So I'm letting my parents take all the pictures, and I'll probably post some once they get home and email them to me (or we'll spend 2 full days looking all around Nairobi for the right cord to connect their camera to my computer... probably not). Here's what we've done so far:
Friday
Arrival, a long wait in a visa line, a mostly uneventful drive across town (cabbage-knife sellers and roundabouts and traffic notwithstanding). A long nap, an introductory visit to a craft market, and an early sleep.
Saturday
A late sleep, good breakfast, sitting around drinking coffee (tea for Mom), and a very social tour of campus- it took us 3 or 4 hours because we chatted with everyone we met. An especially fun time watching the Matlak boys play some soccer. A very successful dinner at DP (Diamond Plaza- think the El Parasol of Indian food- cheap and basic and awesome). Even Dad liked it.
Sunday
Church, of course, including prayer time beforehand and Tabasamu sale afterwards. Lots of socializing. A drive up to Brackenhurst (Baptist retreat center 1/2 hour out of town) to see the tea fields, some different neighborhoods, and some rural life. Beautiful misty day.
Monday
All day at Tabasamu, for Bible study and talking and listening and praying. Mellow evening, yummy chocolate gelato split 3 ways.
Tuesday
A busy day. Visit friends' new baby girl at the hospital (and thereby see where I was last December), buy maize and bananas to feed the monkeys, spend some time at the monkey park, meet my friends at the vegetable market and buy the week's produce, bring it home, head across town to have a meal with the Brents, figure out the details of them staying at 15559-41st in Los Alamos come October, get some cookbooks and African proverbs collections at the bookstore, collapse in total exhaustion at home.
Wednesday
Join the new staff bus trip around Nairobi, visiting Kamili designs (new pillow covers) and Kazuri beads (the ceramic engineer was pretty excited about the clay and kilns and glazes and...!). Delicious pasta at Mediteraneo in Junction, fight traffic all the way home, supper at Loewers, lots of time looking at maps in preparation for...
Thursday
A rainy day, so we give the traffic some time to die down before heading across town again for the Elephant Orphanage and Giraffe Centre. Pictures sure to come soon- the giant purple tongue swabbing Dad's face is a winner. =) At the Elephant Orphanage, surprise of surprises, I ran into a family from my first year of teaching in Los Alamos. What are the odds!?! So we spend the day together, had lunch at the Carnivore, and drove home (with no police involvement- see previous posts...). Mom and Dad are resting this evening while I head to a friend's birthday dinner in a few minutes.
I sure hope we sleep in tomorrow.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
New Kids
The new staff have arrived at Rosslyn, and they all went out to lunch today.
About a third of the table-fulls are returning staff who are hosting these new guys; I'm hosting two single women about my age. I clearly remember the intensity of those first few months, so please pray for their transitions, their relationships, and the process of figuring out who they want to be here in Kenya. It's nice for me to be the host instead of the newbie; it shows me that I have actually adjusted and made good decisions about how I want to live here.
A neat connection- my friend Scott Barnett, who I worked with at Honey Rock, has gotten married and they've been living in Colorado lately. He and his wife Lara just moved to Kenya. She'll be teaching art at Rosslyn; he'll be doing camp ministry stuff with Tanari. As it turns out, they know my former roommate Kimberly through her hostel in Salida. I gave Kimberly most of my dishes when I moved here, since I had so much stuff for feeding large numbers of people. And apparently, those plates are in cabinets that hang next to some of Lara's art. It's fun to find these little overlaps.
And just in case I haven't told you (I must have mentioned it a dozen times at lunch), my parents arrive TOMORROW!!! =)
About a third of the table-fulls are returning staff who are hosting these new guys; I'm hosting two single women about my age. I clearly remember the intensity of those first few months, so please pray for their transitions, their relationships, and the process of figuring out who they want to be here in Kenya. It's nice for me to be the host instead of the newbie; it shows me that I have actually adjusted and made good decisions about how I want to live here.
