The Gregarious Impala

Spaghetti Dance

2011-01-30T19:16:00.002+03:00

A few weekends ago, someone gave me about 5 gallons of leftover spaghetti. This was partially my fault, as I had failed to communicate accurate numbers for the spaghetti dinner they were providing, and so it was right that I pay the penalty and dutifully eat spaghetti roughly every 3rd lunch or dinner for the foreseeable future.

The most exciting moment in all this happened last week, when I was standing in my tile kitchen in my splendid new off-campus apartment, and I dropped my bowl of spaghetti right next to my bare feet. The bowl shattered, and when I looked down, I tried to control my panic: the bowl had apparently inflicted dozens of cuts on my feet, all were bleeding, and it looked pretty bad. I worked hard not to hyperventilate. My mind spun through who I would call, whether I need to go to the hospital, whether stitches would help, whether I could drive myself, and again, how I could keep breathing in a regular manner.

Then I realized it didn't hurt that much. I carefully stepped into the bathroom, rinsed off my feet, and realized it was all spaghetti sauce.

I heaved a big sigh of relief, allowed a gentle head shake at my self-inflicted panic, and made a mental note to improve my blood identification skills.

Computer Issues

2009-12-18T16:44:00.002+03:00

Urg. My computer's dead, or at least mortally wounded.

After a month of trying one thing and another and another and another, then being told that it will take another month to get it fixed here, I put my laptop on the plane with a friend in hopes of getting it repaired in the States.

In better news, I have CFS pictures to share once it returns (assuming the data's still intact, which it should be), and perhaps I'll be struck with the sudden urge to blog more once I have a home computer again. And hopefully I'll have spiffy new pictures and stories to tell from my upcoming Habitat for Humanity trip with sophomores somewhere near Mt. Kenya.

So here's hoping the Mac comes back from Memphis miraculously healed...

Marvelous Middle Schoolers

2009-10-17T13:23:00.002+03:00

Every once in a while, I have kids write me a note- what's going on in their lives, how things are with family and friends, if there's anything they'd like me pray for. I do this in part because it's a way to help them feel heard; I also do it because they're sweet and insightful and sometimes hilarious.

Here are some good'uns from the last round...
- "Last weekend was awesome: I went repelting and spulunking." (I _love_ repelting! And so do the small animals).
- "Please pray for Naivasha to regrow their lake." (Kids feel the water crisis and the national mismanagement of resources too).
- "Please pray that God would help me to follow Him; it's hard to be a teenager." (She turned 13 two days ago).
- "Things with friends are good, but I think I am not talking to girls but only boys." (Hmmm).

Slackin' in September

2009-09-30T19:44:00.002+03:00

If I don't post TONIGHT, that little blog archive at the bottom of the page will only have one entry for this month. Oops.

And really, it's been a phenomenally full September, but nothing's been truly bloggable. It's all been too shallow or too deep- either "went out to dinner again!" or "my soul has been healed in ways you can't possibly understand unless you've known me for at least a decade."

On the other hand, maybe it's that I was sick- finally got an African passenger, probably an amoeba or worm who stole my calories and my sphincter's resolve. But I eventually broke down and took medicine (after using up all my Gatorade and my mom threatening to DHL me some more), and I am doing fine again.

Or maybe it's that I'm too busy- life was getting back to the point it was in the States, where I had something going on every night, something happening each evening, no serious down time. Maybe I'm getting older and my energy's dropping; maybe I've just developed more sense: I don't want to live that way. So, for the first time ever, I quit something, and my schedule and overall health seem to be progressing upward.

Perhaps it's that I've settled in here- things rarely strike me as noteworthy. True, as I was driving yesterday, I had the opportunity to buy a wide variety of goods from folks between the lanes: skirts, paintings, TV antennae, flowers, a puppy, bandannas, pinwheels, peanuts, drugs, a rabbit, some sunglasses. Kind of the usual. So I thought about blogging about it, but it wasn't pressing enough to stay in my mind past the traffic and the police checkpoints and the fact that my ATM card wouldn't work... Life feels normal, though it looks very little like it did in New Mexico.

However, I guess the big news is that I'm staying- Rosslyn offered me another 2 year contract, and I accepted. That puts me here into 2012 at least, with a 2 month furlough in the States this summer. It wasn't a surprising decision; I feel like God brought me here really clearly, and until He leads me somewhere else equally clearly, I'll stay here. But it is still peace-producing to say so publicly.

Life might slow down a little in a few weeks, after CFS and after my quarter-long class ends. Maybe I'll rejoin the thing I quit, or develop a burning desire to blog more. But for tonight I'm off to read Richard Rohr and grade some math tests and pray for rain. Pretty normal.

Rejoicing

2009-09-08T17:10:00.003+03:00

So much good news lately- things I've been praying for long term are happening!

A few highlights...

Brenton, my former colleague here at Rosslyn, got the job he's been working towards for over a year! He and his wife will be able to stay in Kenya long term, use their hospitality gifts, and serve in a really unique environment.
Alan the Red-Haired Guy (ding) has a defense date for the the doctoral thesis he's been working on for the entire 8 years I've known him! And after many closed doors, God has provided a TERRIFIC post-doc that will give him a chance to see if Asia is really where he belongs.
Clara Knutson was born today! I delight in the turn that this journey of years has taken.

Count Me (in?)

2009-08-25T12:01:00.003+03:00

Kenya's grand tradition of Sudden Public Holidays continues. You might remember Obama Day... Kenya erupted in joy at the election of their own semi-kenyan US President and declared a national day off for everyone.

But this time's reason might not appear to be holiday-worthy at first glance: The Census. Now, I _am_ a math teacher, and I get pretty excited about statistics, but a national holiday? Hm. I'd have picked Pi Day. But no, President Kibaki announced on Sunday that Tuesday would be a public holiday. Wow. A whole day's notice.

See, they want to get an accurate count of absolutely everyone, so they're putting all sort of incentives in place. They wanted the wandering Masaai herdsmen to show up, so they provided free grain and water at a particular border. And they wanted to be able to find all the crazy-living Nairobians, so they closed all the businesses and ordered the police to shut down "all bars and places of entertainment- let's take a break from drinking," said the Census Master.

Speaking of census officials, they gave special shirts to all the people coming around to count and ask questions. See, it's a door-to-door activity, and you wouldn't let just anyone into your house. So they have bright red polo shirts that say ENUMERATOR across the back. I cannot even express how badly I want one of those. =)

And it's a good thing I was home from work today. About 11 AM, Julie the Census Girl came by (sporting a cool red shirt, of course), and asked me questions like "How many people slept here last night?" "Do you have access to the internet?" "How many live children have you given birth to?" "How many still births?" "Do you own a TV?" "Do you own a fridge?" She tried to hide her shock that one, I live alone (Kenyans rarely do), and that two, I own a fridge but not a TV. How bizarre.

When the five-minute questionnaire was complete, she gathered her books, put her shoes back on, and marked my door with the serial number of my census form. I've been counted.

I made good use of the rest of my day off, as you can see from the photo below.

Now I'll take them to my small group meeting and enjoy the conclusion of this unexpected work-free day! Just remember- we might not get Snow Days here, but you probably don't get Census Days.

New (School) Year's Resolutions

2009-08-09T19:11:00.002+03:00

I love the seasonality of teacher-life. And living in a mini-village of educators sure accentuates that rhythm. So while normal human beings make resolutions at New Year's, I've sensed a distinct atmosphere of self-improvement around campus these weeks. Everyone's waking up early to run, lift, pray, grade. Well, hopefully not grade yet- the kids haven't arrived. New students get oriented tomorrow, we run a half-day of assemblies on Tuesday, and classes start in earnest on Wednesday. Classrooms are clean, hopes are high, and friendships are fresh.

My starting prayer:
May this school year be a good apple- crisp, nourishing, and flavorful.

The Mara

2009-08-04T16:49:00.005+03:00

Last weekend, the 4 of us who had gone to Egypt together headed to the Mara on safari for the boys' birthday. (Yes, in addition to the same first name, they share the same the same birthday. And the same middle name.) It was a great time of reconnecting after a summer apart, hearing people's stories, and playing cards- Wendy and I beat the boys _again_ at Rook.

The Mara is by far my favorite place I've visited on safari. I loved the open sky, the tawny plains, the striking trees.

The birthday boys, with a bonus giraffe
Us girls, with a speckling of migrating wildebeest in the background
Wildebeest who finally got up the nerve to cross the river
God did a great job on East Africa.

Happy Anniversary, Kenya

2009-07-22T08:28:00.007+03:00

Two years ago today, I arrived in Kenya. I remember the tearful goodbye with my parents in Chicago, reading the entire 7th Harry Potter book on the way here, and being surprisingly cold when I got off the plane. I remember being exhausted the next day trying to set up my household, and I distinctly recall the frustration of "not feeling like I'm in Africa" within the bubble of the school grounds. Fresh friendships went through their normal fits and starts, as did my involvement in new activities. I was confused, disconnected, and struggling (and probably not a whole lot of fun to be around). I knew God had brought me here clearly, but now that I'd arrived, I wondered about His reasons.

School started, bringing a little routine and predictability, but I hadn't realized what a huge role reputation plays in being a teacher; my students had no idea what to expect from me, so even my job felt shaky. Friends from other seasons of my life came through on visits, and that added a little stability. They suggested I visit Karura Community Chapel, which I'm still grateful for. However, when I joined a small group there, I caught the mumps at the first meeting.

That was the real low of that first semester- housebound, feeling crummy, then feeling fine but still housebound, then feeling much worse and in and out of the hospital. God used it on lots of levels, of course, but the most significant was this: I had written off the Rosslyn community as isolationist expats, but they loved me and cared for me and sacrificed for me when I was sick. I had to recognize their kindness and genuine Christian character; it made me a little more willing to be like these people.

I got to go back to the US for the end of my recovery, and that reaffirmed the truth that I belong in Kenya. "The trouble"- the postelection violence- happened while I was in DC with my parents, and I was anxious to return and be present to my students and the new friends I had made. Karura pulled an IDP camp out of thin air, taking care of hundreds of displaced people and eventually helping them resettle in new homes. God blessed Karura to do that well, and He continues to show favor to us as we care for our neighborhood.

Slowly I adjusted, building relationships with Kenyans through Karura, adapting my teaching to the context of Rosslyn, buying a car, choosing to stay in Africa for the summer. Climbing Kilimanjaro was a HUGE highlight and the accomplishment of a life dream. And by the time my second year started, I was ready to be a host, be a welcomer, be a bridge for the newcomers. God kindly gave me many likeminded friends in that group of new teachers, and I started to settle back into who I know myself to be.

So now it's been 2 years. I've gotten to travel to phenomenal places, and I can honestly say that I like living here. My Swahili is rudimentary at best, and I still struggle with the balance of being called to this expat community and to the much larger country outside of it. But it's good to be challenged to live well, to continually seek God on what He wants your life to look like that day. I take comfort in the idea that it's not a mistake that I'm here, with all my history and personality and quirks and opinions. He's shaping me by this place and using me to shape this place. He's the craftsman, and I am confident in His work.

So happy anniversary, Kenya. I'm glad I'm in this relationship with this place. It's been an eventful and intense few years, and I can't say I'm sad things have leveled out a bit (though it makes for more boring blogging- sorry, readers). I'm looking forward to the adventures the future holds, and I trust the Hand that brought me here.

What does that MEAN?

2009-07-18T05:37:00.001+03:00

In an attempt to communicate well with my church back in Los Alamos, I submitted an online prayer request before the medical clinic, asking folks to pray for the day. And when the event went well (which I am able to recognize now that I'm less exhausted), I wrote an update.

So the church sent out my message to hundreds of people, supportive folks that they are. But I had made a rather embarrassing typo... I was trying to say that we had extracted 200 TEETH.

I left off the H.

Karura Medical Clinic

2009-07-13T20:03:00.004+03:00

Once a year in July, my church here in Kenya hosts a free medical clinic for folks who live in the surrounding slums. This year I got to serve on the organizing committee, so some of my days post-Europe have been spent in meetings, in prayer, packaging donated medications, and running around doing whatever needs to be done. It's a good use for my seasonal unemployment.

The clinic works like this: we use our contacts to get medical professionals to volunteer for the day- doctors, nurses, medical students, pharmacists. We politely harangue businesses to donate money to buy medications and other supplies. (Boy, I've learned a lot about Kenyan persuasion tactics on this committee...) A local public elementary school lets us use their grounds in exchange for improvements we make each year- recently we hung doors on the classrooms and got electricity installed. We provide transportation for patients to and from the school, and the congregation of Karura Community Chapel provides the hundreds of non-medical volunteers needed to make this event run smoothly.

Why hundreds of volunteers, you ask? Well, we treat a lot of people. Two-thousand-one-hundred-eleven this year, to be exact. Think about that! Over two thousand people came through this little elementary school in a day, talking with nurses, doctors, getting teeth extracted, being evaluated for further care (like cataract surgery or venereal disease followup), and receiving free medication prescribed by the doctors.

The inside of the pharmacy, where most of my preparation work was focused
The outside of the pharmacy, where my friend Scott is helping someone find their way

The line for the pharmacy- believe me, this is a LOT more organized than last year.

The day is overwhelming. Appropriately so, I think. It's intense to see the great need of thousands of people in one place. On the other hand, it's beautiful to witness willing and thoughtful service on the part of this church. Because of my development work training, I have issues with the once-a-year blitz. Is this one day more about feeling like we've done something? Are there more lasting methods? On the other hand, we can get these doctors to volunteer for a day, and there are good things that happen in that day. Christ's love is shown tangibly, and there are some great stories to be told. But we had to turn away at least 30 children who wanted to come in without adults; we won't give them medicine without adult supervision. It's an appropriate decision, but it's heartbreaking to tell these children no. It might not be their fault they don't have a grownup with them. This year we did make arrangements to have a local nurse receive the medication for some of the unaccompanied children, but she could only do it for the ones she knows. Always, the scope is limited. We have a social justice pastor on staff, and the church runs a variety of programs all year long. But are we doing what we're called to? Is it effective?

I could go on and on with the pros and cons, the list of things that are clearly good and the issues I question and am challenged by. Both this year and last year, I've been exhausted afterwards and not quite sure how to process this experience. I don't know if that's what you want from your missionaries- it would be simpler to say, "It was good! Medical Clinic! Go team!" And there's an aspect where that's true: I'm blessed to go to a church that runs this event as a way to reach out to the poor in our area. I know that's important; I know that pleases God.

Maybe my heart just breaks alongside His at the suffering that still remains.

Lazy Days of Summer

2009-07-07T12:08:00.002+03:00

It's quiet on Rosslyn campus. The morning joggers have made 7:00 the new 5:00. It's that July cold: wool socks on tile floors, fleece all day long, down comforter on the bed, chai at 10 and 4 for the warmth. A day might be crazy busy with visits, church stuff, errands. Or it could be a vast empty space to be filled with reading, watching movies, napping.

Just like to say, life is pretty pleasant right now.

The Food

2009-06-29T17:29:00.007+03:00

All right, the post you've been waiting for... To put it in context, I can get lots of wonderful food here in Nairobi- delicious Indian food, fresh organic produce. What I can't get is good bread, cheese, and chocolate. And that's what central Europe excels at, and it would be a shame to not eat the local food, right? Let's call my post-trip padding "pastry pounds."

I may be in love.
Beth and her mousse
Did I mention I can't get berries here? So the wealth of raspberries, blackberries, cherries, and strawberries were terribly tempting. Especially in a crepe.
Good Bavarian food- pretzel, bratwurst, sauerkraut, mustard. Mmm.
Schnitzel and spatzle- who cares if it looks like little maggots? It tastes good.
Fondue in Switzerland, naturally!

And of course, French Onion Soup in France. It deserves the capital letters.

Traveling "Alone"

2009-06-29T15:46:00.010+03:00

I left Eric and April's and continued my train journey west, making a brief stopover at Schaffhausen to see the Rhysfalls. I ate an ice cream bar and enjoyed the rushing water, then hiked back up the hill to the train station. I spent the night at a hostel in Zurich and ended up eating at McDonald's because nothing else was open by the time I got around to wanting to eat. Switzerland is SO expensive- a "value" meal was about $15. Oof. Upon returning to the hostel, I had good conversation with one of the many engineers I met on the trip, and we walked around town and drank hot chocolate by the lake.

The next morning I headed towards Interlaken/Murren/Gimmelwald, the part of the trip I've been most excited about since decided to wander around Central Europe. I even thought ahead and reserved a bed at a hostel. Indeed, it was a beautiful place. That night there was a little rain that evening, but a beautiful rainbow!However, the next morning the fog rolled in. And while I was planning to hike all day long, I soon realized it would be both treacherous and stupid to wander around slippery, unfamiliar landscape with little visibility and sudden dropoffs all over the place. So I sat around aimlessly, having finished all my books. I quickly tired of the typical hostel conversation: "Yeah, I was in that city... I was so drunk that I barely remember..." I wasn't impressed. And it was kind of hard to break into conversations- most people were traveling with others, and you didn't want to interrupt their vacations. All in all, it was an extremely frustrating day. I considered staying in Gimmelwald another night, hoping the weather would clear, but I had researched an English speaking church in Geneva and knew I needed some Christian fellowship. So I hopped on the gondola Saturday morning, the mountains still invisible in the fog.

But God kindly provided for me- I struck up a conversation with 2 Americans who were also heading down the mountain, and it turns out they're Christians and were excited to hear about what I get to do in Kenya and to talk about all sorts of things. It was so good to run into them! God encouraged each of us through that "chance" meeting. We visited a nearby waterfall together, and decided to continue traveling together for part of the day- we got off the train in Bern, ate fondue (not a one-person meal), and saw some of the weird sights of the city, including a fountain of a giant that eats children.

Chris and Becky, my fondue friends (fondue friends forever? FFF?)

I arrived in Geneva in the evening, uncertain of where I would stay that night- the only hostel I knew about was full according to the internet. I went there anyway, hoping for a cancellation, but there was a music festival in town and all their beds were taken. They pointed me down the street to a more institutional hostel- all tile, everything locked with a keycard, but showers and breakfast included. I fell into bed and got the first good night of sleep in a while.

The next day held another "chance" meeting with a Korean woman named Grace, and we explored Geneva, especially its rich and varied statuelife (it's like wildlife, but more, um, solid). I really like this duck-billed dragon.

After a good visit to the Evangelical Baptist Church of Geneva, we visited the Red Cross Museum and the UN headquarters- this is an anti-mine statue. Can you see the missing leg?
And of course in Switzlerland, timekeeping is important enough to make a clock out of flowers.
The rest of the day was spent eating more good food (still trying to run that off...), hanging out at the music festival, and generally enjoying Geneva. I like that city. I wouldn't complain if that were my next international school posting, though it was GOOD to head home to Nairobi over the next day or so.

So there's the trip! Fear not; food post yet to come.

Germany visiting friends

2009-06-26T14:23:00.007+03:00

Beth got on a plane back to the US, and I couldn't help but be a little jealous that she would soon be in the land of Target and hamburgers. However, I was starting the next phase of my adventures, so I wasn't too sad. In Munich, Ann-Kristine met me at the train station. She was our family's exchange student when I was in high school, and I hadn't seen her in a dozen years. We were both a bit nervous about spending time together again since it had been so long, but as soon as we saw each other, we knew it would be easy. She said to me, "You look just the same!" Aw. It was great to connect with her, see a bit of her life, and spend some time getting to know each other again.
We headed to Regensburg, where her parents live- a delightful city that escaped the bombing during World War II. So it had lots of old walls and bridges and buildings- this church was visible from her parents' balcony.
We visited several other chapels, and after the more minimalist, Gothic style of Paris, I was kind of overwhelmed by the gold and pink and cherubs.
The Kreusers took great care of me, and it was wonderful to see her Dad again (he had visited while Anna lived with us) and to meet her mom.
They of course fed me all sorts of tasty German food; I have another blog post in mind dedicated entirely to the food I got to eat in Europe.
Anna continued to take me to all sorts of lovely places- a monastery on a hill near the Danube,

a castle in Munich.

