was some discussion and then I catch the stopping police officer rubbing his fingers and thumb together and gesture in my direction then hear; “He is with me and I am the Chief of Ngorika!... yeah, that is what I thought” and then we take off again. Then he turns to me and says “You know there are many, many bad police officers here in Kenya, that isn’t the last time you’ll see something like that.” Apparently the officer who stopped us saw me (as a Mazungu) and thought I had perhaps was paying them to transport me. As such, he was trying to black mail them into giving him something or else he would cite them for some made-up reason. Crazy. I could not possibly fathom what would have happened if I had not been with the Chief.
Since then I have been keeping my eyes out for other such instances of corruption. Many times I have seen the Matatu Touts placing money under the driver’s side door handle, under their ID, or in various other places when they are stopped at Police Checks so as to pay off the police officers to avoid fines for real or imagined law abuses.
It’s one of the many injustices that take place that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I hope that the case never occurs again where I may have to face it first-hand and not have the Chief with me…
Firstly, he is an amazing leader. He refuses to use a pikipiki (motorbike) or take a car when visiting any part of his constituency. His reasons are that by walking he is able to greet and have conversations with individuals as he heads to his destination. People feel more comfortable coming up to him and discussing policies and issues.
This leads to the second reason—he knows EVERYONE. I have met many leaders within the community and he is always explaining to people why they are seeing a White guy walking around their town. This gets my name and purpose out into the community which will be so valuable later on.
Lastly, he is constantly looking out for me and is just fun to be around. He always has a story for something that has happened and is an amazing source of cultural and social information for this area. Anyway, all this to lead into a story about one of my outings with him.
Last week he had obligation at the District headquarters in Nyahururu (yeah, say that 10x slow… nyah-who-rue-rue) and asked me to accompany him so he could show me some of the surrounding area. Along the way we were stopped at a Police Check-Point. There was some discussion and then I catch the stopping police officer rubbing his fingers and thumb together and gesture in my direction then hear; “He is with me and I am the Chief of Ngorika!... yeah, that is what I thought” and then we take off again. Then he turns to me and says “You know there are many, many bad police officers here in Kenya, that isn’t the last time you’ll see something like that.” Apparently the officer who stopped us saw me (as a Mazungu) and thought I had perhaps was paying them to transport me. As such, he was trying to black mail them into giving him something or else he would cite them for some made-up reason. Crazy. I could not possibly fathom what would have happened if I had not been with the Chief.
Since then I have been keeping my eyes out for other such instances of corruption. Many times I have seen the Matatu Touts placing money under the driver’s side door handle, under their ID, or in various other places when they are stopped at Police Checks so as to pay off the police officers to avoid fines for real or imagined law abuses.
It’s one of the many injustices that take place that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I hope that the case never occurs again where I may have to face it first-hand and not have the Chief with me…
Friday, September 7, 2012
Getting Back in the Game: Low Ropes Style
Ever have those moments where you just have to sit back and say "Yes! That, that right there. That is why."? Yesterday, I got to have one of those moments.
We FINALLY got to meet with the Community Health Workers for Ngorika District. In Kenya, CHW's are volunteers trained by the gov't to go house to house to take health inventory, provide advice and preventative health knowledge, give some first aid, and make referrals to the Health Centres for serious cases. It's a huge task, and they do it for no compensation.
Part of my job here looks as if it will be to help revamp the CHW programme. Due to the hardships, unfulfilled promises of supplies, and lack of incentives, the group is now at about 20 from the original 50 volunteers.
First step: Make their monthly meetings worth the muti-kilometre trek it takes to get there. This is where my training from the best job ever with the SSU Low-Ropes Course came into play.
I decided to start them with a few aquaintance games and I have never heard a group of 30-50 year olds giggle and crack up laughing more in my entire life.
Afterwards my counterpart came up to me and said that she couldn't have thanked me enough for conducting the meeting in that way. "We have so many cares and responsibilities just to survive, I know each and everyone of us want to play and have fun like our children, we have simply forgotten how," She said.
And that's what makes it all worth it.
We FINALLY got to meet with the Community Health Workers for Ngorika District. In Kenya, CHW's are volunteers trained by the gov't to go house to house to take health inventory, provide advice and preventative health knowledge, give some first aid, and make referrals to the Health Centres for serious cases. It's a huge task, and they do it for no compensation.
Part of my job here looks as if it will be to help revamp the CHW programme. Due to the hardships, unfulfilled promises of supplies, and lack of incentives, the group is now at about 20 from the original 50 volunteers.
First step: Make their monthly meetings worth the muti-kilometre trek it takes to get there. This is where my training from the best job ever with the SSU Low-Ropes Course came into play.
I decided to start them with a few aquaintance games and I have never heard a group of 30-50 year olds giggle and crack up laughing more in my entire life.
Afterwards my counterpart came up to me and said that she couldn't have thanked me enough for conducting the meeting in that way. "We have so many cares and responsibilities just to survive, I know each and everyone of us want to play and have fun like our children, we have simply forgotten how," She said.
And that's what makes it all worth it.
“Sicker than Syphilis” - Top Ten Rural Kenya to date
10. Honda hatchback mud-running (and not on purpose…we had to get home)
9. Children so embarrassed you said hi they hurt themselves: running into doorframes, slipping at falling face first into a puddle, falling backwards over a sheep lying down etc.
8. Donkey Cart Racing is better than Donkey Kong Racing –
“When work becomes a pain in the Ass”
7. Goats and Goiters – Excellent band name.
6. “I want to bathe you in cold water” –Amos
(meant that he wanted to pour water for us to wash our hands)
5. Chameleons make Kenyans flee – terrified of them…I don’t know why
4. Bucket Helmets – yes the handle was used as the chin strap
3. Worst: Having a runny nose in the choo.
2. Sicker than Syphilis – Yup this was printed on a T-shirt.
1. “I’m trying out bi-nogomy” – Jeannie
(Guy who was hitting on a fellow volunteer at matatu stage)
9. Children so embarrassed you said hi they hurt themselves: running into doorframes, slipping at falling face first into a puddle, falling backwards over a sheep lying down etc.
8. Donkey Cart Racing is better than Donkey Kong Racing –
“When work becomes a pain in the Ass”
7. Goats and Goiters – Excellent band name.
6. “I want to bathe you in cold water” –Amos
(meant that he wanted to pour water for us to wash our hands)
5. Chameleons make Kenyans flee – terrified of them…I don’t know why
4. Bucket Helmets – yes the handle was used as the chin strap
3. Worst: Having a runny nose in the choo.
2. Sicker than Syphilis – Yup this was printed on a T-shirt.
1. “I’m trying out bi-nogomy” – Jeannie
(Guy who was hitting on a fellow volunteer at matatu stage)
Thursday, September 6, 2012
What Love Sometimes is; A Desire for Deepening Relationships -- Pt. 1
There are many times in my life where a relationship felt incomplete, where I would be left with the question, “Does this person have love for me?” The answer is; of course they do, but perhaps it just deep love being unreturned, the simple fact that my love for them might be greater than their love for me.
This brought me to wonder if this case is true for me. What causes me to have shallow love for others? A few realizations came to mind:
1. Often times love expressed is simply to fill an appetite. We are selfish creatures, only basically concerned with meeting our own needs; hanging out with someone to fulfill a need for entertainment, or doing a favour for someone, knowing they will return it someday. What if I was more concerned with meeting other’s needs? What would my relationships look like then?
2. Sometimes love has to be generated by an atmosphere. In a romantic sense; a rose, candle light, or sweet music. Friendship wise; some sports, good food and drink, or a great movie. Yet as I have hear it said, “Real love loves at all times, at the butt-crack of dawn or at gentle twilight, and whether the odor is Chanel No.5 or ‘Perspiration No. 6.’”
3. Most love becomes disinteresting once acquired. I hate this one the most but I know I’ve done it. Often it is the being or having of the relationship that people desire more than the object of the relationship. The worst is when it this happens in relationships with other people, especially if it comes down to bragging rights. Gaining the relationship is just the commencement; real character is never satisfied at this depth.
