why I love kenya

I came home from Kenya about two weeks ago. In the midst of popping back through the wardrobe as it seemed to me last time, I’ve been thinking about why I love Kenya so much and what I hate about it. Perhaps it is a mesh of the two that makes it real. I love knowing deeply enough to hate some things. Things that happen to people, things that people hold on to so tightly, things people are never taught…But sometimes what I love most about Kenyans springs from the effect of something I hate.

Death. There’s death all the time, all around. I hate that there are
Sicknesses people won’t sacrifice to treat but claim a pricey funeral. The traditions around death make me sick. My friend Kevin who came to the farm and I went to Milkah’s house a few days after her daughter-in-law died. This was the second funeral I’d been to in her village. Relatives and friends come from all over and camp out around the compound. The family slaughters a cow which perhaps they paid a year for. Everyone sings all night and sits around all day, eating the family out until the food’s gone. I hate the collection of money demanded of hard workers in the family to pay for funerals. Yet I love the community, I love the family dependency (to a certain degree it is beautiful, but somewhere along the line it becomes outrageous, disgusting and debilitating.)

The mud on one house cracks with age as the walls of another are just drying. Last week when we were visiting, her son was just finishing throwing the mud, Kevin got to help him. “Nyumba yako ni mzuri kabisa!” (Your house is so good!) I say…I am in love with the genius use of cow dung:) I miss her family especially. Milkah and I don’t even speak English together, but we love each other so much. I carry with me her 5 minute hugs after showing me her dead daughter’s body under the shady branches, her hugs everyday for that matter. I carry her wet cheeks and unabashed sorrow when we said goodbye in my room, when the rest of us were wiping and holding back ours.

Death, I love the way it demands a life of honest thankfulness for today because you were given the grace to see it! “So, I’ll see you in a couple years I hope… “ “Yes, it’s only that life which we are praying for, then we will be able to see each other again.”
My mind can’t genuinely comprehend that I might not be around in two years, let alone tomorrow. I’m hoping to learn, so that I can live in sincere appreciation!
Death, I love that it is the worst end of man yet we don’t have to fear it—such is freedom.

Wickedness
“Moreover I saw under the sun that in the place of justice, wickedness was there, and in the place of righteousness, wickedness was there as well. I said in my heart, God will judge the righteous and the wicked, for he has appointed a time for every matter, and for every work. I said in my heart with regard to human beings that God is testing them to show that they are but animals. - Ecclesiastes 3:16-18”

Sometimes I become discouraged by wickedness, sometimes I feel it pervading the culture—lying becomes as natural as breathing. Not just Kenyan culture but everywhere. The shortcomings of others are novel and shocking, but it’s just because we’re all at home with our own maladies—but we all have them. I’ve talked to so many people who say how hard it is to move forward in life when everyone can’t stand to watch you get ahead, pull through with your ideas, or be better than them. This angers me more than a lot of things. Instead of building by leaning on each other and using one another as support beams and foundation for the building, everyone tears it down and tries to stand tall and be something as a single beam. Even just at the school level, I always encourage people to compete in a good and supportive way, not in the typical “knock ‘em all down and be the tallest” kind of way.

Perhaps everyone goes through phases in their life when the evil of the world mulls on their tongue more than before. Again, back to the mesh of love-hate feelings, the sweetness of grace accompanies the mulling bitterness of evil. I can think of nothing lovelier than these words in Jeremiah…after everything Israel did to provoke the anger of the Lord.
“You are saying about this city, ‘By the sword, famine and plague it will be handed over to the king of Babylon”; but this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: I will surely gather them from all the lands where I banish them in my furious anger and great wrath; I will bring them back to this place and let them live in safety. They will be my people, and I will be their God. I will give them singleness of heart and action, so that they will always fear me for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will make an everlasting covenant with them: I will never stop doing good to them, and I will inspire them to fear me, so that they will never turn away from me. I will rejoice in doing them good and will assuredly plant them in this land with all my heart and soul.”


I love strolling down the road outside the farm and being greeted by roaming bicyclists, strangers and old friends alike. Here in America it is noticeable how no one seems to have an overwhelming urge to talk as they pass just inches from each other on the sidewalk.

I love living in a community. We see each other everyday, we flutter around between houses. We are a 60 person family, working for the same purpose.

