The "All Nighter"

"Isaiah 35"

I am so tired.  Only asleep for 30 minutes, surely someone isn't trying to wake me already.

"Isaiah 35"

"but...I'm really tired."

"Isaiah 35"

I am not a person that has memorized scripture.  In fact, the only one I could actually quote you without thinking long and hard is John 3:16. 

About 3 or 4 years ago, I prayed and asked God to help me to know the Word better.  I asked Him to increase my understanding.  He likes to do this by giving me very specific scriptures at the appropriate time.  He captures my attention this way.  By faith, I open the Bible to the scripture I have heard. I never know if I will even find that scripture.  What if there isn't an Isaiah 35?  Maybe it stops at 34...(in this case, I did know there was a 35, but sometimes I don't)

Isaiah 35:

Joy of the Redeemed

 1 The desert and the parched land will be glad; 

       the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. 

       Like the crocus, 2 it will burst into bloom; 

       it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy. 

       The glory of Lebanon will be given to it, 

       the splendor of Carmel and Sharon; 

       they will see the glory of the LORD, 

       the splendor of our God.

 3 Strengthen the feeble hands,
       steady the knees that give way;

 4 say to those with fearful hearts,
       "Be strong, do not fear;
       your God will come,
       he will come with vengeance;
       with divine retribution
       he will come to save you."

 5 Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
       and the ears of the deaf unstopped.

 6 Then will the lame leap like a deer,
       and the mute tongue shout for joy.
       Water will gush forth in the wilderness
       and streams in the desert.

 7 The burning sand will become a pool,
       the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
       In the haunts where jackals once lay,
       grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.

 8 And a highway will be there;
       it will be called the Way of Holiness.
       The unclean will not journey on it;
       it will be for those who walk in that Way;
       wicked fools will not go about on it. 

 9 No lion will be there,
       nor will any ferocious beast get up on it;
       they will not be found there.
       But only the redeemed will walk there,

 10 and the ransomed of the LORD will return.
       They will enter Zion with singing;
       everlasting joy will crown their heads.
       Gladness and joy will overtake them,
       and sorrow and sighing will flee away.

Read it again if you need to.

"The desert and the parched land....

... burst into bloom...

... eyes of the blind will be opened...

... burning sand will become a pool...

... thirsty ground bubbling springs...

... grass and reeds and papyrus will grow..."

I am fully awake now.

"what else God?"

He proceeds to tell me exactly how to deliver my message. 

What to say, when to say it.

Then He adds,

"Once you have given this message, you will wave your banner.  You will praise and worship.  You will anoint the feet of every person in that tent."

"Seriously?"

"These feet walk this land, work this ground, have toiled and labored.  Anoint them.  Bless them.  Unify them."

I am awake all night.  Listening.  Praying.  Excited about this word.  Nervous.  

I don't want to bring false hope.

What if this is me trying to "solve" things?

How could it be?  I don't have a pantry full of canned food like Wanda.  

The birds are twittering outside, happy for morning.  It's 6:00 am and I NEED sleep.

Too tired to turn my light off, I cover my head with the blanket.

Leon is supposed to knock at 7:15 to wake me.

I see the wall of rain swiftly approaching from the mountains on my left.  This wall of water is so thick, I have never seen anything like it.  I start to pray.  The rain is coming. I pray louder, begging it to refresh the land.  I pray so loudly that I wake myself up.  

Sure that I have awakened everyone else, my heart pounding in excitement, I listen for someone to ask if I am okay.  I had to have been screaming, but nobody heard me.

I cannot believe it.  "The rain is coming", I say to myself as I fall right back to sleep.

Instantly, I am taken back, but now I am arm and arm with Nelly.

We are strolling down a dirt road.  Friends, out for a walk.

We round a corner and are stopped in the road.

The wildebeests are rushing back to the land.

The elephants, the zebras... they are all stampeding back to the land they once grazed. Nelly and I celebrate.  I look at her and say, "They have come back.  There is grass again!"

I awaken to the knock on the door.  "Rheba.  It's time to get up."

The land is being restored.  

The rain is coming.

The animals will return.

There will be no more drought.

The famine will end.

My burden for these people is being lifted.  

I walk to the cafeteria.

"I got something", I whisper to Wanda.

"You got something?", she replies.

I nod.

Banners

  "I don't know what it is, but something happens when you wave those banners.", Wanda had said on a phone call before we left for Kenya.  "Please, bring your banners."

I had given them all away.

The night before we left for Kenya, I was standing at my sink.

"What kind of banner am I supposed to make?"

I had not been inspired to make anything in particular, so I had procrastinated.

"WATER." I hear.

"Water?"

"yes, WATER."

Okay.

"and... RESURRECTION."

Okay.

So I made a water banner and a resurrection banner.  

Rolled them up, packed them and wondered who I would give them to.

What exactly is a banner?  An object that fanatical Christians wave to invoke emotion?

Maybe sometimes.  

Why would one chose to make a banner or for that matter, wave one?