4. Often love never knows the degree or availability of depth. What do I mean? It should never be simply “in love or out of love” or love or no love. As one begins to learn how to love a whole world of possibilities and growth opens:
“When someone loves you, the way they way your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.”
This brought me to wonder if this case is true for me. What causes me to have shallow love for others? A few realizations came to mind:
1. Often times love expressed is simply to fill an appetite. We are selfish creatures, only basically concerned with meeting our own needs; hanging out with someone to fulfill a need for entertainment, or doing a favour for someone, knowing they will return it someday. What if I was more concerned with meeting other’s needs? What would my relationships look like then?
2. Sometimes love has to be generated by an atmosphere. In a romantic sense; a rose, candle light, or sweet music. Friendship wise; some sports, good food and drink, or a great movie. Yet as I have hear it said, “Real love loves at all times, at the butt-crack of dawn or at gentle twilight, and whether the odor is Chanel No.5 or ‘Perspiration No. 6.’”
3. Most love becomes disinteresting once acquired. I hate this one the most but I know I’ve done it. Often it is the being or having of the relationship that people desire more than the object of the relationship. The worst is when it this happens in relationships with other people, especially if it comes down to bragging rights. Gaining the relationship is just the commencement; real character is never satisfied at this depth.
4. Often love never knows the degree or availability of depth. What do I mean? It should never be simply “in love or out of love” or love or no love. As one begins to learn how to love a whole world of possibilities and growth opens:
“When someone loves you, the way they way your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.”
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Of Loneliness and Isolation
I still marvel at how simple conversations can impact your outlook and how little comments can connect aspects about your life that you hadn’t made before. This last weekend I got the privilege of having such a conversation this weekend with a fellow volunteer.
It’s content was simple; why do you identify the way that you do and how does that effect your directions and decisions in life. This of course became a mini Nathan’s-life history lesson; from relationships to bad decisions, identity crisis’ to how G-d’s timing has played its role to put me where I am now. Towards the end of the conversation she said nothing but a simple phrase that sent me reeling. “It’s funny how for so much of your life you experienced feeling utterly alone, then you find yourself surrounded by people who love you, and come to discover the levels to which that holds true right at the time when you have made a decision that truly puts you in a place of isolation.”
I’m alone, and it is unbelievably hard, but I want something more. I want to fully grasp what Paul talks about in Phillipians 4 v. 11, and come to see that just maybe isolation can be a gift, especially cause I am never truly alone…
It’s content was simple; why do you identify the way that you do and how does that effect your directions and decisions in life. This of course became a mini Nathan’s-life history lesson; from relationships to bad decisions, identity crisis’ to how G-d’s timing has played its role to put me where I am now. Towards the end of the conversation she said nothing but a simple phrase that sent me reeling. “It’s funny how for so much of your life you experienced feeling utterly alone, then you find yourself surrounded by people who love you, and come to discover the levels to which that holds true right at the time when you have made a decision that truly puts you in a place of isolation.”
I’m alone, and it is unbelievably hard, but I want something more. I want to fully grasp what Paul talks about in Phillipians 4 v. 11, and come to see that just maybe isolation can be a gift, especially cause I am never truly alone…
Reviewing Days Gone By
I find myself yelling out to You, yelling with all my might until my body is wracked with exhaustion.
Are You even listening?
I found myself drowning in waves of anxiety, and went looking for You.
My heart is but an open wound that won’t heal.
They keep telling me, “Everything will turn out all right, give it time.”
I find myself doubting every word they have said.
I remember You – and weep, covering my head, ashamed of this emotion.
I’m awake all night – not an ounce of sleep,
Not even sure what is bothering me
I review the days, one by one, pondering the years that have gone by.
I think of the songs You have given me, wondering how to pull it all together…
Are You even listening?
I found myself drowning in waves of anxiety, and went looking for You.
My heart is but an open wound that won’t heal.
They keep telling me, “Everything will turn out all right, give it time.”
I find myself doubting every word they have said.
I remember You – and weep, covering my head, ashamed of this emotion.
I’m awake all night – not an ounce of sleep,
Not even sure what is bothering me
I review the days, one by one, pondering the years that have gone by.
I think of the songs You have given me, wondering how to pull it all together…
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Play Has No Language
Friday I was feeling discouragement from being able to hear what I’m being told in KiSwahili. Most people want to try to use their English with me, which is ok, except that I am not getting practice in hearing KiSawhili when it is spoken. After spending sometime absolutely failing to understand an Mzee who greeted me on the road, all I wanted was to spend time alone to wallow in my frustration and longing for home.
As I was walking back to my utility closet of a room, (I literally found out it was the utility room yesterday when they labeled all the doors in the new building! I definitely lost it laughing. I’m in here until my house is finished.) there were a group of kids unabashedly staring at me from the side of the road. One of them had a make-shift ball in their hand. So I went up to them an asked if they wanted to play, and they lost it with excitement. We played various versions of football and a ‘keeping the ball in the air’ game we made up. We played for nearly two hours and I’m pretty sure I said less than ten words in total!
It is finding consolation in the little things, especially in my new community that is going to get me through these next two years. It’s a rough road, but it’s the little things that will bind me to this place and realizing that play surpasses the barriers of language is the greatest thing to remember.
“Little drops of water and little grains of sand make the mighty ocean and the pleasant land”
As I was walking back to my utility closet of a room, (I literally found out it was the utility room yesterday when they labeled all the doors in the new building! I definitely lost it laughing. I’m in here until my house is finished.) there were a group of kids unabashedly staring at me from the side of the road. One of them had a make-shift ball in their hand. So I went up to them an asked if they wanted to play, and they lost it with excitement. We played various versions of football and a ‘keeping the ball in the air’ game we made up. We played for nearly two hours and I’m pretty sure I said less than ten words in total!
It is finding consolation in the little things, especially in my new community that is going to get me through these next two years. It’s a rough road, but it’s the little things that will bind me to this place and realizing that play surpasses the barriers of language is the greatest thing to remember.
“Little drops of water and little grains of sand make the mighty ocean and the pleasant land”
Monday, August 20, 2012
Every Hurt is a Lesson.
Panic attacks are not the greatest thing to happen to anyone, but in the middle of church in a culture where saving Face is important, and you barely know anyone, doubles the severity of the issue.
Yet as I was drenched in anxiety stealing my ability to breath, I was reminded of four lessons given to me before I left for Africa, which all addressed and soothed the panic overwhelming my body.
1. God knows what we are made of.
-He was one of us; made himself vulnerable, human, and looked to others for
support (Matthew 26)
-Even though he knew his followers (and even us now) would fail and doubt him
he reached out to them, still stretched out his heart to them.
Love is risky. If I want to love, I have to lend my heart out at its most vulnerable; when I ache for my friends and family, and long for nothing more to flee Africa and have them at my side. Jesus did not bypass the cross, compared to that my experience here is trivial.
2. Good intentions don't cut it.
I can't just talk about helping others, I have to be awake for opportuities to make the difference in an interaction. Just because I want to doesn't mean I can or that I will. I don't wanna live a half-prepared, inaffective life here, focusing too much of the activity rather then the relationships.
3. Loving God doesn't always mean that we want to face what it is that he allows us to face.
-Jesus felt this reality to the point of sweating blood (Matt 26.38)
No matter what the pain is (even longing for loved ones to the point of feeling like vomiting) I must continue with what has been asked of me. The cross wasn't an obsticle but the way to God. Sacrifice to be truly alive.
4. Never doubt in the dark what God has told you in the light.
I am in Africa, doing what I've always wanted, feared, and even a couple months ago, ever thought I could do. Things lined up when it seemed impossible, and I was encouraged and blessed in ways I could never have asked for.
Every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson make you better.
Yet as I was drenched in anxiety stealing my ability to breath, I was reminded of four lessons given to me before I left for Africa, which all addressed and soothed the panic overwhelming my body.