A neat connection- my friend Scott Barnett, who I worked with at Honey Rock, has gotten married and they've been living in Colorado lately. He and his wife Lara just moved to Kenya. She'll be teaching art at Rosslyn; he'll be doing camp ministry stuff with Tanari. As it turns out, they know my former roommate Kimberly through her hostel in Salida. I gave Kimberly most of my dishes when I moved here, since I had so much stuff for feeding large numbers of people. And apparently, those plates are in cabinets that hang next to some of Lara's art. It's fun to find these little overlaps.
And just in case I haven't told you (I must have mentioned it a dozen times at lunch), my parents arrive TOMORROW!!! =)
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Interpretation
Cultural cues are important- how people express pleasure, disagreement, etc. And I know I need to be observant and not assume the meaning I perceive is the meaning they intend. I'm OK at that in the situations I normally come across. But last night I seriously misinterpreted a policeman, and then his backup, and then their backup...
At night in Nairobi, there are police checkpoints all over the place- traffic is narrowed to one lane using tire-puncturing spikes, and there are policemen around on foot, sometimes shining flashlights. I've never been told the purpose of these checkpoints, but a coworker had said, "Don't make eye contact and just keep driving if at all possible. And if you do get stopped, take off your watches and hide your electronics and your wallets. Don't look wealthy." And that was all the instruction I had on the subject. So I've never stopped at one. But I should have known better than to listen to only one source of information.
Last night I was driving on the far side of town with my friend Jeannie Heacock and her sister Jerri. Jerri and her husband are missionaries in rural Kenya, and Jeannie was a coworker in Los Alamos who just retired. Both sisters are sweet and smart white haired ladies who can be depended on. They were riding with me to give me directions to the Methodist Guest House, where lay the green chile Jeannie had generously brought me from New Mexico. =)
A police check clogged the road, and a policeman moved his flashlight. Was it a "pull over" or a "keep moving" indicator? I don't know the difference, so I chose the latter. I apparently misinterpreted. He whacked the back of my car. I misinterpreted again- he was frustrated, but what does that mean to me? I kept driving. He whistled. That means nothing. Another policeman whacks my car. What is going on here?! I want to get away from this! Keep driving! A third whack- good thing my car is already dented! Now they're yelling- that I can interpret- words of displeasure, telling me to stop. So I pull over where there's space down the road.
There are 3 big policemen, still yelling, and their first phrase upon arrival to the car is, "ARE YOU CRIMINALS?" (Yes, the three of us frail missionary women. Hardened criminals). All of us are talking at once. They won't come over to the driver's side of the car. They take my license and inspect my vehicle stickers. They are clearly working to intimidate us- automatic weapons in full view, towering over the car, continuing to tell us what "we" were doing wrong (it was just me- don't yell at them!). I remember my friend Brenton saying that often, if you can just keep talking, things will work out. But I knew a 3 on 3 conversation wouldn't be effective. So I asked if I could get out of the car and went over to them very humbly, saying to Jeannie, "Don't talk. Just pray." I thought maybe Jerri could help me since she's lived here longer, but they wouldn't let her out of the back seat.
And they told me, "You are in contempt! You must go to court! And you must pay 10,000 shillings! (almost $200) Why did you do that! What were you doing! It is good you do not have tinted windows- if you did, we would think you were a criminal trying to escape and we would spray the car with bullets!" I explained I was new to Kenya (true), I was very sorry (true), that I don't live around here (true), that I don't often drive at night (true), that I didn't understand the flashlight signals (true). And I did it very sweetly (mostly true).