I love learning Kiswahili songs from Nafula in her kitchen.
I love watching Mello and Jeanie—2 and 3 year old inseperable friends.
I love Timorna and Rhoda’s discussions about how they will “make their hair to be so smart” (braiding extensions in the most attractive fashion) and listening in agony to the number of hours they had to sit there, or laughing with Timorna as she knocks at my room at 5:30 am to borrow a bandana to cover her half finished hair before she goes to school to teach.
I love potlucks where I actually understand the love of Jesus more by the way we love one another. The joy in eating together, playing silly games, singing in a circle, traditions, speeches, babies falling asleep, excitement in a soda, nicknames, fireflies on the walk home.

The other day Marit, Kata and Lexi and I decided to write some “You know you’re in Kenya when…”s. Here are some I thought of. They hardly touch the treasury of all of them in my head or the others they wrote. They either won’t make sense at all, or will give you a better glimpse of what it’s like.

You Know you’re in Kenya when…

-You arrive in Jomo Kenyatta airport and henceforth notice everything is named after the first president, who named himself after his country.
-At any moment you could be held up by a herd of cattle, horns and all, lazily trodding in the road.
-You say “hello” to a passer-by and they reply, “I’m fine, fine” with both hands raised—pushing the fine-fines, when you didn’t even get to the how are you.
-Sometimes all you can think of is the lady on the radio’s voice saying in that lovely Kenyan accent, “Safaricom, the betta option”.. or “Celtel—making life betta. Giving you a chance to win, not one, not two, but seven houses…” advertising mobile telephone companies.
-Once or twice a week is excessive hair washing and people always comment, “You’ve washed your hair?” if it is wet. “ When I’ve plaited, Anne, I’ll wash after 4 months. Imagine!”
-Timorna refuses to carry our fish back from Kolang in a see-through polythin because, “You know Anne, some old Mama just sees you with that fish and puts a curse on it, then when you go home and eat it, you just find yourself so sick.”
-Chai appears on the low table within minutes of your appearance in Nandi.
-You can’t sleep at night because the symphony of night noises never ceases. When the bullfrogs break for five, you say to yourself, “Quick, I need to fall asleep right this instant before they start again!” but of course you cannot and then the restless heifer lowes and the chorus of piccolo mosquitos sounds dangerously near your ears.
-“Owe Are YOOOO?” are the three sweetest words.
-When a Hornbill floats to a branch above the little clearing under which the entire primary school and Karunga community sits and begins the ceremony with…”Without wasting much time, since time has already been wasted…I would just like to welcome Mzee Joseph to say a few words. But keep it short.”
-When you are told to “feel free” so many times by Cusmus Tikoi that you begin to feel uncomfortable.
-You realize you could buy anything you needed outside
It could go on forever, but I’ll spare you this time.

I love Kenya. There’s so many daily adventures I never had time to write about, so many funny conversations and letters the kids wrote me. Perhaps I’ll write again later, but for now, my heart is full, and my head is full and my eyes are sleepy. I am so blessed to know with confidence that I love and am loved.
Kuonane

June

I had a great time visiting my dear friend Janet, whom I used to live with here. We sat around waiting for the rain to stop late at night, telling tales with her mother in law and her neighbor. We took turns; they telling Luo tales and me racking my brain for any fairytale, revolutionary war story or whatever I could think of. Although I got stuck a few times during Rumplestilstskin and Repunzel, I realized it didn’t matter if I made it up, because they have never heard it before. Let me tell you a Luo story I heard twice over the course of the weekend, from different people, slightly different versions.
This is the story of Aluga Mager.
A long time ago, the Kipsigis and the Luos were fighting. The Luos had a warrior who was able to kill so many people and fight so bravely. Yet, this warrior could never be brought down. Nobody could kill him. One day the Kipsigis decided to offer peace by presenting the warrior with a beautiful lady from their tribe to be his wife. He accepted, but little did he know that they sent her to be a spy and find out his weakness. She took good care of him and earned his trust. Then one day he had a terrible headache. As was custom, they would make very small slices in the skin near the temple, then crush local plants inside to cure the headache. Aluga Mager, the warrior, told his wife to come to him and slice the temple of his shadow instead of his real head. She did so, and blood came out. He gave her the herbs and she rubbed them in the shadow’s wound. Immediately he was better, and she knew that her husband’s strength and weakness lay in his shadow, not in his physical body. So she went back to her tribe and told them. The next time they were in battle, the Kipsigis pierced his shadow with spears and he fell face down and died. His body turned to stone and still remains, half sunk in the earth at the base of the hills. I drove past the area and someone pointed out where he lay.
“Ooh last night we really storied didn’t we?” Clement said the next morning, telling me he would never forget the stories about the mermaid, or the lady with the baby, or the tiger butter or any other story I told.