It was a treat to spend some time with her and her boyfriend Sergio; I passed the report along to my dad that he's a good guy, but unfortunately I forgot to take pictures of them together.

From Munich I headed up to Ulm, where my college friend Eric and his wife April live. April was a terrific tour guide, and we climbed the tower of the tallest church in the world.
We had a good ol' American time together- ate chili, went to see the Terminator movie (really deep, I tell you), and caught up a bit from the past decade or so. They also took me out for schnitzel, which will show up in the food post, and they helped me get my train tickets into Switzerland. I sure appreciate their hospitality. From there, I and my big blue backpack hopped on the train and began the Wandering Around Switzerland part of the trip.

Paris

2009-06-25T08:59:00.012+03:00

This has definitely been a year full of traveling; who knew that choosing to stay in Los Alamos, buying a house, and eventually selling that house would mean that I would get to go to amazing places like Cairo, Paris, Munich, Albuquerque?

The birth of this trip is a fun story- my good friend Beth and I met at Wheaton and maintained our friendship through the angst of our early 20s: Are we doing what we're called to do? Are we really adults? Is this what I should do for the rest of my life? She was beginning her actuarial exams; I was experiencing my first few years of teaching. We would talk on the phone for hours and wrestle through adulthood-formation.

Beth and I are similar in lots of ways- math majors, brown hair, similar sense of humor, involved in youth ministry. But we're pretty far apart on the risk-taking scale. So when I suggested we plan a Big Trip as something to look forward to in the next decade, our definitions were pretty different. My idea of a Big Trip was, "Let's get one of those around-the-world tickets, and just see what happens!" Her idea of a Big Trip was, "Let's go to Disney World!"

Each of us looked at the other and realized, "Your trip will NOT work for me." Eventually, we compromised- what if we went to Disney, but in another country? That would be familiar enough for her to be comfortable, but different enough for me to be interested. Beth agreed that maybe that could work, possibly to get me to drop the subject, and it stayed buried for half a decade.

But then she passed all her actuarial exams (woohoo!), we each turned 30, and I was itching to find out if this would really happen. So after a many emails and skype conversations, we settled on EuroDisney with some sightseeing in Paris.

And we had a wonderful time! Museums, subways, quirky shops- I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Saint Denis- the headless one. He has a lovely tribute in Notre Dame's facade.
Churches in general were kinda bloody- note the realistically pink tinted heads in this scene of massacre on the bottom pane.

Beth and I "collect" science museums and children's museums- it's our corporate hobby, and this was a good one.
Beth drew a lovely picture at one of the interactive exhibits. Or was this at the modern art museum...? We did see a LOT of museums.
An equally realistic creature, though of course not as lovely.
Of course we explored quirky bookstores on the Left Bank.
Maybe I can be a winged messenger for my next summer job.
I discovered I like sculpture, especially marble, and this was an impressive lion.
But after about 400 idealized Greek bodies, I was especially charmed by this skinny, balding man with a nice smile.
Dudes in kilts are good too.
And when we were all museumed out, we headed to Disney. Did I mention that it was freezing and poured 80% of the time? This was a rare dry moment.
When I was a very small child, my parents took us to Disney in Florida, and I was scared out of my mind by the witch in the Snow White ride. (I believe I proceeded to rebuke her in the name of Jesus).
You can still see the terror in my eyes.
But we survived both the witch and the evil Small World ride, and soon returned for a last event in Paris- climbing the Eiffel Tower.

Beth left the next morning for her home in Connecticut, and I headed to Germany for the next phase of my adventure.

Welcoming the Double Digit Years

2009-05-30T22:10:00.002+03:00

I just finished my 9th year of teaching middle school math, and I'm feeling thankful- grateful God designed me to do something, grateful that I found that something early, grateful I get to do what I love and am made for.

So here are a few things I enjoy about what I do:

* the randomness of middle schoolers
* the nearly-daily stories my job produces
* their energy and enthusiasm
* the chance to introduce some major math concepts for the first time
* changing kids' minds- convincing those that don't believe they can do math that they indeed can, showing those who think they know everything that there's always more to learn
* somewhere to put my energy
* the camaraderie of teachers
* seasonal unemployment =)
* middle schoolers: young enough to be affectionate, old enough to be interesting
* significant conversations with students
* a job I can always think about more and do better
* class discussions: "But Miss Gac, what if..."
* the chance to get your foot in the door on significant issues before they've really chosen one path or another
* seeing kids grow- physically, emotionally, intellectually, spiritually
* the daily reminder that people are not stuck where they are today- God is a saviour and redeemer

I'm so blessed to be a teacher.

10K

2009-05-17T06:56:00.003+03:00

Last Saturday I did something I never thought I could do- run a 10K. Now, "run" is a loose term... We purposefully didn't time ourselves. But I was "not walking" for the entire distance. =) Apparently in Kenya, 10K is also a loose term. The group I went with are all pretty sure it wasn't actually 6.2 miles. But our certificates say 10K, and it was definitely more than 5 miles, so we'll call it a 10K.

It was an experience, starting way back with the registration and t-shirt purchase. I had been vaguely training for a 10K since the New Year, but I didn't have a race in mind, and in normal African style, there isn't, say, a website where one could check on future races or anything. Also in normal African style, I got the news through my relationships- this person heard something and told someone else, who maybe mentioned it in a conversation to someone I know who knew I had been running. Got all that? Anyhow, somehow I got an email. It said there was a 10K coming up, and one could register for it outside Nakumatt. Also normal- I went to Nakumatt multiple times a week for 3 weeks and never once saw a place to register for the race. But again, my network of relationships continued to insist it was possible, some of them had successfully registered, and I should persist.

A note on all this- I am not athletic. I can't quite wrap my mind around the fact that I _can_ run that distance, just like I'm pretty sure every morning when I get dressed that those jeans will be much too small for my body and this must be a joke. I run either before the sun comes up or after it goes down- partly to avoid the heat, mostly to avoid the public humiliation. So I'm taking a huge risk to agree to do this race, and I wouldn't do it without a friend I greatly trust running alongside me. (She's 15 weeks pregnant and ran a 10K with me- that says a lot about her friendship, her general hard-core-ness, and, well, my running pace). Anyhow, given my insecurities, if I'm going to do this race, ALL THE DUCKS HAD BETTER BE IN A ROW! I better know _exactly_ what's expected of me. When I did the triathlon in Los Alamos, they gave me a little bag with a schedule, a route map, important reminders, numbers to call, and my little pinned-on placard with my number. Perfect. I love specifics. Especially when they're encased in plastic.

But that's not really how life works here. When I walked by Nakumatt for the 4th time that day, hoping someone would show up to register me for the race, a young man had indeed arrived with some lime green t-shirts that said "Mater Heart Run." Great. I go to talk with him and discover he smells like he had just run a marathon, but I'm basically used to that these days and continue the conversation. He tells me all about what a good cause it is. Perfect. I'd like to actually run in the race; is that possible? Yes, yes, yes- did I tell you about what a good cause it is? Yes, you did; now, can you tell me a little about the race? Sure- there's a 3K, a 10K, a 21 K, and a 42 K. All right, how do I register for the 10K? By buying this t-shirt for $13 - simply having the t-shirt registers you. And it's such a good cause! OK, I got that- how do I know where to run for the 10K? It's such a good cause- you are helping poor children receive open heart surgery! Yes, but where is the race? Downtown- for a good cause! But where downtown? C'mon, buy a t-shirt- it's such a good cause! I might buy a t-shirt and register if you could tell me some specifics about the race! (Deep breath) Do you have an information sheet? He looks at me like I'm clearly being unreasonable. It's such a good cause- why won't I just buy a t-shirt!?! Argh!!! I told him I might come back later.

In the meantime, I think through the fact that there are a group of us planning to do the run, and between us, we'll probably be able to sort things out. (And of course, it's such a good cause). So I go back, buy the t-shirt, and hope for the best.

Sure enough, communal intelligence comes through again- one's misinformation is countered by the others, and by the time race day arrives, we've agreed to act on what we think is probably true. How reassuring. And as we head for the stadium where we _think_ the race will start and finish, there are little clumps of green t-shirts getting off matatus and walking with friends. They're going the same direction we are, so that's promising.

The race experience itself was overwhelming: 3000 people in BRIGHT green t-shirts, mass step-aerobics as a warmup, speeches and more speeches, starting the "race" walking behind a marching band blaring some generic Kenyan/Mexican sounding brassiness. We couldn't quite figure out when to start running- they had said to stay behind the band until we got to the street, but which street? At one point we just decided to start running, but there were so many people that we were dodging and weaving and hitting human traffic jams... I definitely should have carried a camera to show you folks running in jeans and flip-flops, the nun running with a green t-shirt stretched over her habit, and my favorite: the woman running in a full burqa. Wow.

We lost most of the unusual characters at the first uphill, but Lara and I enjoyed the scenery, talked a little, and jogged a long loop around downtown Nairobi. I didn't feel as self-conscious as I expected to: Running White Girl is not all that much stranger than plain ol' White Girl, so I didn't get stared at any more than usual. We were still weaving in and out of crowds, and maybe that made the distance closer to 10K. But right about the time I decided, "OK, this is the point where I need to be disciplined and tell myself to keep running," we turned a corner and were looking at the stadium that held the finish line. Both of us agreed we could have pushed harder had we known how short it was going to feel.

So here are the triumphant Rosslyn runners; we were so proud of ourselves that we're talking about doing the half-marathon in October.

But I have one question: Do you think _that_ race will give me details encased in plastic?

In Today's Sermon...

2009-05-10T20:52:00.004+03:00

"Marriage is a one-way street in a car with no reverse gear. And the next roundabout is death."

How uplifting.

And, "You must love your wife, even if her ugali (maize meal) regularly disintegrates."

(I've spent all day trying to decide if this is a Kenyan euphemism, and if so, for what?)

Random Egypt Pictures

2009-05-04T16:20:00.009+03:00

I'll tell the truth- at this point, all the ruins started to look alike. So I'm switching to "pictures I like" instead of "pictures that tell a story."

Queen Hatshepsut's temple

The essence of Chris L, up there in the white- "C'mon, race me!"

The Citadel
The narrow, overwhelming streets of a bazaar
Night Ruins

Day Ruins

Obelisks
Tomb Raiders
Our secret desires exposed... we all really want to be in a musical.

More Egypt Pictures

2009-05-03T16:50:00.004+03:00

When we arrived in Luxor, we were transported to our cruise ship (HMS Tulip), introduced to our tour guide (the indefatigable Mohammed), and given some time to settle in. I told you last post that this day held my favorite spot; we soon proceeded to the temple at Karnak. From the front it might not look like much- some big walls surrounded by dusty desert with a little of modern-day Luxor visible. But up closer there were rows of sphinxes, and beyond that...

The pictures don't do it justice, but there are rows and rows and rows of massive columns inside. Hundreds of them! The best mental image I can give is from the first Lord of the Rings movie, when they walk into the great hall of the underground dwarf city... I was amazed. The magnitude and strength and staying power were impressive. In some of the areas less affected by the sun, you could still see the original colors on the hieroglyphs- the reds and yellows and blues. We tend to assume they were always stone-colored, but they weren't.

Later, we headed by bus to the second half of the same massive complex. It still amazes me that we got to be this close to such ancient things (and that they're still holding up so well!)

In order to balance out the foreign and lasting, we ended the day with something familiar and temporary- another trip to McDonald's. I shake my head at myself.

A Full Day in Cairo

2009-04-27T20:11:00.008+03:00

I'm very grateful for the rain, but it does wreak havoc with our internet connection. It seems I can upload about 2 pictures a day. So thanks for your patience...

As I think back on our second day in Egypt, I can't believe all that we did! In the morning, we headed the Egyptian Museum, pictured here. Cameras were not allowed inside, but there were some pretty cool hieroglyphics and statues out in the courtyard. The museum itself was vast, and I could have spent a lot more time there. I wasn't much a fan of the leering guards (or the leering Egyptian men in general), but the museum itself was terrific- I especially enjoyed the Mummy Room and the artifacts from King Tut's tomb.

The day before, we had been to the Pyramids, a papyrus factory, and a clothing store specializing in Egyptian Cotton (oh, and McDonald's, and Chilis). Today we continued our journey, heading from the Museum to the Citadel. Here we are eating snacks while waiting in line to get in. Anyhow, inside the Citadel there's an impressive mosque- the tallest minarets I've ever seen- and beautiful architecture. We took off our shoes in respect; now I can prove that my toes have been in Egypt. =)

From the Citadel we moved on to a big bazaar: Khan El-Kalili. Now, I thought I was pretty adept at bargaining and at ignoring pushy salesman. I was wrong. This was _much_ more intense than bargaining in Kenya, and I was quickly overwhelmed by the narrow streets, heaps of vendors, and winding alleyways. Eventually I and the Chrises bailed, while Wendy and our guide Marwa went back for round two. But despite my early exit, I did get some good stuff for my apartment, and I bought my grandmother the pyramid she requested.

The sun was going down, but our day was not yet over- time to catch the overnight train to Luxor. At the train station we stood around for hours waiting for our train, observing the groups of tourists, trying to guess nationalities, and eating the KFC we had picked up along the way (our 2nd meal from there that day...). A prisoners' train came through, we got cussed at and tried to avoid eye contact, and the next one was our "luxury sleeper" to Luxor. After a few hands of Rook, we fell asleep to prepare for the next day in Upper Egypt.

More to come- we visited my favorite place the next day...

Pyramid Pictures

2009-04-20T17:56:00.009+03:00

The basics: a Pyramid, the Sphinx, the people.

The people from left to right are Chris Lehman, Jessie Gac, Wendy Porter, and Chris Ritchie.

The second pyramid, with a little of the original covering still on it.

Did you know the pyramids aren't in the middle of nowhere? They're practically in the city, and definitely affected by that city's haze early in the morning...

Egypt Observations

2009-04-19T19:18:00.002+03:00

You've probably noticed the delay in getting any Egypt info up since my return... How do I summarize a trip like that- the silly, the serious, the majestic, the tacky, the wonder, the frustration, the expected, the surprising?

Hm. Maybe I'll work from least to greatest. We went to McDonalds a lot. Five times in fact. I say this with utter embarrasment, but have to quickly add that I was a willing participant, and that we also went to Starbuck's, KFC, Pizza Hut, TGI Friday's, and Chili's. If I had been coming from the US to Egypt, I would have scorned these things and been disgusted by the sprawl of American marketing. Coming from Kenya, where none of those chains exist, they were welcome tastes of home. I maintain enough of my scorn to have mixed feelings about our eating habits, but I'll confess that I enjoyed my chicken crispers.

Another unexpected taste of home- I ran into people from Los Alamos in our little tour group! There were the 4 of us Rosslyn teachers, a woman from Tasmania, and a couple who work at the Lab. Weird. My Rosslyn friends are _starting_ to believe the stories I tell about "the other LA" after being asked questions like "What latitude do you live at?" =) I love nerds.

Of course the sightseeing was phenomenal: I'VE BEEN INSIDE A PYRAMID! You know, the Great ones! In Egypt! It was hot and stuffy and narrow (and made me want to sing the Indiana Jones theme). I've dipped my hand in The River Nile- our tour guides never referred to it as The Nile, nor The Nile River. Always The River Nile. I've feared for my life while an Egyptian cab driver takes his hands off the wheel to clap along to his favorite song while navigating crazy traffic. I've been to The Egyptian Museum. Not the wing in the British Museum, nor the stuff displayed in the Louvre. The one in Cairo. That one. I've been inches away from mummies and wondered at how their hair is still preserved. I've seen alabaster canopic jars with the organs still inside (ew). I now own some Egyptian cotton and know what the costume designer in The Incredibles was talking about. =) I've bargained for jewelry in an Arabic bazaar (didn't bargain in Arabic, of course), and I've touched hieroglyphics in the Valley of the Kings. I've wandered the catacombs in Alexandria and pondered The Citadel in Cairo. I've been dwarfed by the columns at Karnak and burned my feet on desert sand.

What I apparently _can't_ do tonight is get my pictures to upload, so I'll have to save my further musing for another date. But I hope you enjoyed this preview (hint: comments inspire further blogging).

I'm Off!

2009-04-03T17:59:00.002+03:00

Well, Spring Break is officially here! My grades are exported, my lesson plans written, my xeroxing done. I can walk into my classroom on the 14th ready to go. So I feel free and easy, but I've worked plenty hard this week and am in that beginning-of-vacation crash mode, the one where I fall asleep watching a movie on Friday afternoon and _maybe_ wake up Saturday for dinner...

But I'll have to forgo my usual hibernation this time: I'm leaving for EGYPT!!! =) =)

Yes indeedy, at 2 AM tonight/tomorrow the taxi will stop outside my apartment, and I'll load in myself and my big blue backpack. 3 more folks to pick up, flight leaves at 5:15, arrive in Cairo mid-morning, and head straight for the pyramids. The camera's charging, I have an extra pair of contacts, we've stocked up on Dramamine for the plane/bus/boat/train rides, and I'm ready to kick Chris, Chris, and Wendy's butts at Sudoku. They're ready to kick mine at Rook no doubt, and they promise to teach me ?Yuker? Eucher? Euchre? Youkurr? Sure. I look forward to a lot of laughter, some amazing sights, and stories to tell for years.

Pictures are sure to follow. Have a terrific Easter!

Ants

2009-03-29T18:10:00.002+03:00

I regard the ants with a mixture of anger and awe.

Anger- they are everywhere. I have pretty good number sense, and I'm certain there are 900 thousand billion of them living in my kitchen wall. So the smallest bit of available food is instantaneously found, whether it be a grain of rice or a shaving of cheese. Fats and sugars are their favorite (incidentally, they won't touch Blue Band, our strangely-textured margarine substitute... wise ants). I have unfortunately resorted to pesticides of late, and their little melted exoskeletons are stacked half an inch high in places. Like black, leggy snowdrifts.

Awe- they find anything. An unfortunate gecko fell into my bathtub and wiggled off his tail in his panic to escape. Gross all on its own, made more so by the swarm of ants consuming the tail. Even worse: the second trail leading to his still-raw hindquarters.

Anger- Last night, I was going to be responsible and cook instead of going out to eat, until I found that my pasta-straining colander (what's there to eat on a colander?) was covered in ants. I texted my friend back and said, "I take back my no. Need me to drive to the restaurant?"

Awe- how could I have killed so many and yet so many remain?

Anger, and this was the last straw- they got my Nutter Butters! The ones I had been saving for a particularly stressful day (like this one). The package was a peanut-butter-scented ant farm. Everything was reduced to granules, and an intricate tunnel system ran throughout. To add insult to injury, it was all used up; the ants had apparently relocated.

I can't face my kitchen. I wonder what it will do to my budget to not cook for an entire week.

Spring Break can't come soon enough.

More Police Adventures

2009-03-21T20:49:00.002+03:00

I generally try not to live in fear. And so, despite my traumatic incident with police checkpoints last summer, I have slowly become more brave regarding them. In fact, this evening as Dalina and I were coming home from dinner, I had to decide which way to head home. Should I pick the longer way with more speedbumps but surely no checkpoints, or the more direct route that includes a checkpoint more often than not? I stoutheartedly chose the latter.

Sure enough, a flashlight was waved my direction, and so I pulled over. Our windows were open (it's hot!), so the policeman felt compelled to talk with us. I felt I was being very culturally appropriate- greeted him, answered his questions, was unintimidated. He glanced at my insurance sticker and asked to see my driver's license. No problem. I have a Kenyan driver's license- a red fold-out affair that states my date of birth as "over 18" and contains possibly the most flattering official photograph ever taken of me. Well, no one glances up at me in horror when they see it, anyway, which is an improvement over my drivers license in the States...