Jeannie and Jerri were praying like mad in the car. It worked; I was given understanding of the situation that I wouldn't normally have. I don't often interact with groups of Kenyan men. There were three of them- one was pushing especially hard, speaking roughly, and kept shifting his weapon. But I could see from how he looked for approval from other two that he was the lowest rank. The second guy seemed pretty neutral and kept asking me if I understood. I replied honestly that I didn't; please teach me. The one with the most impressive insignia was the one saying the least and looking the kindest. How I could see all this in the dark is a mystery... I could also see that things went best when I let them have all the power- when I apologized and put myself in the position of a learner. So I kept doing that, and repeated back what they were teaching me about flashlight signals and the purpose of checkpoints. I don't know how long this went on. It seemed like forever, but I just kept relating and letting them feel successful in their intimidation. Then they asked for money; I told them I didn't have it. They asked again; I repeated that I didn't have cash. They asked again; I humbly responded that I was a teacher, that even though my skin was white, I didn't have much money. The second man said, "It has nothing to do with your skin color. It is that you did wrong." I responded, "I am sorry. I did not mean to do wrong. I came here to do right, not wrong. These women are missionaries and volunteers. They also came to do right, not wrong. Please." I could see at that point that each one wanted to let me off, but no one could afford to lose face in front of the others.
So I cried. It was honest- I definitely felt like crying. But I could also see that it gave each one a way to let me go without looking too lenient. I was clearly chastised and not a criminal. I got back in the car, shaking but holding it together. I _hate_ being in trouble. We drove a few blocks and arrived at the guest house. I came in to receive the green chile, get directions home, and calm down a bit. I sat on Jeannie's bed and cried and cried while she rubbed my back and told me I had done well. I'm so glad she was there. She has prayed for me in crisis before- back in Los Alamos when I had my first kidney stone, she was the one who found me drifting in and out of consciousness on the girls' bathroom floor. She prayed then, and things turned out. She prayed now, and things turned out. I'm grateful for her.
The night's trauma was not complete- I misinterpreted the directions home and ended up in a sketchy area of town by myself, lost and vulnerable... But Jerri's husband Bill was able to help me get unlost via cell phone, and he made encouraging small talk about road conditions under various Kenyan presidents until I knew where I was again.
It's probably inevitable that I would need to learn police cultural cues at some point. Hopefully I'll be more knowledgeable and appropriately compliant at checkpoints in the future. And all said, a few more dents on the car and a few tears shed is not a big deal. No fee, no court date, and a lesson learned in power dynamics. But I do hope the rest of weekend requires less... interpretation.
At night in Nairobi, there are police checkpoints all over the place- traffic is narrowed to one lane using tire-puncturing spikes, and there are policemen around on foot, sometimes shining flashlights. I've never been told the purpose of these checkpoints, but a coworker had said, "Don't make eye contact and just keep driving if at all possible. And if you do get stopped, take off your watches and hide your electronics and your wallets. Don't look wealthy." And that was all the instruction I had on the subject. So I've never stopped at one. But I should have known better than to listen to only one source of information.
Last night I was driving on the far side of town with my friend Jeannie Heacock and her sister Jerri. Jerri and her husband are missionaries in rural Kenya, and Jeannie was a coworker in Los Alamos who just retired. Both sisters are sweet and smart white haired ladies who can be depended on. They were riding with me to give me directions to the Methodist Guest House, where lay the green chile Jeannie had generously brought me from New Mexico. =)
A police check clogged the road, and a policeman moved his flashlight. Was it a "pull over" or a "keep moving" indicator? I don't know the difference, so I chose the latter. I apparently misinterpreted. He whacked the back of my car. I misinterpreted again- he was frustrated, but what does that mean to me? I kept driving. He whistled. That means nothing. Another policeman whacks my car. What is going on here?! I want to get away from this! Keep driving! A third whack- good thing my car is already dented! Now they're yelling- that I can interpret- words of displeasure, telling me to stop. So I pull over where there's space down the road.
There are 3 big policemen, still yelling, and their first phrase upon arrival to the car is, "ARE YOU CRIMINALS?" (Yes, the three of us frail missionary women. Hardened criminals). All of us are talking at once. They won't come over to the driver's side of the car. They take my license and inspect my vehicle stickers. They are clearly working to intimidate us- automatic weapons in full view, towering over the car, continuing to tell us what "we" were doing wrong (it was just me- don't yell at them!). I remember my friend Brenton saying that often, if you can just keep talking, things will work out. But I knew a 3 on 3 conversation wouldn't be effective. So I asked if I could get out of the car and went over to them very humbly, saying to Jeannie, "Don't talk. Just pray." I thought maybe Jerri could help me since she's lived here longer, but they wouldn't let her out of the back seat.
