Shortly before I came home (when I probably should have been focusing on fitting all my purchases into my suitcase) I realized that I felt totally disconnected from the world.
I'm a bit of a news junkie, by which I mean I check a dozen news sites daily if not hourly (via a news reader, quite possibly my favorite recent invention) to see what's affecting the countries in which Mission of Mercy works. But because the aforementioned blackouts knocked out the Wifi and I wasn't sure how much I could access the internet without running up the phone bill with astronomical international charges, I pretty much turned off my access to the wider world.
So there I was, dusting off my suitcase-spatial-reasoning skills when I suddenly thought, "Hey, I wonder if they've caught Gaddafi?"
Yup, folks, I am that much of a dork. I had many other pressing things in front of me, but instead I was logging on to my newsreader -- no news on the world's favorite crackpot dictator -- but Blackberry had been out of global commission for most of the week. Maybe I wasn't the only one out of the loop.
[Hearing the news this morning that rebel forces had caught Gaddafi/wounded him/most likely killed him still chilled me. In most of the regions where Mission of Mercy cares for children, there is a long history of oppressive regimes more intent on lining their own pockets than safeguarding their children's future. It will be interesting to see what comes of Libya, like most of the new Arab world, now that the media may finally be free to explore the depths of the burdens they've inherited.]
On a lighter note, I'm proof that it pays to stay informed. Much of my role on the trip was to answer questions the ladies had about the programs, sponsorship, Kenya in general. My favorite moment was when one lady asked where people in the slums went to the bathroom. (This was less than 24 hours after we had hopscotched over channels of human waste while holding the hands of our escorts -- little children who were thrilled to hold the hand of a mzungu while we walked through the slum -- wasn't it obvious where they relieved themselves?)
Yet one of our in-country staff tried valiantly to answer, describing how one NGO had gone around building pit latrines to try and alleviate the sanitation issue (having prayed the Lord would keep our feet from slipping into the black sludge, I'd say their efforts did not make a dent). But then he explained the other methods often used in the slums: a flying toilet.
Lady: A what?
Staff (emphasis on accent): Eh Flaahing Toylayt.
Lady: Wait, what?
Staff (moving his hands as if they were wings): Flaah-ing. Flaah-ing toylayt!
[This goes on for a minute until it's clear the woman does not understand his charade.]
Kate: It's when they go in a plastic bag, tie it up, then launch it over the wall to get it off their hands... umm, literally.
Lady (and the rest of the bus): [shocked silence.]
Staff to Kate: Are you sure you've never lived here before?
Kate: Ah, no. I just read a lot.
And that, dear reader, is proof that God is in charge. Why else would I a) read enough to know about flying toilets, b) remember what they are, c) be able to recall that fact after a week of constant explanation and exposition, and d) earn the respect of a field staff worker when e) the real truth is I have a propensity for remembering anything involving bodily functions thanks to my family background. (It's how we Eppersons roll, much to my mother's chagrin.)
I've always wondered whether or not all this random knowledge would benefit me in the end. Now I know the truth. As the staff person more fully explained, "There are certain areas where you do not go at night because you never know what will hit you in the face." I think I'll remember that fact, too.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Our Safe Return
Friends, I wanted to let you know that we made it back. I haven't heard from everyone but I believe everyone made it home in one piece. Including our luggage. One friend reminded me that he didn't care about our luggage, but when you've dragged it through 9 airports, believe me -- you learn to care! ; )
I wish I had been able to write more while I was there. We truly experienced what it means to live in Kenya; we were not excluded from the rolling blackouts. I think the power went out every day at least once. Sometimes (such as when we were in Kijaido near the project we served in Emarti) it was because we overloaded the system. A large group of American women will do that, I've learned, almost every time.
The first blackout came on the evening of my birthday just as we finished dinner. I assumed it was a trick, that soon the cook would come out with a cake and candles. The cake came, but no candles and no power after it, either. My gift to myself was that I showered before dinner -- everyone else had to wait or accept a bone-chillingly cold rinse.