Unfortunately, the little red booklet was in a pocket of my purse I don't use that often, and when the policeman unfolded it, he found a thousand-shilling note tucked inside (basically a $20 bill). Corruption is a huge issue in Kenya; it looked like I was trying to bribe him. Which of course implies that I have something I would need to bribe him for, and assumes he would be interested in taking that bribe. He hands the booklet and the bill back to me and tells me there's some money in there. I am of course terribly embarrassed, and all my cultural awareness flies out the wide-open windows: I thank him profusely, commend him for being honest, and do what I would do in the States- ask for his name so I can tell his supervisor what a good job he has done. He laughs and continues to question me in a very friendly manner, which I interpret as false humility/African relationalness.

Then he asks for my number.

I'm sworn back off police checkpoints.

Reading

2009-03-15T13:45:00.002+03:00

Life hasn't been all that publicly exciting lately- plenty going on, but not many bloggable "events." But I suppose one feature of my ordinary life in Kenya is worth discussing...

I've always loved to read. During my childhood, one day a week during the summer was trip-to-the-library day, and the rule was you could only get as many books as you could carry on the walk home. Our little arms would get so tired! But I distinctly recall the significant breakthrough when we discovered that we could bring our little red wagon and load it up with books each week for the trip home. One person's job was to pull the wagon, and the other person would make sure the books didn't fall out, for they were definitely piled to overflowing. Then we would switch for fairness, of course- Ben and I were all about good division of labor.

In elementary school, I was that kid who would walk down the hallway reading a paperback while the troublemakers tried trip me by putting backpacks in my path. But of course I would suavely step over the obstacle; I have excellent peripheral vision. Possibly because I was always observing life from behind a book. Hm. Anyhow, when I REALLY got in trouble as a child, my parents would ground me from reading- I was not allowed to read anything beyond what was required for school. It was torture, and I suppose it's time to confess that I would often hide a book in my towel on the way to the bathroom, turn on the shower, and read on the sly. Now that I live in a place with a water shortage, I am ashamed, but at the time, it seemed extremely necessary.

But life got busy, and by the time I was in late high school, I didn't have time to read for pleasure anymore. Life was packed with music and friends and academics and church, and there just wasn't the space to read. College and early adulthood continued this trend; textbooks gave way to grading papers, and I rarely just read.

Then I moved to Kenya. One of the biggest adjustments was the amount of down time here- fewer established relationships, no evening activities, lighter teaching load. And just when I thought that my schedule was unbearably empty, I got the mumps and was house/hospitalbound for a good 6 weeks.

So I rediscovered reading. Friends lent books or went to the school library on my behalf. I read The Secret Life of Bees, the first two Eragon books, The Power of One, Stardust, Dune, A Thousand Splendid Suns, and countless others. And in this post-mump year, I've continued to read regularly, and while I don't take in nearly the volume that I did while I was sick (or while I was in elementary school), I've enjoyed my rediscovered reading habit.

Another Gac characteristic is the desire to be undefinable- to have such a diversity of ideas that no one can really say they fully know you. That's probably worth it's own blog post and several months of therapy, but here it relates to my post-Christmas book choices: A Walk in the Woods (Bill Bryson- humorous, irreverent, environmentalist anecdotes about hiking the Appalachian Trail), Things Fall Apart (Chinua Achebe, Nigerian novel about African life before/during/after colonization) and Musicophilia (Oliver Sacks, a neurologist who writes fascinating non-fiction, in this case about the brain's responses and misresponses to music).

So what I need is more options! Suggestions I might be able to find at our school library? Used books you're excited to send me? My small bookshelf is slowly becoming populated, but it could use some help... What do you say?

Anything Can Be Pirated. Anything.

2009-03-03T20:37:00.005+03:00

About once a week I eat at Diamond Plaza, a haven for cheap Indian food and for all things pirated. This treasure was discovered a few months ago, and it was quite worth the $3...

Wild Strawberries

2009-02-19T17:04:00.003+03:00

Logic is an interesting animal- things that make So Much Sense in one's own head can be rather off-base.

My best example is the time my father tried to poison me.

I was probably 3 or 4 years old, and our family went hiking a lot. So of course my mother had instructed me to never eat anything I found in the woods, no matter how good it looked- it could poison me. In typical Gac "squeeze all the learning out of every moment" fashion, we had discussed how big bodies might not be as susceptible to poison as small bodies because it would be dispersed in a greater mass (ok, we might not have used the word dispersed, but then again, we might have). So it was especially important that I, as a tiny person, not eat even a taste of something that could harm me.

It was a Sunday afternoon a few months later, and I remember that I had been a bit of a pill earlier in the day. My wise father took me off my mother's hands for the afternoon, and we went to hike at East Fork. It's now one of my favorite places in the world, pictured here:

It was late June, and Dad found a patch of wild strawberries in some shady glen. Wanting to share the experience with his young strawberry-loving daughter, he invited me to try some.

I quite logically assumed that, as punishment for being a pain earlier in the day, he was trying to poison me. I hadn't quite grasped the "consider the character of the person making the argument" aspect of debate, and I had a mental rebuttal for every reason he gave. He said, "Look, I'm eating them!" I thought, "Yes, but you have a bigger body. Poison won't affect you as much." He said, "They look good, don't they?" But I knew, "Poison might look good. Like in the Garden of Eden. It's still poison." And so I cried and got worked up and absolutely refused to eat the strawberries he was offering me. It was all so logical, though I didn't explain my thought process to my dad- I just sobbed, sniffled, and shook my head.

A few years ago, I recounted this story to my parents, who had never heard it before. We all had a good laugh at my familiar strong will. But it made me think: how often do we follow the same pattern with our Heavenly Father? How often do we apply our limited, makes-sense-to-me understanding to His actions? What exquisite gifts do we miss out on because we refuse to consider the character of the One making the offer?

So, my friends, may you accept the wild strawberries you happen upon today...

Hiking the Ngong Hills

2009-02-15T16:59:00.005+03:00

Yesterday, 5 friends and I hiked the Ngong Hills. This was my second time (first here), and it was much easier with no culture shock and, well, a slightly less eggplant-shaped body. The men still hiked faster, of course. When we topped the first hill, they had drawn quite the admiring crowd.

This time our guard was Humphrey. He says his gun is a ?G-4?, which I made a point to ask about since it raised such a comment storm last time. He stated that he's never actually seen any bad guys on the trail, which is good I suppose. Anyhow, we girls felt quite safe, and here we are triumphant at the top of the highest hill.

On the way back, we had fabulous conversation about competitive cheese-chasing (apparently there is a televised sport involving pursuing a giant wheel of cheese down an alpine slope), and I took the defining photograph of the Lehman-Barnett rock band. Too bad none of them play instruments.
The day ended beautifully with a nap under a shade tree and Ethiopian food for supper (shiro-wat makes my heart sing, appropriate for Valentine's Day). What a very good day!

Eau de Seventh Grade Boy

2009-02-11T19:41:00.002+03:00

This priceless distillation of middle school boy was relayed to me by his mom, when his team dressed up for an important soccer game...

Mom: Wow, buddy, you look great! What will the girls say?
Boy: Don't worry, Mom. That's why I'm not wearing deodorant.

Birthday Dinner Pic

2009-02-05T18:08:00.003+03:00

Faces from left to right: Jess, Wendy, Chris R, Kim, Jessie, Chris L, and Dalina

Summary: great friends and mediocre Thai food. Did I mention the great friends? =)

Middle School Banquet 09

2009-01-31T21:27:00.005+03:00

If it ain't broke, don't fix it. This year's banquet again had delicious Indian food, round tables, and strings of lights. We all stuffed ourselves and had a fabulous time.

More Grocery Adventures

2009-01-24T20:27:00.002+03:00

I'm pretty decent at food shopping these days, though a trip to the vegetable stand and Nakumatt still holds its challenges. I know and plan for it to be a multi-hour commitment, between driving there, greeting the stand owner, finding out whether she has what I need and if not if she knows anyone who does, then driving over the the shopping center, experiencing the world of Nakumatt, bringing the groceries home, then cleaning/soaking/deboning/repackaging the appropriate parts. The store is constantly being reorganized- today I saw beer next to Tom Yum sauce- so there's not much predictability in product location. Add that to the mental gymnastics of planning a week's worth of meals from scratch, translating that into quantities of staple ingredients (how much flour do I need to make tortillas, ginger cookies, that one chicken dish, dinner rolls, and banana bread this week?), and then being familiar enough with the recipes that I can adjust/substitute/recover when one or more ingredients is inevitably AWOL... On the plus side, I don't find myself haggling over prices anymore; I know what's reasonable to pay, I have a relationship with the people I regularly purchase from, and they quote me the real price right off.

But today I had a new mission: bread crumbs. I decided to bravely try to make Chicken Parmigiana from scratch for supper tonight, on the hope that it would turn out well and be a meal I can predictably serve to guests. I wanted some these pre-packaged bread crumbs that are great for coating chicken. I know they exist. I have some in my freezer. How they got there I couldn't tell you, but they are good and useful. The packaging looks cheap enough that I suspect they came from Nakumatt and are actually produced in the store, increasing my chances of finding them. But I had never bought them nor seen them on the shelves. Despite these obstacles, I decided to venture forth with hope and not despair: I put bread crumbs on my list.

I arrived at Nakumatt this morning during Stocking Time. Now, when I told my friend Beth this story, she heard it as Stalking Time and giggled. I responded that yes, I was stalking my prey of bread crumbs; she informed me that she meant the kind of stalking that creepy men do, and thought it was funny that there was a specific time set aside for that. Hm. Well, I might have been stalked while at Nakumatt, and I was indeed stalking the breadcrumbs like a lioness, and fortunately someone was also stocking the bread crumbs while I stalked. I procured the new ingredient without the usual 14-times-round-the-store search! 'Twas a miracle.

As it turned out, the Chicken Parmigiana was guest-worthy, so I have more good food to add to my repertoire. Stalking/stocking/stalking was well worth it.

First Weekend Back

2009-01-18T20:06:00.002+03:00

Diving back into school at the start of a semester is always challenging, but my students did well. We were all pretty exhausted by the end of the day Friday, though, so I'm glad I've had such a restful and pleasant weekend. Here's the rundown, you gluttons for boring details:

Friday after school: Bus duty. Every other day for 18 weeks, I stay a few extra hours after school and make sure everybody's doing what they're supposed to be doing. Basically I halt elementary kids who are playing and ask them who's watching them. If they can't point to the mom/dad/driver, we start making phone calls. This week there were two little munchkins who were un-picked-up for some reason, so we hung out and tried to solve the problem until I eventually dropped them off at the elementary principal's house for safekeeping. (Another reason I don't want to be an administrator). But a bizarre benefit to the whole experience- the aforementioned administrator has found Good Milk here!! It comes from the organic food store and can only be purchased on Wednesdays (of course), but it is Good Milk! She gave me a liter in her great kindness, and I have been drinking it all weekend.

Friday night: Bollywood at Wendy's. A bunch of friends got together to make mini-pizzas and watch a movie. This evening's treasure was Dhoom 2, a mix of action-adventure-romance and of course catchy musical numbers. It lasted a long time, was in Hindi, and was just so dramatic. A noteworthy experience.

Saturday: The National Museum. My friend Dalina will be taking her class there on a field trip later this week, so Chris L and I joined her to scope the joint and write 3rd-grade-appropriate questions about the exhibits. The museum gets a solid B in my opinion. It's not huge, but it's interesting, and it's somewhere I've driven past for a year and a half and wanted to go in. A good activity on a rainy Saturday.

Hey! It rained on Saturday and Sunday! Remember, it's summer here- hot and dry. And Kenya's experiencing a drought that's putting lots of folks in danger of starvation. So this rain was quite welcome; it's truly a miracle to have rain in January. But we're still doing water conservation measures like saving our shower water to use to flush the toilet. So please keep praying about the food shortages in Kenya.

Saturday night: DP & Australia. DP stands for Diamond Plaza, the El Parasol of Indian food. Cheap, basic, unhealthy, and phenomenally delicious/addictive. Australia was the movie Australia. It was epic.

Sunday morning: a pleasant early run on the track- the cassia trees are starting to bloom. When the flame trees are in bloom, I think they're my favorite. Same with the jacarandas. But I've changed my mind again- the cassias are my favorite. =) Church was also good, as was lunch afterwards. Dalina contributed ranch dressing to our wraps, and Chris can now saute chicken. Big step forward.

And finally, this evening I spent with some Wheaton-connected friends and their kids. This husband's an excellent cook, the wife is serious about her relationship with Christ, and the kids are smart and delightful. I had a wonderful time.

The gaps in the weekend were a nice mix of sudoku (new big book from my parents for Christmas), Numb3rs (featuring the most handsome man on television, or on DVD as it were), and naps. I am well rested and looking forward to this upcoming week of school! I like living in Nairobi. =)

More LA Pictures

2009-01-13T20:45:00.003+03:00

Alrighty, facebook folk, you already saw these, but they're just too fun to not post here too. And thanks to Jill K for the lovely hat- it certainly helped me adjust to cold North America!

Kevin and Kate are deep friends of mine, and it was a delight to be in ministry with them for years and years. Olivia is the answer to many prayers and a tangible reminder of God's faithfulness. And yes, Kevin, I also hope you and Olivia someday have a relationship like my dad and I do. =)

A Whirlwind of Blessing

2009-01-11T15:08:00.006+03:00

My time in the States was wonderful! Now, by the end I was thoroughly exhausted and ready to get on a plane so I could get some sleep, but wow, God really blessed the trip. If I tried to explain the conversations and unexpected path-crossings that took up the three weeks, I'd bore you and no doubt leave out some really significant ones. So here are some pictures instead, though I didn't pull out my camera for most of the trip...

Home in the mesas, mountains, and snow

Ina chewing on her African giraffe
Visiting some of my students- Kathy NEVER looks at the camera

Hanging out at the Simple Lodge

Jessie and the Los Alamos Boys- what great brothers I have! =)

Yay for married Lynches!

Skiing: why God made winter
Tim: why God made Christine
Fuzzy Ice Man

A Great Start to the New Year

2009-01-08T08:12:00.002+03:00

I promise to post heaps of good reunion photos once I arrive in Nairobi (which doesn't make sense, since the internet is SO MUCH FASTER here), but I'm simply too tired tonight.

These 3 weeks have held blessing after blessing, one random/God-ordained meeting after another, heaps of snow, and a mountain of great memories. This exit from the US seems to be the easiest yet; I'm looking forward to what awaits in Nairobi, and I'm not as worried about which friendships will or won't survive the distance. I'm more comfortable with this idea: Relationships will change, but their significance can be maintained despite sporadic contact. In other words...

oh-no-i-almost-posted-a-michael-w-smith-song. Way past time to go to bed.

But upon third revision I can't resist: A lifetime's not too long...

Green Chile on the Table...

2008-12-27T18:29:00.003+03:00

... and friends around it.

Chad and Jill took great care of me in my initial jet lag stage, even treating me to lunch at Flying Star where we connected with the ever-expanding Christensen family. I've known Kyle since he was born, Chrissy is a dear friend to me, and Ina is such a sweetie!

North America

2008-12-24T17:04:00.002+03:00

So I'm here in Los Alamos, and the snow is beautiful (except when I was shoveling it yesterday morning). Man, this country is COLD.

But holding new babies seems to take the chill off, and I was delighted to meet Ina, Olivia, and Avalon over the last few days.

My parents are here, too, fresh in from DC, and my mom has my old cell phone. So if ya wanna get together, that's a good way of getting ahold of me.

Gotta go- I'm on a strict "every 12 hours" green chile intake schedule! =)

More Fun with Doug

2008-12-19T14:20:00.006+03:00

Doug (and everyone else on earth) takes better pictures than I do, so here are some of his.

Hyena- I didn't realize how big they are: think Great Dane-sized, not Zeke-sized.
"The Lion King" fails me yet again...

Cape Buffalo

He really is that near the giraffe- no photoshop involved.

Doug & the Rift Valley- looks kinda like Northern NM.

Doug climbing, despite altitude, jet lag and 2-inch-thick volcanic dust

The classic self-take at the top of Mt. Longonot

Doug, an acacia tree, and the peak

Action shot- bounding down the mountain.

I'm obviously having a good time. =)

Adventures with Doug

2008-12-16T18:14:00.005+03:00

I'm waiting for Mr. Thacker to get back from the coast so I can post his pictures of us climbing Mt. Longonot in record time, but here are some other Los Alamos-meets-Kenya pictures to hold you over.

Six of us headed into the Aberdare mountains for safari, picture taking, and general adventure. We stayed at The Ark, a lodge built by a waterhole and salt lick. Never before have I been awakened at 3 AM to the sound of elephants trumpeting... Wendy and I headed out to the viewing deck and watched tiny baby elephants hide under their mamas. Pretty cute.

The group, with the lodge in the background

The Aberdares

Giraffe and Mt. Kenya- I hope this never feels ordinary to me.

Doug walking towards some warthogs. We _tried_ to tell him they weren't razorbacks.

Pretty girls and the shadows of the people who want to take pictures of them

Cape buffalo sparring

Manicured beauty, but beauty nonetheless

A gregarious impala

Looking Good. And Mennonite.

2008-12-08T17:12:00.002+03:00

I've been a bit appearance-conscious this week. Like I wrote last post, I recently bought a bunch of clothes that actually fit me, so I've gotten lots of compliments. Last Saturday night was the staff Christmas banquet, and I wore my "hot red dress." It's not wildly inappropriate; it's just a bright red cocktail dress that I tried on as a joke and then loved enough to bring to Africa. I have a theory that the reason the Polish flag is red and white is that Polish women look great in those colors and the men of the country designed the flag as a ploy to get them to wear 'em.

Anyway, red dress. Good.

But Sunday morning, laundry hadn't been done this week, so I chose a long dress I hadn't worn in a while simply because it was clean, I put a cardigan over it, and headed off the the monthly Hymn Sing at the Mennonite Guest House.

After the hymn singing, we stand around and schmooze over coffeecake. One father was making small talk with me, and commented that I "looked Mennonite"- is that how I ended up at Rosslyn? (Mennonites are part-owners of the school).

I absolutely don't know how to take that. I look Mennonite? Now, I'm certain he meant it as a compliment- he himself is Mennonite, and several people have mentioned that his wife and I look a bit alike. And I'm not necessarily insulted; there are plenty of things in Mennonite theology that I agree with and appreciate. But to look Mennonite? What does that mean? And it makes me wonder- did I look Mennonite the night before, in the cocktail dress? Hm. What other Mennonite women do I know? My sister-in-law is a hot Mennonite chick. I know it's possible.

But I still really don't know what to think of that comment.

A Few Highlights

2008-12-06T06:22:00.003+03:00

Life's been crazy busy lately, so no deep and complete thoughts for blogging. But there have been a few highlights:

Teaching at a Christian school at Christmastime is nice. We get to sing carols in concerts and recognize them as the worship songs they are. I especially enjoy the last stanza of Joy to the World:

He rules the world with truth and grace
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness
And wonders of His love

It was good to sit between two of my most distractible 8th grade boys during a school concert the other night and hear them sing with gusto. I pray that one in particular, whom I know to be a Muslim, will grasp the truth of what he was singing.

Used clothes and process of getting them can be fun. Toi Market is a set of stalls on the edge of Kibera slum, and it's a great place to go when the wardrobe you brought over from the States is feeling a bit ho-hum. My friend Lara and I went a couple of Saturdays ago, and her artist's eye helped me find some clothes beyond my usual blue & purple. And our friendship moved to a new level... See, you can't really put a changing room in a market stall that's 4 feet by 10 feet. Most places don't even have mirrors. So you and a friend go together, ask, "Do you have a place to change?" and you make sure that the curtain they string along the back of the stall stays up while your friend tries on her clothes while standing on her shoes (dirt floor), and you lean back as far as possible so you can answer "How does this look?" when you're standing 6 inches apart. That'll bond you.