And they told me, "You are in contempt! You must go to court! And you must pay 10,000 shillings! (almost $200) Why did you do that! What were you doing! It is good you do not have tinted windows- if you did, we would think you were a criminal trying to escape and we would spray the car with bullets!" I explained I was new to Kenya (true), I was very sorry (true), that I don't live around here (true), that I don't often drive at night (true), that I didn't understand the flashlight signals (true). And I did it very sweetly (mostly true).
Jeannie and Jerri were praying like mad in the car. It worked; I was given understanding of the situation that I wouldn't normally have. I don't often interact with groups of Kenyan men. There were three of them- one was pushing especially hard, speaking roughly, and kept shifting his weapon. But I could see from how he looked for approval from other two that he was the lowest rank. The second guy seemed pretty neutral and kept asking me if I understood. I replied honestly that I didn't; please teach me. The one with the most impressive insignia was the one saying the least and looking the kindest. How I could see all this in the dark is a mystery... I could also see that things went best when I let them have all the power- when I apologized and put myself in the position of a learner. So I kept doing that, and repeated back what they were teaching me about flashlight signals and the purpose of checkpoints. I don't know how long this went on. It seemed like forever, but I just kept relating and letting them feel successful in their intimidation. Then they asked for money; I told them I didn't have it. They asked again; I repeated that I didn't have cash. They asked again; I humbly responded that I was a teacher, that even though my skin was white, I didn't have much money. The second man said, "It has nothing to do with your skin color. It is that you did wrong." I responded, "I am sorry. I did not mean to do wrong. I came here to do right, not wrong. These women are missionaries and volunteers. They also came to do right, not wrong. Please." I could see at that point that each one wanted to let me off, but no one could afford to lose face in front of the others.
So I cried. It was honest- I definitely felt like crying. But I could also see that it gave each one a way to let me go without looking too lenient. I was clearly chastised and not a criminal. I got back in the car, shaking but holding it together. I _hate_ being in trouble. We drove a few blocks and arrived at the guest house. I came in to receive the green chile, get directions home, and calm down a bit. I sat on Jeannie's bed and cried and cried while she rubbed my back and told me I had done well. I'm so glad she was there. She has prayed for me in crisis before- back in Los Alamos when I had my first kidney stone, she was the one who found me drifting in and out of consciousness on the girls' bathroom floor. She prayed then, and things turned out. She prayed now, and things turned out. I'm grateful for her.
The night's trauma was not complete- I misinterpreted the directions home and ended up in a sketchy area of town by myself, lost and vulnerable... But Jerri's husband Bill was able to help me get unlost via cell phone, and he made encouraging small talk about road conditions under various Kenyan presidents until I knew where I was again.
It's probably inevitable that I would need to learn police cultural cues at some point. Hopefully I'll be more knowledgeable and appropriately compliant at checkpoints in the future. And all said, a few more dents on the car and a few tears shed is not a big deal. No fee, no court date, and a lesson learned in power dynamics. But I do hope the rest of weekend requires less... interpretation.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
A Year Ago
I haven't written, and I haven't posted pictures in a while. Both are registering on the guilt meter. But then I figured, who says I have to post pictures of recent things? I've been homesick and prone to reminisce lately, so here are some pictures of a year ago. I miss summer in New Mexico.
Happy Dog
Happy Dog
Mama at Bobcat Bite
Adventures in Alamosa- I am NOT touching that thing with all the teeth!
Great Sand Dunes
The Pope Room
Adventures in Alamosa- I am NOT touching that thing with all the teeth!
Great Sand Dunes
The Pope Room
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Tabasamu
So finally, after almost a year in Kenya, I had an experience much more like the HNGR internship I did in Thailand, the kind of ministry I've wanted to be in all along.
And of course, I was a nervous wreck beforehand.