1. God knows what we are made of.
-He was one of us; made himself vulnerable, human, and looked to others for
support (Matthew 26)
-Even though he knew his followers (and even us now) would fail and doubt him
he reached out to them, still stretched out his heart to them.
Love is risky. If I want to love, I have to lend my heart out at its most vulnerable; when I ache for my friends and family, and long for nothing more to flee Africa and have them at my side. Jesus did not bypass the cross, compared to that my experience here is trivial.
2. Good intentions don't cut it.
I can't just talk about helping others, I have to be awake for opportuities to make the difference in an interaction. Just because I want to doesn't mean I can or that I will. I don't wanna live a half-prepared, inaffective life here, focusing too much of the activity rather then the relationships.
3. Loving God doesn't always mean that we want to face what it is that he allows us to face.
-Jesus felt this reality to the point of sweating blood (Matt 26.38)
No matter what the pain is (even longing for loved ones to the point of feeling like vomiting) I must continue with what has been asked of me. The cross wasn't an obsticle but the way to God. Sacrifice to be truly alive.
4. Never doubt in the dark what God has told you in the light.
I am in Africa, doing what I've always wanted, feared, and even a couple months ago, ever thought I could do. Things lined up when it seemed impossible, and I was encouraged and blessed in ways I could never have asked for.
Every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson make you better.
Triple Wedding Surprise
I have mostly come to accept the fact that half of the time I am not going to fully understand what it happening around me here in Kenya. Part of that being that I can only catch half of what is being said in KiSwahili and the other because it seems to be a cultural norm to never completely reveal all of the information.
This very surprise occurred to me yesterday when I was invited to church with a shop owner I had met my first day here in Ngorika. As I am sitting in church, I noticed that there is something "extra" going on. Granted I have never been to an Anglican Church before but there seemed to be an unusual amount of extra-well dressed people (which I am not one of) and an allergy attack full of flowers. Upon questioning my host explained to me that a triple wedding was taking place today DURING the service, a really cool thing the church does for couples who aren't able to afford a wedding of their own.
It simply goes to remind me that I need to be flexible and prepared for just about ANYTHING to happen over these next two years...
This very surprise occurred to me yesterday when I was invited to church with a shop owner I had met my first day here in Ngorika. As I am sitting in church, I noticed that there is something "extra" going on. Granted I have never been to an Anglican Church before but there seemed to be an unusual amount of extra-well dressed people (which I am not one of) and an allergy attack full of flowers. Upon questioning my host explained to me that a triple wedding was taking place today DURING the service, a really cool thing the church does for couples who aren't able to afford a wedding of their own.
It simply goes to remind me that I need to be flexible and prepared for just about ANYTHING to happen over these next two years...
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Come This Far
We have come to it at last; induction. A time of expectation, celebration, and an oath of responsibility and commitment. Although I have the thrill of adventure and the excitement of the new before me, there is still a heavy weight of fear and anticipation. ‘Am I ready for this?’ clouds my thoughts.
Then I came across Henry Nouwen and his prophetic words, “Make the conscious choice to move the attention of your anxious heart away from the ‘waves’ and direct it to the One who walks on them.”
Bam.
I am reminded of David as he was faced with the doubts of King Saul that he can face Goliath and succeed. His reply; “As a shepherd, I have killed the lion and the bear that have come after my father’s sheep, what more can this Philistine, who threatens the people of the God-of-the-Angel-Armies, do to me?”
Look from where I have come! I have faced numerous challenges, and struggles, many of which few people will ever face, especially being only 23, and have overcome. What more is this next step that is ahead of me when I have He-Who-Created with me?
I’m not telling you it is going to be easy, I’m saying it is going to be worth it.
Then I came across Henry Nouwen and his prophetic words, “Make the conscious choice to move the attention of your anxious heart away from the ‘waves’ and direct it to the One who walks on them.”
Bam.
I am reminded of David as he was faced with the doubts of King Saul that he can face Goliath and succeed. His reply; “As a shepherd, I have killed the lion and the bear that have come after my father’s sheep, what more can this Philistine, who threatens the people of the God-of-the-Angel-Armies, do to me?”
Look from where I have come! I have faced numerous challenges, and struggles, many of which few people will ever face, especially being only 23, and have overcome. What more is this next step that is ahead of me when I have He-Who-Created with me?
I’m not telling you it is going to be easy, I’m saying it is going to be worth it.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Tuko Pamoja, Intertwining Twiga, and the Art of Togetherness
Tuko Pamoja, a little phrase in KiSwahili that I have come to love. Used as both a question and it’s response, it literally translates to “We are one”(or are we one?) but it is used to say “Are we together?” or “Are we of one mind?”
This last week we ran into a family of German’s in the marketplace. This brings about, as I have recently discovered, two irresistible urges. The first is a shameful, uncontrollable desire to yell “Mazunguu!”, and the other is a desire to make friends, something that I feel has to do with being a minority.
That evening, my host Baba and I were invited to a dinner gathering at one of the neighbor’s houses. Later, to discover that it was a feast in honour of that German family I witnessed earlier. As I found out during the Kenyan tradition of formal speeches, the German dad has spent several years forming relationships with the host and his family to develop services for the community. The host presented a gift to the family, a carved statuette of two giraffes whose bodies faced in one direction but with the necks turned behind them to face the opposite direction. It was ment to represent how each family, though in different places and headed in different directions in life, still have a connection in such a way that you cannot tell where one ends and one begins.
It is such a beautiful picture, and one that I can hope to work by as I continue on with my next to years in Kenya. That I may live in such a way, that you cannot tell where I end and my community begins…
This last week we ran into a family of German’s in the marketplace. This brings about, as I have recently discovered, two irresistible urges. The first is a shameful, uncontrollable desire to yell “Mazunguu!”, and the other is a desire to make friends, something that I feel has to do with being a minority.
That evening, my host Baba and I were invited to a dinner gathering at one of the neighbor’s houses. Later, to discover that it was a feast in honour of that German family I witnessed earlier. As I found out during the Kenyan tradition of formal speeches, the German dad has spent several years forming relationships with the host and his family to develop services for the community. The host presented a gift to the family, a carved statuette of two giraffes whose bodies faced in one direction but with the necks turned behind them to face the opposite direction. It was ment to represent how each family, though in different places and headed in different directions in life, still have a connection in such a way that you cannot tell where one ends and one begins.
It is such a beautiful picture, and one that I can hope to work by as I continue on with my next to years in Kenya. That I may live in such a way, that you cannot tell where I end and my community begins…
"God Will Provide": The Full Circle
During one of our outings we were visiting a family to see the process of building a pit latrine. While we were there, there was a discussion about the family participating in an economic development program, which apparently the family had declined because, as the mama put it, “God will provide.”
I was instantly angry. Why though? As a person in relationship with G-d shouldn’t I have faith that He will provide for this family and their situation?
The answer came in quite an unexpected way later that day. One of the current Volunteers was giving a talk and brought up that she had faced this same issue on several occasions. She described what another mama had told her when she was venting her frustrations, “Tell them this; It is written that God work for 6 days and THEN on the 7th day he rested.”
We should not expect that because we have faith in G-d that we will be free of problems, or that by behaving “properly” things will change for us. Yes, G-d does provide but He isn’t a wish dispenser; pray and he gives you everything that you asked for. G-d doesn’t work like that, and often he is more subtle, simply giving us an opportunity to work to achieve what we need.
It also works the other way. Possibly we see our problem and simply working really hard on it, maybe we will fix it on our own. However, even if we are able to another will inevitably pop up and take it’s place. It is meaningless to try (as Ecclesiastes states readily) if we are doing it on our own, by our own power. We need him still, even if it is simply for the peace that surpasses understanding.
It comes full circle. Faith without works is dead, but works without faith is equally meaningless.
I was instantly angry. Why though? As a person in relationship with G-d shouldn’t I have faith that He will provide for this family and their situation?
