Lucky Day

Anne and I play dumb games with each other all the time.   Take little bets, try to predict things, or guess things in advance just to entertain ourselves.  Since coming here we’ve taken to guessing what causes traffic jams, that we get stuck in pretty much whenever we go out.  Goes like this:  after about ten minutes sitting there sucking exhaust, one of us will say why we think this traffic jam started, we make official predictions, then wait to see who’s right.  No prize, no glory, just a silly way to pass the time.  What we’ve found here is  that we’re usually both (or all three since Megan is with us a lot of the time) wrong.  We’ve seen so many ridiculous traffic situations that we never could have imagined in advance because things like this just don’t happen at home.  More often than not we’re surprised by some amusing, or totally random thing as the  cause of an hour or two backup. 

Here’s some examples: huge truck stopped in the middle of the road (pretty common), police check, police directing traffic (usually against the traffic light and seeming to make things even worse (apparently some police take bribes from hawkers to slow traffic so they can sell more junk)),  human drawn cart in the middle of the freeway, new random speed bumps in the FREEWAY,   unbelievably deep potholes that have appeared overnight, flipped matatu or bus (with huge crowd of gawkers),  dead cows all over the road, dead guy in the road, freeway collapsed with a bus standing on end nose down in the hole, crazy road construction with no flagers or warnings about road changes or big machinery, big pile of lumber, cars driving the wrong direction down our side of the road to avoid something on their side of the road, or nothing…no identifiable cause. 

Yesterday we saw the funniest one yet, we wished we had the camera. 

There is a really famous beer here by the name of Tusker Beer  http://beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/822/2563.  There are huge billboards proclaiming, “Get back to your roots!  Try a Tusker”.

Anyhow, this was the cause of the traffic jam.  First we saw the huge police flatbed truck with about a dozen police arriving on scene….no overturned truck in sight.  But then we saw people walking off with huge bags of bottles….and then we saw them. 

Overjoyed Kenyan men drinking ”recovered” Tusker beer in the middle of the day.

You would have thought it was Christmas.  One man had the most ridiculously happy smile on his face, waving to traffic with one hand, while gripping his Tusker in the other.  Another man must have arrived early on the scene because his goofy grin and sideways walk indicated that he was already sufficiently drunk.  Others walking off with half broken, half-filled bottles of beer, but beer non-the-less!

People were RUNNING down the side of the freeway hoping to get a bottle of Tusker…some kilometers away and sadly too late to grab their bottle.  Others were running the other direction as fast as they could with their booty….I’m sure in hopes of making off with it to the local market to sell, or to call their friends for an impromptu party.

It’s not every day most of these people get to enjoy a Tusker.  And now that I think about it, the police weren’t really doing anything in the back of that covered truck.  Perhaps they too were enjoying a Tusker.

 

A Kenyan Halloween

 

I’ve never been real keen on the idea of Halloween….except that I love the whole costume and candy part.

Around the first part of October, we received an email from the Embassy warden, who is basically an American in our area of Kenya assigned to keep other ex-pat Americans up-to-speed on security announcements and other general information.

This was a different kind of announcement though!  A flyer about a community picnic/trick-or-treat party put on by the American Chamber of Commerce.  I have been excited about the prospect of a costume party since hearing about it.

We got the kids all costumed up, Eli a lady bug and Lucy a fairy.  Not bad for Africa:

The trick-or-treating ended up being kind of a trick because there really wasn't much candy

Her face paint started out pretty....

Squintville

Working the beard...on the International School Campus in Nairobi

Finishing the day with driving the 4-wheeler at the mall

 

“You’ve been lost”

That’s the phrase a Kenyan will say to us if they haven’t seen us in a while.  It’s kind of cute.  I usually hear it from Godfrey, the guard at the gate to the Del Monte plantation that surrounds Eli’s school if I’ve been using a different road to get to the school and haven’t passed his way in a while.

I’ve been lost from this blog that became a blahg of the last few weeks….sorry for that.

Generally I kind find lots of fun or interesting or just plain unique factoids about living in Kenya to write about, even if our work here might be frustrating, or crazy, or just plain busy.  We try not to focus on the difficult things about the work here.