Guavas
I can’t quite see them because the underbrush is so thick—taller than my eyes. But I can hear them shaking the branches, followed by a dull plop, plop, thud thud, bub bub of over ripe guavas hitting the ground. More branches move, sounding like the shake of a newspaper under the nose of a crosslegged, bespectacled man. They’re moving from tree to tree. They’re no thieves. There’s plenty and no one goes to these ones. They’re on the other side of that little wire fence which separates the farm from un-stomped and unconcerned vegetation. It’s no crime to go guava hunting, although perhaps it is more exhilarating to think so. Sometimes instead of monkeys, it is boys running hunch backed through the tall grass to the shelter of the first tree. Then the second. I am standing, watching from a distance—hardly able to escape noticing the red tee shirt darting through a mass of pale honey colors.

Recently in Kenya
There has been a lot going on here recently. Last month, it was tribal clashes over land. Fighting up near mount Elgon. A bombing in Nairobi on Monday. Now, as you may have heard in the news, the Mungiki sect has been instilling fear in many people because of their beheading people in Nairobi, then the police force, in it’s effort to control them, has killed many suspects and innocent people. The newspapers are full of articles about the power of group mentality and oaths, and how bold it makes people when they feel they are supported by a group. It is interesting to listen on the radio to BBC’s Focus on Africa, where Kenyans were calling in, talking about what should be done etc… If you’re interested in info on the presidential elections happening this year, or the Mungiki sect news, check BBC international news.
I was sitting at my friend’s place in Karunga when a helicopter noise sounded in the distance. “ The president! He usually takes a helicopter.” My friend said, looking out the door.
“What?” I said in awe. “ The presidents of Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda are coming to Kisumu today.”
“I’m going to find them of course!” I declared as I went outside to catch a matatu. I needed to go to town to find some baby nappys (diaper cloths) and baby things for my brand new little friend. Unfortunately I missed their speeches, but I came to a street crowded with people waiting for them to drive by. The police cleared the road of bicycles and overflowing vehicles, pushing the people to cue on the side. We waited and waited. I thought there might be some sort of parade. I asked a lady if he was coming. “Yes, yes, the problem is just we don’t know when. So we are all cued up like this just waiting.” “Ok, I’ll wait with you.” Eventually some fancy range rovers passed, some other important dignitaries, and police, but never the presidents. The police were taken away, and the people murmured their disappointment to each other, and dispersed dejectedly. So, I almost saw the presidents. Oh well.

On Sunday, some of us hiked to the river in the rain. We took off our shoes and waded in the muddy path past Karunga and up to the base of the hills. We knew the river, but not this part. It flowed swiftly with milky orange water from the red earth. On the way home from our wet adventure, a gazelle ran right in front of Steven Kitoto. He could have touched it. Immediately we were in the middle of a hunting party crossing the path. Men chasing the flying legs with dogs, spears and stationed arrow men who calmly greeted us as we ran out of the way!

Baby John
I saw Milkah heading home across the field. “Habari, Milkah?” I yelled from a distance. “Mzuri—Jane, mtoto hapa!” She yelled back making swishing motions down her front to say that Jane’s baby was born.
“What? Hapa leo—sangapi?” Now? Today? What time? I was so excited, I ran after her and Milkah, Laoclaudia and I all went straight away to Jane’s in Karunga to see the baby. We came into her dark room with the bicycle and the water containers and the little wooden table—then, from behind the curtained bed, she brought forth baby John, who she had had all by herself the night before. Now I go every morning to help Jane and watch baby John. He is so little and has soft curly black whisps of hair. The same day she had her baby, we had been talking about pregnancy with all the Mamas in our discussion group. Jane was not there. I had just asked them if anyone was pregnant, or if anyone wanted to tell their story of having a baby. They mostly described themselves being alone at night and delivering. Some of them are not even 17. Tuesday afternoons. The path goes above the river where they are always bathing and washing. Some babies are clinging to Mama’s legs in the water. I go down to help, hoping it will allow more of them to come quicker. There’s no time and no hurry, but it always takes at least an hour for everyone to gather under the tin overhang where we meet. They told us they wanted to know about sexually transmitted infections, our systems and pregnancy, so that is what we have been talking about for the last 3 months. Some don’t know much about what’s going on inside them, except that they’re belly’s getting bigger, then after several months, a baby comes out.