The answer came in quite an unexpected way later that day. One of the current Volunteers was giving a talk and brought up that she had faced this same issue on several occasions. She described what another mama had told her when she was venting her frustrations, “Tell them this; It is written that God work for 6 days and THEN on the 7th day he rested.”
We should not expect that because we have faith in G-d that we will be free of problems, or that by behaving “properly” things will change for us. Yes, G-d does provide but He isn’t a wish dispenser; pray and he gives you everything that you asked for. G-d doesn’t work like that, and often he is more subtle, simply giving us an opportunity to work to achieve what we need.
It also works the other way. Possibly we see our problem and simply working really hard on it, maybe we will fix it on our own. However, even if we are able to another will inevitably pop up and take it’s place. It is meaningless to try (as Ecclesiastes states readily) if we are doing it on our own, by our own power. We need him still, even if it is simply for the peace that surpasses understanding.
It comes full circle. Faith without works is dead, but works without faith is equally meaningless.
Coming, Going, and the Art of Seeing
The notion of duality continues to be in constant presence in my thoughts. Our silly human notions of what is good or bad, black and white. Are these always a constant in the “category” in which we place them? Why do they differ often dramatically even amongst people of the same faith system? And most importantly what does G-d say?
We are called to do what is RIGHT. Not “right” as being opposed to “wrong”, “bad”, or “evil”, I think it is more subtle than that, as in, “this is appropriate”, “this is better”, or “ this is in sync with LOVE”. It is having the right view, the right speech, the right intention, the right action, the right meditation.
It is learning to be HERE, present in each moment and notice what’s going on. Our obligation is to be in the ebb and flow of a LOVE relationship with G-d. Therefore, our real moral responsibility is being aware of the moment and leaving the hard and fast rules behind - we are no longer bound by the Law anyway. (Romans 8 v 2-3, Galatians 3, etc). Strictly follow any rule and it will bring you to confusion because there can be any number of contradictions and paradoxes.
Ex. Drinking –Jesus turned water into wine as a first miracle, you tell me they didn’t drink it afterward. Lying – What if it is to save lives (i.g. Gestapo’s asking you if you have Jews hiding in your attic). Marrying a Non-Christian – what if God tells you explicitly to do so (trust me I have stories). Etc, etc, etc.
Now I’m not saying go and do whatever, 1 Corinthians 10 v. 23: “Everything is permissible – but not everything is beneficial,” simply that, in the end, it’s not about the rules, what you’ve been “told is right” all your life, or what a preacher yells (sometimes hatefully) from a pulpit on the news. It’s about the situation, and whether or not your actions end in LOVE, because we are free when we love and are no longer bound by commands which lead to guilt (Galatians 5 v. 13-14). We cannot do wrong when our actions are loving.
Cause if they are that’s where G-d will be.
We are called to do what is RIGHT. Not “right” as being opposed to “wrong”, “bad”, or “evil”, I think it is more subtle than that, as in, “this is appropriate”, “this is better”, or “ this is in sync with LOVE”. It is having the right view, the right speech, the right intention, the right action, the right meditation.
It is learning to be HERE, present in each moment and notice what’s going on. Our obligation is to be in the ebb and flow of a LOVE relationship with G-d. Therefore, our real moral responsibility is being aware of the moment and leaving the hard and fast rules behind - we are no longer bound by the Law anyway. (Romans 8 v 2-3, Galatians 3, etc). Strictly follow any rule and it will bring you to confusion because there can be any number of contradictions and paradoxes.
Ex. Drinking –Jesus turned water into wine as a first miracle, you tell me they didn’t drink it afterward. Lying – What if it is to save lives (i.g. Gestapo’s asking you if you have Jews hiding in your attic). Marrying a Non-Christian – what if God tells you explicitly to do so (trust me I have stories). Etc, etc, etc.
Now I’m not saying go and do whatever, 1 Corinthians 10 v. 23: “Everything is permissible – but not everything is beneficial,” simply that, in the end, it’s not about the rules, what you’ve been “told is right” all your life, or what a preacher yells (sometimes hatefully) from a pulpit on the news. It’s about the situation, and whether or not your actions end in LOVE, because we are free when we love and are no longer bound by commands which lead to guilt (Galatians 5 v. 13-14). We cannot do wrong when our actions are loving.
Cause if they are that’s where G-d will be.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
50 Shades of Grey
While I’m all for the occasional salacious story, this post is that which is farthest from that topic. However, I am glad to have caught your attention.
It has been rather cloudy here in Loitokitok for the last five or so days which is definitely the last thing I expected to experience in Africa, then again very little of Kenya has been what I was expecting. To top the overcast weather, the mood has become one of listlessness and solemnity. I can’t put my finger on it but I can sense its drag on nearly all of the volunteers; each being weighed down by a different burdens.
For me it is taking the form of feeling as if all I am doing now is taking up space, time, and resources. After shadowing and witnessing how volunteers are able to be active within their community, being back at PST makes me feel useless. I am not learning much at this point because more than half of what we are going through I have significant experience in. I am not able to do much work at my host home because we have a house technician who is paid to do everything and I don’t feel as if I am able to help here in Loitokitok because I am here temporarily and do not have many opportunities to engage within the community leaving me to be little more than a walking dollar sign.
The expectation that, because I am white, I have money with which I can freely hand out continues to weigh heavy on my mind. Since I am in community development, it is on the forefront of my mind that to achieve progress and change the best measures are assisting others to acquire necessary skills, knowledge, and behaviours to advance their well-being, not simply giving handouts. It is tough to feel like I have to walk the fine line between directly assisting a fellow human being in need and knowing that that action will probably do more harm than good, especially to the community’s view of my presence here if others see that I am giving out money.
Oddly enough, I stumbled upon Ecclesiastes 3 v. 1-8 which reminded me of the lack of Black and Whiteness in life but that most everything falls into the field grey and sometimes G-d directly calls us to stand in that middle ground and struggle with it. Sometimes there is no solid answer but the one that you discover through living it out.
Thoughts?
-N
It has been rather cloudy here in Loitokitok for the last five or so days which is definitely the last thing I expected to experience in Africa, then again very little of Kenya has been what I was expecting. To top the overcast weather, the mood has become one of listlessness and solemnity. I can’t put my finger on it but I can sense its drag on nearly all of the volunteers; each being weighed down by a different burdens.
For me it is taking the form of feeling as if all I am doing now is taking up space, time, and resources. After shadowing and witnessing how volunteers are able to be active within their community, being back at PST makes me feel useless. I am not learning much at this point because more than half of what we are going through I have significant experience in. I am not able to do much work at my host home because we have a house technician who is paid to do everything and I don’t feel as if I am able to help here in Loitokitok because I am here temporarily and do not have many opportunities to engage within the community leaving me to be little more than a walking dollar sign.
The expectation that, because I am white, I have money with which I can freely hand out continues to weigh heavy on my mind. Since I am in community development, it is on the forefront of my mind that to achieve progress and change the best measures are assisting others to acquire necessary skills, knowledge, and behaviours to advance their well-being, not simply giving handouts. It is tough to feel like I have to walk the fine line between directly assisting a fellow human being in need and knowing that that action will probably do more harm than good, especially to the community’s view of my presence here if others see that I am giving out money.
Oddly enough, I stumbled upon Ecclesiastes 3 v. 1-8 which reminded me of the lack of Black and Whiteness in life but that most everything falls into the field grey and sometimes G-d directly calls us to stand in that middle ground and struggle with it. Sometimes there is no solid answer but the one that you discover through living it out.
Thoughts?
-N
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Half-Way Through. 23 Favourites
Since I have successfully made it through 6 weeks of Pre-Service Training it is time to offer 23 of my favourite things so far.
1. Real, delicious Chai
2. Purple plants
3. HERDS OF GIRAFFES!
4. Having one of the trainers tell us that we must “give head” (meaning bow) to elders because it is respectful
5. Guys I’m in AFRICA, I get to see Mt. Kilamonjaro and acacia trees all the time
6. Other PCT’s host sister pooped in the living room because she was too terrified to go past the PCT’s room to go to the Choo.
