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.
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