Skin Tight...

Back from Africa for nearly five weeks but i still feel like i'm not "all here", that i don't really fit inside my skin. So much of my self remains in the places i visited, with the people i came to know and love, and each day i find myself wondering how Beatrice is recovering from the death of her 8-year-old granddaughter from AIDS... how Juliana's grandchildren are doing since her death from complications of AIDS...how the businesses of the grandmothers in Mwanza are doing... how the uniforms for the grand-children in the Kibera pre-school are coming along. I have more "grandchildren" now, more than my wonderful nine grand grands here in North Carolina...and my heart is both filled to overflowing with the courage and hope and broken open with the pain and poverty i witnessed firsthand.

And i am left with so many questions: How do i best live out my caring and concern? How do i let these new friends know that my thoughts and prayers are with them daily, that i send blessing each time i recall their dear faces? How do i live faithfully and responsibly in this place at this time in my life, knowing that i am deeply connected with these sisters far across the world? And how do i find my way back to this incredibly beautiful and terrible place which has implanted its mark like an indelible tattoo on the deepest place inside me.

Still on Kenya Time...

Here I sit at 3a.m., having just eaten a small "breakfast", after more than eight hours of sleep. My body remains on Kenya time- fell asleep at 4:30p.m. yesterday and awoke at 9:30a.m.-in Kenya! I guess this is what is known as "jet lag", though it simply feels like needing to reset my body clock, which has spent nearly four weeks on another schedule of life. Guess they're one and the same thing...though I see it as my body letting me know that my biological clock isn't reset nearly as easily as my wristwatch. And I'm paying attention. In the meantime, I'm trying to use these early-morning hours for something constructive...catching up on emails and this blog...doing laundry...and watching the very early news on ABC.

So, my body is in agreement with my mind and heart. Part of me is still in Kenya, firmly held by the grandmothers and grandchildren I met...by both the beauty and the poverty...by both the hospitality and the need...by the inability to claim and explain the emotions which threaten to overflow each time I think about the past four weeks. I look the same...my outward appearance has not changed...but inside, I am in turmoil...in the sense that I feel a pull to return, though in what capacity I am uncertain. Too soon, I realize, to have any clarity...it's just that these dark, early-morning hours lend themselves to such reflection...and suddenly I find I am getting very sleepy. "To sleep...perchance to dream..." Good night...good morning.

Home at Last!

After nearly two days of travel, beginning at 7p.m. Kenya time on Thursday (noon EDT) and ending when I walked into my house at 11p.m. last evening, Friday, I fell into bed for ten hours of sleep. Tried to unpack today but found I was just too tired...and tomorrow is another day, after all.

Ahead lies some very intentional recovery time...and processing time...and writing time...and remembering time. Perhaps I'll share some of it on this blog; perhaps I won't. Right now nothing is certain except that my life has been affected, impacted, changed by my African journey... and figuring out the direction my life will now take will be the next big task of my life. Wish me luck...

The Last Full Day

Today was bittersweet, as I spent my last full day in Nairobi. In the morning, Maddie and I went to the pre-school center to paint the benches we had made on Monday- fun, and not too messy, though I would have given a lot for latex paint. The cheery colors of turquoise and yellow will add a great deal to the classrooms, both in the old center and in the new one when it opens in September.

Then after lunch and a meeting with an amazing woman, Terry, from an NGO working with the aged here in Kenya, it was off to the city market to make some last-minute gift purchases, including my son's vuvuzela (you know- the dreadful-sounding horn used at the World Cup soccer games to cheer for the teams. Am I crazy or what?). The word is Zulu and means, "Let's all celebrate!"

Briefly back to the hotel and then off to our early evening meeting with the grandmothers at what will be the new pre-school center, since several has not seen it. They were thrilled with the property, as was Elizabeth, the teacher, since there will be far more space, both indoors and outside. Our time together was made difficult by two things. First, the eight-year-old granddaughter of Beatrice, one of the original grandmothers, died on Monday of complications from AIDS and Beatrice had gone to the country to be with the rest of her family for the funeral. And second- though far less important in the overall scheme of things, it was our goodby to the grandmothers for this trip. There were many hugs, a parting prayer, and sincere wishes for safe travel, as well as the fervent remark from Elizabeth: "Please don't forget us." As if I possibly could.