Banner, by Webster's definition: a piece of cloth attached by one edge to a staff and used by a leader (as a monarch or feudal lord) as his standard.

Okay, so I am not a leader or a monarch... (although I do have one tattooed on my foot!  ;) )

Banners are not only biblical, but they are also historical.  

Psalm 20:5
We will shout for joy when you are victorious and will lift up our banners in the name of our God. May the LORD grant all your requests.

Psalm 60:4
But for those who fear you, you have raised a banner to be unfurled against the bow.

Isaiah 5:26
He lifts up a banner for the distant nations, he whistles for those at the ends of the earth. Here they come, swiftly and speedily!

Jeremiah 51:12
Lift up a banner against the walls of Babylon! Reinforce the guard, station the watchmen, prepare an ambush! The LORD will carry out his purpose, his decree against the people of Babylon.

And, of course, one of the favorites...

Song of Solomon 2:4
He has taken me to the banquet hall, and his banner over me is love.

These references go on and on.  

So, that's biblical.

Where is the historical?

For centuries, banners have been used as a rallying point in battle.  Assyrians, Egyptians, Greek, Romans... they all fought under their respective banners. Even today, the "Colors" are so revered that army battalions consider them a lifelong honor.  Banners were/are used in battle fields and wars, even the Civil War, to identify different camps.  The Japanese used a banner named, Sashimono, to identify themselves in the battle field.  The Sashimono was especially important during the feudal wars in Japan, in the 15th and 16th centuries.

Italians use banners in their annual Palio races to distinguish between different contrades, or districts.  At the end of the race, the victor is awarded a silk banner.

Even as Americans, we wave banners at rock concerts, football games, swim meets.  They identify who we are rooting for.  We even flick a lighter and wave it in the air as a tribute...  Or when there is particular emotion involved in a song.  Is this not a form of banner?  

My question.  If we are in battle, why then can we not wave our banners?  If we are "fanatical", is that not better than being lukewarm?  If we are rooting for OUR team, why then can we not cheer it on?  

What are the things you are passionate about?  Are they important enough to make your heart beat faster? Are they big enough to cry over?  Are they worthy of debate?

Would it be better for me to NOT be strong in my convictions?  Should I be wishy-washy?  

Is waving a banner... weird?  

Perhaps.  

But something happens when one is waved. 

The atmosphere shifts, moves, changes.  

This is true on the battle field.

In the football stadium when the fans are rallying for their team.

When a race is won.

In church.

There is always a change in the atmosphere.

So, that first night in Bissil, Wanda preached.

We went back to our rooms, exhausted and dusty. 

I tried to journal about our experiences that first day.  The dry wells, riverbeds... the Maasai house, the people we had met.  I gave up at about 1am, when the words started to blur on the page.  

Shutting off the light, I climbed into bed, worrying about the message I would deliver the next day.  

The message I didn't have.

Preacher(wo)man

Wanda knows how to preach.  

She says that when she got saved, the Bible was food for her.  Like she had never eaten, she devoured it.  She read it and "canned" it.

"You know, like if you were canning peaches or green beans?  You got your peaches over here and your green beans over there.  One day I may need peaches, so I pull 'em down.  Another day, I might need green beans... they're right there on the shelf, canned and ready, so I pull those down. When you "can" your food, it is preserved and is on the shelf whenever you may need it."

Wanda tells me how she pulls one those cans whenever she's preaching.  

The first night in Bissil, she uses her Daniel and King Nebuchadnezzar "can".

Since the church is just a foundation in the ground, a tent has been constructed in the middle of Bissil, as the temporary facility.  The tent is pieced together, with no roof over half of it.  It also has been vandalized.  Someone has come and slashed holes all along the walls.  Apparently, church is offensive everywhere.  

As we get out of the truck, we hear the music blaring and someone singing over the microphone.  We find our seats and take in the people as they slowly trickle in.  Many of the women come in their traditional, Maasai clothing, others do not.  None of the men do.  

The Maasai clothing is an eclectic mix of colors, patterns and beads, all of which are vibrant and beautiful.  99% of the traditional women, wear their hair cropped to their head.  Large, triangular shaped earrings, are sewn directly into the tops of the ears (at least that is what it looked like) and dangle down close to their necks.  Some of them have stretched lobes which they wrap beads around.  

The traditional Maasai man is intimidating in his glare.  Most are tall and very thin.  They wear a garment that reminds me of an African version of a kilt.  They mostly don't wear shirts, but drape a large piece of fabric, diagonally across their torso.  Many of them carry a staff of some sort and have a large knife, or machete tucked in their waistband.  The men also are decorated with beads and stretched lobes, which, when not in use, they pull over the tops of their ears so they don't dangle.  

I am reminded of the song, "do your ears hang low... do they wobble to and fro... can you tie 'em in a knot... can you tie 'em in a bow..."

Sorry, it just played in my head every time I would see their ears.  (how rude, I know.)

I wish I could post a picture of the traditional Maasai man here, but, well.... they were scary and I didn't have a telephoto lens.  They do NOT like having their picture taken and if you do manage a shot, they shake their staffs at you, or ask for money.  Since neither of these things appealed to me, I concentrated my camera only on the women.