On Saturday…
I was just waling to the choo when I ran into Tom and Peter and Fred who gave me their usual Habari ahsubuhi’s and other morning greetings. I saw Tom pulling a rope with a ram tied on the other end. This is not an unusual gesture for Tom, but this morning I remembered something which made me eye them closely and hurry away. “You’re not going to watch?” Fred, the aging and forever smiling watchman called after me. “ I don’t think so.” I replied, already on my way. As I stepped farther and farther away, I had more and more of a mad possession to turn around and go back. “ Why did I tell myself last night I wasn’t going to? This doesn’t happen in my life everyday. I turned and headed toward them. By now they were tying the rope to a tree. The tree happened to be in the middle of a garden I had been preparing. “Where will you do it?” I asked, thinking of all the blood.
“Right here in your shamba!” Fred said grinning. They tied his legs tight up in the air, his back resting as a helpless hostage on the ground. Tom had a knife which he now sharpened, making that brushing metals noise. “Shlink…Shlink, Shlink…” went the blades. “RaaBllaa…baaa….arg blllaaa!” struggled the ram and the people were quiet. Fred and Peter held the body. Tom tilted the ram’s chin backward, baring the dirty white throat. I had my hands close to my vulnerable eyes—for some kind of protection, although I;m not sure why we shrivel to this position thinking it will somehow help us endure to watch. One deep cut at the jugular vein and out shot a heavy hose of blood wetting the grass. And covering Tom’s hands. They all stepped back a bit to let it come. Funny noises emerged from deep in the ram’s gut. Soon Fed took his ponga and hacked the exposed spine through the neck. It didn’t break. I’m not sure if it was supposed to. One by one the ropes were untied; having fulfilled their shady purpose, they were uselessly tossed aside. First they skinned the legs, making long slice down one side and peeling back the hide. Then a shallow slice was made just to penetrate the skin, but not to damage the muscle or fat. And this ram was so fat! With one hand you hold taught the first half of the belly skin and with the other, slice free inch by inch. Quite a delicate process to keep the flesh from sticking to the hide. It was no longer bloody, just fleshy and a bit foul stenched. Now I had already stayed and supported this slaughter so far, so I decided I might as well have some of the shame or glory or whatever it was, on my hands too. “Of course you can help” he says as he hands me the knife. It was a good thing I already detest sheep meat, because this may have ruined the prospect of our ram feast potluck. Later at the potluck Susan looked at me as I transferred some to her plate. “It has defeated you?” –a classic Kenyan term for “you don’t like it?” or, “you can’t eat it?”

May Day and More

Habari Zenu!
Last time I mentioned that I was frustrated that not everything was sinking in. But I did not do a very good job telling my favorite part of the last few weeks, which is surprise surprise, the opposite—when it does sink in. When they are going around singing the continent song, knowing where they are. When Judy tells me a story as we sit by the pond, and after my gullible self believes her, she says, “that part I was just using my imagination, isn’t it?” When Robert asks me to explain something again because he didn’t understand, instead of just pretending everything was OK. When Frederick jumped up and down with joy when he guessed the closest amount of footsteps measured the perimeter of the field—I really am so impressed with everyone and I am kind of sad that they have to go back to regular school now, it was such fun.

Yesterday was May Day, which is also a Kenyan holiday (Moi Day, the second president) and Labor Day. We wanted to have a fun school day. On May Day when I was little, we used to put flowers on people’s doorsteps and ring the doorbell and hide in the bushes! So that is what we decided to do. We made a whole bunch of bouquets, and went around to everyone’s house and knocked and yelled, “Hodi!” which is what you say upon your arrival at someone’s house. Then we left the flowers and ran away. Then we decided to go for a swim in the pond. The nice part about swimming is that it takes no preparation, we just decide to go, jump in with whatever clothes we’re wearing, then dry off in the sun. It was the best class we ever had. We fought with swords made of reeds, practiced our floating, even had a math lesson as we sat around half in the water. They’ve never paid such great attention. We had story problems and whoever knew the answer would burst out of the water. Who would have thought swimming could facilitate a math class so well? Now we do swimming lessons almost every afternoon. Nancy who is in highschool has never been in water like this so the whole experience is awesome and awkward and she doesn’t even want to get out! The boys are a bit fearless, splashing and dog paddling, but are now practicing floats and strokes, looking adorable of course. I basically have no idea what I’m doing, or how to teach swimming lessons, but with lots of grace and head counting, teaching on the spot, splashing, and turn-taking---it works!