And so, in just a little more than 24 hours, I will be on a plane heading for Cairo, then Amsterdam, then Boston, and then Charlotte. By this time Friday evening, I will be on my way up I-85 to my home...and Nairobi, Kenya will be far, far away once again. But a piece of my heart- a very large piece- will remain here with these courageous grandmothers, with their beautiful grandchildren, while I give my own grands many hugs and kisses...while I express continued gratitude for the blessing of their presence in my life...while I pray for the wisdom, courage, and strength to continue the work begun here and in Mwanza and in Kigali among women who are struggling so hard to give their own grandchildren a better life.

Kibera: Africa's Largest Slum

Let me tell you a bit about Kibera, the second-largest slum in the world, the largest in Africa. The statistics vary but  it seems to be generally agreed that somewhere between two and two-and-one-half million people inhabit 2 square miles. Houses- such as they are- are quite literally on top of one another and from the outside edges of Kibera, where roads can accomodate one car-width, the streets get narrower and narrower, until in the center, streets are barely wide enough to permit two people to pass one another.

With no electricity, the place becomes dark and dangerous when night falls. With no running water, people are forced to carry water from several taps maintained by the government for that purpose. With no sewage system, raw human waste runs in the streets or is placed in bags on the roofs of houses where it is susceptible to both vermin and weather. One of the estimates I have heard is that more than 500,000 children in Kibera do not go to school, which means that this extreme poverty will be perpetuated for yet another generation.

Stretching as far as the eye can see, these "houses", each composed of one room and sometimes housing as many as 14 or 15 people, are the growing-up place for thousands of children, the dying place of countless more. 

The desire to bring hope and education to children orphaned by AIDS and now being cared for by their grandmothers is what has prompted the Nyanya Project. Having spent time at the Pre-School Center, seeing these children being fed and educated and cared for by loving adults five days a week makes me more determined than ever to have more and more such centers established. With the rental of a larger property (where considerable renovations must take place), a second center will begin- we deeply hope- this fall. Both centers will be housed in the same building, which will have a play yard outdoors, an indoor kitchen, several classrooms, a office, and bathroom facilities. In all, a total of 80 children will be able to attend, with the goal of preparing them for elementary school, as well as teaching them good health skills and providing nourishing food (which might well be the only food they get each day). The grandmothers working at the center mix a "porridge" of several difference grains (very nutrient-filled) which the children drink each day in addition to their lunch. I found the smell less than appetizing, but the children drink it gladly and ask for more. And a considerable number of the children have grown and are thriving where before they were thin and sickly (most especially those who are HIV-positive).

Yesterday, a group of us spent the morning working with a carpenter and his helper to build some benches for the center. Presently, the children sit on the floor, with no surface on which to write. The benches will serve double- duty: a place to sit when they are eating and a "desk" surface on which to write and color. Tomorrow morning, Maddie and I are going back to paint them in bright colors, which will add some extra cheer to the classroom.

If you'd like to learn more about the Nyanya Project and its work, please visit the website and/or the Facebook page. And if you believe in what we're doing, perhaps consider a contribution to enable us to help more of the grandmothers of these children, the poorest of the poor. For it is in these little ones that the hope for the future lies- their grandmothers realize that, which is why their determination is so great, their dedication so unwavering.

                  

It's Called Shutdown

Well, I was supposed to be spending this weekend near Mt. Kenya, visiting with the sheep grandmothers and going to the chimpanzee center, but during the night on Friday, my body absolutely rebelled...chills and fever (very low-grade) alternated with sweating. Add the vivid dreams and by morning, I was completely wiped out and could barely drag myself out of bed. Made the decision (in consultation with my  body which was shrieking, REST! REST! REST!) to forego the trip, which would have involved a good deal of driving both days and, instead, stay at the Wildebeest.

What is the saying about the best-laid plans? Seems the Wildebeest was completely booked for Saturday night and so, after the sweet receptionist made a call for me, I landed at the Fairview Hotel nearer downtown Nairobi. It turned out to be a lovely place where I slept, blogged, ate a little, took a short walk late in the afternoon, and then slept some more. This morning, there was a delicious breakfast buffet downstairs in the atrium (included in the room rate), and later, Charlie-the-taxi-driver, will pick me up and return me to the Wildebeest for at least the next 2 nights. Have you followed all this? The saying here when things happen in unexpected ways is TIA- "This Is Africa".