7. Maasai man putting his extremely gagged ear lobes up over the top of his ear to get them outta the way
8. Helping birth a baby cow
9. Mama’s ambiguity about what kind of “greens” were in the Mukimo (potato, corn, bean, “greens”dish)
10. Bursting out into moving renditions of Disney songs, esp. “Circle of life”
11. Dinner/Chai making attempt fails. You live, you learn.
12. Frisbee: Frozen Round Inuit Soaring Bowel Excrement Experience (Fake history lesson on Frisbee)
13. Starting new trends for the kids: Poa Punda - “Cool donkey” (long story)
14. Colombus Monkeys! / Waterfall hike
15. PC assult avoidance techniques: Throw things, yell for help, run away, soil yourself…
16. Kids in “face hole” hats/parkas (not joking)
17. Letters from home
18. Baobab trees
19. Baba always trying me to drink. Recent attempt while having an upset stomach; “just a little gin, it will do wonders.”
20. Getting our sites (especially mine’s temps rarely exceed 75 degrees!)
21. The silence. Non-city Africa is quite (except on Sunday, church is so loud)
22. Finger painting!
23. Sikh Temple in Makindu
More great moments to come I am sure. -N
1. Real, delicious Chai
2. Purple plants
3. HERDS OF GIRAFFES!
4. Having one of the trainers tell us that we must “give head” (meaning bow) to elders because it is respectful
5. Guys I’m in AFRICA, I get to see Mt. Kilamonjaro and acacia trees all the time
6. Other PCT’s host sister pooped in the living room because she was too terrified to go past the PCT’s room to go to the Choo.
7. Maasai man putting his extremely gagged ear lobes up over the top of his ear to get them outta the way
8. Helping birth a baby cow
9. Mama’s ambiguity about what kind of “greens” were in the Mukimo (potato, corn, bean, “greens”dish)
10. Bursting out into moving renditions of Disney songs, esp. “Circle of life”
11. Dinner/Chai making attempt fails. You live, you learn.
12. Frisbee: Frozen Round Inuit Soaring Bowel Excrement Experience (Fake history lesson on Frisbee)
13. Starting new trends for the kids: Poa Punda - “Cool donkey” (long story)
14. Colombus Monkeys! / Waterfall hike
15. PC assult avoidance techniques: Throw things, yell for help, run away, soil yourself…
16. Kids in “face hole” hats/parkas (not joking)
17. Letters from home
18. Baobab trees
19. Baba always trying me to drink. Recent attempt while having an upset stomach; “just a little gin, it will do wonders.”
20. Getting our sites (especially mine’s temps rarely exceed 75 degrees!)
21. The silence. Non-city Africa is quite (except on Sunday, church is so loud)
22. Finger painting!
23. Sikh Temple in Makindu
More great moments to come I am sure. -N
Week of Shadowing
Now under regular circumstances when someone informs you that it is time for a road trip you of course get naturally excited. When you’re a PCT(rainee) these words are like water in the desert, a hot cup of coffee when you’re on hour 9 of a 15 hour shift, or the after pee shivers when you’ve been holding it for like 10 hours. Needless to say the chance to see how currently serving PCVs are getting along on their own and get out of Loitokitok and relentless training for a few days was a breath of fresh air (after you were just forcibly dutch-ovened… sorry couldn’t resist).
Three of my fellows and myself were headed to the bustling desert communities of the African bush (though we didn’t know it yet), to shadow who ended up to be the greatest pairing of PCV’s you could have (who were only slightly on the crazy train after 9 months of solitude =P) Julia and Peter. They are Education volunteers working in two secondary schools and, let me just say, they have been on one heck of a ride.
Being the visiting mzungus that we are, it was a declared must that we be introduced to each grade level (Form 1-4 equivalent to Fresh-Senior) at both schools. To give you a small taste of what we were getting into, here is a direct quote one of the students told Peter; “we will touch them”. For each classroom we were bombarded with a series of serious, goofy, and (to us) down right hilarious questions, as well as being told that we must “give them a song”. Therefore there as a lot of singing, including my gripping rendition of the “Star-Spangled Banner”, given that it was the 4th of July.
Here are a few of my favourite received questions/incidents:
As I am spelling my name on the chalkboard: NA- Student: SODIUM!!
Spelling in a different classroom: Hatch Student: From where!? Me: I’m not answering that question…
Other PCT writing his last name: Sexton Student: Does that mean you do a lot of sex?
To other PCT: Why do you have earrings? Other student: She is overloading her ears.
Student: Where does a Tsunami come from and how do I avoid it? (We’re in the desert BTW)
What is the origin of Teneasha, Nathan, and Jennifer (leaving out Connor the only other white guy)
And those were the tame ones (they had a lot of lifeskills/sex ed questions because we’re health volunteers.) It was a wonderful week to live and learn outside of our little training island of Loitokitok. I am ready to get to my site and began working. Five more weeks and counting! -N
Three of my fellows and myself were headed to the bustling desert communities of the African bush (though we didn’t know it yet), to shadow who ended up to be the greatest pairing of PCV’s you could have (who were only slightly on the crazy train after 9 months of solitude =P) Julia and Peter. They are Education volunteers working in two secondary schools and, let me just say, they have been on one heck of a ride.
Being the visiting mzungus that we are, it was a declared must that we be introduced to each grade level (Form 1-4 equivalent to Fresh-Senior) at both schools. To give you a small taste of what we were getting into, here is a direct quote one of the students told Peter; “we will touch them”. For each classroom we were bombarded with a series of serious, goofy, and (to us) down right hilarious questions, as well as being told that we must “give them a song”. Therefore there as a lot of singing, including my gripping rendition of the “Star-Spangled Banner”, given that it was the 4th of July.
Here are a few of my favourite received questions/incidents:
As I am spelling my name on the chalkboard: NA- Student: SODIUM!!
Spelling in a different classroom: Hatch Student: From where!? Me: I’m not answering that question…
Other PCT writing his last name: Sexton Student: Does that mean you do a lot of sex?
To other PCT: Why do you have earrings? Other student: She is overloading her ears.
Student: Where does a Tsunami come from and how do I avoid it? (We’re in the desert BTW)
What is the origin of Teneasha, Nathan, and Jennifer (leaving out Connor the only other white guy)
And those were the tame ones (they had a lot of lifeskills/sex ed questions because we’re health volunteers.) It was a wonderful week to live and learn outside of our little training island of Loitokitok. I am ready to get to my site and began working. Five more weeks and counting! -N
Saturday, June 30, 2012
A Lesson In Time
I am beginning to see time as being a ruler with which to measure the state of deterioration. Now please don’t mistake me for being pessimistic or morbid, that is not my direction of thought, but rather I mention this view as a corner stone for which to base my most recent musings.
The concept of time here in Kenya is so very different than anything one would experience in America. We have literally been told that if you want a meeting to start at a certain time we need to say that the meeting time is two hours before we mean to start… Annoying some might say. Frustrating at times, yes, however, I am finding that I love it. Everyone walks slower, talks slower, I swear even the flies attempt to get away from your swatting slower. A greeting is hardly ever just in passing. A simple hello to a stranger is often expected to be at least a 5 minute conversation. I can only imagine if you haven’t seen someone you know in a long time!
I love this mindset though. I think Kenyan’s get it. Kurt got my brain thinking along this track before I left. We are all allotted the exact same time during the day, none of us is truly “busier” than anyone else, simply hurried or attempting to cram more into our given time. That is why time is the greatest gift. When I give you my time, I am giving you my LIFE. Period. It is a gift, when given, I can give to you and only YOU. As a being outside of time it is something not even G-d can gift. It is a concept that I have felt deep within for years but never had the words to express.