Rediscovering the euphonium has also been pleasant. The choir director here is a good friend of mine, and she knows my high school instrument secret. I hadn't played low brass for almost a decade, but she wrote an arrangement that included a baritone, and I performed it last night. I didn't do phenomenally, but I didn't embarrass myself either. It was nice to find that voice again, and the trombone player I was seated next to mentioned that the Nairobi Orchestra is often short on low brass; would I be interested in playing with them sometime? I don't know if anything will come of it, but it's a pleasant thought.

These upcoming days and weeks will also hold a lot- staff banquet tonight, progressive dinner Monday night, Doug's arrival Tuesday (yay!), plenty of hiking and walking and touring him around during the next few weeks. So as you can probably guess, the blogging futures for the next few weeks don't look good. But maybe we'll both be surprised.

So blessings on you, friends, as you absorb the wonders of the Advent season- that God entered our world so very tangibly, and that He always keeps His promises.

The Next Decade of Adventures

2008-11-19T19:40:00.002+03:00

Today I got a new passport.

I could tell semi-amusing anecdotes about how American government agencies are just as frustratingly bureaucratic as any other country's, but actually, this morning went pretty well. Including the 20 minute walk each way, the 4 layers of security, and the fact that I lost my receipt and had to get a new one, the entire experience took less than an hour. Impressive.

And now I have a shiny new passport, very electronic-looking, still stiff, with a printed-in photo instead of a laminated-on one. Incidentally, I'm VERY happy to be rid of the old photo. Many of you remember my giant round glasses, and I look so peaceful in the picture that, well, I possibly look stoned. Angel calls the picture "Harry-Potter-John-Lennon-Jessie," and that's not entirely inaccurate... The new photo looks like me, which is all you can hope for in an official ID, though I'm ashamed to say that the old one also looked like me at the time.

Getting a new passport is a bit like starting a new journal- what will this one hold? What will God do in this space? What adventures will be represented by the stamps? Where will I go in the next 10 years? I barely escaped adding pages to the old passport- there was one free space left. This one's sure to be overfilled, even just with normal traffic to the States and back. I've already sent it off for my work permit and re-entry pass, and I do have a Stateside trip planned over the holidays. So that's 3 pages already spent. Other semi-planned trips include stops in Egypt, UAE/Dubai, the Netherlands, and possibly Japan. And that's just in the next year or so! My Kilimanjaro climbing buddy and I have talked about Machu Picchu, so maybe I'll finally get a South American stamp, and I'll likely visit South Africa, Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Uganda at least once during this first term. I wonder if I'll be living in Africa in a decade. I wonder if China will resurface in my life after all. I wonder, I wonder, I wonder.

And of course, retiring this passport makes me reminisce about the places it has been: Thailand, Cambodia, New Zealand (I'll be very sad if that stamp's not repeated in this passport), England, Croatia, Tanzania. More unusual- my passport's been to Perth, Australia, but I haven't. But that's a whole other story featuring a sketchy visa agency, a lavish office in the middle of an empty warehouse district, a giant cigar-smoking blond Norseman with big muscles, his scantily clad Thai secretary with her desk drawer full of multicolored passports, and my host family assuring me everything will be perfectly fine. It's a good story- remind me to tell you sometime.

I never would have guessed the twists my life has taken in the past decade, and I certainly expected to be living overseas long before this point in my life. But God in His good plan gave me seasons of waiting, opportunities for rest and for service, and yet chances to see so many of His wonders all over the world.

So even if the picture embarrasses me in 10 years, I bet this new little blue book will still speak to me of God's kindness and His unexpected storyline in my life. I'm looking forward to it.

Christmas Visit

2008-11-16T07:50:00.002+03:00

This morning I'm a little homesick, which prompted me to make a list of what I'm looking forward to about being in the US. I don't know if it made the homesickness better or worse...

I haven't blogged in a while, so I thought I'd share the list. Some have "I need a break from Africa" undertones, which I usually don't allow myself and hardly ever publish. But it will give you some insight into what I'm feeling these days. Remember- the list is far from complete, so rest assured that I AM looking forward to seeing you even if it didn't cross my mind at 5:30 this morning.

Things I'm looking forward to on this visit:

Worshiping at Crossroads
Coming into a warm building from the cold
A hug from Uncle Arf
Seeing progress on the new building (the framing was almost done at my going away party)
Breakfast with Dad
A backrub from Mom
Chile Works
Bobcat Bite
Holding my new "nieces and nephews"- Ava, Ina, Olivia, Rowan, Ryley
Skiing
Visiting the Simple Lodge and Hostel
Seeing married Lynches
Driving in the mountains
A McCranie/Schoenborn latte
El Parasol
Movies at the Reel Deal
Power that stays on
Target
Wireless internet
Knutson time
Cars that start on the first try
Dogs that aren't guards
Trading the clothes I've been wearing for the last year and a half for a different suitcaseful
Seeing who comes into Starbucks/Coffee Booth/ Film Festival
Cheese that tastes good
Stream-of-consciousness conversations at the Christensen table
Seeing how kids I've poured into are doing
Thomson time
Seeing how tall the Gilbert boys are now
A good African visit with Dena
Sidewalks
Marked lanes
Snow
A walk in Mrs. Stevens's canyon

Obama Day Outing

2008-11-06T17:57:00.009+03:00

Kenya's excited about Obama- so excited that when they heard he'd won, they declared a national holiday. For the next day.

Before the west coast polls even closed, my students showed up in first period asking, "Do we have school tomorrow? President Kibaki declared it a national holiday in honor of Obama!" Of course my response was, "Until I hear otherwise, we will ALL be at school tomorrow."

About 20 minutes later, I indeed heard otherwise. My principal walked in, explained to the kids that Rosslyn Academy would be closed tomorrow in keeping with Kenyan law, and we would run Thursday's schedule on Friday. They all cheered and blessed Obama for being Kenyan.

Kenyan expectations of Obama are interesting. The most sane response I've heard came from a friend in Kenya's Election Rights and Processes Forum: "We don't expect to become the 51st state, but we are pleased that the world community has a chance to see Kenya as a country that produces significant leaders." Well thought out, and in great contrast to thoughts like _all_ Kenyan visas to the US being approved, or Obama guaranteeing electricity and running water up in Kisumu, or Obama's Kenyan relatives being given positions in the US government.

There are cultural reasons for these wacky expectations- like I wrote a few posts back, relationships mean more here than systems. Kenya's perception of its relational status just skyrocketed, and many Kenyans don't see that the presidency is both supported and limited by major systems within the US. And when their own president can just say, "Hey, tomorrow's a holiday!" and it is, that reinforces the idea that powerful people can do whatever they want.

All that's intellectual and interesting. More to the point- we had an unexpected day off this week! My normal, hospitable, capable self seems to be resurfacing slowly; I was able to initiate and organize an activity.

Nine of us worked out a day hike to Hell's Gate, a national park about 2 hours away. We saw some animals, hiked around, scrambled our way through a slot canyon, and emerged on the other side. It was a great day.

Baby giraffes by the road

Hiking in the slot

Layers

Soft rock = graffiti; this seemed especially appropriate today.

Katherine and I

Paul looking at something only he sees

A dead end?

Not if you have helpful friends

Teamwork triumphs, and we arrive back at the top

A happy hiker

Beach Trip 08

2008-11-01T15:30:00.005+03:00

Renting a house on the coast in October should become an Rosslyn teacher tradition. I'm pretty sure it makes us better educators.

Our "home"

Dinner in a coral cave

Group photo

It's All About the Relationship

2008-10-25T18:50:00.002+03:00

In the US, we rely heavily on impersonal systems. We expect roads to go places, maps to be accurate, appointments to be kept, phones to work. Almost all of our business life and a good portion of our personal lives rely on systems that we expect to continue even if the people change.

In Kenya, it's all about the relationship. Relationships facilitate action. They keep common memory. They set prices for anything from mangoes to parking tickets. The quality of your relationships determines the quality of your life, and not just emotionally. The extent to which you know and are known controls what you are capable of in any given situation.

I recognize this. In lots of ways, I've quit expecting systems to work. When my parents visited, my mom asked lots of "why" questions, questions that assumed there was a standardized explanation for how things work. I was frustrated that I couldn't answer; I felt like blurting, "There might not be a reason! Or at least not one you or I could understand! Logic fails me so often here that I've quit trying to apply it!" Since then, I've moved from "there are no answers" to "relationships are the answer."

And so, when I was given the job of making dinner arrangements for the visiting Accreditation Team, I knew it would be pointless to call the restaurants 3 months in advance, make a reservation, and do billing arrangements over the phone. That's all system-based. That assumes the same person will own the restaurant in 3 months (or 3 weeks). That assumes there will be an appointment book where things are written down. And calling on the phone gives almost no relational weight to the request.

So two Saturdays ago, I put my hair in a bun, wore my glasses, chose carefully pressed khakis and a button-down shirt, wore big earrings, and stepped into heels. It was important to look professional, like I represented an organization that would have no trouble paying its bill. It was time to establish relationships.

The first two of the three restaurants are pretty close by, and I made them part of my Saturday errands. I came in, greeted, talked, looked around, then inquired about who I should speak with about reservations and invoices. The appropriate parties were brought in from back rooms, we sat and conversed, I chose tables and gave menu suggestions, I got business cards, and I gave them my cell phone number for further contact. I was successful.

However, the third restaurant was significantly farther away, I was running later than expected, and it's at a huge hotel that Westerners use on a regular basis. Surely they are used to the idea of making arrangements over the phone! Things went so well at the other two places; I'm on a roll. I knew I didn't want to call too far ahead- too much prior planning and things fall through the cracks here. So I waited until Monday afternoon to call, but I still did everything I could think of to assure that I was being thorough in a culturally appropriate way- I greeted. I asked their name. I told my own. I mentioned my organization. I explained why this was so important to us. I arranged for a front table when it was offered. I asked if an invoice could be sent back to me with the team. I verified this several times from different conversational angles. All in all, I was sure that things were set up well, that I had been successful, and that things would continue to go without a hitch.

Sure enough, the first two nights went swimmingly. Delicious meals were ordered and consumed, invoices were sent, and the Accreditation Team felt valued and taken care of. Their last night in Kenya came around, I made sure they had directions to the restaurant, they found their way just fine, and I mentally patted myself on the back for a job well done.

Two important facts: #1) People hardly ever talk on the phone here; they mostly text each other. My texting ringtone is soft and pleasant; my phone call ringtone is an obnoxious version of Flight of the Bumblebee. I chose this because it's distinctive, and I hear my phone ring so rarely that I need something that jars me to action. #2) I go to bed early so that I'm a nice teacher the next day. Gretta has often teased me about my watch alarm that went off at 8:50 PM for my first few years of teaching- time to leave wherever I was and head for bed so that I can fulfill my calling...

So anyway, it's 10:30 PM, and I'm asleep in my apartment. A tinny, jarring, annoying sound wakes me, I groggily recognize it's my phone, I try to locate the durn thing, and wake up enough to be concerned that I'm about to enter a family emergency on the other side of the world. But no, it's a Kenyan accent on the other end: "Hallo, how are you?" "I am fine and you?" "Me, I am fine. I am Mariam, from the Safari Park hotel. We have some clients here, and we cannot release them without payment. We do not know Rosslyn Academy. We do not have a credit relationship with them. And so we cannot release the guests until the bill is paid."

What?!? I've called! I've talked! I've been assured that there will be no problem! I called at this time on Monday! No, I don't remember who I spoke with! I have that information over at work, but I am currently at home! Obviously we are a trustworthy organization; I have given you a real phone number on which to get ahold of me! I am embarrassed for my organization! These are important visitors, and they are being treated badly! It is very important that they be released to go home! Who else may I speak to?!? How can we resolve this?!? I understand why that is your policy, but when I made these arrangements, no mention was made of that! Oh, you will go get the manager? And you will speak to him? And you will explain my case to him? You will call me back if there is still a problem? Ok. Fine. Thank you.

I roll my eyes, get back in bed, wait a few minutes for a return call, and drift back to sleep.

A half hour later, the bumblebee flies again.

I pick up the phone. "Hallo how are you i am fine how are you i am fine." After the requisite greetings, I have a man telling me that there's no way he can release these guests, they did not bring money with which to pay because we told they we've made arrangements for them, the restaurant says they can't take my credit card number over the phone to pay the bill because they can't run a number without the physical card: "We do not have that capability in Kenya." My tried and true conflict management strategy in Kenya is to just keep talking, so I continue to speak while changing out of my pajamas into my most professional clothing- red suit jacket, black skirt, dress shoes, hair in a bun, red lipstick. I'm pretty sure this isn't going to be resolved over the phone, that I'm going to have to show up in person, and that I'm going to have to drive the 30 minutes across town by myself at night to unravel this mess. So I'm gonna look serious when I get there. I ask the man if he really needs me drive across town, a woman alone in the middle of the night, to resolve this issue that shouldn't even be an issue. Eventually he gets me to promise that we will pay the bill by 6 PM tomorrow, he agrees to let the guests go, and our conversation ends.

But by now I'm dressed and in battle mode, so I can't just fall asleep again! My brain keeps going over and over how I should have gone in person in the first place, how I could have handled the situation better from a cultural perspective, whether I was a good representative of Christ, how I've made my school look bad to the people who are judging it, etc, etc, etc. I finally fell asleep between 2 and 3.

The next morning, I go to one of the administrators to see if we've received the invoice so we can pay it by 6 PM. He hears the story, is enraged, calls the hotel, and they back off and tell him he can pay it whenever finds it convenient. I'm inclined to think that gender expectations played a role in that. When a woman gets upset, it means nothing; that's what they do. When a man gets upset, you'd better respond.

At least the issue was resolved, the team got sent home eventually, and the bill was paid. But next time I know- there's no substitute for showing up in person. And I'm thinking it's time to change my ringtone.

Hoedown

2008-10-15T21:19:00.005+03:00

Since we don't have autumn here, the Rosslyn Social Committee does their best to imitate fall with our October social: bonfire, weenie roast, pony rides.

But what's a hoedown without the dancing? And despite the 1/3 Baptist ownership of Rosslyn Academy, there was SQUARE DANCING.

I suppose posting something on one's blog makes it no longer a secret: I love to square dance. Not sure why. But I love it, as evidenced by this picture where I'm smiling big enough to swallow my own face.

The next morning, I was explaining to an African friend that we had been doing traditional American harvest dances. He nodded with understanding. But then I rethought- Is YMCA a harvest dance? What about the Electric Slide? Bunny Hop? Sure.

CFS

2008-10-13T20:38:00.011+03:00

Ah yes, a Rosslyn tradition: CFS. It stands for "Really Long Days and Nights with Middle Schoolers" in Swahili. Just kidding. It stands for "Cultural Field Studies." In English.

And actually, the 3 days didn't feel that long this year- I'd been on the trip before, I knew some of what to expect, and I knew my coworker Tim and I would have each other's backs. I also felt more purposeful this time: our theme was Environmental Stewardship, and there were lots of ways to weave conversations and interactions around that idea. So I arrived at school Tuesday morning excited and ready.

The seventh grade had the shortest distance to travel, so we hung out in my classroom until the 6th and 8th grades were on their way. Former students of mine- do you miss the pi poster? =)

Free time always gives rise to interesting activities. I love this picture-so middle school. She's about to squash him like a bug.

The bus ride was fine, though I missed the hike on Crescent Island so I could take care of a girl who got a bit motion sick. We napped on the bus instead of hiking; I honestly can't complain. The class arrived at Elsamere in time for tea and sproutball (the best dodgeball variant I've ever seen- I'll have to teach it to you wyldlife leaders), and the next few days held campfires, water conservation activities, and afternoon at a local school playing soccer and touring each student's garden. We taught some sustainable farming skills, and I was pleased by the genuine interaction the students from both schools had with each other.

Of course the trip would not be complete without the boat ride to see the hippos:

Something you don't often see in North America- Lake Naivasha is surrounded and protected by papyrus.
The hippos are pretty close to the local beach- do you see how much bigger the mama hippo is than the babies?

A good Naivasha shot- Mount Longonot in the background (climbing pictures), acacia and papyrus on the shore, and hippos in the water.

The seventh grade arrived back at school on time Thursday afternoon. Parents remarked that I looked surprisingly energetic after 3 days with 41 seventh graders; thanks for your prayers for energy. And the long weekend for Moi Day came just at the right time- I slept most of the next day and haven't gotten sick, unlike several of my fellow chaperones.

All in all, it was a great trip. The academic work, biblical teaching, experiences, service project, and location all reinforced one idea: it pleases God when we take care of what He's given us. I've rarely seen such integration and clarity in a set of educational experiences, and I praise God for a wonderful week with my students and coworkers.

Eid Experiences

2008-10-01T19:02:00.003+03:00

I had today off, due to Eid al-Fitr, and so of course I'm blogging instead of grading those Algebra tests that are staring accusingly at me.

And what a good day it was...
- breakfast at Java: delicious, albeit slightly bitter. I had lost a bet and had to purchase someone else's meal too. But at least the food was good, and the company didn't rub my nose in the loss...
- helping a friend learn to drive here: a good day for a leisurely excursion, with the purple jacaranda trees in bloom and the flame trees not yet gone. I got to enjoy the beautiful place in which I live, and he didn't wreck my car. Win-win.
- Hand & Foot tournament: oh, my dear NerdBoys back in Los Alamos, would you believe that I willingly chose to participate in several hours of playing a game? Miracles never cease. Another miracle- I did OK. And never cried. Not even once.
- a little catchup grading: helps me feel ready for next week's CFS trip (pictures from last year here).
- And finally, supper at Village Market, the shopping center nearby.

Now there's the part worth blogging about. There's a significant Somali population in Nairobi, generally Muslim, and today's holiday (end of Ramadan) brought them all out in style. Intricately woven head coverings, long-long-long skirts with golden ruffles peeking out the bottom, heaps of makeup and jewelry beneath scarves, tall skinny adolescent boys trying to look like men, scowling fathers, fluttering mothers, and all packed into the outdoor food court. I've never seen the place so full.

Lining up is definitely a Western cultural value that sometimes does and sometimes doesn't transfer here. Tonight, there was no transferring. I politely stood behind one woman, waiting to order my food, when 5 more crowded around me, grabbed my elbows, and scooted me backward out of their way. It didn't even interrupt their flow of their conversation. I found it hard to be patient, forgiving, and culturally sensitive when I had been craving this particular chicken sandwich for 2 hours... Eventually I shoved hard enough myself to get up to the counter, but then waiting for my food also involved trying to decide whether I really wanted to share my very small table with the groups of Somali men who kept coming by and asking if they could join me. Again, personal space and anti-social signals like reading a book alone are lost in a more communal culture, especially on a crowded party night. Eventually I scarfed my sandwich and bolted, overwhelmed by the noise of the special band hired for the occasion, the swarm of skirt-clad bodies, and the stares of so many.

But school will start again tomorrow, I'm refreshed from a day off, and life will regain its normal rhythm. Especially if I get back to those algebra tests.

Watching Soccer

2008-09-24T21:47:00.003+03:00

One of the best things about my life is that I am Josiah Matlak's favorite chair. =)

Twin Day

2008-09-20T17:16:00.003+03:00

For those of you who don't know her, I'd like to introduce you to my colleague and friend Wendy. She teaches next door to me, and we are the only 2 female teachers in the middle school. So when "Twin Day" came during Spirit Week, we knew we had to dress alike. (That and the Kenyan staff can't tell us apart anyway- never mind that she had blond hair and a thick Texarkana accent. We are clearly interchangeable).

How we made the decision to be Rodeo Queens is still a bit of a mystery to me- it was an organic process that I believe neither of us could take credit for on our own. She brought the earrings back from the States over the summer (she's a planner...); I didn't have any clothes to match hers except jeans and a white t-shirt. Abby Nipper, age 4, made us tiaras. And if you're wearing a tiara, you've _got_ to wear a lot of lipstick, right?

