The roads...
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
On the Road Again
Before I begin this post I need to retract something I said two posts ago. I mentioned that the Texans' container was being held ransom at a church, but as it turns out it was only being highly taxed at customs. My mistake... I'm sorry for any issues that caused.
I left Rabondo about a week ago and I have been back with Bev since then. It has been so great to see her and all her boys again! On Sat. (sorry God) Bev, a few of her boys and I piled into her big van and drove all day up to a place called Turkana, in Northern Kenya, to feed orphans. It was far and away my best experience yet in Kenya. I think the best way to describe the roads once we got out into rural Kenya is that they looked like they had been bombed. We didn't get out of second gear for much of the drive as we bumped and crashed along the devastation. The roof of the van lifted so we could all stand on our seats and hang out to better gape at the spectacular view surrounding us. First there was rain forest - luscious, chaotic jungle, which morphed into dry, arid desert, just as wild and beautiful, but in a different way. There were cacti, 12 foot high termite mounds, huge boulders, and mountains - oh the mountains... stretching in every direction, towering around us.
Craning my neck out the roof like a puppy I was so content I thought my heart would burst. It was the fulfillment of everything I had sought in coming to Africa - the moving, the adventure of traveling, all in order to help starving orphans. As dusk approached we entered a more dangerous area and stopped at a police station to get an escort. The police of course saw two white women and tried to rip us off, despite the fact that we were trying to go feed their children. In disgust we forged on alone and fortunately met no trouble. That night the boys and I went to a dance club where they played awful music and all the people did this hilarious jerky movement with their bodies. I made a fool of myself trying to dance like them and one of the boys was my personal shover for all the drunk Kenyans who came to slobber on the mzungu.
The next day we wound up into the scorching mountains and just when it seemed like no critter or even lizard would be able to survive in the dry heat a few huts and a crowd of Africans came into view. I don't know what they have been eating, let alone drinking, but as the pastor gathered up the orphans to receive our food I felt a deep remorse that we couldn't feed all the other villagers who grouped around to watch.
That was when the little voice that has been nagging at me for my entire trip piped up again. It taunted me that we were feeding 62 orphans and that they were only a small fraction of the orphans in Kenya, let alone the world. And worse, the voice chided that for all the trouble we went to in order to reach these orphans, they will eat the food and then be starving again in a few days (if their food isn't stolen from first by the other starving villagers).
Just under the surface of my happiness at feeding these orphans was an overwhelming anxiety that what I was doing didn't matter. Later one of Bev's assistants who had grown up near the village spoke to the villagers about the importance of education. He spoke passionately and proved by his very being that education can make a person. It is so important for these people to see the products of their own success stories. So many of the young people who make it to college and get jobs disappear into the world and their villages never hear from the again. When the mzungus show up with a truck of food it fills the villagers' stomachs for a day, but when their friend or child shows up in nice clothes with a healthy smile on his face they are given the motivation that is so lacking. I think the colleges and universities need to require all their graduates to go back to their villages and speak, or even do a service project. Kenyans need to expect help from their own people, not just the whites.
As we drove back through the drought stricken desert, gazing pedestrians held our their hands or pointed at their parched throats and begged "maji" (water). Bev threw a bottle to two little boys who chased after our van screaming for water and that's when I was hit with a small wave of comfort. Perhaps they drank that water and were just as thirsty a few hours later, but maybe, just maybe, that water pushed them through until they found more water. Perhaps Bev saved their lives. And even if that water had no lasting effect, it made them so happy for that moment in time. I am still struggling with the expectations and demands most Kenyans have of white people, and I am still trying to figure out how I can have a real impact here, but for the moment being able to bring food to people so desperately in need made me appreciative and happy.
I am back at Bev's place now, helping out with whatever she needs. Bev and I will travel again in Dec., for which I am obviously excited. In other news, I have a finger nail fungus, which looks every bit as disgusting as it sounds. I just glanced down one day to find that both my thumbnails had turned an alarming shade of yellow and seemed to be detaching from my thumbs. Night told me that in African culture dead fingernails mean you are going to get something new. I told her I was not African so that rule may not apply. Fortunately Bev has some anti-fungal cream so hopefully that will help.