Last week though, a fundamental misunderstanding in the treatment of children, particularly involving one of mine, rocked my world.  It was one of the first times when I truly thought, “What in the world am I doing here?  And what in the world are these people thinking?”  I felt like crying for days.   I was an upset mommy bear who then became a down in the dumps momma bear.  It is difficult to come to terms with beliefs and behaviors that are fundamentally contrary to your way of being and interacting, especially when they affect your kid…..and you seem to be in the minority of belief.

So, I guess the cat is out of the bag.  Everything is not always roses and sugar over in Kenya, but I guess you all knew that already huh?  We have days where our resolve to be here is tested and when we wonder if we are making a difference at all….and then days when we know for sure that God has placed us here for a very definite purpose.  Thank you to each and every one of you that continue to encourage us in different ways, be it prayer, or emails, or letters or packages.  We need and appreciate them all.

Anyhow, here are recent pictures of my dear (not always sweet, but generally) Eli and Lucy:

Our version of a swimming pool

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ok, he looks goofy, but the boy is thrilled with this outfit. Don't mind the mess......

 

Thika Rotary Club

We were invited to a party.

We found out when we arrived that it was to benefit the Rotary Club of Thika.  And that it cost money.  Ooops.  Thankfully, I had the exact amount of the entrance fee (to cover the awesome dinner) in my wallet.

Here are some pics of the festivities:

The strong man. I feel sorry for the man in the middle!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You know Eli loves facepaint (or makeup)!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Safari Gymnasts showing off their skills

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our Nyoma Choma appetizer (all parts of the animal mixed in)...we decided not to stay for the main course

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The good news in all of these festivities was that the Thika Rotary Club had raised funds to provide over 30 wheelchairs (specially adapted and fitted to particular needs) in this last year.  Many of them going to the Salvation Army’s JoyTown school.  It is fabulous to see prominent people with means in the community giving back to others!

 

Crazy week!

Well, it has been a crazy week.

Getting the guest apartment  ready.  We have named it the ‘tree house”.  For the flame trees.  I think it’s a catchy name, and we’ve always named all of the houses we live in…usually by the address, but scenery works too.  Megan has done a great job of taking over while I lay in bed or shuffle about the house trying to manage 2 little kids.

Being sick.  Lucy, Eli and I have all proceeded to round 2 and week 3 of this sickness which appears to just be the Kenyan cold & flu.  We’re getting acquainted with Kenyan versions of ibuprofen and children’s tylenol and cough & cold products.  Did you know that a bottle of pepto (the real kind) costs $10 here?  I passed.  I took some of the kids pepto  tablets I brought from home.

Our new Captain arrived on Thursday.  She takes over for the previous administrator, Haron.  She is Captain Sarah.  We are happy to have an administrator back after about a month without one.  It has been a lot of extra work for Ian.  She arrives with her younger sister and brother that she cares for.  We look forward to getting to know her better and working with her.

My other project on top of all of this has been to help an 18 year old boy from the Gachagi Slum.  His name is Halaki.  More on him to come in another post dedicated just to him.

And finally, making the final arrangements for our American training team of 7 women.  There are things to worry about here that you wouldn’t even consider in the States.   Furniture that isn’t finished because product is in short supply, shower water heaters overheating (scalding…..ouch!) and then exploding (I hope they get fixed, Megan is there now working with the maintenance man who seems to break more than he fixes), not being able to drive long distances in the Centre van at night (it is speed restricted, so it would be able to outrun anyone scooping out the fishbowl of whities and their stuff), and arranging for an extra vehicle driven by Kenyans to deliver all of the baggage separately and directly to the Centre at night.

Phew.  It will be nice to visit with people from home and to have all of the extra hands around here!

 

Safety First!

Have you ever been pulled over for not wearing your seat belt?

I have.

There’s a long back story…but the short story involves me driving Ian’s 94 White Ford Escort to Idaho with the automatic door belt stuck in the forward position. Since I couldn’t drive 8 hours with it like that, I unclipped it and drove with just the lap belt.