My 2 favorite kid comments, both from Korean boys:
JuWon: Miss Gac! Beautiful! Miss America!
John: No offense, Miss Gac, but that's just not pretty.

Mount Longonot Hike

2008-09-14T21:24:00.004+03:00

So this past Saturday, I hopped in a van with 11 new teachers and drove into the Rift Valley to hike Mount Longonot. Pictures first, narrative second.

Parts are steep, dusty, (but still fun)

We saw some giraffe on the way up, but I'm afraid I've seen enough giraffe that I no longer take pictures of them. I just take pictures of the people taking pictures of them. On the other hand, it is awfully cool to happen upon a giraffe while you're hiking.

We still had enough energy to smile when we arrived at the rim. Chris was apparently tired enough to lie down. Naw, we just didn't know the camera was was aiming high enough. He was pretty dusty when he stood up.

The peak in the background is where we were heading. Yay for mountain hair!

The view from the very top

The girls, whose arm strength clearly had a lot to do with getting there

A few things of note:
- High Road Leaders are good at hiking food. Scott and Lara brought dried mangoes and gouda, greatly adding to my lunch on the rim. I brought blondies for Lara's birthday, which were the tip of the mountain reward. As Lara said, "You gotta love hiking. It's exercise with snacks!"

- A Kenyan driver's license is NOT sufficient evidence of residency at Mount Longonot National Park. Even though I had to have my residency in order to get it in the first place. Logical, eh? But my African negotiating skills are improving; I asked to meet the head ranger, and I greeted him appropriately and was very respectful and showed him my driver's license and explained that I hadn't brought enough money to pay the non-resident fee and I was a resident and we as a group were being very honest about who had their work permits and who didn't, and I did, and I promise I will bring my passport next time and I would appreciate it very much if he would give me the resident rate. Eventually he did. And it's true that it's all about the relationship- he greeted me when we came back down, smiled, and showed me where I could wash my hands. He was very kind.

- Doug will really enjoy this hike when he comes to visit in December. And I'll be sure to bring my work permit this time, as promised.

A Normal Weekend

2008-09-07T19:42:00.002+03:00

I have at least one Deep And Meaningful Blog Post simmering in my brain at the moment, but this isn't it. This is just a rundown of my weekend because I know you haven't heard from me lately.

Friday highlights-
1) The "Miss Gac Heart Spiderman" speech, which is an elaborate ploy to get middle schoolers to learn the integer multiplication rules. It begins with the attention grabber, "I am going to marry Spiderman when I grow up. Seriously." And then I've got 'em. =)
2) Friday afternoon frisbee: a dozen staff members, a handful of kids, a few gusts of wind, and one passionate-about-ultimate Language Arts instructor. I especially enjoy playing with my friend Scott Barnett, who was an amazing ultimate player back at Honey Rock, is still amazing, but has now developed the super-skill of throwing to the handful of kids so they can feel like champions.
3) Habesha. Ethiopian food is addictive, though the drive there can be a headache. My friend Chris R blew through a police checkpoint on our way home; how come _his_ car didn't get beaten on?

On to Saturday-
4) Sleeping in, then drinking lots of coffee. Possibly the best thing about Saturday.
5) Squeals of delight from a 4 year old when we go over speed bumps. The sound is worth the wear on the shocks. =) Jonathan Howard (Wheaton friend) and his wife Laurie recently moved here with their 2 boys to work at the embassy; we did errands and chatted they day away in their new car.
6) Snapple. Jon escorted me into the Commissary, which contained wonders like Spray & Wash, Kraft Mac & Cheese, Cheetos, and Peach Snapple. Wow. Pretty sure I got fatter just breathing the air.
7) Skype conversations with family and friends.
8) A quick trip to the vegetable market, when I realized that I'm now capable of making "quick trips" to places- it no longer requires significant energy to make every single decision.

Sunday-
9) Beautiful weather as we walked to church- blue sky, puffy white clouds, reminders that God is worth worshiping.
10) Being able to sing along when the pastor improv-ed into a Swahili song that wasn't on the powerpoint. There are little clues that I am learning after all. (I think this song only had about 4 words, though, so I shouldn't get too proud of myself).
11) Meal with the Chutes (new boss and family), plus Chris L. The Chute boys knew what goulash was and were exited about it; Chris got the glittery penguin plate, and he handled it with style. But really, who wouldn't appreciate the glittery penguin plate? Especially with goulash on it...
12) Work avoidance expressed through blogging. I should probably get around to preparing for tomorrow's Bible Study.

But what a great weekend- fellowship, rest, worship. Gets me psyched to talk about Spiderman again tomorrow.

I know, I'm sorry

2008-08-23T14:19:00.004+03:00

Haven't been blogging much because life has been crazy busy. But here are some fun pictures from last night's Middle School Worship Team Mini-Retreat. Mini-retreat means we hang out in my classroom to talk philosophy, go to the auditorium for a jam session, then have dinner at my house. That's it. As one kid said, "Hey, it's bite-sized!" As I say, "Hey, I'm still standing when it's over!"

Unless you have lived overseas, you cannot possibly understand just how excited the kids were when I dumped out a bag of American candy to share. It was a worthy demonstration of my love for them.

I am blessed to get to interact with these kids, no matter what they look like with their mouths full. =) We lead worship together for the weekly middle school chapels, and we are blessed with the deep fellowship of serving together.

Busy Visit

2008-07-31T16:46:00.002+03:00

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.

New Kids

2008-07-24T14:04:00.006+03:00

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!!! =)

Interpretation

2008-07-19T08:43:00.002+03:00

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.

A Year Ago

2008-07-08T17:09:00.005+03:00

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

Mama at Bobcat Bite
Adventures in Alamosa- I am NOT touching that thing with all the teeth!
Great Sand Dunes
The Pope Room

Tabasamu

2008-07-01T12:00:00.002+03:00

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.

Hard Times in Kenya

2008-06-24T16:15:00.002+03:00

Food prices are skyrocketing, so money is even tighter than usual. Some evidence that life is harder:

-Usually, there are 2 or 3 street boys in my neighborhood, who beg for food and money. On Sunday, there were about 8.

- In the past year, 3 people have approached me asking for a job. (White skin = money, duh...) In one afternoon this past weekend, 4 different people came up to me and asked for a job.

Pray for the poor in Kenya, that God would meet their material needs. And pray that I would know how to respond in each situation.

Blindfolded

2008-06-16T18:07:00.002+03:00

When we were small, we lived 2 blocks from the grocery store and 1 block from the swimming pool. My mom has long joked, "I want you to be like Jesus- so we walk everywhere!" And we did, even when our legs were tiny and our feet tender. Sometimes, when we were tired and whiny walking home, Mom would wrap a beach towel over our eyes and lead us by the hand, telling us when to take big steps, stop for a passing car, or when to expect gravel instead of concrete. We learned to stay close to her, trust her direction, and listen for her voice.

A decade and a half later, I was in northern WI at the beginning of Wheaton's freshman backpacking trip, an experience that changed me in many ways, but this was before much changing had taken place. Our group was blindfolded and led in a line to the ropes course. Thinking back on it, it was a very practical blindfolding- we were walking right through the middle of camp but thought we were in unexplored forest. I remember cheating- looking through the bottom of my blindfold to get some idea what the ground was like.

Two weeks after that, I would have given anything to be blindfolded and led. I was exhausted, having walked further, cried harder, and dealt with more pain than I had ever experienced before. I wanted to just walk with my eyes closed, to not have to make any decisions, and to hear my mom's certain voice alerting me to the dangers ahead.

And about a week ago I was again walking blind.

We departed from Kibo Hut at midnight, after some cookies and a hot Drink of Summitters. The mountain had been fogged in when we arrived the afternoon before, and we could only see the foot of the uphill trail we would be taking throughout the night. When we departed, however, it was clear and cold- I was wearing every layer of long underwear, fleece, and windproofing I owned, but I'd start to shiver whenever I stood still. I wisely filled my camelbak with hot water and wore it under my ski jacket, but the exposed part of the tube still froze.

There was no moon, and I have never seen stars like that. With such thin atmosphere, the points of light were brighter and nearer than I thought possible, right at the edge of the black hulk of the mountain. I was reminded of a book that was read to me as a child, where in the end all the centaurs simply walk into the sky and are greeted by the stars. I felt like we were hiking toward the seam of earth and sky.

It was hard to get a sense for how steep the mountain was as we switchbacked up and up and up by the light of our headlamps. We could see the glow of other groups above and below us as they too fought the mountain for passage, fought the atmosphere for breath, and fought their bodies for strength. Usually, I can sing to myself to keep going, but this time I could only repeat one line over and over: You are my Strength when I am weak. You are my Strength when I am weak.

We rested our muscles at each switchback turn. I couldn't tell where the trail was, but Moses led us through the coarse scree with the slow purpose I had come to trust. We had been above treeline for days, and now we were above vegetation at all. There were only different sizes of rock- boulder, scree, sand, and dust. We stopped in the shelter of a bigger rock, and he handed us a small cup of tea from a thermos. That warm, sweet drink was the best I have ever tasted.

And on we pressed. The looming shape of the mountain never got any smaller. The starline seemed equally far away. And upward we hiked. I happened to glance at the sky just as a shooting star fell- my gasp of delight made everyone think I had been injured, and it took a moment to sort that out.

After a while, I had no energy to even look around. All that existed were the heels of the person in front of me and the pounding of my heart as my blood ran triple-time to get any oxygen to my body. The terrain changed, from plodding through coarse sand to skirting snow to grappling up sharp volcanic boulders. We passed other hikers who we had met over the previous 4 days- some were getting sick, others were unsure as to whether they should go on.

And suddenly, like appearing over a canyon edge, we were there. Gillman's Point. On the rim of Mount Kilimanjaro. Our group merged with another, and we sang songs and drank more tea. The route description I had read beforehand said it would take another 2 hours of walking along the crater rim to reach the very highest point. But we were feeling good and ready to continue.

Somewhere along here I lose my memory. I remember hiking along an edge, but not a particularly narrow one. I remember getting to Stella Point, where the climbers from another route joined us. I remember thinking that I don't especially like hiking on snow. And I remember the sun coming up over our right shoulders as Marcey looked at me with concern. My legs weren't working right, and I could no longer tell if I was hot or cold. I was just... there.

I recalled my mother's pre-trip warning: "As I was praying for you, I was impressed to tell you to beware of your strong will!" I knew my thoughts were sluggish, and I decided to be wise, admit my body was feeble, and turn around. But when I expressed my weakness, God responded with one of the greatest acts of kindness I've ever experienced: Moses came to me, took my hand, and led me. I nearly began to cry in surprise and gratitude. I walked with my eyes closed, resting my head on his shoulder whenever we paused, feeling the warmth of the sun and the focus of the guide beside me. He lent me his strength, and he had perspective I didn't- he knew the summit was just past what I could see. About 20 feet from the top, he handed me back my trekking poles and said "I know you can do it from here."

Indeed I did. The early sun was blinding, and the wind was starting to pick up. I remember hanging on to one side of the sign while someone took pictures. Though the air was clear, my mind was a fog, but I instinctively knew I didn't want to stay here for long. We began the walk back, and my acuity increased with each downhill step.

By the time we got to Gillman's, I was mentally back again, and I looked down in amazement at what we had done: we had come up THAT?! You're kidding! That's 75 degree loose scree, peppered with just enough boulders to make it really bad if you fell! I did this in the dark? I think it's safe to say that if I had seen the path ahead of time, I probably wouldn't have done it. And that's part of the beauty of being blindfolded, isn't it? If you can only see by the light of your headlamp, you only concern yourself with those 3 steps. There are advantages to not seeing the big picture.

I've done a lot of whining about how I don't know what this summer will look like. And the Kili trip was God's tangible reminder that I don't have to know the plan for it to be a good one. So my summer prayer has become

I accept the darkness

in it I see the stars

I embrace my weakness

there I experience new strength

And I thank You for the blindfolded times

for I know beyond a doubt

I am being led.

Climbing Pictures

2008-06-11T17:22:00.008+03:00

Well, obviously I can't climb Kilimanjaro and NOT post a bunch of pictures. Brace yourself- it's a pile. But they tell a story...

Obviously, I decided to go, was able to pack with no notice, and was able to get into Tanzania with no trouble. The bus ride there even looked a little like Northern New Mexico, with acasia trees instead of juniper. That made me happy and less homesick.

We spent the night in Moshi at the hotel that manages the trips, and posed in front of the then-meaningless sign: strangers to each other and strangers to what "5895 M" really means...

I always thought I was a slow hiker. And I can hear Wes agreeing with me, even from here. :) But truthfully, I had NO IDEA what slow hiking really meant until this trip. The motto for climbing Kilimanjaro is "pole pole"- which can mean go slow/be careful/no rush. As our guide Moses said, "There is no hurry in Africa." He had a point. I didn't know it was possible to hike that slowly. I could have done the wedding march step-together-pause step-together-pause and moved faster. But it was good weather, not strenuous, and I was happy to walk and listen and chat with my new acquaintances. The scenery was beautiful too.

Impatience Kilimanjari- an ironic name for a flower found only here

Our first glimpse of Kibo peak on day 2; the one to the right is Mawenzi

Throughout the hike, we stayed in huts like this one.

We even got pillows on our beds. Classy, nature-toned ones.

Fortunately, there was plenty of natural beauty outside.

About halfway up, we stayed in the same hut 2 nights in a row for acclimatization, and we took a day hike to Zebra Rocks.

By this time, Marcey and I were far from strangers, and we really enjoyed each other. My favorite story: our second morning at Kibo, she had set her phone to go off a little early so she could get packed by breakfast. Now, phones here simply don't have good ringtones. They are all obnoxious, electric-sounding ditties that make you want to plunge the phone deep in a bucket of water. Or, I suppose, answer it immediately. Anything to make it stop. So yes, Marcy had thoughtfully set her alarm to vibrate 3 times before it began to ring, but she had also been listening to her ipod, reading using her headlamp, and had pulled her mummy bag tight around her head. So when it went off, I awakened to the sound of vibration on wood 3 times, some wriggling, the phone beginning to sing its merry tune, some more wriggling, a louder version of the same tune, more aggressive and determined wriggling, and finally a sweet but somewhat muffled voice saying, "I'll turn that off as soon as I can get my hands free..." In the bunk above me, she was completely stuck in her sleeping bag, helpless, cords tangled every which way, while the phone began to sing Christmas carols, I believe. It was a real highlight of the trip.

She eventually made it out of the sleeping bag, and we headed uphill as always.

The alpine desert that followed was beautiful in its own stark way.

After several hours, we made it to Kibo hut, which was the highest I had ever been at that point. Fourteeners are for wimps!

That high up, your body gets weird. Oxygen is kinda important to functioning, they tell me, and so the lack of it causes all sorts of issues. The best ways to combat these issues are to take in a ridiculous amount of calories and liquid. Our favorite method was the Drink Of Summitters: 2 spoons Milo, 3 of protein-enriched milk, 1 of instant coffee, 2 sugar, and some HOT water (the only way all that will stay in solution). Sounds gross, tastes phenomenal.

See? It makes me happy. And warm enough to take off my gloves.

We went to bed at 6, I dreamt of aliens and of middle school band (was it the altitude or the Drink Of Summitters?), and we awoke at 11 PM to attempt the summit.

The process of summiting will be a separate post, but the very short version is that we hiked from midnight until 5 AM, making a kilometer of elevation gain, seeing the most incredible stars, and going very slowly. Funny, it didn't feel slow any more. My headlamp died after about an hour; Marcey gave me hers and Mr. Pleasant the assistant guide gave her his. And on we trekked. Gillman's Point was reached before dawn, and that was the end of the serious uphill. I hope I will always remember singing "How Great Thou Art" in Swahili with Mr. Moses and Mr. Pleasant at 18,638 feet above sea level.

We hiked along the crater, and as the sun began to rise, the altitude started to affect me. I was incredibly tired and felt like if I could just close my eyes and go to sleep, everything would be OK. (Of course it would be OK- I'd go meet Jesus then...). My mother had reminded me before I left, "Beware of your strong will!" As it turned out, heeding her advice led to one of the greatest blessings of the trip.

We had been hiking on snow, and my muscles weren't behaving. Marcey was giving me her concerned/don't be stupid look, I could tell my thoughts were sluggish, and so I said to Moses, "I am too tired. It's time for me to go back." He looked at me, took my hand, and said, "See, it is just past where you can see now. I will walk with you. You can lean on me." And I did. He walked beside me, held me up, and gave me strength to get all the way to the summit.

When we got to the top, I couldn't figure out how to get my camera out of my jacket, but Marcey did and took some pictures.

You can see that I was tired, but you can also see that we made it. =)

At that point, my compelling desire was to GET DOWN, and we did. Once we were back at Gillman's point my brain felt like it was on morphine- happy and dopey and nothing could go wrong. Moses wisely hiked on the crater side of me... Another 100 meter descent and I was my normal calculus-joke-telling self.

It's hard to convey the steepness of the downclimb in a picture, but the little rectangles near the top are the lodges we stayed in the night before. Basically, it's 1 Km drop down to the lodge, but I really enjoyed skiing the scree fields.
After a little sleep at Kibo Hut , we continued to hike down for the next day and a half.

We finally arrived back where we had started.

Triumphant.
And tired.

Insanity or Providence?

2008-06-01T12:34:00.002+03:00

It started off like a regular first day of summer- sleep in, drink coffee for a long time, do whatever comes along. God was already making use of my car, my willingness, and my free time- one friend got picked up from the hospital, another got taken to the airport. After the airport I decided to walk the track as I often do in the evening, and I picked up a friend's dog for the exercise.

When I returned the dog, I sat and chatted with their company for a few minutes. One girl, a nurse from Canada, was visiting Africa with the MCC, and she was planning to climb Kilimanjaro starting Monday. She asked I wanted to come.

Huh.

I don't have many other plans for the week, thanks to everything I've ever conceived of falling through. The IRS economic stimulus check would about pay for it. And it's a life dream of mine to climb Kili.

Starting tomorrow?!? With a stranger?!? With no training beforehand?!? Is this insane?

Or is this again evidence that God is the only keeper of the plan book, and I should trust Him and go with the doors He opens?

After a few semi-panicked phone calls, text messages, emails, and gmail chats, I'm going. Assuming God keeps this door open.

Either I'll write an eloquent post if it falls through tomorrow, or I'll put up some phenomenal pictures in a week. If you don't hear from me by Tuesday, please pray that I get to summit, that I develop good relationships with my traveling companions, and that I am safe and healthy throughout.

God's plans are always interesting, I'll give Him that...

Disappointed

2008-05-28T21:09:00.002+03:00

If I had been able to pull off my original plan of surprising Tim and Christine at their wedding on Friday night, I'd be at the airport right now about to fly to the US.

My dear friends, I am sorry I cannot be there. Imagine my joy at seeing this finally happen, and dance a little extra for me.

Tonight geography hurts so bad.

Career Class Chaos

2008-05-20T16:10:00.005+03:00

Though I live on a "little white island"- an international school that serves primarily American missionaries- I do know a little about Kenyan culture. I know that when you extend an invitation to someone, it may also include their family, their friends, and anyone they meet on the way to see you. I know that time measured on watches has very little to do with time in reality, and I know that food, especially staples like flour or fruit, is a more normal hostess gift than, say, flowers or chocolate.

But usually all that knowledge isn't really applicable to my school day. I teach in an American-style school. Bells ring on precise schedules. I expect to have a certain number of people in each class. If presents come, they are at predictable times like Christmas, my birthday, or the end of the school year. And I've gotten pretty good at teaching with those constraints.