“We are not simply the final destinations in the flow of God’s gifts. Rather, we find ourselves midstream, so to speak. The gifts flow into us, and they flow on from us.” –Miroslav Volf

We have been having these really neat community meetings recently to evaluate Nehemiah. I wanted to share some of the things we discuss and value. This is what you can pray about when you pray for our Nehemiah community.
-A culture of mutual respect manifest in: fellowship, relational integrity, being comfortable with each other, trusting each other, having each others interests in our heart, how we greet, visit, share, feel free with each other.
-confronting issues in love and resolving them in a timely manner
-A willingness to overcome personal comfort in the interests of the bigger picture
-praying together
-hospitality
-a passion to overcome our propensity to gossip
-Never lose the focus on everyone being a learner and in training
-Remain an innovation center with a focus on ongoing innovation
-teaching the children about God, the values of the kingdom
-Let our lives be a harmony containing all the elements of a beautiful sound to the glory of God.
-Constantly improving how we communicate: opportunities, initiatives, and in general, what is all going on.
-Using your voice and not keeping quiet when something needs to be said
There are many more, but I can’t remember them right now. But I am overwhelmed with the difference in conversations and ability to discuss since I was last here.

The other week the students had a mission weekend to Kanu, a community about an hours walk away, where some of the people training here are from. It was amazing. I used to have this fear and skepticism around big evangelistic movements or crusades. I thought it would turn into a big emotional hype with no foundation. Even though I wanted people to know Jesus and have that abundant life and freedom, I guess I didn’t want it to happen that they would have tons of people just left. But who am I to tell God how he should do things? Who can deny a healed person, or not rejoice? I am learning that God works in many many ways, and sometimes they don’t seem like they all fit together, because Christians dispute so much on the “right way to do things” but opposites don’t bother God like they bother us. The women who went to Jesus’ tomb “ were filled with fear and joy…Jesus was fully man and fully God…” We may say, “How can you be filled completely with two different things?...” It doesn’t bother Him, and I am feeling so free that I don’t have to decide or judge, but just trust God, and rejoice in what he does. When people went around praying for families at their houses, a women who had been blind for five years was healed. They said, are you just saying that you can see? What are these letters on this shirt? She couldn’t read, so she just said, this one looks like this…and made the motions with her fingers! Another girl had been sick for a year and a half and God healed her until she was even laughing. About 1500 people came to see the Jesus Film, and many are now starting to meet together. I have been going a couple of times to gather with some of the families and it is so cool.

I went to a funeral in Kanu a couple of days ago.
They buried her in the backyard, not two meters from the door. I saw them dig her grave yesterday and today they laid her there—dark brown skin in a dark brown box under dark brown soil. With a flag on top. Hours passed and even her husband’s Luo words were translated into louder Luo—his own too feeble from grief. All the women wore white dresses and head scarves with red crosses on top. The men wore the robes and caps—the Legion of Maria…A sort of irony or what? Wasn’t it black we always wear to funerals? It reminded me of that “band of angels comin’ for to carry me home” A white passage, sending you into heaven. That is where she is, I know. Where was she going when she died? She finally knew the answer to that question, not two days before she died. Then—it came suddenly, just a headache, meningitis they think, no warning. Only 17, her husband much older. Her babies much younger, and much sadder then all the happy dancing and singing women outside after the burial. The family stays in the area for 3 days mourning and playing drums all through the night and all the guests eat away the village, turning the whole affair into a social and political platform…Even though I couldn’t understand most any of the Luo burial ceremony, I did hear “Kibaki, and Railla..” thrown in somewhere, which gave me the heads up that the speeches were not purely in memory of Moreen, but a presidential elections pitch as well. But really I can’t blame them--there were a lot of people around.

On Wednesdays I go to Jue Kale, in Miwani, to a little nursery school. It is a tiny room where they meet. I love them so much. There teacher, Marian, is so creative; she even molded all the letters for them out of mud and baked them in the sun. We learn about animals, I bring a story book, we sing songs and learn many other things.

“Never be afraid of your own faintheartedness in the endeavor to love, nor even too fearful of any bad actions that you may commit in the course of that endeavor. I am sorry I cannot say anything more comforting to you, for active love compared with contemplative love is a hard and awesome business.” -Dostoevsky
I am so behind in writing to you all, and I can hardly write about everything, but I am having a splendid time, and I hope you are also doing well!
Much love, Anna
Hakuna mungu mwingine, aliekama wewe