I am beginning to view every moment as immeasurably sacred, because every moment is a little bit of the precious commodity that I have on this earth—my life. Two years, separated from the people I love, and the things I understand, it’s a heavy price. But it is worth every bit. =)
Rev. 10 v. 6
Tutaonana (until we see each other)
The concept of time here in Kenya is so very different than anything one would experience in America. We have literally been told that if you want a meeting to start at a certain time we need to say that the meeting time is two hours before we mean to start… Annoying some might say. Frustrating at times, yes, however, I am finding that I love it. Everyone walks slower, talks slower, I swear even the flies attempt to get away from your swatting slower. A greeting is hardly ever just in passing. A simple hello to a stranger is often expected to be at least a 5 minute conversation. I can only imagine if you haven’t seen someone you know in a long time!
I love this mindset though. I think Kenyan’s get it. Kurt got my brain thinking along this track before I left. We are all allotted the exact same time during the day, none of us is truly “busier” than anyone else, simply hurried or attempting to cram more into our given time. That is why time is the greatest gift. When I give you my time, I am giving you my LIFE. Period. It is a gift, when given, I can give to you and only YOU. As a being outside of time it is something not even G-d can gift. It is a concept that I have felt deep within for years but never had the words to express.
I am beginning to view every moment as immeasurably sacred, because every moment is a little bit of the precious commodity that I have on this earth—my life. Two years, separated from the people I love, and the things I understand, it’s a heavy price. But it is worth every bit. =)
Rev. 10 v. 6
Tutaonana (until we see each other)
Monday, June 18, 2012
A Punch to the Spiritual Nutsack
And trust me it was an unpleasant experience to say the least. I was walking home when it happened. I realized I had gotten myself lost, and it was a slow an imperceptible drift downstream.
I was leaving a PCT (Peace Corps Trainees) group hangout day and feeling the weight of the large amount of complaining and negativity that was occurring (and I am not guiltless of participating), when I discovered that I had forgotten what I have come here for. Yes, training can be exorbitantly annoying and tedious but I came here to love the people who live here, and I haven’t been doing that. I have been seeing training as the thing I have to get to before I can work at my site and show love there, but there are people that live HERE in Loitokitok, and sometimes I have seen them as a nuisance, and I didn’t even realize it or see that that was what I was doing. I sicken myself.
While I was walking home this women came up to me and being quite very affrontive was yelling things in KiSwahili. I could only make out ‘Habari yako?’ a greeting which essentially means: ‘What is the news with you?’, but she was definitely not using it as a greeting. I went the avoiding route, which honestly was the advisable and probably the safest thing to do, but that was when it struck me. I am avoiding that which makes me uncomfortable. Life is comfortable when you separate yourself from people who are different from you.
Hanging out with the group is fun, but they can be a distraction from what I came for. I desire rather to grab a soda and just sit in the market and be available to approach and not simply be a mzungu (the term used for a white person but it literally translates to “one who walks around”) which we usually tend to be. That will take trust, and trust is not a comfortable place to be. As humans we seek refuge in what we have and what we know rather than trust in what G-d will provide and show us.
The question that hit me was; “What are you doing right now that requires faith?” “But Nathan,” you might say, “You’re in Africa! Isn’t that a big leap of faith?” Yeah, it WAS, but that step has already been taken, I have more to take.
So, it is time to take another step of faith and stand in the brokenness and let G-d do his marvelous work.
I was leaving a PCT (Peace Corps Trainees) group hangout day and feeling the weight of the large amount of complaining and negativity that was occurring (and I am not guiltless of participating), when I discovered that I had forgotten what I have come here for. Yes, training can be exorbitantly annoying and tedious but I came here to love the people who live here, and I haven’t been doing that. I have been seeing training as the thing I have to get to before I can work at my site and show love there, but there are people that live HERE in Loitokitok, and sometimes I have seen them as a nuisance, and I didn’t even realize it or see that that was what I was doing. I sicken myself.
While I was walking home this women came up to me and being quite very affrontive was yelling things in KiSwahili. I could only make out ‘Habari yako?’ a greeting which essentially means: ‘What is the news with you?’, but she was definitely not using it as a greeting. I went the avoiding route, which honestly was the advisable and probably the safest thing to do, but that was when it struck me. I am avoiding that which makes me uncomfortable. Life is comfortable when you separate yourself from people who are different from you.
Hanging out with the group is fun, but they can be a distraction from what I came for. I desire rather to grab a soda and just sit in the market and be available to approach and not simply be a mzungu (the term used for a white person but it literally translates to “one who walks around”) which we usually tend to be. That will take trust, and trust is not a comfortable place to be. As humans we seek refuge in what we have and what we know rather than trust in what G-d will provide and show us.
The question that hit me was; “What are you doing right now that requires faith?” “But Nathan,” you might say, “You’re in Africa! Isn’t that a big leap of faith?” Yeah, it WAS, but that step has already been taken, I have more to take.
So, it is time to take another step of faith and stand in the brokenness and let G-d do his marvelous work.
Enoughness
There are many things while living here in Kenya that are DIFFERENT in comparison to life in America, and yet other things are not so much. Some of the things I have complained to myself about at first; having to use a pit latrine, sweet potatoes and eggs for breakfast, and fluctuating ability to have running water and/or electricity.
Then I read Exodus 16 v. 9-16. This passage reminds me of the foolishness of this way of thinking! I wanted this. I asked to be a part of G-d’s work and to be sent wherever he might have me. My basic needs are provided for; food to eat, a place to rest my head, and a way to dispose of my waste and yet I sit and complain because I am slightly uncomfortable!?
I am reminded that he promised that he and he alone is enough for me. I must remember to embrace his being and delight in his enoughness. Besides, my legs are getting stronger having to squat to poop, I have a better gag reflex and my host mama came up with a brilliant way to get me to like eating eggs, and it’s like being on a perpetual camping trip that I loved growing up.
Then I read Exodus 16 v. 9-16. This passage reminds me of the foolishness of this way of thinking! I wanted this. I asked to be a part of G-d’s work and to be sent wherever he might have me. My basic needs are provided for; food to eat, a place to rest my head, and a way to dispose of my waste and yet I sit and complain because I am slightly uncomfortable!?
I am reminded that he promised that he and he alone is enough for me. I must remember to embrace his being and delight in his enoughness. Besides, my legs are getting stronger having to squat to poop, I have a better gag reflex and my host mama came up with a brilliant way to get me to like eating eggs, and it’s like being on a perpetual camping trip that I loved growing up.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
The Road Goes Ever On
"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say."
This has always been one of my favourite little tid-bits from literature. For those of you who are not familiar, this is the song Bilbo Baggins is heard singing as he makes his way from the doorsteps of Bag End, having given up the burden of the One Ring to Frodo, on his way to Rivendell and unknown adventure.
It has always gripped me with a longing for the unknown, and up until this point, has always seemed like pleasant fantasy and honestly just plain good reading. This time however, as I read it I am enamoured by the unexpected similarities of context that I find it has with my life now.
As I have been preparing for the adventure that is to come I have had to be persuaded to leave 'the precious'. To forfeit the people and things that I love in exchange for experiences and stories that I get to live when I move away. Or in another sense I have had to stretch out my hand and let go of a couple things I have held tightly to for so long. Allowing God to take them from me and allow him to deal with the consequences.
So here I stand, on the steps that lead out my door, looking down this great road that has been set before me. I must strive for it with as much effort as I can muster. It is a road that will join with many other people's paths as it goes on to join to some larger way. Where it will lead, I cannot say, but I'm about to find out...
"Be strong and courageous. Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you should wander." Joshua 1 v. 9
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say."
This has always been one of my favourite little tid-bits from literature. For those of you who are not familiar, this is the song Bilbo Baggins is heard singing as he makes his way from the doorsteps of Bag End, having given up the burden of the One Ring to Frodo, on his way to Rivendell and unknown adventure.
It has always gripped me with a longing for the unknown, and up until this point, has always seemed like pleasant fantasy and honestly just plain good reading. This time however, as I read it I am enamoured by the unexpected similarities of context that I find it has with my life now.