Needless to say, we didn't see any of the traditionally clothed men in church.

The music starts to intensify as the crowd grows.  A new song starts and all the women giggle. They look at us with a cross of embarrassment and excitement.  One of them starts to dance. Another follows.  Soon there is a line of women, circling the congregation.  They are doing their Maasai dance.  

Bending at the knees, they take a step, bob up their head, pop their neck.... bend, step, bob, pop... bend, step, bob, pop.  It reminds me a little of a chicken, scratching at the ground, looking for food.  Me, being me, I have to jump in.  The poor women try to instruct me as we go, nodding encouragement as they laugh at me.  Bend, step, bob, pop....  it takes concentration.  I imagine this dance being taught at the YMCA, in Zumba and can't help but laugh.  

Nelly introduces Leon to the church and asks him to introduce the rest of us.  One by one we get up to say something about ourselves or give a message.  When it's my turn, I, of course, cry.  My emotions don't seem to have a cut off point and my exhaustion level helps exacerbate the tears.  I manage to squeek out some kind of message...  Something to encourage, but mostly, I just sniffled.  I see Margaret in the crowd.  She smiles her encouragement back.  I don't know what it is about this girl, but I am drawn to her.

As Wanda stands to take her place at the podium, everyone shifts in their seats.  They hover on the edge, aware that the main course is getting ready to be served.  The women lean, elbows on knees, hands clasped together, hungry.

The men, sitting separately from their wives, look like they are torn between eagerness and skepticism, or is it just my imagination?  Have they ever seen a woman preach?  

In Kenya, men and women don't do things together.  There is no partnership involved.  Women and men are not seen holding hands or being affectionate.  You rarely even see the man look at his wife.  There is no chivalry, no friendship, no companionship, no joy and ultimately, no love. Many women are literally not "allowed" to speak, move, DO anything, until their husband has instructed them to.  I understand this is a trend in many places around the world, but to witness it first hand, is painful.  

Wanda and Leon don't play by these rules.  Leon is a gifted musician.  His comfort zone involves a guitar strapped over his neck, while his wife preaches.  Leon plays, Wanda preaches. They flow... together.  Wanda however, is the mouthpiece.  A powerful mouthpiece.

This seems to set the men on edge.  Not all of them, but most.  

They just don't know what to do about a woman preaching in their church.  Not just one woman, but three!

But, Wanda can preach.  

She can't see her Bible in the dimly lit tent, so she doesn't even open it.

She stands, microphone in hand and takes a deep breath.  She looks at Joseph, he nods, she starts to speak.  

"Tonight, I'm going to talk to you about Daniel..."

Joseph is a good interpreter.  He follows Wanda's expressions, her inflections, her gestures.

I am sitting at the side wall of the tent, positioned to see the congregation's profile.

I watch as Wanda gets farther and farther into her message.  The men begin to shift.  They go from slouching to sitting up.  They begin to lean in, their eyes big.  Absorbing.  She's pulling them.  They are holding on.  

She talks about those "3 hebrew boys" and how they dance in the fire, a 4th figure beside them, King Nebuchadnezzar is confused....

  

I see a man raise his arm and let out a hoot.

Another claps his hands.

Still more are laughing and nodding their heads.

I smile and look at Leon.

"your wife can preach!"

The Maasai house

Entrance to a Maasai house

It has been a week since I got home. Time is still scrambled for me, so I am constantly asking what day it is. I feel permanently discombobulated, but surely this unsettled feeling will pass. I can't really explain it, but it is like part of me got torn out and deposited amongst the people I grew to love. There is definite mourning involved.

I sit here in my living room, thankful for a soft chair, freshly brewed coffee... with clean water and windows that let in the morning light. Fresh, clean air. Comfort.

As we left the wells, Joseph taught us the Maasai name for the monkeys we had seen.

"We call them, black faced monkeys... in Maasai it is...." I tried to repeat the long, strange word and gave up. Normally I would repeat it until I knew it, but I just couldn't make my brain form the word in my mouth.

"How long has it been since you had rain, Joseph?", I had asked back at the wells.

"Right around 4 seasons."

"When you say seasons, do you mean YEARS?"

"Yes mum."

He had explained that occasionally they get "mists", but nothing that even registers as rain.

I think again of Pastor Joshua's hopelessness. I have been here less than a day and I can feel it pressing in on me.

Barnabas stops suddenly on the road. I look around wondering what wild animal he sees. Maybe a lion. He backs the truck up and then drives off the road. Nelly is pointing to something and directing him on where to go. We bounce along through the bush, sand and dust kicking up into our windows. Thorn brush is everywhere and Barnabas miraculously avoids it all. We pull up to a 5 foot wall made up entirely of the thorn brush. These thorns are 4-5 inches long and run the entire length of the branch. They are THICK and very sharp.

I think of Jesus and how thorns like these were shoved down into the flesh of His sweet head.