Not only was I stopped and ticketed once by Oregon Highway Patrol, but twice. I asked the 2nd officer how many tickets he thought I might get before the Idaho border? He shrugged and sent me on my way. I can’t say how glorious it was to cross the state line into Idaho where I knew I wouldn’t be bothered.

I ended up having to go to seatbelt school at Legacy Emmanual Hospital in order to have the charge removed from my record.

I think it was like 2 hours of gorry video showing every possible accident scenario with and without seatbelts.

I’ve been a pretty big seat belt advocate since then.

Here in Africa, there are seat belts in cars. But the only people I see wearing them are tourists, or us. Most of our workers laugh when we tell them they have to put the seatbelt on in our car. In the Centre van as well. They don’t fuss much about it anymore.

I guess there just hasn’t been one of those public service announcements by some important actor about the importance of seat belt use here in Africa.  You’d think with the high mortality rates that they’d do all of the easy stuff to try and stay alive.  Seat belts, motorcycle helmets….you catch my drift.

Our cook tried to put the seatbelt on (her first time ever) and after she ended up with wrapped around her neck twice, and tried to put the belt into the belt on the other seat (I know, that can’t even be done, but she tried), Ian surmissed that this was the first time a seatbelt had arisen to her consciousness and he stepped in to help her out. She thought he’d done a magic trick the way he latched it so easily.

Two taxi drivers have yelled at me in the last 2 days for having the back windows by the kids down. I think that they are afraid the kids might hop out of the car when we’re driving. They probably would too……except I have them BUCKLED!

We’ll see how many Kenyans I can get to buckle up!

 

Stalked by a stork

Eli likes to hang out at the main gate where he practices playing “guard” with Tito our security man.  One morning last week, he was over there particularly early, like by 7:45 or so.  I don’t generally have a problem with him being over there…it allows him free time outside, he keeps Tito company, and I get a little break from the chaos that can often become my world.  Anyhow, I looked outside and noticed that Eli’s shoes were still neatly parked by the door.  And, if his shoes are still by the door, then they are not on his feet!  I think that we have had the conversation of the importance of wearing shoes about a thousand times already.

It obviously isn’t sinking in.

Anyhow, I walked myself over to the gate and walked Eli back home, while on the way explaining the importance of wearing shoes and socks.  Followed by a lot of comments from Eli such as, “But Joseph and Bernard don’t wear shoes”, “But I haven’t stepped on any thorns”, “But I’m fine mom” and my favorite, “Just let me do what I want to do mom!”

As we approached our crushed gravel driveway and the journey with Eli became quite slow (he has to walk carefully over those sharp stones in bare feet), I heard a funny noise behind me.

I’m getting pretty used to the sounds of the birds that frequent our yard.  This was not a familiar sound.

I turned and looked over my shoulder, and what did I see?

A Marabou Stork.  One of these:

 

 

He was huge…especially in contrast to these little guys (Pied Crow) that are everywhere in my yard:

 

 

The stork stayed around for quite some time, picking up large sticks that I hypothesized were for nest building, but Uncle Dennis, you can tell me if that is a correct assumption or not.  I yelled for Megan to come take a look, we snapped a round of pictures, and then the stork flew off to a nearby tree to roost.

I told my mom about my sighting.

Later she face booked me (yes, she is with the times and on FB!) and she commented that maybe my being stalked by a stork is a good sign.  I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I kind of like the thought.  Perhaps there will be another little May in our future yet!

 

Our man in blue

We got to chat with a wonderful civil servant Saturday (on Ian’s birthday).

On the drive home from Nairobi we were stopped by the police at a police check-point.  Generally only buses, mutatus and trucks are stopped so they can pay a bribe.

Our man in blue did not state a reason for stopping us. 

Just asked the following, in this order:

Where are you coming from?  *Nairobi

Buy me lunch.   *Ignored

Open your boot (trunk).  (He paws through our bags for a while)Show me your drivers license. *Ian produces Kenyan paperwork for the license he has paid fees for but hasn’t received in the posta yet.