As I have been preparing for the adventure that is to come I have had to be persuaded to leave 'the precious'. To forfeit the people and things that I love in exchange for experiences and stories that I get to live when I move away. Or in another sense I have had to stretch out my hand and let go of a couple things I have held tightly to for so long. Allowing God to take them from me and allow him to deal with the consequences.
So here I stand, on the steps that lead out my door, looking down this great road that has been set before me. I must strive for it with as much effort as I can muster. It is a road that will join with many other people's paths as it goes on to join to some larger way. Where it will lead, I cannot say, but I'm about to find out...
"Be strong and courageous. Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you should wander." Joshua 1 v. 9
The Reason Why.
Doubt. It is here in these little moments, when the passion seems to slip away and the excitement turns to stillness, that I begin to question if I can still do this. To give up my belongings, my language, my friends and family, my self and love to the deepest of my potential. 'Cause all I keep doing is wonder if what I will be doing really matters. I am unsure of what the future holds.
I cannot do this. At least not on my own. I am, and must continue to always be, planted by the stream of life. Rooted and connected to what is real, and true, and life-giving. The true fountain of life.
It is here I am reminded that even though I feel this way, this; thorn in my flesh, can no longer hold me down because when I place HIM first he will take precedence over everything that comes after. Yes, I will doubt and question my purpose (t)here. Yes, I will at times reckon that what I am doing is self-centered; feeling as though I am gaining an exorbitant amount of knowledge and experience while giving nothing in return. I have been there before!. And it is here again I find the answer whispered to me; "simply remember that everyone matters. Act as if everyone deserves better than you."
That means sacrifice.
"Put your life on hold so that other's may be better." Matthew 5 v. 15 (Message)
That is why, the umbrella reason for my going abroad for 2+ years. I believe that I am working within the kingdom of God for a divine purpose. I am (t)here for a reason that is bigger that even I could possibly know or imagine and it scares the devil to death
"No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it for someone else." -Benjamin Franklin
Then I find myself spirit slapped by a back-hand from the Almighty
I cannot do this. At least not on my own. I am, and must continue to always be, planted by the stream of life. Rooted and connected to what is real, and true, and life-giving. The true fountain of life.
It is here I am reminded that even though I feel this way, this; thorn in my flesh, can no longer hold me down because when I place HIM first he will take precedence over everything that comes after. Yes, I will doubt and question my purpose (t)here. Yes, I will at times reckon that what I am doing is self-centered; feeling as though I am gaining an exorbitant amount of knowledge and experience while giving nothing in return. I have been there before!. And it is here again I find the answer whispered to me; "simply remember that everyone matters. Act as if everyone deserves better than you."
That means sacrifice.
"Put your life on hold so that other's may be better." Matthew 5 v. 15 (Message)
That is why, the umbrella reason for my going abroad for 2+ years. I believe that I am working within the kingdom of God for a divine purpose. I am (t)here for a reason that is bigger that even I could possibly know or imagine and it scares the devil to death
"No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it for someone else." -Benjamin Franklin
Sunday, May 27, 2012
23
23. It’s not a particularly fabulous number, especially not in any sense of a landmark birthday. Honestly, from here on out there are only a few special numeric age-markers left for me to experience. Those of which include; the year I get to rent a vehicle, my Golden birthday, 30, 50, and God-willing and forbid, 100…
In any case, I may have found myself at the unspectacular marking of another year in the continuous march of time that is my life, however, it will be the least un-extraordinary year that my life will have so far. It’s another year with another life-altering adventure that the tips of my feet are preparing themselves to step into. As with any state of transition a human being finds themselves in, expectations of what is to be have begun to spring up within my mind and take root.
A dear friend of mine brought to my attention the beauty and importance of bringing those expectations to the forefront of your conscious. So, when they are broken (or in some instances met) the impact they have upon your emotional well-being is of less significance. Writing them down helps to address the dissonance that will play itself out when what is expected does not happen. In-as-much, here are 23 (out of many I have written out) expectations I have for this next step in my life:
1. I will be pooping outside in a hole in the ground, bathing in a bucket, and sleeping on a straw mat.
2. Kiswahili will be extremely tough to learn
3. It will take a really long time (if any) to see any outcome from my work
4. My home-stay family will be awesome, but difficult to get close with for some time
5. I will experience God in unimagined ways
6. I will be sick/irregular a lot
7. People I become/am close with might die
8. It will be difficult to share my faith/find a solid community
9. I won’t do well at keeping daily quiet times, but when I do have them they will be phenomenal
10. People will forget about me/move on
11. Important stuff will get stolen
12. This experience will help me come to a decision/find direction for my career life
13. I will love being free from some modern conveniences/distractions (i.e. cell phone, tv, regular internet)
14. Not having regular access to be able to create music will kill me
15. I will come to understand and find security in my identity
16. I will do really well in the beginning at regular journaling and slowly fade into hardly journaling at all
17. Not being up-to-date with new music is going to make me extremely sad
18. I will find solace in creativity
19. Soccer will continue to be a love, and also an enemy (since I will not be able to compete with the Kenyans)
20. Becoming out of touch will popular culture and "the new" will be inevitable (and a God-send in some senses)
21. I will get to see wild African animals up close and personal!
22. I will get Malaria =(
23. People will do really well at written correspondence for a while but I will slowly begin to see regular letters
fade over time
"Call to me and I will answer you. I will tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know." Jeremiah 33 v. 3
In any case, I may have found myself at the unspectacular marking of another year in the continuous march of time that is my life, however, it will be the least un-extraordinary year that my life will have so far. It’s another year with another life-altering adventure that the tips of my feet are preparing themselves to step into. As with any state of transition a human being finds themselves in, expectations of what is to be have begun to spring up within my mind and take root.
A dear friend of mine brought to my attention the beauty and importance of bringing those expectations to the forefront of your conscious. So, when they are broken (or in some instances met) the impact they have upon your emotional well-being is of less significance. Writing them down helps to address the dissonance that will play itself out when what is expected does not happen. In-as-much, here are 23 (out of many I have written out) expectations I have for this next step in my life:
1. I will be pooping outside in a hole in the ground, bathing in a bucket, and sleeping on a straw mat.
2. Kiswahili will be extremely tough to learn
3. It will take a really long time (if any) to see any outcome from my work
4. My home-stay family will be awesome, but difficult to get close with for some time
5. I will experience God in unimagined ways
6. I will be sick/irregular a lot
7. People I become/am close with might die
8. It will be difficult to share my faith/find a solid community
9. I won’t do well at keeping daily quiet times, but when I do have them they will be phenomenal
10. People will forget about me/move on
11. Important stuff will get stolen
12. This experience will help me come to a decision/find direction for my career life
13. I will love being free from some modern conveniences/distractions (i.e. cell phone, tv, regular internet)
14. Not having regular access to be able to create music will kill me
15. I will come to understand and find security in my identity
16. I will do really well in the beginning at regular journaling and slowly fade into hardly journaling at all
17. Not being up-to-date with new music is going to make me extremely sad
18. I will find solace in creativity
19. Soccer will continue to be a love, and also an enemy (since I will not be able to compete with the Kenyans)
20. Becoming out of touch will popular culture and "the new" will be inevitable (and a God-send in some senses)
21. I will get to see wild African animals up close and personal!
22. I will get Malaria =(
23. People will do really well at written correspondence for a while but I will slowly begin to see regular letters
fade over time
"Call to me and I will answer you. I will tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know." Jeremiah 33 v. 3
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
The Art of Elimination
People have always stated that I am one of those people who's personality is, how do they put it?, "out of the box". I've always thought this as a curious insight, seeing as I know myself and I don't feel as if I'm all that weird, right?
I've always chalked it up to that fact that I am expressive and that as a personal mantra I feel as though "If God is watching the least we can be is entertaining"... This was of course encouraged and supported with my brief stint with the Improv Club in college and the four main elements to a great performance. But recently I've began to think it was something else. Began to question "Why is there even a 'box'?"