And then there was today. See, I'm teaching a class called "Careers," which I basically get to make up as I go along. Here at the end of the semester, we're having guest speakers who do jobs that my students are interested in pursuing. And since I don't know many people in Nairobi who aren't teachers or missionaries, I give extra credit to my students for setting up guest speakers. They have to tell me the name of the person coming, and their career has to be something more than 1 person in the class is interested in doing. And because 8th graders bore easily and not all people are great presenters, I try to book 2 or 3 speakers per class period, ask each to talk for only 10 minutes, and give the kids extra credit for asking intelligent questions. Sounds good, you say. And it is if it works.

This morning during my planning period that's before lunch that's before Careers, a well dressed Kenyan woman carrying a big bag comes into my room, introduces herself, and says she's ready to guest speak: "Will the children be coming back in here?" I only blink a couple of times before responding, "Oh, Mrs. M, I'm so happy you've come! Yes, please, set up, feel free. Yes, the students will be coming in here, but not for another hour..." As I clear a space for her to set up, I glance and my lesson plan book and see that her daughter told me she was coming on Thursday, not today, and I already have 3 other guest speakers arranged for this period, and it's a stretch to fit 3 people into a 45-minute class anyway! I realize that it's good PR to have guest speakers, but I also realize it's very bad PR if they feel unappreciated or like it's not a good use of their time. What am I going to do?! It would be bad to tell her we don't want her. And it wouldn't be polite to say, "Get your days straight, lady! Come back on Thursday!" On the other hand, it wouldn't be right to cut into the other speakers' time; they showed up when they were supposed to. About this time I become puzzled by something else- her daughter told me she was going to talk about her event decorating business. And on my front table she's laying out bags of chemical fertilizer and taping a map of East Africa onto my whiteboard.

And you know that when I'm flustered and in the midst of a potentially amusing situation, I have to tell someone. So I snuck up to my principal's office and told her, "You know how I have trouble fitting in all my guest speakers? Well, one just showed up an hour early, on the wrong day, and she's laying out bags of chemical fertilizer. I don't quite know what to do!" She laughed, said she'd pray that someone else would cancel, and told me to get back down there.

In the meantime, this woman's sister has shown up. Bonus. She explains that she owns her own wedding planning business. Imagine that. And she's setting up pictures and labeling them carefully. At the same time, her sister is talking with someone on the cell phone and commenting to me, "Now where is Daddy..." Daddy?!! There are more people coming? What are they all planning to do? And what about my other 3 originally scheduled guest speakers- the eye doctor, the UN worker, and the microfinance director? How will they fit into this picture? And how do I manage to not offend anyone and get the maximum benefit for my students and not look like a total idiot?

Lunchtime comes, and I grab a bite in the teacher's room. On the way, the UN worker's child says, "My mom forgot- can she come on Thursday instead?" "YES," I answer. I eat, the other teachers snicker at my conundrum, but when I walk past my principal on the way back to my classroom, she comments, "Now there are 4 in there..." Turns out that not only Daddy showed up, but also another sister. I'm too overwhelmed to ask what she does. And then my other two guest speakers trickle in. So I have 6 adults, all of whom are doing favors for students by coming, and I have exactly 45 minutes to fit them all in, step on no toes, and hope my students learn something in the process!

As it turned out, things worked out OK. The last sister had only come to observe the family event. The first sister was introducing her father; introductions are very important in Kenya and can't be trusted to just anyone. Plus it would be rude for the father to talk about all the wonderful things he had done- better that his daughter do it. The second sister's sole purpose was to turn over the visual aids at the proper time. It turns out their family owns a fertilizer company that exports throughout East Africa, and their dad had built the business from scratch. So the bags of chemicals served a purpose. And when the father gave his inspirational words to the students, it was good his presentation was short- he was hard to understand. Looks of confusion filled the classroom when he said, "I most admire the poor voters because they are always training and striving to climb higher and higher. Even you, you must be like the poor voters." His daughter sensed the confusion, jumped in and said, "poor voters- you know, like in track." Oh, POLE VAULTERS! Always trying to climb higher and higher! Got it!

The other two speakers did get their 10 minutes, and students even got in some questions before the bell rang. But my favorite part of the period was the end, when the family presented me with a basket of vegetables, done up carefully with gauze and a giant yellow bow. What an honoring gift. Vegetables. =)

Overall, I was pleased with how Kenya seeped into my American classroom today. My students handled it well, as did the other speakers, and I got veggies for my stew tonight. Yum.

Plan, Please

2008-05-13T18:41:00.005+03:00

I like having a plan, knowing the plan, and most of all, making the plan. There's a control freak in most of us; I euphemize it by calling myself an "orderly person." I remember my mom suppressing a guffaw when I told her, "Well, I just like to know all of the options all of the time..."

Which is why I'm so unnerved when I think about this summer. See, life in Kenya is somewhat unpredictable anyway, but at least I can usually count on the routine of school Monday-Friday. And as much as I whine about the cycle of grade-consider-assign-grade, it's kind of the bass line for my thoughts- lays down rhythm, gives me a structure to improvise above. Fourteen more school days, and the bass line gets muted.

Historically, I treasure my seasonal unemployment. I go to Young Life camp, drive and visit friends, ride bikes with Jill, take a few camping trips, meet people for lunch, go on hikes with my dog, make friends with summer students. Los Alamos swells with new possibilities in the summer as grad students wearing "I heart Physics" t-shirts start to populate the coffeeshops.

In contrast, my social circle is about to shrink. Some teachers are going on furlough for the summer. Other on-campus friends are just heading home for their yearly dose of plain M&Ms, legal copies of DVDs, and cheese from cows that _never_ eat trash. I'm jealous. Plus I'm missing 2 weddings of dear friends- I had even been scheming to see if I could get to Colorado and shock Tim and Christine by just showing up on May 30. Alas. It's the last day of school, and I've been away from my kids so much this year between mumps and civil unrest and Ben's wedding. I just couldn't justify it.

In fact, I think I'm supposed to stay here. I just wish I knew why. The "be a good missionary" tape in my head tells me this is a great opportunity for language study. I can't for the life of me seem to set anything up, though I've explored options from Nairobi to Dar es Salaam to Mombasa to Arusha. You would think, living in AFRICA, I could study Swahili pretty easily. You would be wrong. I think most of my frustration with an open-ended summer is rooted right there.

Now, I definitely need a break from my kids, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual. And summer is good- I've always seen it as a chance for rest and for greater ministry availability. And that still applies here. I just wish I knew some more specifics. In the past, I could count on building relationships at Young Life Camp and following them through. I could predict that there would be college students who came to Crossroads who would be excited about a good meal and some conversation. But I don't have those expected outlets here. And deep down inside, I think there should be more purpose to my summer than simply watching all the seasons of Alias...

But I know the Narrator of this story. He never lets me stagnate. He fills my days with the right things at the right time. And for now, He's choosing to remind me that He's the one with the plan, and there's no public information act entitling me to see it. It reminds me of a hymn I learned in Awana, off of one of those nifty giant flip books that predate powerpoint slides and even overheads:

When we walk with the Lord
In the light of His word
What a glory He sheds on our way
While we do His good will
He abides with us still
And with all who will trust and obey

But we never can prove
The delights of His love
Until all on the altar we lay
For the favor He shows
And the joy He bestows
Are for them who will trust and obey

Then in fellowship sweet
We will sit at His feet
Or we'll walk by His side in the way
What He says we will do
Where He sends we will go
Never fear- only trust and obey

More Linguistic Fun

2008-05-12T21:15:00.002+03:00

Many of the corrugated iron fences in Nairobi have been taken over by a particular paint company. Right now they're running an ad series that highlights basic colors- I recently saw a green background announcing the words: "Life. Health. Vitality." And though I was a grumpy teacher by the end of the day, I still laughed aloud when I passed a blue background that proclaimed: "Courage. Honor. Intellact."

Decorating Skills

2008-05-06T18:54:00.002+03:00

My Kenyan visitor looked around admiringly at the various fabrics and accents in the room. "Oh Jessie, you've made it so homely!"

"Thanks," I replied.

Banquet

2008-04-28T19:10:00.003+03:00

Last Saturday night was Rosslyn's middle school banquet- our "1/3 Baptist" school's version of a dance. Hey, you don't usually get to eat phenomenal Indian food at a school dance, so I'm not complaining. One of my favorite restaurants catered, and some of my kids even let me take their picture. So here you go.

A few 8th grade girls, with the flags of the student body flying in the background

Some of my 7th grade girls, with their favorite (and only) math teacher

Self-conscious 7th grade boys

Cool 7th grade boys =)

Basking

2008-04-20T14:35:00.004+03:00

It seems I can either be on top of my grading or on top of my blog. Not both. And because report cards went out last Tuesday, I've been focused on the grades. I also always have an obligatory period after I turn everything in where I bask in the glow of being caught up. Teaching is a job with poorly defined boundaries- there's always more you could do. My first year few years of teaching, it was a good thing I had a dog that needed to be fed or else I might never have gone home. And grading seems perpetual sometimes, so I must savor these brief moments when I am caught up.

And it was good I was caught up, because I spent the entire weekend away. The 10 week class on prayer that I've been taking at my church ended with a retreat that went Friday through Sunday. We arrived back at the church parking lot just in time for the Sunday morning service where we were commissioned as intercessors for the church. Here's a picture of part of the group outside the retreat center.

The class itself was a cultural adventure for me. You may think that I, being in Africa, spend all my time with Africans. Logical assumption, and one I cling to wistfully sometimes... Actually, God has given me lots of interaction with other expatriates here at Rosslyn, which is good, but I long to be more connected to the world outside the school compound. Karura Community Chapel, my church, is my primary opportunity to interact with Kenyans, and this class definitely facilitated relationships at a deeper level. One of the biggest benefits of the class, in my opinion, was that we were each assigned a prayer partner. Mary and I meet about once a week to encourage each other and to pray; she is precious to me.

Another reason I liked the class is that it gave me the opportunity to read some theology born and bred in Africa. The devotional book for the class was written by a pastor here in Nairobi, and he came and led a couple of the sessions. I appreciated his gentle heart, his willingness to speak truth without pretense, his sensitivity to the Holy Spirit, and his desire to see God's people be who He made them to be. I think that we often bring our cultural limitations to our relationship with God, so it's good to see what we can learn about Him through a different cultural filter. Nothing in the book was was radically new to me, and I probably would have been suspicious if it had been, but I found different shades of meaning in the nuances of African English and in the Kenyan ideas of family and history. It was also good for me to observe different styles of leadership within the Church, as different as the people doing the leading. All in all, it was a fruitful class and a worthwhile way of plugging in to the church.

At the same time, I am about to say goodbye to my fellow plugger-inner: Mindy was a student teacher here at Rosslyn this semester, and God blessed us with a close relationship pretty quickly. We were both eager to explore Kenya and be involved in it as God opened doors (she's the only other white person in the first picture...). I appreciate her adventurous spirit and willingness to laugh with me. Her student teaching is over, and she leaves to go back to the States on Thursday. This week is full of goodbye parties, and I'm excited for her upcoming move to the Dominican Republic to teach at another international school. As much as I will miss her, I'm grateful for the role she's played in my life during these months, and I'm excited about what God will be doing in her life in the future.

---
Ah, completion. Now I can bask in the glow of finishing a blog post, too. Everything's all done. Except for those Algebra tests...

Wedding Pictures Finally

2008-04-13T16:37:00.006+03:00

Hey, what are you complaining about? It's only been a month or so since the wedding. Remember that year I didn't take my Christmas decorations down until the end of the school year? This delay is nothing compared to that...

The Main Characters

The Wedding Party

A small smile

The best- looking members of the wedding party...

My favorite picture

Sorry some of them are small; it's all I've got. Maybe I'd have more if I had actually taken any myself (oops). So I can't complain.

As you can see, it was a lovely wedding. I'm blessed with a great sister in law, and I'm looking forward to getting to know her more over the years.

Spring Break

2008-03-29T09:18:00.002+03:00

Always after a good blog post, I feel a little hesitant, knowing whatever comes next will be a disappointment. So I've delayed writing, and as for the content, well, I apologize in advance. It can't possibly be as exciting as the involuntary extreme-motorcross-in-a-station-wagon from the last post.

But I've had a marvelous Spring Break. It's Saturday now, almost over, and I didn't go anywhere, unlike friends who went to Mauritius or Egypt or Wyoming. But I am rested. I've slept, watched DVDs, read many books, and made biscuits. I finished some things I've needed to do for a while, like giving away old clothes and getting papers notarized in Purgatory (aka the Citizen Services Office of the American Embassy).

But mostly, I drove. My little Ladybug has lived in Nairobi for a quite a while, and she navigated the potholes, hills, speed bumps, and roundabouts pretty well. I put her through her paces; my primary goal for the week was to know I could get around Nairobi.

For those of you who haven't had the joy and thrill (well, mostly thrill) of driving in this part of the world, let me summarize a few of the reasons it's more exciting: 1) Right hand drive, left hand shift. 2) Lanes are a loose concept. 3) Roundabouts are big, multi-laned, and unavoidable. 4) Matatus (mini-buses) are constantly having to pull over, stop, get more passengers, and then frantically merge and accelerate to pass their competition. 5) Cops are mostly on foot, armed only with hats and flashlights, and they have big pockets for dealing with offenses they make up on the spot, like missing fire extinguishers or first aid kits. Avoiding eye contact is key.

But even in the face of all these obstacles, I knew it would be psychologically good for me if I could get around confidently. I also knew I was scared, and bringing someone else along for the ride would only make it worse- more than one person would be crying. And finally I knew I needed a plan that involved rewards, preferably food, in order to get myself to do this. So last Tuesday, I took a deep breath, my map, and my gift certificate for a phenomenal Italian restaurant, and set out. I was wildly successful, avoiding any collisions, navigating several roundabouts, and discovering quite by accident just how close together many of my favorite restaurants are. True, I discovered this by missing a few turns, but that's the glory of a roundabout: you just go around again!

One great thing about living here is that you realize that, at some point, all food was based on reality. No matter how packaged and processed and cream-of-something-or-another normal food is in the US, at one point deep in its history, you could actually create some version of it from things that came out of the ground. Amazing. There is nothing like a scarcity of convenience foods and a plethora of produce markets to convince a person of this fact. So my edible rewards for driving bravery were well-considered: there is great food to be had in Nairobi. On this particular day, I ate the great-granddaddy of the fried cheese stick- a 3 inch round morsel of mozzarella cheese, accentuated by eggplant, pesto, and roasted red pepper in the center. Yummy!

And so of course I was inspired to try new adventures and more good food the next few days. As I slowly extended the distance I felt comfortable traveling, I wondered at all my experiences that, put together, made driving here not that bad. I had learned to drive stick on hills as part of growing up in Los Alamos. I could already shift with my left hand, a rare skill developed in middle school when my mother had shoulder surgery. Nairobi traffic doesn't seem that bad compared to Bangkok, and some would argue that I am a naturally aggressive driver (One friend tells this pithy anecdote: "Well, we made it to Utah and back in record time. Only one vehicle passed Jessie. It was an ambulance." He exaggerates. I remember at least 2 passes: the ambulance and the car following it). Anyway, driving went well, and now that I've accomplished it, I feel quite comfortable getting to the various areas of town.

So when you come to visit, I can pick you up at the airport and take you to the best places to eat, all sans tears. What a worthwhile Spring Break!

Short Loud Prayers

2008-03-20T21:57:00.003+03:00

I think I may have just experienced my first real rain here: walls of water, drops the size of Hershey's Kisses, 3 hours strong and counting.

When it started, I was over at my prayer partner's house for the evening, waiting for her to arrive. She had invited me to come at 6, but I'm learning about Kenyan time, so I didn't even leave my house until 6:03. I drove my new-to-me little red station wagon, affectionately called the Ladybug for its black spots of rust on its bright red exterior. I've only had it for about a week, and the freedom of owning a car is intoxicating. So I'm still in that adolescent stage of "I'll drive! Sure! No problem!"

When I arrived at 6:20, I saw that her vehicle wasn't in the carport, but her family let me in and I ducked into a side room to wait. And wait. At 6:30 it starts to rain. At 7 she calls and says she's about to leave her office. At 8 she arrives, we pray, and we sit and talk over dinner. I ask her if the rainy season has started; she tells me it has. I say I kind of like the rain, and she looks at me like I'm crazy. But at this point my only experience with the rain has been the lullaby of water falling on big tropical leaves as I drift off to sleep. Well, my perspective was about to change.

When I go to leave at 9:30, she sees how hard it is raining and advises me to wait a bit. A half hour later, I'm nearly falling asleep in my chair, and I decide I need to get home before I become an unsafe driver. So she pulls out an umbrella, walks me to the car, we both get a little wet, she makes sure the Ladybug starts, and I pull out of the driveway.

As soon as I'm on the road, I see that there are several issues. Yes, I've got the windshield wipers on. But the headlights aren't particularly bright. And I've never turned on the heat or defrost in this car, and the windows are fogging up in a hurry. I jiggle some switches and knobs. The rain is really coming down, and by the time I turn on the main road, I'm laughing to myself about what a crazy adventure it is to drive in such serious rain. I'm from New Mexico; I've never seen the sky give up this much water.

In fact, there's so much water that it's kind of covering the road. And now I can't see the speed bumps. And now I can't quite see where the road is. And now I'm no longer laughing. I'm praying. Loudly.

My family has always been amused by my prayer habits. When I was 5, my parents took us on a scary Snow White ride at Disneyworld that had a witch that looked like it was going to roll a boulder onto us. And I knew that Jesus has power over that sort of stuff, so I started to pray "HelpmeJesusHelpmeJesusHelpmeJesus!" And he must have; we got out of the ride and the witch didn't get us. :) A few years later, when my dad taught me to ski on the not-so-beginner-friendly Pajarito Mountain, I pointed my skis downhill, didn't yet know how to turn, and instead prayed (screamed), "Dear Jesus please help those people to MOVE! Dear Jesus please help those people to MOVE!" Again, I saw that prayer is effective. Those people moved. Probably they were mostly getting away from the short shrieking ball of magenta ski clothes, but God could have used that in answering my prayer...

So tonight, when the water covered the road and I felt, for the first time, the dent it puts in your acceleration when your ENTIRE BUMPER is underwater, I fell back to my default prayers: simple and repetitive. Lord God, please take me through. Lord God, please take me through. Lord God, please take me through. Don't let me get stuck on something in the middle of this river. Don't let my engine die. Don't let me get washed away. Lord God, please take me through. Lord God, please take me through.

And in that repetition, I realized I was also praying about this season of my life. Lord God, please take me through. Don't let me feel like this forever. Don't let my willingness to serve You die. Don't let me get washed away in relational limbo. Lord God, please take me through.

Sure enough, I emerged from Runda onto Limuru road, down the alley to Rosslyn, and eventually through the gate and to my parking spot. And my prayer changed: Lord God, You took me through! Lord God, you took me through! Sure enough, the Ladybug had pushed through the flood and was standing, safe and sopping, on familiar ground.

I too have been protected despite the precipitation. I am indeed through.

And it has stopped raining.

Obedience

2008-03-13T20:49:00.004+03:00

Coming back was hard this time.

Maybe it reminded me too much of my first trip here- saying goodbye to my parents at O'Hare, waiting at the same gate, flying into Heathrow.

Maybe it's that I don't have a trip to the States planned right now, though I definitely felt like I didn't quite fit in North America this time.

Maybe it was just the emotional letdown after a very intense week (I promise I'll write a fun post and put up some pictures of the wedding soon!).

Maybe I was all too aware that I could have just gotten on a plane to New Mexico instead of to Nairobi. I've been to the US twice since I've moved, and yet never gone "home." I miss my church and my friends, and I feel those relationships cycling down yet another level. And corresponding relationships here haven't necessarily filled in that space, so I'm feeling disconnected.