Where is your US license?  *Ian doesn’t have it

Why don’t you have it?  *Ian left it at home

Where do you live?  *Makongeni

What part of Makongeni?  *Across from the police station

I live in Makongeni.  *Oh

 

Obviously we were getting nowhere.  Then I popped up from the backseat with my camera and loudly said, “Hey, do you want me to take your picture?”  Silence.  Then a smile.  Then I said, “I’ll print it and leave it for you” knowing that by chance he would relish having a copy of his picture just like almost every other Kenyan I’ve met, adult and child alike.   Suddenly Mr. Policeman who was just downright gruff & soliciting a bribe for no obvious offense is nice and friendly and this results:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You should note that he was kind enough to hold his AK-47 down out of the picture. 

Really, there is a reason that Kenya receives the most US Foreign Aid of ANY African country, yet is still experiencing severe poverty, lack of development, drought etc., etc.

Anyhow, if you want to read up on Corruption, go here:  http://www.internationalreportingproject.org/stories/detail/1268/

 

Coping mechanisms

We try to make believe like we live in a 1st world country here.

But we don’t.

It’s a 3rd world country, and at times, that is quite apparent.

I thought tonight as I was doing the dishes, “Wow, I’m not even bothered by that cricket coming out of the cupboard” and was  even less bothered when he went and hid under the stove.

When did I get to this point?  When did I stop caring about the thousands of mini ants that march along my walls throughout the day despite my attempts to keep the floor absolutely crumb and liquid free?  Ok, I guess I still care about them still…otherwise I wouldn’t march around the house behind everyone with my antibacterial cleaning spray (which smells a lot like straight isopropyl…….details, details).

Anyhow, these are but a few of the items that help me remain in my delusion that I am residing in a developed country somewhere:

 

Oh, hot pot, I use you a hundred times a day for my instant hot water and I love you!

My hot pot is the one way to get hot water quick, besides in the shower:

Yes, that is an instant hot heater on the end of a water pipe...in our shower with wires going to the wall

For clean water to cook with and drink, we use this:

Our gravity system with 3 ceramic filters on top and a storage tank/tap on the bottom

And then something most of you are familiar with, although mine has several dials I can’t quite interpret, the element is on the top of the oven….and the instruction manual wasn’t left for me. 

My cooker as they are called here!

One electric burner, and 3 gas burners….great for when the power goes out.  I especially like that it has a lid!

 

Shopping for friends

Ok, now I know some of you will relate to this.

You know the feeling.  It happened to me in junior high, again in college, then when I was new to Portland and went to my first care group meeting, and now here in Africa.   Standing in a sea of people and wondering:  Where are they?

Friend shopping.

That feeling of being in a crowd of people, scanning and looking for someone who looks friendly (and about the same coolness, or better, but not too much better)…..like looking for a date, but perhaps more important cause this person might end up being one of your “girls”.   The ones you shop with, whine to,  try and work out with, get pedicures with, do  favors for, hopefully swap kid sitting with, borrow butter from, go to coffee with, trust their opinionabout if the jeans make you have an 80’s butt or a “hot” butt, the one’s who really know you and get you a sweet birthday gift.  You get the drift.

I found myself friend shopping in church a few weeks ago.  I was looking around at all of the possible women aged 25 and up.  Some of the best friends are older women with time and energy to spare.   And then I caught myself and realized what I was doing and that  I hadn’t had to “friend shop” since moving to Portland in like 1998.   That’s 10 years folks.  And then I realized that I really wasn’t in the greatest ”friend shopping” form.  I’d need to spice myself up a bit, be aware of my scowl/frown line that is developing on my forehead from too many Eli corrections, and put on some good fun lipstick and some less “mommy” clothes.

I must have done ok, cause last Sunday I found myself with a lunch invite for the family for this coming Sunday.  The prospective friend’s name is Anne.  Is she only doing it out of pity and the fact that we have the same name?  Or perhaps because Eli has permanently attached himself to here sons and made sure to get their phone number the first day he met them (yeh, I thought it was a little forward too for a first meet), or perhaps….she is friend shopping too!

And, just for the record girlfriends back home….these are simply “back-up” friends until our friendships can be reinstated in full, in person with all of the benefits.  ***Insert big sigh here***