Here, they are used for protection. They build barriers that completely surround their houses. Each barrier is about 5 feet tall and almost as deep. The thorns discourage not only people, but wildlife too. They even have a gate that they pull shut at night.

Thorn barrier, Maasai house just behind

Nelly leads the way through the maze of thorns and we are greeted by Maasai children, a boombox and a skeptical looking matriarch. I smile at her. She glares. The children, like everywhere else I have been, clamor around me, trying to get their picture taken. I happily oblige. Their skin is white with the dust, sand combination. Only where their noses have run is there a path of brown showing what color their skin may actually be.

It is evident that they have likely never bathed.

Later, Joseph tells us about the parasite that lives in the dirt. It comes out at night, while the children are sleeping and feeds off the dirt on their bodies... off the children's skin.

We all start to itch at the suggestion.

Everyone has disappeared inside the matriarch's house. I follow Joseph to the door. My lungs start to close and anxiety sets in almost instantly.

"Joseph, you will have to make sure to bring me back out of this house quickly! I cannot breath in this smoke."

We walk through the entranceway. It is about 2.5 feet wide and 5.5 feet tall. The walls are made of cow dung and sticks. You can't help but rub up against it, the space is so small.

I am aware that Joseph is in front of me, only because my hand is on his back. It is pitch black. We enter a room filled with fire. Literally, it was a fire room. I see flame and smoke and a tiny crack of a window, about 5" square. Suffocation and death is sure to follow momentarily,I feel the panic start to rise up in me. The smoke is noxious (remember their fires are with charcoal) and I am thankful I remembered to pack my inhaler.

Joseph tells me about how when the police do raids with smoke bombs, the Maasai just walk away, unaffected. They are immune to the smoke because of their living quarters.

I feel my lungs and try to imagine spending more than a minute and a half in here. How would it be to sleep, breathing poison. What is their life expectancy?

We round a corner and again, I see NOTHING. I hear talking and know Joseph is leading me, but I really want to get out. I try to stifle my panic and keep walking. He leads me to the others, where they are crammed in the "master" bedroom. It is a room about 6x10, with a bed.

The bed is built on a frame of sticks, wrapped by rope, cow hide is strategically sewn to the frame. It hovers about 5 inches from the ground. Matriarch holds a small candle for us to see her "very comfortable bed". She has built this house herself and is very proud. (Maasai houses are always built by the women.)

Satisfied that I have seen the house, I tell Joseph to get me out. He points out the children's room as we walk out. I take it on faith that he is telling the truth, it was too dark to dispute.

As I step out, daylight and fresh air greet me with a gust of wind. I am thankful.

I snap pictures and show the children their faces on the camera. I think they have never seen such a device, as they giggle hysterically and name each other on the small screen.

Matriarch has softened toward me. I stand beside her and pose with a massive spear. She now glares with a twinkle in her eye. I think like Samson, she finds me amusing.

Wanda runs to the truck and solicits $$ from Ilene, who had chosen to stay comfortably beside Barnabas, in the truck. Eilene, relieved to have been spared, gives Wanda a $20 bill and the rest of us pitch in a few dollars. Nelly nearly passes out when she sees Wanda hand the money over. Matriarch smiles for the first time. I think she may have even giggled like the children.

We are escorted to the car. Boombox blaring, I can't help but do a little jig and try to persuade the children to join in. They just laugh hysterically and say no. Joseph tells me that they really like me. It is mutual.

We leave and Wanda asks her favorite question,

"Joseph? Are there snakes here?"

"Oh yes."

"But they aren't bad ones right? They aren't the poisonous ones, RIGHT?"

I smack him and tell him to tell her what she wants to hear.

He ignores me.

"Oh, YES, cobras and green mambas... yes, we have all those here."

Her mouth drops to her knees as she tries to talk him into changing his answer.

"The snakes like hey. The beds in those houses, rest on hey. The cobras come in and find a nice home under the beds. It is warm and cozy for them."

"um.... what?"

"When you lie on the bed, the cobra comes out, disturbed. But it is nothing. We hit it on the head and throw it in the fire, or on a tree. Cobra is small, I am big. I am not afraid."

"um....WHAT!?"

We drive off in silence, shuddering at the thought of cobras under our beds.

Dry wells and riverbeds

We arrive outside of Bissil, in early afternoon.  Dazed, we are shown our rooms in the cabin-like duplexes.  They are sufficient in size, and again, we are thankful for almost flushing toilets.  This is considered a resort location.  I am thankful to not be sleeping in a tent and I'll leave it at that.  

Lunch of pancakes, rice and stew (of which variety I didn't ask, but likely goat), was served in a mess hall type setting.  

I listen to the mumblings of conversation, but am distracted by this burden that has now begun to burn in my chest.  I can feel it bubbling and rolling and I try to stuff it back into the recesses of my mind.  It is not MY burden.  What am I supposed to do?  I am just one girl.  One girl desperate to help these people.  I start to sob at the table.  Not the kind that you can hide by turning your head.  The suffocating kind.  Gulping for air, stomach wrenching, hiccuping kind of sobbing.  I cover my face, trying to hide from the stares of my new African friends.  They think they have offended me.  That I am unhappy.  I can see it on their faces.  