But let me give you some context. Last semester, my small group was challenged to be more involved with social justice. There was a floundering ministry at our church that had some ideas about teaching sewing skills to women from local slums, or "villages" as they are called in this city. Our small group agreed to partner with this ministry, and it quickly became the focus of our interaction. In typical African style, there was lots of discussion in and between our small group, the leaders of the church, the leaders of the ministry, and the women currently involved. A new mission statement, set of bookkeeping practices, and of course a new name developed: Tabasamu. This word means "Smile" in Swahili, and it comes from Proverbs 31:25, "Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she smiles at the future." The context talks about a woman who sews for income, who is wise, kind and honored. It sets our perspective for what this ministry should be about- developing tangible skills of tailoring as sustainable income, and also discipleship that enables these women to become leaders in their homes and communities. We want them to be able to smile at the future. (For those of you more familiar with Kenya, Amani ya Juu is helping us develop our program).
They meet 4 full days a week, so I couldn't be very involved during the school year. And of course I was hesitant to just jump in without being introduced, without having a reason for being there. But then my friend Kelly, who had been teaching a weekly Bible study for the group, had to go to Canada because of family health concerns. Two days before she left, she asked me to take over teaching.
Um, is that really a good idea? I don't know them. I don't have any relationship with them. I have no qualifications that they know of. And would I be reinforcing the impression that white people always know about the Bible, and they have the immediate right to be in charge? I love that my church is Kenyan led, that it truly is a mature national church. I've been hesitant to take any leadership roles, even when I've been asked to, because I have a lurking fear of "diluting" that ministry. I've been quick to invest in individual relationships, take classes, and even become an official member. I'm willing to commit to the church and be involved. I'm just not sure it's wise to have any up-front role. I've been so resistant to the idea that eventually one of the pastors told me, "Jessie, it's wrong for you to not use your gifts because of your skin color."
Oh.
So I told another small group member I'd go along when he delivered some supplies to Tabasamu. He introduced me to Winnie, the woman running the ministry day-to-day, and we 3 sat together and talked around and through a variety of issues, helping me learn a lot about Kenyan conflict/discussion management. But that's another topic. Anyhow, when she heard I didn't sew, she said, "Well, what can you do?" which rubbed me the wrong way (in American English, you add extra words to make things more polite, in Kenyan English you don't. Commands and directness aren't rude as long as your tone is sweet). I replied that I could teach. She asked if I knew about the Bible, and I said I did, so she said, "You will teach the Bible study on Mondays." (See, that command thing again). I ignored my ornery nature that rebels at being told what to do, and I agreed to come the next week.
And as I said a few paragraphs ago, I was nervous wreck beforehand. Many journal pages were spent on anxiety- will I do poorly and represent Christ's name badly? I'm concerned about misstepping culturally, not giving them what they need, creating dependence, being the big white savior, assuming too much, being taken in, just being too unwise and immature and ill-equipped. I don't speak Swahili. I've never taught an adult Bible study. I don't have relationships with these women.
And then my mother's clear words cut through: It's a good thing it isn't about you, isn't it? Oops. Right. God puts His body together as He sees fit, and He's put me here at this time, in connection with these people, and I've got to trust that it's a good plan. It's right for me to be sensitive and careful, but it's wrong for that to cripple me into inaction.
And God did bless the time. It was a good first day. The Bible study section went better than I expected, and I had the chance to start spending time with these women as we prayed together and later prepared a meal. And it was the kind of interaction that I feel very comfortable with, just doing the normal tasks of life together. We sorted the rice (pulled out the gravel), they taught me more Swahili phrases and giggled at my pronunciation, and I learned a lot about cooking in a sufaria over a fire. How come I've never thought of leaves as potholders or ash as dish scrubber? I'm so clueless. Anyhow, God blessed me with a pretty comfortable first day. I know things are bound to be complicated and frustrating at times, but I'm happy to be involved and interacting. As our relationships progress, I'll take and post some pictures of them and what they're up to. But for now, it was right for me to just be there. I'm willing to learn and willing to teach.
And of course, I was a nervous wreck beforehand.