Students
We are now in the second week of tuition (like summer school). It is so fun to teach, and have a class of students; it is also so challenging and frustrating. I think the most frustrating part is having so much energy and excitement about teaching and learning all these cool things about our world, and knowing that it is not all sinking in. But as Marit reminds me, this is the first time they are learning like this, perhaps the first time hearing some things, and like little kindergarteners, they’re not supposed to understand everything they are read in books, but by no means should that mean you don’t read to them. It may not be the first time around that something clicks, but the exposure to creativity, to science and writing… that is a small wonder we can rejoice in. The school system in Kenya is run by these small booklets for each subject with the same little drawings etc… All the primary teachers teach out of these books and there is no variety, hardly any imagination, story books or other resources or science classes. It has been so cool to see the libraries that have been started and how revolutionary and amazing reading can be! So far, with the help of people in Washington and others, enough books have been sent to start a few libraries in the local schools, and here on the farm. A resource library was created a few months ago, and is hopefully going to be a huge tool for all the seven primary schools in this district. The dream Marit and I have is to help the teachers somehow know ways they can use other books in their teaching, and to get the books out of the cupboards!! The saddest thing would be for libraries to be created and then be so strange and valued that they are not used kabissa.
Some highlights from last week included: learning the parts of the flower and dissecting some, planting seeds and watching them grow, going on a “field trip” to one of the shambas and having Fred explain how certain plants grow. Also we spent a whole class day learning about the inside of the earth and volcanoes, then going outside and making one out of vinegar and baking soda and soap and water; we buried the volcano in a bud vase at the top of a heap of soil so it was quite exciting, but the eruption was a bit anti-climactic. The other day I was so thrilled when I looked at all the kids in my class sitting under his own tree writing a story inspired by a picture they chose from a National Geographic. They are never ever alone. They eat and sleep and walk everywhere with each other, and so to see them alone for 20 minutes (of course this takes a lot of coaxing) is a beautiful sight. I am learning that I want to learn and teach about the things around us also, it is so cool to ask and understand why there is lightning and thunder every afternoon, what soil is made of etc...

Older Students
There are also other students here that are of varying older ages who are attending the Bible school that moved here last year. They are from all over and it has been fun to get to know them a bit. Koma and Daniel are two guys from Sudan. They met at a refugee camp in Northern Kenya. Over the school break Koma went back to Sudan and reconnected with his family for the first time in 16 years! Even communication was difficult during that time. He was saying that he was trying to get his birth certificate and identity papers there but it is so corrupt. “If you make any mistake on the form, the officer makes you pay and he pockets the money. They even can make $300-500 extra in a day!” I wasn’t sure if Sudan’s currency is also called a dollar, or if he was referring to the American dollar, anyways wow. “There are two governments really, the government of the hearts and the government of the people. But even if the government of the people is for peace and anti-corruption, how can we fight against the corruption of our country when the corruption is not out of the hearts of people? How can we fight against that? We need the holy spirit to guard and guide our hearts, to change our hearts. Otherwise we can just forget it and go back and hide in the bush like the last 20 years.” He said. Grace, my roommate from Rwanda has lived most of her life with her family in Uganda. Her father was killed in the 80’s and her brother was killed in the 94 genocide. It is boggling for me to be in the midst of the history I have studied, and to glimpse the heart of its effects-- I really want to know more.

Washingtone’s wedding
My friend Washingtone (Ben Moore’s roommate) got married last weekend! It was my first Kenyan wedding—So fun. He married a women from New Zealand so the mix of her few friends that came out, and Washingtone’s whole extended, extremely Luo family was so neat. At the end, his family did this parade of loud clucking and singing as they brought in envelopes with money, chickens that had squacked in a basket during the ceremony, and a coffee table over the shoulder…all as presents for the newlyweds. One of my favorite parts were the speeches. The parents and different friends welcomed each other into the family, people shared beautiful things about the character of the bride and groom, so you know that the marriage will be good, if you did not know one party. So that was a really fun day and ended in a huge downpour that filled the trenches!

the latest

School’s out for April
I went to Karunga’s closing ceremony. I must say that now I know what “too much of a good thing is not so good” means. It was so good that this ceremony happened, but it was so drawn out and like my friend Dismas says, “We Kenyans like to say the same thing in our own voice. Everyone just says the same thing.” It is true, people like to say the same thing using the beautiful melodies of their own voices  We sat outside in the shade, but as the speeches went on the shade kept moving. Everybody must have moved at least four times. Until after four hours, the originally organized seating looked more like a meteor had dropped in the middle and dispersed the people, leaving a crater of sun scorched grass in the middle.