Wanda jumps up and pulls me outside.

"what happened sweetie?"

I just shake my head.  I try to force the words out, but can only shake my head.

"you miss your family?"

"that's..... not..... it...."

I hiccup my way through an explanation of my burden.  I tell her that I just didn't know.  How I have had water on my mind for so long, but I didn't know that Maasailand was in drought. About how I knew why I was there.  

Is it possible to be burdened and blessed simultaneously?  

My whole life, Africa has sizzled in my veins.  I was standing in the land that my heart had desired for so long, and it was in distress.  

People seem to appear out of nowhere.  They walk past me, curious about the sobbing American.  One in particular catches my eye as she bends her head in respect for Samson.

He touches her forehead and smiles.  They have great respect for each other.  I am curious about the bowing.  Is it an inside joke?  A custom?  

She looks at me as she raises her head.  We have a kindred moment.  She seems to understand me with one glance.  I love her already.  

I later find out her name is Margaret.  She is 35 and like me, has all daughters, 4 of them.

Nelly introduces us to her "son", Joseph.  He is going to be our interpreter.  Joseph looks to be about 17 or 18 so I ask how old he is.  "26 or 27" is his response.  Africans, generally, seem to age extraordinarily well and apparently, they don't all know exactly how old they are.  

Nelly whisks us off with Joseph to show us the foundation of the church they are building, and the town wells.  

Leon confronting an anthill on the church's foundation.

I look out over what is supposed to be a church.  It is just ground that has been cleared and a strange series of supporting walls, buried in the earth.  Leon gets distracted by the large anthill looming in the background, he is fascinated by safari ants and is hoping this is one of their hills. Nelly explains how the ants eat entire trees and are similar to termites, but are not the infamous safari variety.  (thankfully since the hill is taller than Leon, Wanda and I have visions of him being dragged, buried and easily devoured in such a large hill)

Some of the local children have been following us and get excited when I raise my camera.  We walk around snapping pictures of them, slipping them dollar bills when Nelly isn't looking. Barnabas glares at them from the inside of our truck, they scream and go running.  He laughs, proud that he has sent them running.  I think of the times my brother, Chris would play the same game and how terrified I would be, but would always come back for more.  These children are no different.

Barnabas navigates through the streets of Bissil, past the livestock market, the biggest in southern Kenya.  It is here where Joseph tells me how delicious goat meat is.  "It's sweet.  SO good.  I LOVE goat."  I try not to gag openly, but find it hard.  Something about the reference of "sweet" meat, along with the word, goat... it just leaves me a wee queasy.

We bump along the makeshift road and pull up to the riverbed.  

The "river"bed.

I see the cutout in the land.  The erosion.  The roots of the trees that rest precariously on the banks of the river.  I see the rock bed bottom.  It is etched permanently from the flow of the water.  I can just make it out beneath the layers of sand.

View over the riverbed

Trees on opposing banks.... and monkey

I stand, taking it all in.  I try to imagine this land as wet, green... alive.  I close my eyes and listen for the sounds of rushing water.  I yearn to see birds flitting around, splashing their wings playfully in the river.  Instead, I see miles and miles of sand.  And monkeys.  There are 20 or more monkeys chasing us from their treetop playground.  We try to snap pictures, but they pretend to be shy and conveniently leap out of shooting range right as we press our shutters.

Joseph leads us down a steep path to show us the only well that still has water.  He explains how the collection process works.  The Maasai gather water from the well with buckets and ropes and then dump it into the trough that has been carved along the side of the path.  He tells us that if they fall in, they drown because there is no way out, the sides are too steep.  I look over the edge and Joseph warns me not to fall.  I look at him and say, 

"Joseph, I know how to swim.".   

Frankly, I am more concerned about what is in the water.  It is a deep green/blue color with various things floating on top.  Monkeys hanging out over us, I wonder how often they poo in the well.  Joseph tells me that the well belongs to the Maasai and nobody else is allowed to use it.  He proceeds to explain how wonderful the water is.  

"It is VERY good for you and tastes wonderful.  It's very, very good."  

I stifle my response.  

Joseph and Leon looking down into the well.  The trough is on the right side.

The "VERY good for you!", well.  :(

A line in the sand

Thursday morning we wake early.  We are told that the drive to Bissil, in Maasailand is "very far". Samson arrives with his wife, Nelly, Pastor Joshua and Rachael.  Nelly is an African version of Gloria Steinem, fighting for the rights of African women.  She is very passionate and focused on changing the African mentality.  I have a new respect for Samson, married to such an outspoken woman, he must be a brave, self assured man.  

Pastor Joshua is Samson's younger brother and pastor of a church in Ngong.  

We head out to the safari bus and our new driver, Barnabas.  

Loaded to capacity, we detour toward Rachael's school in Ngong.  