But let me give you some context. Last semester, my small group was challenged to be more involved with social justice. There was a floundering ministry at our church that had some ideas about teaching sewing skills to women from local slums, or "villages" as they are called in this city. Our small group agreed to partner with this ministry, and it quickly became the focus of our interaction. In typical African style, there was lots of discussion in and between our small group, the leaders of the church, the leaders of the ministry, and the women currently involved. A new mission statement, set of bookkeeping practices, and of course a new name developed: Tabasamu. This word means "Smile" in Swahili, and it comes from Proverbs 31:25, "Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she smiles at the future." The context talks about a woman who sews for income, who is wise, kind and honored. It sets our perspective for what this ministry should be about- developing tangible skills of tailoring as sustainable income, and also discipleship that enables these women to become leaders in their homes and communities. We want them to be able to smile at the future. (For those of you more familiar with Kenya, Amani ya Juu is helping us develop our program).
They meet 4 full days a week, so I couldn't be very involved during the school year. And of course I was hesitant to just jump in without being introduced, without having a reason for being there. But then my friend Kelly, who had been teaching a weekly Bible study for the group, had to go to Canada because of family health concerns. Two days before she left, she asked me to take over teaching.
Um, is that really a good idea? I don't know them. I don't have any relationship with them. I have no qualifications that they know of. And would I be reinforcing the impression that white people always know about the Bible, and they have the immediate right to be in charge? I love that my church is Kenyan led, that it truly is a mature national church. I've been hesitant to take any leadership roles, even when I've been asked to, because I have a lurking fear of "diluting" that ministry. I've been quick to invest in individual relationships, take classes, and even become an official member. I'm willing to commit to the church and be involved. I'm just not sure it's wise to have any up-front role. I've been so resistant to the idea that eventually one of the pastors told me, "Jessie, it's wrong for you to not use your gifts because of your skin color."
Oh.
So I told another small group member I'd go along when he delivered some supplies to Tabasamu. He introduced me to Winnie, the woman running the ministry day-to-day, and we 3 sat together and talked around and through a variety of issues, helping me learn a lot about Kenyan conflict/discussion management. But that's another topic. Anyhow, when she heard I didn't sew, she said, "Well, what can you do?" which rubbed me the wrong way (in American English, you add extra words to make things more polite, in Kenyan English you don't. Commands and directness aren't rude as long as your tone is sweet). I replied that I could teach. She asked if I knew about the Bible, and I said I did, so she said, "You will teach the Bible study on Mondays." (See, that command thing again). I ignored my ornery nature that rebels at being told what to do, and I agreed to come the next week.
And as I said a few paragraphs ago, I was nervous wreck beforehand. Many journal pages were spent on anxiety- will I do poorly and represent Christ's name badly? I'm concerned about misstepping culturally, not giving them what they need, creating dependence, being the big white savior, assuming too much, being taken in, just being too unwise and immature and ill-equipped. I don't speak Swahili. I've never taught an adult Bible study. I don't have relationships with these women.
And then my mother's clear words cut through: It's a good thing it isn't about you, isn't it? Oops. Right. God puts His body together as He sees fit, and He's put me here at this time, in connection with these people, and I've got to trust that it's a good plan. It's right for me to be sensitive and careful, but it's wrong for that to cripple me into inaction.
And God did bless the time. It was a good first day. The Bible study section went better than I expected, and I had the chance to start spending time with these women as we prayed together and later prepared a meal. And it was the kind of interaction that I feel very comfortable with, just doing the normal tasks of life together. We sorted the rice (pulled out the gravel), they taught me more Swahili phrases and giggled at my pronunciation, and I learned a lot about cooking in a sufaria over a fire. How come I've never thought of leaves as potholders or ash as dish scrubber? I'm so clueless. Anyhow, God blessed me with a pretty comfortable first day. I know things are bound to be complicated and frustrating at times, but I'm happy to be involved and interacting. As our relationships progress, I'll take and post some pictures of them and what they're up to. But for now, it was right for me to just be there. I'm willing to learn and willing to teach.
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