Missing you all terribly!! Keep staying in touch!!!
I left Rabondo about a week ago and I have been back with Bev since then. It has been so great to see her and all her boys again! On Sat. (sorry God) Bev, a few of her boys and I piled into her big van and drove all day up to a place called Turkana, in Northern Kenya, to feed orphans. It was far and away my best experience yet in Kenya. I think the best way to describe the roads once we got out into rural Kenya is that they looked like they had been bombed. We didn't get out of second gear for much of the drive as we bumped and crashed along the devastation. The roof of the van lifted so we could all stand on our seats and hang out to better gape at the spectacular view surrounding us. First there was rain forest - luscious, chaotic jungle, which morphed into dry, arid desert, just as wild and beautiful, but in a different way. There were cacti, 12 foot high termite mounds, huge boulders, and mountains - oh the mountains... stretching in every direction, towering around us.
Craning my neck out the roof like a puppy I was so content I thought my heart would burst. It was the fulfillment of everything I had sought in coming to Africa - the moving, the adventure of traveling, all in order to help starving orphans. As dusk approached we entered a more dangerous area and stopped at a police station to get an escort. The police of course saw two white women and tried to rip us off, despite the fact that we were trying to go feed their children. In disgust we forged on alone and fortunately met no trouble. That night the boys and I went to a dance club where they played awful music and all the people did this hilarious jerky movement with their bodies. I made a fool of myself trying to dance like them and one of the boys was my personal shover for all the drunk Kenyans who came to slobber on the mzungu.
The next day we wound up into the scorching mountains and just when it seemed like no critter or even lizard would be able to survive in the dry heat a few huts and a crowd of Africans came into view. I don't know what they have been eating, let alone drinking, but as the pastor gathered up the orphans to receive our food I felt a deep remorse that we couldn't feed all the other villagers who grouped around to watch.
That was when the little voice that has been nagging at me for my entire trip piped up again. It taunted me that we were feeding 62 orphans and that they were only a small fraction of the orphans in Kenya, let alone the world. And worse, the voice chided that for all the trouble we went to in order to reach these orphans, they will eat the food and then be starving again in a few days (if their food isn't stolen from first by the other starving villagers).
Just under the surface of my happiness at feeding these orphans was an overwhelming anxiety that what I was doing didn't matter. Later one of Bev's assistants who had grown up near the village spoke to the villagers about the importance of education. He spoke passionately and proved by his very being that education can make a person. It is so important for these people to see the products of their own success stories. So many of the young people who make it to college and get jobs disappear into the world and their villages never hear from the again. When the mzungus show up with a truck of food it fills the villagers' stomachs for a day, but when their friend or child shows up in nice clothes with a healthy smile on his face they are given the motivation that is so lacking. I think the colleges and universities need to require all their graduates to go back to their villages and speak, or even do a service project. Kenyans need to expect help from their own people, not just the whites.
As we drove back through the drought stricken desert, gazing pedestrians held our their hands or pointed at their parched throats and begged "maji" (water). Bev threw a bottle to two little boys who chased after our van screaming for water and that's when I was hit with a small wave of comfort. Perhaps they drank that water and were just as thirsty a few hours later, but maybe, just maybe, that water pushed them through until they found more water. Perhaps Bev saved their lives. And even if that water had no lasting effect, it made them so happy for that moment in time. I am still struggling with the expectations and demands most Kenyans have of white people, and I am still trying to figure out how I can have a real impact here, but for the moment being able to bring food to people so desperately in need made me appreciative and happy.
I am back at Bev's place now, helping out with whatever she needs. Bev and I will travel again in Dec., for which I am obviously excited. In other news, I have a finger nail fungus, which looks every bit as disgusting as it sounds. I just glanced down one day to find that both my thumbnails had turned an alarming shade of yellow and seemed to be detaching from my thumbs. Night told me that in African culture dead fingernails mean you are going to get something new. I told her I was not African so that rule may not apply. Fortunately Bev has some anti-fungal cream so hopefully that will help.
Missing you all terribly!! Keep staying in touch!!!
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