The village Mzee (elder) was there with his whitened hair and chin stubble, and his cane, which, after seeing him dance and clap around—I don’t know how he has trouble walking. He was a very dramatic, humorous man and we all hung upon his words. Not because his age demands respect but because he has lived long enough to know life is to be enjoyed and laughed at. It made no difference to him whether others were laughing at him because he was making a fool of himself or because he was funny; for he himself was laughing at life. It seemed that everyone gave him their awe because they all knew he had earned it. He had been there in that time of life when decisions are serious, when troubles are heavy and now they let him be a bit free.

Mouth and Foot Disease
I vaccinated about twenty cows the other day! I was just watching and then David said, “Now it is your turn.” So I did most of the rest. The floor is covered with cows and manure and urine. You have to catch them first. They slap the back hip loudly ad say, “Shaw tzz tzz…” He whistles a slow note and slowly slips a noose around her neck, quickly pulling it and wrapping the end around the side board. She jerks in protest until two brown fingers snatch her nostrils to still her. I place my hand on her neck to check her reaction, then tilt the syringe toward her body and jab the needle into her tense skin. Sometimes she is still and I push my thumb down and the pink liquid disappears. Other times she whacks my hand into the board and we rush to resume our holding positions; A tighter grip, a racing dart for the dangling needle.

Passion Week
We celebrated passion week almost as an advent time for Christmas, but instead, a waiting, preparing, and thinking about Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. One thing I didn’t know was that the word passion also means passivity, it means the opposite of action. When I heard this, at first I thought, “Why would it be called passion week if it is a passive word?” It is also means fiercely emotionally attached, and strong affection for something. Isaiah chapter 53 is my favorite Easter passage. It explains to me why we call the week of Easter, “passion week.”

Egg Hunt
We had a hard boiled egg hunt on Saturday and then an egg eating party with everyone! It was really fun because eggs are quite a special food. It is hard to imagine, since we buy a dozen eggs for the same price as a cup of black coffee.

I live down in the heart of the farm, right by the dairy. I live with a girl named Grace, from Rwanda who just came back, so I have only met her for 2 minutes. I also live with the “cowgirls” from Nandi, Evalyn, Mary and Rose. They are awesome! We are also with Alicia from America, and a Karunga teacher, Timona. We all live in what used to be the chicken coop which they now call “the girls dorm.” We have a small yard where we have a cooking fire and a wash line. We have to go somewhere else to use the latrine and don’t have a shower, so we “basin bathe” in the yard when it is dark in the early morning or at night. I love living in this way, and learning to live a more typical Kenyan women’s lifestyle. My favorite part about living down at the end of the farm is that we are only a few steps away from the pond.

I have been here a week now, and still, I can’t stop being grateful that I am here right now. It has been the best time so far. I have several families that are my family and several new people that I am growing to know more. Everyday people say, “ Anne, why don’t you take breakfast with us tomorrow?” or “ Anne, you are coming for supper tonight?” or “ Anne come help me with the goats…” so I have been spending a lot of time working in the goat shed with Jane, cooking, talking to many, many people—renewing lots of friendships. One especially fun thing is that I live so close to the Wakhungu family, who have been great friends. The father, Dismas, used to tell me all the time last year that he was going to come running with me, but he never actually would. This time, he and his girls and I have a little evening or morning run everyday! They also teach me Kiswahili and I tutor them in math. Next week actual tuition starts so I will have the 4th and 5th grade class.

Cerebral Malaria
I got really sick. More strangely sick than I have ever been in my life, luckily the worst is over and I am feeling much better. I went to lay down one afternoon because I felt a bit feverish. A few hours later I was so hot and sweaty and cold. It got worse and worse very quickly but it was raining so hard I couldn’t tell anyone. It was the weirdest experience. I look back remembering everything, but feeling so different now, that I know I was in some weird half-consciousness. I remember wailing and uncontrollably crying and rocking back and forth for probably three hours. Later, my head hurt so bad, and I lost the feeling and mobility in my arms and legs. The ladies that I live with came home and tried to help me. They kept telling me to stop crying, but I thought I was going to stay paralyzed. I was in such a weird delirium that I remember not being able to control anything I was saying. It was as if I was saying exactly everything I was thinking and exactly how I was feeling, but being a helpless child. My hands were all stiff, cold and distorted as if I was born without the ability to spread my fingers. I made them walk me up and down so I could assure myself, that even if I couldn’t feel, they would still go. They went to get help and someone came in a car and brought me up to the Kruegers house. Jeff had to carry me inside because I couldn’t walk. Everybody’s voices were so distant and foggy, and I was saying nonsensical things, but I remember most of it, and remember laughing at myself for the things I was saying, but not being able to control it. I had a 104 degree temp and they gave me lots of drugs and wrapped me with wet wash cloths. I kept falling over in sleep but, I know that there were a lot of people in my room praying for me and taking care of me in the night. After my fever broke, I was in such a different mind set, and felt aware and sOOO much better! So now I am recovering quickly and sleeping a lot. It is kind of strange to get it when you have only been here a couple weeks, but it looks like I have all the symptoms for cerebral malaria. So I am so thankful that is over and that I recovered so fast!