And maybe most of all, it's that life here wasn't looking like an exciting adventure. The unknown is glamorous, and living in Nairobi doesn't feel that way right now. Perhaps I'm a bit of a drama addict- I like having a good story to tell, and I don't see many good stories on the horizon. Catching up on my grading isn't exactly riveting. Even grocery shopping has lost its edge. ;) Yes, it's good that I'm adjusting and not having to overcome giant difficulties every day. It's right that I have found a routine and some level of normalcy in my life. It was just hard to be excited about traveling for 30 hours to go back to normal- well, normal without family and with the now-expected "Welcome to Nairobi!" intestinal issues.

I'm a big whiner. My life here is good! I like my job, I've found a church, I'm putting down roots. Relationships take time, and I haven't even been here a full school year. As my friend Tim reminded me, "It took me about a year and a half each time I moved to get plugged in and find my people." It may be mostly the jet-lag talking tonight, but I'm struggling with lack of patience, with being separated from people who are important to me, and with uncertainty about my purpose here.

But one thing I am certain of: this is where God has me. He made it incredibly clear about a year ago, opening all the right doors at all the right times, confirming through trusted friends, and providing phenomenally for my material needs. Incidentally, He has continued to provide- my broken computer got fixed for free while I was Stateside, and I just bought a lovely little clunker of a car that will NEVER get broken into. =) And yet, despite all that clarity, I wonder what story God is telling through this chapter of my life. And even with my years of growing faith, I'm a little fearful that it's not a good story.

But I know that's not true. And so, regardless of my feelings, I obediently got on the plane back to Nairobi. I trust that God's will is good. I trust that His plans are to prosper me and not to harm me, to give me a hope and a future. But I need some encouragement right now, some external confirmation of the truths to which I internally hold. And I know my Great Provider will provide even that.

Joys and Sorrows

2008-03-06T17:13:00.002+03:00

I'm in the States in preparation for Ben and Christy's wedding- which is a joy!

And as life always is, there's a little sorrow mixed in the middle; today is the anniversary of John Jensen's death in an avalanche. But I'm glad I get to be here with other people who knew him while I mourn another year without my lego-loving friend. I'm sure I'll be able to keep up with him on the ski slopes in heaven. =)

This is one of my favorite pictures. Several of the best men in my life are surrounding me: Jason in front, Zeke at my feet, and John behind.

Packing

2008-02-28T20:34:00.002+03:00

I'm packing to go to Chicago. And I am generally well-equipped:
-bridesmaid dress and accoutrements
-Kenyan AA for my dad's birthday
-various happy Kenya-themed items to remind relatives that I am not in grave danger here
-a pile of mail to send off from various Rosslynites
-winter clothes, like long pants, boots, fleece

Except...
I don't have enough socks. I don't own enough socks to last 10 days in the US.

Humph.

Sweetwaters Slides

2008-02-26T20:33:00.008+03:00

In some ways, a blog is like an the obligatory slide show your relatives put you through after they go somewhere they think is really cool. But you're probably not related to me, and, unlike one of my friends (who will remain nameless but is an actuary...), I don't keep track of how long each user spends looking at my blog. So if you skim the pictures, I'll never know.

We had a short break last weekend, and my friend Wendy wanted to go to the equator. Paul, the flashlight-bearing reef-goat from a previous post, thought it would be dumb to drive 3 hours, stand under a sign, and drive back. Especially if he were doing the driving. So he arranged for the 5 of us to spend the night at a tented camp inside a private game park nearby.

Please dim the lights; the slide show is about to start.

The equator and the car that got us there

Outside the girls' "tent"- more like a not-so-soundproof hotel room

Sweetwaters, the retreat where we were staying, is right next to a waterhole.

It must be hard to be that tall.

At the chimp refuge, we witnessed some normal Kenyan rule-keeping:
Paul showed us that as long as you're nice to the guard, the sign doesn't really apply to you.

In fact, the guide probably figures it's a good idea...

And he'll help you get some better pictures, too!

And now for the boring wildlife pictures...
But I actually SAW these things! I was there!
Pretend to be interested, ok?

There, that wasn't bad, was it? Only a dozen or so pictures. Just wait until you see me in the States next week- I left out the other 198.

Birthday

2008-02-12T17:03:00.000+03:00

I had a delightful birthday weekend, and since I am so impressively bad at thank-you notes, consider this post a long and public thank-you note to all involved.

Friday, the day before my actual birthday, was Sports Day. It's kind of like a K-8 field day with races and water balloon tosses and long jumps and cheers. Keep in mind that it's summer here in the Southern Hemisphere, plenty warm! All kids are assigned to a team, and there are students from every grade on each team. I was on the Red Team, and my surprisingly confident 7th grade boys decided they wanted to write letters on their chests in red paint that would spell our inspiring team motto: Red is Hot. But they had a little trouble with the spacial reasoning involved- when they turned around for me to take their picture, they couldn't understand why it now said "toH si deR." Classic.

Sports Day came at a good time. It had been a hard week: increasing unrest, two members of parliament murdered, plus the academics were more intense as the semester finally got rolling. I had 3 kids lose it on Thursday at separate times- just burst into tears in the middle of class. The background stress level was too high; there was no emotional room to deal with, say, forgetting slope-intercept form in the middle of an Algebra test, or even misplacing one's protractor. So it was a blessing to have Sports Day the next day- no academics, fun time with friends, beautiful weather, and sunburns like only the equatorial sun can deal out. I was a timer on the track, which was a new experience for me, but it was fun to have the little second-graders run into my arms as they crossed the finish line.

There were tons of Rosslyn community members around to see their kids compete, and several brought me birthday presents- chocolate chip cookie bars with real chocolate chips from the States, a hand-stamped post-it-note holder, a purple beaded bracelet from Kazuri. The parents here are so nice to me! It took me a while, after teaching in the States, to not panic every time I saw a parent walking towards me. But now I'm grateful for their company and sense of humor. Many of these parents are missionaries, and so that probably contributes to their general relationalness and kindness, but I have never been treated so well by the families of my students. I sat with some of my favorite moms, complimenting them on their sons' good sportsmanship- all went out and ran the last lap of a long race with another teammate who was struggling. The cheering when he crossed the finish line was deafening. I was proud of those little toH si deR-ers. =)

Friday night I went out for one of the best things about life in Nairobi- Indian food. Dave and Carrie Matlak, classmates of mine from Wheaton who live 2 houses down and have 4 little boys, took me out for dinner. It was the first meal we've had together that didn't involve all 3 of us fully focused on feeding the boys; it was amazing just how much conversation we got in without them there. The food was great, of course, and I enjoyed spending that time together.

Saturday was full of skype conversations, e-cards, e-flowers, and heaps of email from friends near and far. Even my New Mexican/Norwegian "uncle" of few words wrote me an email! During the day, three dozen more roses appeared on my doorstep, as did cards, books, and gift certificates. One staff family had me over for a pancake breakfast, and even the lady at the fruit market gave me a birthday mango. What an outpouring of love!

The day finished with an incredible Thai meal with some of the other singles, plus an ice cream sundae split between 5 girls. One was allergic to milk, so I got her share. ;) Maybe that particular allergy isn't such a bad quality in a friend...

Sunday brought time at church, a movie in the afternoon, and an evening visit with Travis, Lydia, and Meshach. They are safe, praise God, and baby Meshach is smiley and long-limbed. We told stories, and it was good for us to process together- them away from the immediacy of violence surrounding them, me getting a more "front lines" perspective on what all this is doing to Kenya. But we finished with stories of hope: God is a redeemer; His will is lasting peace and justice. We may not see how exactly that will come, but we continue to pray with confidence that He can weave good even in these circumstances and that He will accomplish His purposes.

So what a terrific weekend- time with kids, time with parents, love from friends in Kenya and beyond, heaps of great food, and a delightful mix of silly and serious conversation. My longtime friend Beth even dedicated a semi-meaningful-but-mostly-tongue-in-cheek song to me on her blog. What could top that? So thanks again, my friends- this may even rival the "find the essence of Jessie Gac" scavenger hunt birthday. Impressive.

Contrast

2008-02-04T18:18:00.000+03:00

Just so you don't think my life involves dodging bullets or being in the kind of danger you probably associate with Kenya right now, here is a picture of what I did two weekends ago. It's a different kind of excitement...

Unprocessed

2008-01-30T18:48:00.000+03:00

I haven't updated in a while because I don't know what to write. I feel like my blog posts should have a sense of story, a line of thought (Jessie-fied as it may be), and I can't seem to make a coherent story from what's been going on around me.

How do I tell of a deepening crisis when my exposure to it is minimal? How do I express the observations as an outsider, a new one at that? Is that voice even worth hearing? How do I explain the strange mix of emotions when we send 3/4 of the kids home early because an MP has been murdered here in Nairobi and one mission group is throwing around the phrase "civil war"? And how do I tell it all to you, my distant reader, when I don't want you to panic, I do want you to pray, I don't want to overdramatize, but I do want to authentically express what's happening? How am I supposed to sort it out for you when I can't sort it out for myself?

I live on a compound, surrounded by a wall, guards manning the gates, familiar faces always around, no gunshots in the background. But I do hear a US military helicopter overhead, making its way to and from the embassy a few blocks away. When things are normal, it runs once a week. Since the elections, it's been 9 and 5 every day. Since Friday, it's been twice an hour throughout the day. It's an unnerving sound.

And on the other hand, someone came by my classroom yesterday with a dozen beautiful roses for my birthday. What a gift! But even that had mixed overtones- in Kenya, roses come from Naivasha, a flashpoint for violence right now. The roses were brought to me a few days early because the folks who bought them weren't sure they'd be able to find any a few days from now. Who knows what Naivasha will look like?

Travis and Lydia (parents of baby Meshach whose picture is back in the blog post "Matatu") - they live in Nakuru, and they're hosting several folks in their home who would otherwise be targets for violence. They are safe, and things are calm there this evening. However, as Travis reports, "We no longer mistake calm for peace."

I can't figure out how to respond. I'm an outsider. My skin is white; I'm clearly not of any Kenyan tribe. No one has posted a notice on my door telling me to "move out or else." No one murdered my relatives in the last month. If worst came to very worst, I have another place to go. I have resources to provide for myself. I haven't been threatened. So do I have any right to be nervous? To be traumatized? To be off-kilter because of what's going on around me? Am I allowed to be stressed? I feel guilty thinking about my own reaction when my circumstances are nothing compared many others.

And I do grieve for those around me. I listen to the Kenyan staff members at the school talk about being accosted by men with machetes demanding that they reveal who isn't Kikuyu, who voted for Raila. I think everyone's had the "Nazi Germany" conversation in an ethics class somewhere along the line- if you were hiding Jews, would you risk your own life to save theirs? Those conversations are always comfortably theoretical. Not so for many Kenyan citizens this past weekend.

I want to stand up for justice, but I tread carefully as a newcomer to this culture and these relationships. I hesitate to use passionate words except in prayer. I don't pretend to see a right way forward; I barely have the wherewithal to see what's around me much less make sense of it.

I know God sees. I know God cares. And I know this is where He has me at this point in time. Again I don't see why, but I trust that the desire to please Him does indeed please Him. I pray that He'll show me what He'd have me do hour by hour, whether it be finally teaching about trapezoids (Bob got several oohs and aahs this morning), simply listening to people's stories, or taking a more active role that I don't see right now.

I don't have a pithy conclusion for this post, but I leave you with one of my favorite prayers of late:

You are the Author of Knowledge
You can redeem what's been done
You hold the present and all that's to come
Until Your everlasting kingdom

You are the God of tomorrow
Turning the darkness to dawn
Lifting the hopeless with hope to go on
You are the Author of Salvation

Lord, we don't know where all this going
Or how it all works out
Lead us to peace that is past understanding
A peace beyond all doubt.

A Different Kind of Teaching

2008-01-15T19:18:00.000+03:00

So they weren't kidding when they said it really helps to be flexible overseas.

I have lots of thoughts on what it means to be a good teacher, but I found some gaps in my theories as I have now been presented with an entirely new teaching challenge: how do you help kids learn, plan appropriately, and design meaningful activities for them without actually being with them and making those millions of adjustments teachers make each moment?

See, we're canceling school for the rest of the week because there are demonstrations scheduled throughout the country Wednesday through Friday. And since we already started a week late because of the unrest, we can't afford to pause our curriculum for any longer. So today I passed out plans and assignments so kids can move forward in math during the next 3-4 days. It's hard to take the teacher out of the equation when you're so used to thinking that the teacher is an essential part of the equation... Yet another opportunity for me to recognize and confess my pride. And as I said, it's an entirely new way to try to teach.

I've never been a terribly big fan of math books. They're boring. I'd much rather jump around in the front of my classroom and get my kids laughing and remembering and participating, so I rarely use the book. And on the occasion where reading out of the book truly is the best bet, the class gets to vote on which accent I'll use. I love to read construction word problems in a New York accent or go through sewing problems as a Southern Belle.

But in this case, I'm kinda stuck with the book sans accents. I'll admit, I have a pretty good book to work from; it's thorough and understandable. But it bums me out to write instructions that say, "Read these pages. Do these problems. Grade yourself. Now read these pages. Do these problems. And grade yourself." Meanwhile I'm thinking about how I have a song I'd usually teach them to learn this formula, or how we'd play Simon Says to reinforce that concept, or how I always make a trapezoid out of pink construction paper and name it Bob to demonstrate that idea. A year without Bob the trapezoid!?! That isn't math with Miss Gac!

And so I did the best I could to write plans that included a little variety. In some ways, it's worthwhile to have this new challenge. I'm sure it's good for me professionally. But I sure hope I don't have enough practice to get good at it- I've already been apart from my students for 2 months! I don't need the break!

But of course I want them to be safe, and we simply can't know what the days will hold. The Kenyan Parliament met for the first time today, and the streets in the are were shut down, TV cameras were banned, and I still haven't heard the results of the day's proceedings. One of my students who lives near the parliament building headed home at lunchtime to make sure she was in her house by the time they let out.

I have been oft-praying for my students and their safety, for the country that is now my home, for peace to come despite the stagnation and developing hard-line position of each side. If it makes my students safer, I'm willing to give up Bob the trapezoid.

But we're still playing Simon Says when they come back.

An Opportunity to Serve

2008-01-09T16:57:00.001+03:00

I don't know how much you've been keeping up with events in Kenya, and I'm not sure what's making the news out of country anymore, but one of the most significant issues right now is caring for displaced people fleeing tribally motivated violence. Estimates of the number of refugees run in the hundreds of thousands.

My church here in Nairobi, Karura Community Chapel, has become a makeshift refugee camp in cooperation with the Red Cross. There are about 250 people being housed and fed on the church grounds, with more arriving each day. I went over this afternoon with another family- the Wheaton grads who took care of me when I was sick who've been in Kenya for 10 years- to deliver food and see how we could help out. We ended up sorting clothes, doing dishes, carrying water, and moving rocks for construction. I'm hoping to go back tomorrow morning to continue to work. Here are some pictures of what's been going on:

The tent where food is served

Displaced people sorting through donated clothes- often you can tell who the refugees are because they are wearing all the layers of clothes they own Boys who've found a treasure- a box of legos!

Some of my students helping to build shower stalls

Hundreds of people made hundreds of dishes.
My back was sore from bending over a tub and scrubbing-
even if I could change the color of my skin to fit in, my motor patterns would give me away.
But my tenacious scrubbing was a cause for much laughter between the women.

Fancy dresses on top of striped shirts

I'm so grateful to be going to a church that decides it needs to DO something! The humility and prayerful action of the church leadership encourages me greatly.

And a Cherry on Top

2008-01-07T17:18:00.000+03:00

God's blessings are amazing. Like ice cream. And in this case, one of the blessings was ice cream:
See, with the unrest in Kenya, I put off my trip back. And in order to do that, I had to be rerouted through Detroit instead of just getting on the plane from Dulles to Amsterdam. (hold on, we'll get to the ice cream in a second...) So when I showed up at the airport, they were surprised I wasn't on the more direct flight and encouraged me to be a "volunteer" who gets off the overbooked Detroit plane. In gratitude, the airline would move me onto the now-available Amsterdam flight, give me a coupon for $300 off future travel, and hand me a booklet of favors like food vouchers and bonus miles. After I fully verified that it really wasn't too good to be true, I was in! And so I got a few extra hours with my parents, another American meal with them, and I spent my airport voucher on the ice cream sundae you just saw. God is kind in the most unexpected ways!

In Amsterdam I got some sleep, ate a delicious croissant- Europe sure wins the contest for baked goods- and met up with 2 other teachers flying back to Nairobi. We talked about our nervous families, our own concerns, and whether the drive between the airport and home would be problematic. The flight was quite empty, which would have been unnerving except that it meant we all got to lie down and spread out, so we were asleep instead of unnerved. We arrived with our luggage, had a completely uneventful drive back to Rosslyn, and the internet was even working when I got home. Amazing. When God decides to bless, He sure isn't stingy!

But the travel wasn't the only blessing from the past few weeks. Probably the best present was that my family surprised me by bringing my brother in! He showed up the day after Christmas while I was away for breakfast; I was totally shocked and so very happy. Nice work, Gac clan! He's planning to get married in a couple of months, so it was nice to get some family time with the 4 of us. We watched movies, did Mad Libs, and shook with laughter.
It was a relaxing time with my parents, and thanks to their loving care, I think I'm recovered from my recent health adventure. I sure enjoyed their company, even when my dad and I disagreed with great gusto about the solution to a sudoku. I took advantage of the wonders of faster internet to watch a few TV shows, update software, and waste many hours browsing. I also loved hugging my dog and torturing him by tickling his toes. Another highlight was visiting with friends who now live back east- Anna, Joel, Joey, Preston. Good talks, coffee, laughter, enchiladas, and peanut butter balls, and a few language lessons in Arabic and Russian.

So all in all the trip was a veritable ice cream sundae of blessing- many of my favorite things, all in one package. I guess that makes the ice cream sundae the cherry on top.

The Latest

2008-01-05T05:32:00.000+03:00

I was saving up for a triumphant "I'm back home in Nairobi" post, but to put your minds at ease in the meantime, I am planning to leave tomorrow noonish in order to arrive in Kenya Sunday evening. The most exciting part of the trip is likely to be the drive between the airport and the school, so I'd appreciate prayers during Sunday morning in the States. Though excitement makes for better blog posts, I can do without it in this case.

But I am well, looking forward to being home, and have now had several pain-free days! I know God can and will provide for me, and I look forward to continuing to tell the story of how He does.

Kenyan News

2008-01-01T19:09:00.000+03:00

So I've hear from several of you concerned about me and the violence in Kenya, and I figure there are probably others who haven't called, so here's the latest: I am still in the States, though I am planning to travel home to East Africa starting tomorrow.

Obviously I'm new to Kenyan politics, so remember that I've got pretty minimal understanding, but here's what I've heard. The violence is a response to the extremely close elections held right after Christmas. Each candidate got about 50% of the vote (approx 51/49 split according to CNN). Corruption is a major issue in Kenya, so it's not much of a stretch to figure that one or both sides were working to fix the election. Of course the losing side is making those accusations loudly, and election violence is as old as elections in Kenya. The tighter the race, the bigger the fallout. So there is looting and rioting, and the reported death toll is about 230 as of right now (up from 140 when I checked last night). The violence seems focused primarily in Nairobi, and there are rumors of a major rally scheduled for Thursday. I've heard there's a ban on live television broadcasts and a curfew in place. Over on the side of town where I live, things are pretty quiet. Supplies are running a bit low and various utilities are more spotty than usual, but that's it.

My flight is scheduled to arrive in Nairobi Thursday night after dark; I'd made arrangements with some coworkers to pick me up at the airport. I don't know enough about the curfews or the geography of Nairobi to know if that will be a problem, and I can't seem to decipher it from the State Department website. A friend of mine was discussing my arrival with a school administrator, and he said he thought everything would probably be fine, but he suggested that I look into delaying my arrival by a day or two so I'm not coming in immediately after the rally. Unfortunately, that cost about $400 more than I could afford. A lot could change in the next day and a half, so we'll see.