When the power went out, so did the Wifi, and hence you saw very few posts from me. But now I am back and trying to sort everything out -- the first load of laundry is in the wash, and my living room is covered with gifts and newspaper. I slept for 15 hours and feel like I could sleep even more but I'm trying to convince myself to wait. Maybe I'll go consult the shower, where I needn't worry that I'll trip the breaker and have to figure something else out. Thanking God for safe travels and hot water...
I wish I had been able to write more while I was there. We truly experienced what it means to live in Kenya; we were not excluded from the rolling blackouts. I think the power went out every day at least once. Sometimes (such as when we were in Kijaido near the project we served in Emarti) it was because we overloaded the system. A large group of American women will do that, I've learned, almost every time.
The first blackout came on the evening of my birthday just as we finished dinner. I assumed it was a trick, that soon the cook would come out with a cake and candles. The cake came, but no candles and no power after it, either. My gift to myself was that I showered before dinner -- everyone else had to wait or accept a bone-chillingly cold rinse.
When the power went out, so did the Wifi, and hence you saw very few posts from me. But now I am back and trying to sort everything out -- the first load of laundry is in the wash, and my living room is covered with gifts and newspaper. I slept for 15 hours and feel like I could sleep even more but I'm trying to convince myself to wait. Maybe I'll go consult the shower, where I needn't worry that I'll trip the breaker and have to figure something else out. Thanking God for safe travels and hot water...
What I Didn't Expect
This is a post I started on the 9th before the power went out... now I'm revisiting it in an attempt to process through all I saw.
I keep thinking back to yesterday morning when we were walking through the slum. I think I mentioned that I was nervous about this because I had never seen such poverty. I was afraid it would be overwhelming.
Instead, I found it beautiful.
Before we left the bus, one of our country directors gave us instructions -- don't take photos without asking, always stay close to the group, don't give the kids candy or you may be mobbed. (This one is very true, but it applies to adults as well as kids. I never knew a Jolly Rancher could be so dangerous!)
The church we visited in the first slum wasn't that far into the slum itself, a couple blocks really, which was a blessing. The road was rutted -- beyond rutted, actually, and because it rained so often while we were in Nairobi, parts of the road rose up to greet you at unbelievable angles. Drops of several feet, bumps that could eat your tire, axle, wheel well and all... but that wasn't just the road in the slum, it was all over Nairobi.
So we tread carefully in more ways than one.
Still, once at the church where the corrugated tin shone and the windows were thankfully open, we sat in plastic chairs. We were late, the worship was already going, and we listened in awe as they turned on the sound system to be sure everyone heard -- not just us in the building itself, but those all around. The place next door to the church also had its dance music on -- a different kind of music if you know what I mean.
From where I was sitting, I could glance out the window. Just outside the church was a pathway between the next building, which for some reason was lined with barbed wire. Beyond that, a laundry line where two women were hanging clothes as little ones played around them. Throughout the service I could hear them shake out the clothes then smooth them over the line. In the depth of this place where many people (including myself) expected filth, instead we found cleanliness. Pride.
Beauty.
I saw it in the faces of those we met. I saw it in the sweat pouring down Pastor Williams' face as he shared the Truth. I saw it un upraised hands and voices uninhibitedly praising God. I saw it in the meekness of children who would respond smile for smile. In the way others would offer us their chairs, in how the offering plate was passed and everyone contributed something -- the widow's mite made real. I saw it in their weathered hands as they reached out to clasp mine.
Before I left on this trip, I prayed that somehow I would "add to the beauty." What I realize know is that I needed to see the beauty first before I could ever know how to add to it. I still don't know what that will look like, but I do know this: the people in this slum are beautiful. So are their homes. They are beautiful in unexpected ways, and I am grateful to have seen it.
I keep thinking back to yesterday morning when we were walking through the slum. I think I mentioned that I was nervous about this because I had never seen such poverty. I was afraid it would be overwhelming.
Instead, I found it beautiful.