The school is beautiful and we are quickly aware that it must be for the "rich" kids.  It has all the facilities of a nice private school in the states and the children are perfectly coiffed and polite.

They greet us with laughter, rehearsed hellos and questions about President Obama.  Everyone here talks about Obama constantly.  This election has brought hope to Kenyans. 

Rachael has work to do, so she heads off with promises to see us later in the week.  

She has been a gracious host and we are bummed to leave her behind.

Barnabas heads up and up, through the hills of Ngong.  We are told of how many important people live there, the dense forest a sort of protection for them.

Another 20 minutes and we find ourselves surrounded by the plains.  They are so vast and beautiful, I feel as if I am in a movie.  I watch, as cattle are herded toward Nairobi.  The Maasai men, pushing them along, urging them that food is near.  The cattle are worn and thin.  Weary from long travels.  I notice the landscape is quickly changing.

The grass is no longer green, but brown.

Joshua sits beside me and explains how the cattle are dying.  The land is too dry.  "we have lost our hope" he says.  "something must be done, but there is no solution."  I feel sorry that he is thinking this way.  I do not yet quite understand.

(If you look closely at this picture, you can see a giraffe.  It is VERY far away though)

I listen as he explains that they could collect water in the mountains and pump it down, but it would cost too much.  I ask "how much?"  

"too much."

argh...

"HOW much?"

"Oh billions of dollars."

Gulp.

The land is getting more and more dry.  I look back toward Nairobi and suck in my breath.  You can see where it has rained and you can see where it has not.  It is quite literally like a line in the sand.  I feel emotion start to rise up in me and have to take deep breaths to keep from completely losing it.

The zebra grazing causes a quick and surprising distraction for us.  Our excitement fizzles as we continue to drive.

I wish I could express the feeling that washed over me as we hit a back road.  We could barely see through the dust and had to cover our faces even though the windows were closed.  My deep breathing fails me and I start to weep, my face turned to the window so nobody will see.  The reality of this drought that I knew nothing about, is harsh and painful to face.  I see where Joshua's hope has started to dwindle.  Where he sees no solution to a problem that grows with each passing day there is no rain.  

The cattle have become scarce.  

We pass through a town, Jaciado.  There are willow trees, but nothing else.  I question their ability to survive.  Joshua tells me they don't need much water, they survive for a very long time.  I am perplexed.  I tell him that in the states, willow trees prefer wet places.  It is the opposite here.  There is a part of me that allows hope to scratch at my brain.  Maybe the water is closer to the surface than they think and the willows survive off of that.  

I look up and see cattle.  We are stopped, mid-town, waiting for them to move.  Barnabas blows his horn in encouragement.  The cows can't even expend enough energy to look in his direction. They have sunken into an irreversible lethargic state.  We navigate our way between them. Bones with skin on top, they just stand or lie on the ground, waiting to die, but even that might take too much energy.

Tea plantation

At the Inn

MAD bull

View from the Inn

Coffee, coffee, coffee

Night and Day

Tea plantation

Coffee beans

Where's Rheba?

The Karen School kids

As I cling to my bed, trying to stop it's quick roll and spin movement, I try desperately to fall asleep. It is after midnight in Nairobi and I am pushing into my 36th hour of being awake. I can hear the rumblings of Swahili in my head and a bit of Maasai. I had asked Samson if he would teach me both.

"Yes. Tomorrow."

I, being persistent had said, "Well, maybe tomorrow will be too late. I am going to pray and ask God just to download the language into my head. Maybe I will wake up fluent in both!"

Samson finds me amusing.

I can feel myself right on the edge of sleep and then I hear a word in my ear. I ignore it. It's a nonsense word. I've never heard it. I am hysterically tired and making up my own language in my sleep...

"WHAT?" I snap back awake. I heard a word. It is nonsense... right? I grab the pen out of my purse, which I have strategically placed under my pillow. (you can never be too safe.)

I scrawl the word down on my hand in the dark. I'm sure it isn't a word, but...

I only sleep for about 4 hours and wake to darkness. I can't believe that I am in Nairobi.

As morning arrives, I hear what sounds like a Kenyan crow and I think of my mom's crows in VT. I wonder if they would be friends. Then I hear the sounds of a broom on the pavement outside. I jump up laughing, to look and see. The guard is sweeping the grounds. I smile, knowing this means that this is a respectable house and think of Mma Ramotswe of the #1 Ladies Detective Agency. (a set of books my parents and I love)

We are served a breakfast of boiled eggs, bacon, sausage, cereal, tea, coffee and a variety of fresh fruit, including PoPo, a local favorite. I tell my friends I heard a weird word in the middle of the night and show them my hand. We are all excited to see if I am crazy or not.

Samson and Rachael come to take us around and bring us to a school in the Karen area, near Ngong. I jump up and say, "Samson! I heard a word in the night.... tell me, does it mean something, or am I crazy?"

I tell him the word.

Mungutosha.

He laughs.

Great, I'm nuts.

He says, "Mungu Tosha. Yes."

"It's a word? Really?"

"Yes, it's Swahili. Mungu Tosha. It means, God is enough."