What I've been finding is that as much as I enjoy going the simpler, cheaper route, staying in hostels and camps, my aging body periodically rebels and demands a bit of comfort. Makes me feel totally spoiled...after all, the people we're meeting and working with have no such options. And many of the grandmothers are around my age...some older...with huge burdens of responsibility. Philosophically, the question arises: why is each of us in the particular life situation in which we find ourselves? Me, born in the U.S. admittedly to hard-working first-generation citizens who struggled all their lives to give my sisters and me a life better than theirs...and the women here, born to hard-working parents who also struggled to give them a better life- but in very different terms and circumstances. And now, because of the AIDS pandemic on this continent, many are left in their fifties, sixties, seventies, caring for their orphaned grandchildren, struggling to give them a better life.

The struggle is etched on their faces...your sisters and mine. And answers are not forth-coming- at least not for this intrepid traveler on this Sunday morning in Nairobi, Kenya.

Reflections from the Masaai Mara

The Masaai Mara was nothing short of amazing! There from Wednesday afternoon until Friday afternoon...took four game drives, saw a Masaai warrior dance, ate amazing meals, and slept in a beautiful "tent"- without a doubt the most luxurious accomodations I have ever experienced: handmade chocolates on the pillow, turn-down service AND a hot-water bottle each evening, a queen-size bed all to myself. I can only say WOW! Add to this seeing zebras, wildebeests, giraffes, lions, impalas, Thompson's gazelles, warthogs, meerkats, African foxes, crocodiles, hippos, vultures, ostriches, and countless unnamed antelope varieties and unidentified birds- all in the wild- and my cup was truly running over.

Took innumerable photos and had some time (believe it or not) to do some reflection and writing. Perhaps later, after I'm home, some time has passed, and all of this has soaked in, I'll write some more about it all, but for now, the best I can do is to share my writigs- as well as a few photos. Amani and kwaherini from Nairobi.

The Masaai Mara

The many shades of brown

soothe the eye, surround the

heart with welcome and

deep peace. Who could have known

that brown could be so varied,

so beautiful, so inviting to the soul,

as the wide expanse of grassland

leading to the distant hills

brings me to unexpected tears,

eliciting a sense of open-mouthed amazement.

Along the dusty, rutted road, the sight

of herds of zebras, gazelles, and

wildebeests stops my heart

again and again.

Masaai herdsmen and their flocks add

to my sense of other-worldly wonder,

while the women in their brilliant garb

appear like Miro-spots of color

on the otherwise monochromatic canvas.

Who would have known that the

sight of a distant herd of elephants

or a mother zebra and her colt

would bring a lump to my throat?

For, somehow, this feels like "home"-

though I have never been here

in this life...the open spaces

holy places from which I draw deep peace,

the sense of Divine Presence

very near...

this IS Africa.

WHY?

Why am I here?

What has brought me to this land of

startling contrasts?

of abject, relentless poverty and

startling modern opulence...

of women wrapped in colorful native cloth

bearing burdens on their heads,

and those in business power suits and

high heels, bearing briefcases in their hands...

of barefoot children dressed in castoff cothes

begging on street corners, and others wearing

shoes and spotless uniforms riding private buses

to private schools...

of trash-filled walking paths, awash with plastic

bags and strewn with refuse, and pristine

hotel gardens abloom with flowers relentlessly

tended...

of dusty, rutted rural roads filled with bicycles

and trudging pedestrians, and street-clogging

vehicles of every description filling city streets...

of local markets filled with wooden stalls set

amidst dirt paths and piled high with local

produce and used shoes, and shining modern

supermarts filled with everything one could

desire or need...

of grandmothers in the slums raising

grandchildren on mere shillings per day, and

young professionals ending their day at a

local pub, the tab as high as one month's

wages for the poor...

What am I doing here?

And when I return to my "real" life,

in whose voice shall I speak? Whose

story should I tell?

      And will anybody listen?

                          I wonder...