Before we left the bus, one of our country directors gave us instructions -- don't take photos without asking, always stay close to the group, don't give the kids candy or you may be mobbed. (This one is very true, but it applies to adults as well as kids. I never knew a Jolly Rancher could be so dangerous!)
The church we visited in the first slum wasn't that far into the slum itself, a couple blocks really, which was a blessing. The road was rutted -- beyond rutted, actually, and because it rained so often while we were in Nairobi, parts of the road rose up to greet you at unbelievable angles. Drops of several feet, bumps that could eat your tire, axle, wheel well and all... but that wasn't just the road in the slum, it was all over Nairobi.
So we tread carefully in more ways than one.
Still, once at the church where the corrugated tin shone and the windows were thankfully open, we sat in plastic chairs. We were late, the worship was already going, and we listened in awe as they turned on the sound system to be sure everyone heard -- not just us in the building itself, but those all around. The place next door to the church also had its dance music on -- a different kind of music if you know what I mean.
From where I was sitting, I could glance out the window. Just outside the church was a pathway between the next building, which for some reason was lined with barbed wire. Beyond that, a laundry line where two women were hanging clothes as little ones played around them. Throughout the service I could hear them shake out the clothes then smooth them over the line. In the depth of this place where many people (including myself) expected filth, instead we found cleanliness. Pride.
Beauty.
I saw it in the faces of those we met. I saw it in the sweat pouring down Pastor Williams' face as he shared the Truth. I saw it un upraised hands and voices uninhibitedly praising God. I saw it in the meekness of children who would respond smile for smile. In the way others would offer us their chairs, in how the offering plate was passed and everyone contributed something -- the widow's mite made real. I saw it in their weathered hands as they reached out to clasp mine.
Before I left on this trip, I prayed that somehow I would "add to the beauty." What I realize know is that I needed to see the beauty first before I could ever know how to add to it. I still don't know what that will look like, but I do know this: the people in this slum are beautiful. So are their homes. They are beautiful in unexpected ways, and I am grateful to have seen it.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
So Much Beauty
Much love to you! Oh, and I had a wonderful birthday... more on that later!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
We had a very full day today, starting with a hearty breakfast before we loaded into the large bus to take us to a nearby slum community for church. The church itself was a plant from the church Hapi attends (Hapi is the Kenya country director).
I was fairly nervous about this part. I didn't know how far we'd be walking into the slum, but it turned out not far at all, which was good because the road was rutted red clay with grooves deep enough to swallow a tire, not to mention your foot. To our right and left were tiny shops selling everything from charcoal to fruit to clothing. Some residents simply spread their wares in front of them.
But all of the shoppers stopped when we started walking through. It felt so awkward, like I couldn't tell if we were the parade or they were. We soon made it to the church which was very nice. The concrete floor was stained to make the reddish dirt tracked in less obvious. The walls and ceiling were corrugated metal, with glass windows at each end. We sat in plastic chairs for the bulk of the service. The music was acapella and the joy with which they praised God infectious.
The pastor spoke and gave a profound message about leaving the past behind. He got into it so much it felt like he was preaching just to you. Hapi translated so well that it was almost call and response, building toward greater things. I recorded part of it because it was so good and everyone so still listening intently.
I was taken by the sounds around me as listened to the sermon. Outside one window, I could see barbed wire and women pinning laundry to a line to dry. At another point, a little one started running down the side of the building, making a da-da-da-da-da-da sound as he ran his hand across the wall as he ran.
The kids are wonderful, very trusting and yet somewhat shy. I was an instant hit because of the video camera I've been trying to use.
After lunch we played with some sponsored kids who had come all the way up with a social worker from the project as well as an aunt with a little baby. They drove more than 10 hours and were totally zonked for most of the day. Watching them slowly open up to their sponsor was so sweet. The boy was 11 and very solemn, as was Harusi, the 5 year old. The other girl was a piece of work, but very eager to smile with few prompts.