"WHAT!?"

"Yes, God is enough."

I jump up and down, screaming.

"SEE Samson! God has a sense of humor! He's teaching me Swahili in my sleep!"

Leon and I head off with Samson and Rachael, while Wanda and Eilene stay to rest.

Michael, our driver, whisks us around Nairobi, dodging vendors in the middle of the street, bikes and people who take jay-walking to a whole new level. There are absolutely no road rules. The combination of this with driving on the wrong side of the road, has us clutching our seats.

We bump along a side road to The Karen School and Leon tells me about Mombasa. How they would drive 50 miles, one way on roads that were even worse. I hit my head on the ceiling handle as we negotiate the path to the school. We honk the horn to be let in and are greeted by a brightly painted set of buildings and immaculate grounds. I can hear the children's excitement from inside their classrooms. Gladys, the school principal, introduces us to different teachers and groundsmen while Leon gives her his suitcase full of goodies he has brought for the children. I hand her a large bag of eyeglasses which she quickly distributes to the teachers. Samson heads off to find a ledger, he wants to write down words for me to learn.

We are brought before the 300+ children that attend the school. They welcome us, "Caribou!"

Which means, "welcome" in Swahili. We reply, "Jambo!" (Hello).

The children are divided by age and spend the next hour entertaining us. I wander and snap over 300 pictures of them. They LOVE the camera and fight over who gets in the picture.

Leon speaks and then hands it over to me.

I start to cry. They laugh. I cry more. They laugh more.

Apparently, adults DO NOT cry and if they do, the children get so upset that they laugh.

I explain to them how I have waited my whole life to come to Africa and I am overwhelmed by how beautiful they all were. They laugh again. It's okay with me.

Rachael tells them in Swahili that I am so happy and that is why I am crying. They clap.

I get stampeded by the children and end up on the ground, tackled and dirty, but now we are all laughing.

We head out to see coffee and tea plantations. They are both right outside of Ngong, where "Out of Africa" took place. I am surrounded by lush, green grass, beautiful trees and great forests. The temperature drops by about 20 degrees as we climb the Ngong hills. It is stunning. The tea plantation is simply acres and acres of tight knit tea plants. The harvesters wear boots to their hips and leather aprons as they shove their way through the plants, only picking the very top sprig of lime green leaves. Tedious work, I have a new appreciation for tea.

I whisper a little prayer as we climb another back road, with cliff on one side and no rails. I am hoping Michael knows how to negotiate the pot holes so we don't plummet to our death. We pull in to the Inn that is owned by Eda, our landlord in Nairobi. The inn is an African equivalent to a B&B. The grounds are insanely beautiful. I stand in awe as I watch the sun setting over the hills of Ngong. The light hits everything differently here. Trees sparkle and shimmer as the wind speaks to the leaves. I am surrounded by life. Beautiful, green, life.

A cattle herder comes and brings us to Eda's farm, behind the inn. I dodge paths of cow dung as the inner child in Leon jumps out and he starts to photograph the piles of poo. I laugh at how much he reminds me of Tony. I tell him I think they are long lost brothers.

Rachael explains to us how there are leopards around and I inform Leon that he is welcome to walk in front of me. (In Africa, the man ALWAYS walks in front of the woman.... "for protection." Leon has repeatedly informed them that his wife or any other woman would always be beside or in front, never behind.)

Rachael says not to worry, "LEO PERDS are very shy".

We look at the goats, and are confronted by a very grumpy bull. He snorts and growls and then finally lets out loud gutteral sounds that have us hastily leaving the pasture, leopards would be welcome by comparison.

I look up to find a man with a bow and arrows. Leon says, "Oh, to protect against the leopards!"

"no, to protect against the Europeans!" We laugh at the joke, until we realize it wasn't one.

Leon asks to see the arrows. They are mean looking with barbs beneath the head.... ouch. Samson stops him and asks the guard if there is poison on the tips. "WHAT? For real?"

We take tea in the gazebo at the inn. I breath in my surroundings, wondering how I got there. The sun is bidding us farewell, as I watch the birds on the roof bobbing and dancing in time with the music playing over the speaker.

Kenya

I was "disembarking" the plane. I had just come from Amsterdam to Detroit. Second leg of the nearly 30 hour trip back home, done.

As I walk up the ramp, the woman in front of me turns and looks at me. She keeps walking. Then she turns again and says, "Ahhh. You are from Kenya." I look at her.

"what?"

"You are from Kenya. Kenyan?"

"what?"

My brain is so fuzzy. Surely this woman who, from her accent, is African, didn't just tell me I was Kenyan. Let me put this in perspective. The ENTIRE time I was in Kenya, (minus the airport) I saw maybe 10 white people. Maybe. So, for me to BE Kenyan. Like I said...

"what?"

I looked at her and said, "no.... I just traveled from Kenya... I am only Kenyan in my heart."

She stopped and looked more closely.... then with a smile and a nod of understanding, she turned and disappeared in the crowd.

So, I am Kenyan.

Here is where it began....

