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!