Tonight we packed up to move south to the Emarti Maasai region, which means I'll be without internet for the next few days. I had really hoped to post more but am exhausted, so I'm wrapping this up here. I'll post more when we get back to on Thursday or Friday.
I was fairly nervous about this part. I didn't know how far we'd be walking into the slum, but it turned out not far at all, which was good because the road was rutted red clay with grooves deep enough to swallow a tire, not to mention your foot. To our right and left were tiny shops selling everything from charcoal to fruit to clothing. Some residents simply spread their wares in front of them.But all of the shoppers stopped when we started walking through. It felt so awkward, like I couldn't tell if we were the parade or they were. We soon made it to the church which was very nice. The concrete floor was stained to make the reddish dirt tracked in less obvious. The walls and ceiling were corrugated metal, with glass windows at each end. We sat in plastic chairs for the bulk of the service. The music was acapella and the joy with which they praised God infectious.
The pastor spoke and gave a profound message about leaving the past behind. He got into it so much it felt like he was preaching just to you. Hapi translated so well that it was almost call and response, building toward greater things. I recorded part of it because it was so good and everyone so still listening intently.
The kids are wonderful, very trusting and yet somewhat shy. I was an instant hit because of the video camera I've been trying to use.
After lunch we played with some sponsored kids who had come all the way up with a social worker from the project as well as an aunt with a little baby. They drove more than 10 hours and were totally zonked for most of the day. Watching them slowly open up to their sponsor was so sweet. The boy was 11 and very solemn, as was Harusi, the 5 year old. The other girl was a piece of work, but very eager to smile with few prompts.
Tonight we packed up to move south to the Emarti Maasai region, which means I'll be without internet for the next few days. I had really hoped to post more but am exhausted, so I'm wrapping this up here. I'll post more when we get back to on Thursday or Friday.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
How To Pray For Us (i.e., Me)
If you're interested in lifting this trip up in prayer (please, please pray for us!) then I have added the calendar on the right side of the blog to help.
For each day of the trip, I added descriptions of what we'll be doing that day as well as what type of prayer I think will be needed.
To read that day's requests and activities, simply click on the description ("Prep Day," "Travel Day," etc.) under the date. The information should drop down from there, and some days are more detailed than others so to see everything, you may be sent to the main Google calendar page.
I will try and blog of my own personal thoughts here if I'm able. For how the trip impacts others as sponsors and Mission of Mercy participants, you'll find those posts at http://www.missionofmercyblog.org/. If we have internet, that is.
One Kate-specific request: I am going on this trip to document what God is doing through the Maasai and American women. I'm primarily a writer, but I've been asked to video and photograph, too. Not going to lie -- this makes me nervous! Please pray with me that I have the eyes to see and the ears to hear the story God wants me to tell. And that all the equipment works and overcomes any human errors! I am worried that it will be hard to balance being a witness and a participant... I want to experience this trip as fully as possible while still accomplishing all I am needed to do for Mission of Mercy.
Thanks, friends. I fully believe I would not be here without you, praying me there!
For each day of the trip, I added descriptions of what we'll be doing that day as well as what type of prayer I think will be needed.
To read that day's requests and activities, simply click on the description ("Prep Day," "Travel Day," etc.) under the date. The information should drop down from there, and some days are more detailed than others so to see everything, you may be sent to the main Google calendar page.
I will try and blog of my own personal thoughts here if I'm able. For how the trip impacts others as sponsors and Mission of Mercy participants, you'll find those posts at http://www.missionofmercyblog.org/. If we have internet, that is.
One Kate-specific request: I am going on this trip to document what God is doing through the Maasai and American women. I'm primarily a writer, but I've been asked to video and photograph, too. Not going to lie -- this makes me nervous! Please pray with me that I have the eyes to see and the ears to hear the story God wants me to tell. And that all the equipment works and overcomes any human errors! I am worried that it will be hard to balance being a witness and a participant... I want to experience this trip as fully as possible while still accomplishing all I am needed to do for Mission of Mercy.
Thanks, friends. I fully believe I would not be here without you, praying me there!
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