Arrived!

I felt overhwelmed with joy at the Nairobi airport. I was back, I was actually thrilled to stand in line to talk to the visa man, secretly pleased to recognize words that some people were discussing the meaning of in the other bathroom stall and the whole ride into to the city I could not stop smiling; I just couldn’t help it. I am most struck by smells I know are exactly Kenya, but I have not smelled them in a long time. It is like seeing an old friend you would recognize anywhere. It is not that I know what makes the smells, I just know them. I know I smell it on the air, next to the latrine :) , in the dust, on my hands after I have washed with the “Imperial Leather” soap they use everywhere. Mostly it is in a hug. You may say, duh…that’s called body odor, but I suppose it is still something that catches my attention as distinct and welcoming.

I can hardly believe I’m here. I don’t think I actually believed myself when I would tell the little boys I would come back to visit them soon, or someday. I never imagined it would be now. Hallelujah it is. I stayed in a room across from the Easy Coach bus station in Nairobi. My room overlooked the street. I was told it would be very loud, so I was surprised to arrive in an empty street at 10:30 at night. However, I took an “afternoon nap” from 1-4am and awoke to a rumbling, honking, bustling, bursting city street which entertained me for the next couple hours. I really like cities in the morning—any city. Everyone’s off to work, I always wonder where they are off to.

It was a grey and misty morning with orange mud puddles. My bus left and I was settled into my usually silent trance of looking out the window. This time I noticed details, I was taken back into memories, and funny stories and conversations. I noticed the blue and grey striped socks of the school children, I could name some of the food growing inches from the road (How it tastes good with all the truck exhaust, I have no idea). There was a massively intense handball game going on. I saw dirty roadside markets with heaps of mangos and tomatoes, potatoes, a little pick up piled with pineapple. Typical clusters of shops with rusted tin ripple roofs and brightly painted, but washed out and worn walls sunk into the dirt everywhere. The names on the signs are always the best. “Eunice’s look pretty hair saloon” or “Nameless Inn” and even “Coffin shop” It is a little taste. It is so pretty and lush right now. Railroad tracks and power lines slice through the growing ground. The road travels up and overlooks a huge valley with a little plateau coming up out of nowhere in the middle.

I am loving being around Kenyan English. The phrasing and intonation is so different than American English. “ You want what?” “Eh! I’m COMing.” Everything is pronounced with all the t’s and dropped all the er’s and turn them into a’s.

Now I have arrived back on the farm outside of Kisumu and have spent my first whole day. I’m having so much fun. It was a beautiful day. In the morning everyone meets at the church for prayer. Then the kids go off to school and everyone else goes about their work. I helped clean out the calf stalls with Lynette. There are currently 8 calves and around 61 cows total now! So many! It is so fun to bump into my friends one by one at various points in the day and join whatever they are doing. I went with Milkah, and weeded in the maize field, washed milk pails in the milking parlor with Evalynn, and went to Karunga for the weekly mama health discussion group, which I will have to tell you all about later.

leaving

Hey friends!
So, as you may have heard, I am going back to Kenya this week until mid July. I am currently in Santa Cruz, Ca at the public library with my brother Kurt and his wife Nienke. I am enjoying a few relaxing days with them before heading out to New York city early tomorrow morning. I am looking forward to visiting my dear friend Valerie, who I have known since I was 3 years old! This saturday, March 31st, I will board the plane for London, then on to Nairobi.
I have been thinking a lot about how different it will be arriving in Kenya for the second time. It has been almost exactly a year since I left Kenya last spring. The Nairobi airport has a funny floating body odor smell to it, that I remember trying to label as soon as I walked off the plane last time. The bus ride from Nairobi to Kisumu last year was my first exposure to Africa. The 7 hours of staring out the window, jiggling up and down to the rythm of the potholes, not knowing much about anything I was seeing, was like an introduction, a welcome. I am looking forward to another welcome of the same sort, but this time it will be less foreign, although I am still a foreigner but now it is so familiar and natural, and I can't quite predict my reaction to it yet.