We landed in Nairobi and were herded out to customs. It was an insane, hot mess of people, all desperate to get out into the cool night air. We had flown in on a Boeing 747/400, the gargantuan double decker, seating over 400 people. It was stuffed to capacity. The noise level was beyond my ability to cope with after traveling without sleep. We were pulled from one line to the next and back again. Finally, Eilene was whisked through customs in a wheelchair. She had been smart enough to need one. I contemplated how I could need one too. Eventually, the porter who had brought Eilene through, came back for each of us and pulled us through ahead of everyone. I wanted to feel bad, but frankly, was thankful. The customs agent didn't even look up, didn't ask me one question. I stood about 8 feet from her desk. She stamped my visa, threw my passport on the counter and waved me through. Never even confirmed that I was the owner of this passport.

We find luggage quickly, as it has taken nearly 2 hours to get through customs. Wanda is so exhausted she walks right past the luggage checkpoint and out the door. They chase after her and say they need to check our bags. The agents take Wanda and Leon's passport and ask why we are there. I am waving my passport asking if they want to see. He looks at me as Wanda says, "we are missionaries." He hands her back the passport, looks back at me and says, "Go." And waves us through. He never even touches my passport and doesn't look through our bags.

This was a huge relief. We had all brought suitcases full of gifts for the children. If they had opened our bags, they would have either confiscated them or bribed us.

We walk through the door. Kenya. We made it.

We see the sign for us and head to meet our escorts, Rachael, Samson and Michael. Hugs and kisses, the Kenyans do the cheek to cheek thing like they do in Europe, but without the kissy noise. We are whisked off to the cars. I ride, by myself, with Samson and Rachael. Samson is Maasai and very quiet. Rachael is the principal of a school and commentates on different landmarks as we go. I feel like I am on a boat, dizzy with exhaustion, everything around me is spinning, or in motion. I look up to see an elephant in the middle of the road and grab my seat. Then I realize it is a statue. I wonder if they notice my stupidity. I look over at Samson and feel a tenderness for him. I know I will love this man deeply. I say, "you are my bodyguard Samson. Right?" He laughs quietly. "Yes."

We arrive at the house we are staying in. (pictures above) It is in a gated community, with armed guards and security at every house. I feel safe. The gates are opened and even in the dark I see that this is a grand house by Kenyan standards. I find out later that the woman, Eda, who owns the house, was married to (he died almost 30 years ago) Peter Koinange, the Minister of State, to the first Kenyan president, Jomo Kenyatta. Koinange was also a freedom fighter and went to prison for 7 years. There is a street named after him in downtown Nairobi.

We were staying in the house of a historical figure in Kenya's history. Cool.

We arrive in the guest quarters and are pleased to find running water, hot showers, flushing toilets and private rooms for each of us. There is a spread of food that nobody has any business eating at 10:00pm, but the food on the plane was horrendous, so we devour all the yummies.

Someone flips on the tv in the other room and the four of us look at each other.

We hear music.

"Is that Michael Jackson?"

We all laugh. Thousands of miles away from home, Michael Jackson's funeral plays out before us, live. Crazy.

I have decided to blog in increments, since I am incapable of keeping it "short". Part 2 to follow soon.

one day

One day, is finally, 1 day away!

At this time tomorrow, I will be scrambling around my house, searching for things I may have forgotten to pack.  So far, I have gotten over my panic about flying, pray it remains that way.  I mean it.  My kids are starting to realize that 10 days is a long time for me to be halfway around the world.  Isabelle was fine until I mentioned that they may not get to speak to me much, if at all.  Then the tears rolled... and rolled.  

Olivia is being a clown and just keeps pretending/joking that she sure is glad those 10 days went by so quickly and that I am home already.  She copes like her daddy.  

Justice just gives me a sweet smile and curls her head into my chest.  She is my stoic one.  (gee, I don't know why this is a trait of hers.)

My body is having physical symptoms of nervousness, even though my brain doesn't agree.

THIS IS OFFICIALLY THE LAST SOLICITATION FROM RHEBA!

I am still, 1 day before, a wee short of what I need for this trip.  I have been having faith that a last minute donor will come in and save the day.   (although, I suppose you could ask how much faith I have if I am still putting it in my blog!)

PLEASE know, I am not asking you that have donated, to add to your donations.  I GREATLY appreciate every single penny that has come in.  I couldn't go on this trip without you.

PLEASE know that I have spoken or emailed several of you that will be generously praying and can't afford to give.  I am NOT trying to guilt you either.  (You guys all know who you are...)

I couldn't go on this trip without you guys either.

From here on, all you will hear about is how wrecked I am for Africa.

Tomorrow, I will fly to Detroit, hop on a plane to Amsterdam, where I have a bit of a layover, then, hop on a plane to Nairobi, Kenya.  I will arrive in Nairobi around 5:30pm, their time, on Tuesday.  Nairobi is 7 hours ahead of us EST,  so I guess that would be 10:30am here.

Hopefully I will find a computer that I can update on while there.

Love to you all!