Please pray, not only for my safety, but for shalom in Kenya. I know God desires peace, unity, and justice, and there is great need for those in Nairobi right now. I also know God is fully capable of protecting me and those coming to get me, and I trust that He will either provide the money to change my flight or protect me as I travel during that time.

Travel

2007-12-20T13:43:00.000+03:00

The airport announcements in Amsterdam are surprisingly urgent and guilt based: "Mr Nakazawa, traveling to Bahrain, YOU ARE DELAYING THE FLIGHT. Please board at gate A7. We are preparing to offload your luggage." I was shocked at Mr. Nakazawa's behavior and determined to never be that person, the guilty flight-delayer. At least, I was shocked the first 17 or so times I heard that style of announcement. By the end of my 9 hour layover, it was background noise, just like the recording on the moving sidewalks instructing no one in particular to "please mind your step. please mind your step." The Amsterdam airport is a wonder, with shiny floors and big spaces and a basically unenforced smoking ban. How very European. But the real highlight are the Comfort Seats- herds of big comfy reclining chairs, tucked into otherwise unusable space throughout the airport and perfect for sleeping while spooning with one's carry-on.

And so, after 36 hours, 2 lattes, innumerable naps, 3 on-board movies, countless glasses of water, a very strange chicken sandwich and a follow-up dramamine, I arrived ten minutes early in the District of Columbia. Passport control was no trouble, but baggage claim? I think my big black suitcase is out to get me. It looks basically like every other big black suitcase, so I inspect each one as it goes by. But I think my suitcase changes its appearance on purpose before exiting the aircraft, bragging to the other luggage, "I bet I can go past her at least 3 times without her recognizing me!" When I arrived in Nairobi, I rejected the suitcase as mine because, and I'm certain of this, the main zipper had switched sides. And this time, it had shed its large metal plate proclaiming "Atlantic" in easily distinguishable letters. So yes, it went past me repeatedly before I finally recognized it. I'm pretty sure I heard it snickering as I pulled through customs.

But it was soon drowned out in the sounds of reunion with my parents, complete with purple flowers, a few tears, and a down jacket for the equatorial dweller. America is strangely normal and surprisingly not. It's interesting the things you notice in a newly-new place: my nose is cold. The sunlight arrives at such a slanted angle. Internet pages load so quickly. There's so much space between the cars. Zeke is much grayer than when I left. But most important- I can feel my strength returning with each bite of USDA approved beef. Surely I will be whole and energetic by January.

Surprise!

2007-12-17T11:03:00.001+03:00

Exciting news- I'm going back to the U.S. today! I was able to change my flight to tonight, 4 days earlier than scheduled. In 12 hours, I will be flying out of Nairobi. I'd better get going- there's a lot to do and only a few hours to do it in! Fortunately I wrote a packing list while I was in the hospital. Doesn't that just sound like me? =)

Please pray that the travel goes well, that I don't have much pain, and that I arrive in DC in a shape that doesn't scare my parents. Praise God that I was able to get this flight!

Out of the Hospital Again

2007-12-13T13:29:00.000+03:00

Sequels are rarely as good as the originals, and I'm not on as much pain medicine as I was when I wrote the first "Out of Hospital" post, so there's really no hope for cleverness.

But what I lack in style I will make up in brevity: after another 4 nights in the hospital, I am again quite happy to be home. This stay was unrelated to the mumps, and I was much more patient and peaceful during round two. I continue to push fluids to help my system recover, the doctor doesn't want me at work for the rest of the semester, and I'm praying that I will be able to take my planned trip to the US in 1 week.

That sums it up.

Fall

2007-12-05T20:44:00.000+03:00

So a quick & funny story:
About a month ago, I was missing autumn- the falling leaves, the cooler weather, the smells of firewood and cinnamon. And when I walked out of my apartment one morning, I found hundreds of delicate leaves scattered across the pavement, clearly shed by some plant with roots in North America.

I was delighted until I learned that they were actually the discarded wings of flying termites. Ew.

Gives a whole new meaning to "fall," eh?

Previously, on The Gregarious Impala

2007-12-03T12:13:00.000+03:00

Let's pretend my blog is a TV series you've missed the last few episodes of, and this is that montage at the beginning of the show that catches you up. For best results, read with a dramatic announcer's voice:

Setting: doctor's office. "Jessie, you have the mumps and must stay in quarantine for an additional seven days after you become asymptomatic." (girl, distraught, is frustrated by this news but accepts it as necessary)
Setting: a very small apartment, stir-crazy girl lying in bed reading email off her laptop. "Would you like to spend a few days with us across town to break the monotony of your isolation? You won't be able to come with us to Thanksgiving dinner, but we'll bring a plate back for you. We used to live in Los Alamos and have a significant stockpile of chile to share."
Setting: Baptist missionary housing across town. Veteran missionary couple and new girl at table, sharing red chile enchiladas. "Glad you're doing better." "Me too- thanks so much for inviting me! Hopefully yesterday was the first and last Thanksgiving dinner I'll ever eat alone..."
Setting: upstairs of same house the next day. "Do you have any ibuprofen? I'm not feeling so great."
Setting: back in the very small apartment, next door neighbor/nurse visiting. "Well, if you're feeling worse, we should probably go see the doctor tomorrow. Never fear. If he wants to admit you, I'll talk him out of it."

And now, onto this exciting episode of The Gregarious Impala. Events occur in African time (in other words, painfully slowly to the American mind).
---
So yes, the doctor examined me, confirmed complications from the mumps, and wanted to admit me. And, as promised, Jane talked him out of it. At least until my fever spiked in the waiting room and I fainted on her while moving from the couch to a wheelchair. Then she talked me into it.

So pretty soon I was on IV fluids and major painkillers, awaiting ultrasounds on my upper and lower abdomen. There were lots of great things about this hospital- big, private rooms, cable TV, great food. And, since Kenya is so British, it was essential that I "take tea" at 10 and 4 each day: delicious Earl Gray, hot milk, and some sort of biscuit (cookie), all brought on a silver tray to my hospital bed. I ordered each meal off an extensive menu- 5 vegetarian dishes, 5
chicken, 5 beef, 5 fish, fresh-squeezed tropical juices, a variety of desserts, and of course soup. Apparently soup is key. I don't particularly love soup, so at first I didn't order it. But the man in the coat and tie who served my meals would ask multiple times, "And what kind of soup would you like?" I can pick up on cultural necessities eventually; I recognized it was important for me to order soup. I still don't know quite why, but my "waiters" were much more at ease once I chose a soup. And as it turned out, the soups were quite tasty. There was quite an emphasis on making patients comfortable- they had vases for the flowers people brought, they replaced the batteries on my remote more than once (I didn't think they were low, but what do I know?), and, unlike hospitals in the States, no one pestered me to take my vitals...

Honestly, I experienced a pretty strong wave of culture shock while in the hospital. This makes sense in some ways- it was my first extended interaction with a Kenyan institution. Now, every hospital has its problems with communication and getting everything done at the right time, but when tests had to be put off because no one had told me I couldn't eat beforehand, or when I didn't see or hear from my doctor for a couple of days, or when nurses forgot to give me my medicine, I had a hard time being FLEXIBLE! And of course, any small measure of cultural sensitivity I possessed was pretty well buried under physical discomfort, loneliness, extreme homesickness, and anxiety about how this would all turn out. I wish I could say I had peace, I trusted God, I just went with whatever happened. But it isn't true. I was frustrated with what I saw as lack of efficiency and competence, and I even snapped at a nurse once. I feel terrible.

Being in the hospital is much more common here than in the US. It seems like they admit you in the States only if you're at death's door. Here, they admitted me for rest and for pain control. There, your diet is carefully regulated and what you do and don't eat is noted. Here, they still brought 5 packets of sugar with my tea though my doctor was concerned about diabetes brought on by pancreas damage from the virus. No one knew if I was awake or asleep all night- no one ever opened my door. I could never tell if the question "How was your night?" was just a translation of the Swahili greeting (to which the only answer is "good") or if they really wanted to know. Diagnostic tests can wait- go ahead and finish talking on your cell phone. They wanted me to be happy; I wish they were a little more concerned about me being healthy.

So to summarize the medical stuff, my final diagnosis was "mumps with bilateral oophritis." (Look it up if you really want to know, but you probably don't). My blood sugar came back down, cysts they had seen on ultrasound weren't visible the next day, and my pain decreased significantly. They had been considering exploratory surgery if the swelling didn't go down, but it did, and so they sent me home. I believe all of that to be the result of prayer on my behalf, so thanks for praying.

I am no longer contagious, but in some ways I feel worse than I did a week and a half ago- I still have some abdominal pain, and my energy is low. I went to school for the first 2 periods this morning, and that knocked me out for the rest of the day. It's a balancing act- if I do too much, I hurt and I don't get better. If I do too little, my energy stays low and I feel like I'll never be able to live my normal life. I have a bit more compassion for my mom's daily challenges of figuring out what she can and can't do. We'll be quite the pair at Christmastime...

But ultimately, I think I am getting better. God answered many prayers of my church in Los Alamos and my coworkers here. Many serious complications were ruled out, and the others we just have to wait and pray some more about. And while I was in the hospital, I felt very loved: I got lots of flowers- from friends in America, from other teachers, and from parents I work with here. I had about 20 visitors at different times, and my kids made banners and cards that made me smile. And finally, I'm incredibly grateful I'm planning to be with my mom and dad over the holiday break; it was hard on us to be apart during all this uncertainty.

So I'm home (and my apartment doesn't feel nearly as small compared to my hospital room), I'm able to be with people, and I'm trying to restart life as normal.

Hopefully the next few weeks won't be nearly as exciting.

Out of Hospital

2007-12-01T21:01:00.000+03:00

Out of hospital. Had been texting to update mom and boss. Still thinking in short sentences. Will write more when on less codeine. God answers prayer!

Selling Out

2007-11-22T12:10:00.000+03:00

Times of solitude sometimes result in public confession: I bought a microwave.

The situation's complicated. I hadn't bought one when I arrived for several reasons- one, they are expensive. Two, I wondered how long I could go without one. Three, my kitchen is super tiny and I didn't quite see where one would fit. Actually I discovered I didn't really need one- food goes bad quickly here since there are almost no preservatives in anything (and because, as I've ascertained by being home all day, the power often goes out so the fridge doesn't run consistently). Plus there are lots of great fresh foods here; why would I pick something rewarmed over that? And finally, I learned to plan ahead and eat any leftovers for lunchtime at school- the staff room does have a microwave.

So my routine was chugging along, and I was feeling pretty self-righteous about not owning one (I still have lurking suspicions of microwaves borne of my mom's hippy tendencies and our family's long delay in getting one in the first place 15 years ago). The houses on campus are pretty close to each other, and I had ambled the 30 feet into other people's kitchens to chat with them and use their microwaves on occasion. It was minorly inconvenient for all involved, but not compelling enough to do something about.

But with the advent of my isolation, it suddenly became just that compelling. People were asking what they could do for me, and many folks brought over food (well, more like left it outside my door and ran away trying not to inhale), and all the meals were way more than a one-person serving. My appetite was gone for the first 4 days of my sickness, as fits the symptoms, so there was lots of food piling up. And when I was hungry, I had better be able to eat exactly what I was craving right away or my hunger would disappear and it would be another day of consuming nothing but lemon tea. As wonderful as lemon tea is, when that's all I eat I black out each time I sit upright. Not conducive to recovery. So when I came back from the doctor on Monday, I wanted the rice and chicken I had in the fridge, but I didn't want it cold, and I couldn't run over to someone else's house and risk infecting them. Plus, I was near tears at the thought of being isolated for and additional 7 days beyond when I started feeling better and didn't feel like doing much running anyway. So that night I sent money to Nakumatt with some friends to buy the cheapest microwave they could find.

And so now I have it, gleaming white and taking up half my counter space. It's one of the cool oldschool ones with the twisty dial to set the time, and when it runs it sounds like a jet taking off. Hey, I like things that have character. I just don't usually buy them new... And of course, the next day the power was off for pretty much the whole day so I couldn't use it anyway. Naturally. But I did evntually grate some cheese over some tortilla chips and mix in some precious green chile from my care package. All New Mexicans know that green chile "burns out the germs," so I nuked my homemade nachos it as soon as the power came back on at dark and enjoyed my not-so-healthy dinner. Yummy.

And the next day, I started to feel much better. I firmly believe in the healing power of God, at work through prayer and green chile, and I am on #2 of the 7 symptom-free days required before I can go back to work. So basically, I feel fine but am still highly contagious. The feeling fine part makes it hard to stay in my apartment. However, my wonderful principal and her husband have invited me over to their house for the weekend so I can be somewhere else for part of my recovery. That sounds great; these 3 rooms are getting exponentially smaller. They are Baptist missionaries who live across town, so I'll get to ride in a car and see some other rooms for a while. I really appreciate her offer. They'll have to leave me behind when they go to Thanksgiving dinner tonight, but that's OK- at least I'll get to be somewhere new!

As expected, homesickness is setting in more severely. My parents and brother and future sister-in-law are all visiting her family in IL for the holiday. It's a bummer to feel left out, but I'll see my parents in a month and then everyone else 2 months after that for the wedding. I'm hoping the days between here and there go more quickly than these days of quarantine, but I'm sure they will: I have a microwave now, and I heard that makes everything faster.

Mumps

2007-11-19T14:27:00.000+03:00

So, dear readers, it's official- I have the mumps.

I don't look quite like a chipmunk; in fact the swelling isn't all that noticeable. That's my excuse for not posting pictures of my upside-down-heart shaped face (made worse by my cone-head?).

But the kind pediatrician who diagnosed the other cases here on campus told me that I'm not allowed to go back to work for an additional seven days after all my symptoms are gone. Something about the children being our future... He also says I don't have encephalitis nor an enlarged pancreas, either of which would be bad complications and would be grounds for me writing a blog post entitled The Scenic Hospitals of Nairobi.

So for now I'm focusing on The Scenic Inside of My Apartment, but in the spirit of the season not celebrated in this country, here's a list of things I'm thankful for:

I now get Thanksgiving day off, even though it's not a Rosslyn holiday
I will be missing a staff development day
A couple of great math teachers are covering my classes, one of whom has a student teacher who will be teaching full-time during the next couple of weeks
I have internet access from my bedroom
My computer plays DVDs
I only feel mildly crummy
My appetite returned this afternoon
I recently got a care package from my church in New Mexico, and cleverly hidden among the items were 2 seasons of Numb3rs and 2 seasons of 24
Coworkers who have brought over books to read despite the risk of infection
A neighbor who gave me a ride to the doctor and has brought me dinner the last 3 nights
A care package of flowers, instant soup, and popsicles
Genuine care and support from my administrator
Parents who skype me each day and feel sorry for me
Emails from friends who remind me that though I may be invisible, I am not forgotten

I'm sure there will more news from The Scenic Inside of My Apartment soon, but for now, it's the unfortunately gregarious impala, signing off.

More Pictures from The Nest

2007-11-12T16:09:00.001+03:00

This is Pam Nipper, our elementary librarian and superintendent's wife. I really like her a lot.
This is Wendy, who teaches next door to me and is new this year as well. She's the friend I'll hang out in Amsterdam with during our layovers at Christmas...

Shikoo's more melancholy side. =)

Visiting The Nest

2007-11-03T13:52:00.000+03:00

This morning I headed up into the hills of Limuru, a region just outside of Nairobi. It was a beautiful drive, almost entirely uphill past tea farms and markets. Six of us went along with Mel and Kerry, teachers who are connected with a children's home called The Nest. The person who runs the home sends her children to Rosslyn, and each weekend Mel and Kerry keep a baby to give it one on one attention, eye contact, and lots of love. Some of the children at the The Nest have been abandoned and are available for adoption; most have mothers who are in prison. The organization also owns a halfway house near campus where mothers who are just out of prison stay for a while to be reunited with their children and to do some counseling and rehabilitation.

I think the pictures speak for themselves, so I'll let them.

The little girl on the floor next to me is named Shikoo (I have no idea how that's spelled), and she warmed up to me little by little- first unwilling to look at me, then playing a little closer, then eventually crawling into my arms and staying there for hours:

She is one of four children; her brothers and sister are also at The Nest. The two pictured below are Ken and Mary.
They hung out with me for a significant portion of the morning. One small surprise to me- my long, straight hair was a mystery all around, and whenever I sat on the ground, kids would clump behind me to touch it. But I always had Shikoo in my lap to look at and laugh with, so it was fine.

Seasons of Encouragement

2007-10-30T20:24:00.001+03:00

This morning when I woke up, I got an email. Not an unusual occurrence, always a welcome one. This particular email was from Gene Smillie, responding to my monthly newsletter. And in a few off-the-cuff sentences, he managed to distill all I had said, reflect back the best of it, encourage me, and give me hope for what God might be up to in my life. Wow. Now that's the kind of teacher I want to be!

So as I sipped my morning coffee, I was thanking God for that encouragement, and He brought to mind just what a long and unexpected story He's told with the Smillies and I over the past 20-some years. And it occurred to me that God seems to bring people in and out of each others' lives unpredictably and yet perfectly purposefully in the retelling:

Gene Smillie baptized me. When, at age 5, I decided I wanted to be baptized to tell people in public that I wanted to follow God, I wanted Gene to do it. Mostly because he told stories in a Donald Duck voice and kept bubbles in his center desk drawer at church. And he was a garbageman. Very cool. I think he was also our associate pastor... My memories of that time aren't particularly linear- I remember him making me and my family laugh, I remember everyone being excited when he and Susie announced their engagement at church camp after I had stubbed my toe really hard, I remember being sure I would drown and die during my baptism when I saw the light fading from under the water, I remember grasping onto his arm with all my might when he pulled me back out. I also remember searching for his and Susie's house in Santa Fe late one night, and my mom finding it because of the paper wedding bells on the front door. All of this was during my pre-school years, so if I have the details wrong I hope he (and my mom who has a more cogent memory of this time period than I do) will forgive me. But I'm sure about Donald Duck and the baptism near-death experience. Those are seared in my memory. :)

Years went on, he and Susie moved to Africa as missionaries, we prayed for them, they had kids, I'd read letters from them now and again and smile when they came back to Los Alamos to visit. I remember he was one of the few people who could match my dad in enthusiasm and craziness. Somehow their family ended up in Chicagoland at the same time I was there. I remember hearing him preach at a Chinese church, a few sentences and then a pause while it was translated. I decided it was the perfect way to hear Gene teach- I actually had time to absorb and understand the depth of what he said!

Again the chronology gets a little fuzzy, but God brought the Smillie family back into my life at a critical time- they were visiting Los Alamos and needed a place to stay; I was renting my parents' huge house, living there alone, and had just gone through some pretty major relationship trauma. I was all primed to become a completely anti-male angry cat lady, and suddenly my house was filled with Gene, Susie, and their 3 teenage boys who ate more than I believed humanly possible. They also got me to laugh. Hard. Through them, God kicked some holes in my bitterness and began healing me.

Fast forward 6 or 7 years, and now I'm in Kenya, sending out monthly emails. I stayed in contact with Gene and his family, so they're on my newsletter list. And these past few months, Gene replies in his conversational way and draws out the core of what's going on in my life, allowing me to observe it more clearly and thank God for it. I especially need that distilling right now; I'm so close to all the changes that I can't quite see the pattern.

And isn't that part of what the Body of Christ does for one another- recount God's redemption story, be witness to His good work in each other's lives, reflect what God is doing so He can be seen even when we're blind? I love that I get to serve a God who puts together a little girl and a pastor/garbageman for a multi-decade trek of trial and encouragement. That's a tagline for a movie I'd pay to see simply because it sounds so weird! I notice that Gene's impact on my life isn't about how much time has been spent. It's all about what God choses to do with a few words here and there, the mundane streaked with the surprising over the span of decades and continents. There are lasting griefs in each of our lives, but bottom line, God tells a good story. I got a glimpse of it this morning.