you live where?
“You live there?” How outlandish. To her Africa was just a brochure. White people didn’t live there, they just went on holiday.
“Do you work there?”
“Yes.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
She gave this some thought, then shook her head.
“Then why do you live there?”
I didn’t answer her, I don’t like discussing my life with strangers. But I’ll tell you why.
It’s because of love.
Nobody ever moves to Africa for any other reason. It doesn’t have to be a woman or a man. It’s because of love itself.”
- Francesca Marciano, writer
“God is love.
Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.”
– John, an early follower of Jesus
my funny valentines
February 14th was New Life Home Trust’s 15th anniversary, celebrating the rescue of over 1,000 abandoned and HIV positive babies. All the babies in the Nairobi Home (48 in total) came out for the day dressed in red and black – our little Valentines. When the toddlers saw the bouncing castles and other monstrous inflatables in their normally serene “front yard” a lot of screaming and running ensued. Every year, apparently, our babies pee their pants over the bouncing castles.
I will be sad to leave New Life Home Trust this week. My last day with them is Friday.
no more monkeys
At the end of January, I moved out of that great house with the monkeys and the trees; and am now living where I work – on the New Life compound. My commute is 20 seconds across the courtyard. Really rough. I'm back to my one-room, dorm-room that I lived in when I stayed in Kenya for 6 months in 2007. I feel a bit "cooped up" like a chicken, but it's fine; and besides, I’m moving again this weekend (to the guest house down the street from the New Life compound).
but one more monkey story
7:15 a.m. Sunday
I hear the monkeys “land” on the roof and herd around like furry elephants, making me grumble and grump – It’s too early to get up! But get up I do. Slinging my camera around my neck and out I go into the misty yard hoping to get a good shot of my “pet monkeys” to show everyone. They’re all over the ancient trees. Leaping, reaching, grabbing. They think my camera is a weapon. Every time I point it at one, they run off.
I’m standing, peering up into trees so tall – I didn’t know trees could be so tall – my neck at 90 degrees. I’m wearing pink flannel PJs and flip-flops. The guards are watching me watching the monkeys who are watching all of us. Some baby monkeys are curious, so they’re coming closer. They’re on a low wall now. So I gently approach, not seeing the two on the ground. One is a tiny baby and he hollers bloody murder! His mama monkey swoops in, picks him up, and carries him under her belly to safety. I think, This’ll be a great picture! so I’m chasing them, taking photos until they disappear. I turn around just in time to see this mid-sized male monkey on the ground running on hind legs with arms outstretched straight at me. He looks like he wants to spook me – a little gray ghost. I don’t know whether to laugh or run. He’s three feet from me. What would he have done if I hadn’t turned around just now? Pants-ed me? Jumped on my head? Bit my toes?
No matter. I turned in time, held up my camera and scared the little guy off.
I can see now why my neighbor let those monkeys have her backyard.
cockroaches and pansies
In moving to the New Life compound, I’ve left the land of monkeys and ancient trees for cockroaches and chicken coops. Downhill from here?
Last week I heard a “thwack” near my head and then felt something running on my arm. A mouse? A gecko? I shot up out of bed, threw on the lights, tore off all the covers and shook them furiously. Nothing. My imagination? Perplexed, I eventually returned to bed and eventually turned off the light and slept somewhat paranoid-ly till morning.
I know I’ve got to toughen up. I’m a pansy transplanted in Africa.
When I went to my closet in the light of day I almost stepped on this 2-inch cockroach – upside down, legs flailing in the air trying to flip himself over. I didn’t know what to do with him, so I left him and went to work. Later that day, Kim (my Pioneers leader) came over. I asked her how to get rid of him. She promptly replied, “Pick him up by the legs and toss him out.”
Then I watched her do it.
And the cockroach was still alive.
Though Kim is tall, blond, and beautiful I called her a “tough African woman” – 8 years in Sudan and 2 in Kenya – that cockroach was nothing to her. Something to strive for.
round 2 – ding
The fight against “Culture Shock” continues.
In my worst moments, I think that the sewers of Nairobi are in my intestines, and all of my hair is falling out, and I’m going to be jumped by mosquitoes and cockroaches in my bed at night. And these chanting tribal-man sounds pass through the street some mornings waking me up. And I hate Africa sometimes. And I hate that I hate it.
anne geddes?
I’ve learned that in cross-cultural work, you end up doing things you’re not really qualified to do. Thown into the deep end for one reason or another. My co-workers discovered that I have a nice camera and can take semi-decent photographs. So Mary Beckenham, our founder-director, brings this Anne Geddes calendar to me the other day and asks, “Can we do this?”
Anne Geddes! (You know, the photographer famous for putting baby faces in flowers?)
I said, “Sure.”
What was I thinking?
I’ve since learned that Anne Geddes makes it appear a lot easier than it is. Babies and toddlers are movable, capricious beings. The other day we were trying to get 3 toddlers gathered around a baby swaddled in a cloth and lying in a rustic basket. Trying to recreate the “Jesus in the manger scene” for holiday cards. I had it in my head, but bringing it to life was another story. By the end of this 2 hour “photo shoot nightmare” I was pouring sweat. It went something like this –
“Get that baby outta here” (he’s throwing a fit)!
“Reuben has snot coming out of his nose!”
“We need tissue. Lots of tissue. Where’s the tissue?”
“Koros, take your thumb out of your mouth.”
“Where are you going? Come back here please…”
“Babies, babies – look over here!”
Clapping, singing, shaking rattles and noisemakers – trying to get these little subjects to do just want you want. I don’t know how Anne Geddes does it. I say she’s worth the millions she makes.
endemic poverty
I keep reading and hearing –
The phrase
endemic poverty,
it means
Characteristic of a place
indigenous, almost,
as if it’s always belonged here –
but how can poverty be endemic
to a place? Especially this place. This garden
of Eden, this home of
Mt. Kilimanjaro and eighteen-inch
roses for export and ivory
tusked elephants?
Endemic? No.
Man-made, more like.
Jesus will defend the afflicted
among the people
and save the children of the needy.
He will crush the oppressor.
He will endure as long as the sun,
as long as the moon,
through all generations.
Psalm 72:4-5
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