In the beginning of elementary school I was a more boisterous child, but eventually found that squashed out of me:
You hear things, you start to believe them. So I became the quiet one, the "eternal brooding grump", as my parents used to say, because while you're going through it, it becomes all you see.
Suffering. Death of family, physical pain, emotional torment, you name it, suffering. Your "box", the frame of reference for which you come to understand and see the world, the ways in which you go about your daily life, become shattered. So you have to figure out a new "box". I've began to see that I did.
I think that is what is so intriguing about the cross; it is a symbol. It is God stepping down and screaming with us. God saying
I now know my answer to the question; "Why Peace Corps?" It's the Art of Elimination. My relationship with Christ compels me to eliminate the unnecessary, the trivial, the superficial. I seek to take off the things that are hindering me: wealth, comfort, easy access to food, etc, so that I can see, and eventually talk about, what matters most. So that I can stand by people who have live a life very different than my own and be able to say, "I know how you feel."
Michaelangelo is quoted saying that his david was "in the stone clamouring to be freed." That is how I feel. There is untapped potential in me, it's an unexplainable feeling, something like not feeling whole. There is real courage, desire, passion, loyalty, and love in there, somewhere, just waiting to get out. And I think it's going to take suffering to get it out...
2 Corinthians 6 v. 4-10
I've always chalked it up to that fact that I am expressive and that as a personal mantra I feel as though "If God is watching the least we can be is entertaining"... This was of course encouraged and supported with my brief stint with the Improv Club in college and the four main elements to a great performance. But recently I've began to think it was something else. Began to question "Why is there even a 'box'?"
cause I haven't ALWAYS been this way.
In the beginning of elementary school I was a more boisterous child, but eventually found that squashed out of me:
"know-it-all" "loud mouth" "annoying" "girly-man" ...to name a few.
You hear things, you start to believe them. So I became the quiet one, the "eternal brooding grump", as my parents used to say, because while you're going through it, it becomes all you see.
Suffering. Death of family, physical pain, emotional torment, you name it, suffering. Your "box", the frame of reference for which you come to understand and see the world, the ways in which you go about your daily life, become shattered. So you have to figure out a new "box". I've began to see that I did.
I think that is what is so intriguing about the cross; it is a symbol. It is God stepping down and screaming with us. God saying
"I know how you feel."
I now know my answer to the question; "Why Peace Corps?" It's the Art of Elimination. My relationship with Christ compels me to eliminate the unnecessary, the trivial, the superficial. I seek to take off the things that are hindering me: wealth, comfort, easy access to food, etc, so that I can see, and eventually talk about, what matters most. So that I can stand by people who have live a life very different than my own and be able to say, "I know how you feel."
Michaelangelo is quoted saying that his david was "in the stone clamouring to be freed." That is how I feel. There is untapped potential in me, it's an unexplainable feeling, something like not feeling whole. There is real courage, desire, passion, loyalty, and love in there, somewhere, just waiting to get out. And I think it's going to take suffering to get it out...
2 Corinthians 6 v. 4-10
Monday, April 23, 2012
A Heart that Hurts
I have, yet again, found myself in an utterly unimaginable state of transition and within it attempting to recall the calmness I felt a little under a year ago.
Yet this time I cannot help but feel left unto the darkness. Not as a human trapped in a "can't-catch-a-breath/scared-out-of-my-mind" place, but feel as one caught in a state of roller-coastering bewilderment. I currently sit entrenched on the couch, after having spent the weekend being blessed with the presence of people I love incomprehensibly, feeling as if I have been trying to capture a fleeting memory of an existence that I no longer possess... of a life I no longer have the right to.
The analogy that comes to mind is of a man who has been handed a death sentence. With some I have left feeling as though the interaction was stifled. Unintentional as it might have been, I am left with the feeling of being kept at a distance, as if to keep the reality of my departure from having a greater impact. Others, I felt as though I was being gazed at as if it was the finale, that I would never be witnessed again.
And yet some, leaving me feeling bemused but still loved, took a moment to seek a piece of spiritual advice, or push a difficult conversation to see me as I am, or sat next to me in silent understanding.
Little actions keep speaking the deepest comfort to my heart, and leave my head spinning. I don't know what the next few weeks will hold for me as I await and prepare for this next adventure, but I sincerely hope that they possess the surprises I need and that will keep my head spinning.
Yet this time I cannot help but feel left unto the darkness. Not as a human trapped in a "can't-catch-a-breath/scared-out-of-my-mind" place, but feel as one caught in a state of roller-coastering bewilderment. I currently sit entrenched on the couch, after having spent the weekend being blessed with the presence of people I love incomprehensibly, feeling as if I have been trying to capture a fleeting memory of an existence that I no longer possess... of a life I no longer have the right to.
The analogy that comes to mind is of a man who has been handed a death sentence. With some I have left feeling as though the interaction was stifled. Unintentional as it might have been, I am left with the feeling of being kept at a distance, as if to keep the reality of my departure from having a greater impact. Others, I felt as though I was being gazed at as if it was the finale, that I would never be witnessed again.
And yet some, leaving me feeling bemused but still loved, took a moment to seek a piece of spiritual advice, or push a difficult conversation to see me as I am, or sat next to me in silent understanding.
Little actions keep speaking the deepest comfort to my heart, and leave my head spinning. I don't know what the next few weeks will hold for me as I await and prepare for this next adventure, but I sincerely hope that they possess the surprises I need and that will keep my head spinning.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
"The Secret to Immortality" -Original
The secret to Immortality is there is no secret.
Do not seek it.
Some men strive for it. Die for it.
Some seek to gain it through fame, others fortune.
But it all ends the same.
In utter misery and blame.
Listener heed me. Put out the flame.
The honest man knows that it can't be achieved, only gained.
To live simply, and simply live.
Daringly, lovingly, and with imperceptive humility.
For no man will forget a man like that.
Do not seek it.
Some men strive for it. Die for it.
Some seek to gain it through fame, others fortune.
But it all ends the same.
In utter misery and blame.
Listener heed me. Put out the flame.
The honest man knows that it can't be achieved, only gained.
To live simply, and simply live.
Daringly, lovingly, and with imperceptive humility.
For no man will forget a man like that.
Monday, April 16, 2012
The Shadow Proves the Sunshine
The thorn. Paul's burden to carry.
For whatever purpose, his second letter to the Corinthians, in which he describes his convictions and experiences with weakness, has been looping itself through my mind. In this passage he reminds us of our frailty as humans and a susceptibility to weakness and strife. The things in our lives that hold as a consistent reminder to keep us from boasting of ourselves.
The simple lyric (and also the title of the song) by Switchfoot has made a tremendous impact and initiated this whole string of thought process. It is one line but it holds an array of symbolism and artistic truth. We humans all have an encumbrance in one form or other that is a part of us, no matter how dark (shadow). It follows us, reminding us of our imperfection. If we are walking in our own way, we seek it and it dominates our path before us. But turn towards the Son, and suddenly it is no longer in the forefront. For his "grace is sufficient" and his "power is made perfect in weakness".
Read it for yourself: 2 Corinthians 12 v.7
For whatever purpose, his second letter to the Corinthians, in which he describes his convictions and experiences with weakness, has been looping itself through my mind. In this passage he reminds us of our frailty as humans and a susceptibility to weakness and strife. The things in our lives that hold as a consistent reminder to keep us from boasting of ourselves.
The simple lyric (and also the title of the song) by Switchfoot has made a tremendous impact and initiated this whole string of thought process. It is one line but it holds an array of symbolism and artistic truth. We humans all have an encumbrance in one form or other that is a part of us, no matter how dark (shadow). It follows us, reminding us of our imperfection. If we are walking in our own way, we seek it and it dominates our path before us. But turn towards the Son, and suddenly it is no longer in the forefront. For his "grace is sufficient" and his "power is made perfect in weakness".
Read it for yourself: 2 Corinthians 12 v.7
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