Big Babies

October holds a couple different holidays here in Kenya, so this year on Mashujaa Day (Heroes Day) we took our day off from work and explored a little bit of what greater Nairobi has to offer. Our first stop was The David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust which is home to a number of orphaned baby elephants that are being hand-raised and then released back into the wild. For one hour a day, the handlers bring the babies to the swimming hole to eat and play while excited guests hear about the project while being entertained by the immense cuteness of these pint-sized pachyderms!

Follow the leader!
The Sheldrick Trust was the first group to perfect the milk formula for baby elephants. These babies need to be fed every 3 hours at least day and night.

Elephants mature at about the same rate that humans do, so the little ones love to play and wrestle... and mud just makes it more fun!


After a bath it is important to get a good coating of dust to protect them from the hot Kenyan sun.

Ian loves rhinos! This rhino is kept by the Sheldrick Trust because he is completely blind. They feed him and try to make sure he gets exercise.
Of course the rhino does have friends visit from time to time... this warthog was wandering the grounds and decided to pop in to say hello.
And what Kenyan holiday would be complete without meeting a giraffe? Not ours! We of course thought it would only be proper to offer it a snack.
:)
B
PS- we're working on our November newsletter... let us know if there is something you've been curious about that we can fill you in on!

Dear Jenny Craig...

your help is not wanted here....


We saw these signs around Ian's work as we were appropriately munching an after work snack. :) Unlike in the US, if someone tells you that your wife is very fat you should take it as a compliment and not punch them in the face. *wink*

B

People of Peace

During my days at Amani ya Juu i have the pleasure to get to know some of the nicest people in Kenya... or at least I think they are the nicest people in Kenya. I think I have shared before that Amani ya Juu means "Peace from Above" in kiswahili, and the people I get the privilege of seeing there are often my refuge of peace. Not just peace, but giggles and laughter and hugs and good times while getting things accomplished. I have been hanging out in the Garden cafe a lot lately, and during the slow slow slow times one of the favorite past times seems to be taking facebook pictures. One day I interrupted the cell-phone camera facebook pic session with my big 'ol SLR and promised a couple glamor shots to some of the lovely ladies in the garden. It ended up that not only ladies like getting their photos taken, but our garden keeper Jackson got in on the action too.

Palvine

Delphine and Judy

Jackson

Hilda

I had taken these a little while ago while re-doing a few product photos for the shop, and had forgotten about them until today when I was going through my files and found one more portrait I didn't remember. I had handed one of the cafe staff my camera to look at and play around with for a photo or two and Betty managed to snap a photo of me in the garden too :)


It's awesome getting to be with these people every day and have them as my teachers and co-laborers. I'm hoping to introduce you to more of them as we go along!
More from the Garden later!
B

Visiting Kawangware

Wednesday I went for a home visit to Kawangware. It is one of the slums near central Nairobi where some of the ladies from Amani live.

I made the mistake of forgetting my camera, but here's a fairly recent photo of part of Kawangware.

It is a moderately developed area with various buildings mixed with tin structures. The place where Margaret and Anita live is in a concrete building. They live on the top most floor in a tiny apartment. It has a small kitchen and washroom and living/bedroom. They have a humble home, but it is tidy and well organized.

I don't know what much to say about the visit, but that it makes me proud to be part of a family of Christians. Margaret began helping her friend Phyllis when Phyllis was diagnosed or "discovered" with HIV in 2000. Margaret was diagnosed in 2007. They are good friends and spend time reading the Bible together and encouraging one another through their illness.

It was so encouraging to hear the word from Grace as she shared a devotion today at Margaret's home. She shared from Exodus 22.

21 "Do not mistreat an alien or oppress him, for you were aliens in Egypt.

22 "Do not take advantage of a widow or an orphan. 23 If you do and they cry out to me, I will certainly hear their cry. 24 My anger will be aroused, and I will kill you with the sword; your wives will become widows and your children fatherless.

Many of the women there were single mothers or widows including one from one of the visiting mission team.
Grace shared how God cares for women who have been left alone by being widowed or have had men leave them. He loves them so much that He has put it in his law.

She also shared that she was glad about the part in this passage about the alien... or foreigner. She said she was so glad that God had made it possible for these foreigners to visit them and was thankful for the love that they have brought. She thanked God that he has loved us so much that these foreigners have love to give to the Amani ladies in Africa.

She then said something that was shocking to me. She told us that helping those in need was something that was more built in to our culture, and that in Africa it is not so and is often very difficult or does not happen. She was grateful to God that our culture has sent us to her with so much love.

This affected me in a strange way. I know there are many loving people in the USA. I know many of them both inside the church and out. I have heard from political minds on other continents how giving the American public is. I guess I have just never thought of helping those in need as being something in my culture. I think I see where this is coming from in her mind, especially in the midst of literal hand to mouth existence here for many people. Still, this shocked me to think about. I think, perhaps the Americans they meet are the people who really want to love them and help.

This hurt my heart though. Americans, in my experience, are very willing to open up and want to give to the poor internationally. The outcry after the disaster in Haiti was just a small fringe of what American private aid does. When Americans go on short term mission trips or short term relief work they throw themselves into the work and into loving the people that they meet. However, back on our own home soil we sometimes have a harder time loving the poor and pouring ourselves and our resources into them.

African widow needs dental work? no problem... here's a couple hundred dollars. Single mom in East St. Louis needs a cavity filled? Too bad... she should work harder so she can pay for it. I remember after Katrina hearing something so similar to this from someone I have respected since childhood that I was greatly taken aback.

I know this isn't the attitude among all American people, but it is enough that I find it disturbing to consider that 'helping those in need is built in to my culture.' I am also aware that being a young American who travels primarily for the sake of working in development or missions that I can be very tough on my fellow Americans... and especially American Christians. Even knowing my biases against my own people, it is hard for me to accept that compared to other cultures mine appears to have 'help those in need' somehow embedded in it.

I walked my short walk home after returning to Amani from the visit. I said hello to Joel(Jo-el) who runs a shop by the rickety bridge I cross. I have been beginning to make small informal relationships along the walk to and from work. Joel is one of the shop keepers I have met. I am often a strange sight walking along that road as I am usually to only non-African not in a vehicle. Sure there are white people and Indians in cars, but never on foot. I try to act like this is normal and go along my merry way saying hello to the many shop keepers, food vendors, and bicycle repair men I have come to recognize. I am sure they find my friendliness amusing. I however find it challenging and a constant step out of my comfort zone.

I arrived home and stopped to talk to our guard Benjamin. He has been trying teach me Kiswahili and has been a bright spot of my day from the moment we moved in. I just learned that Benjamin is half Rwandan and used to be a teacher.

I use my limited Kiswahili to ask Benjamin how he is and he tells me he is fine. I ask him about his day, and it has been very good. He asks me if I have had a lot of work today. I am home almost an hour and a half later than usual because of the home visit. I tell him that I have been visiting friends in Kawangware and he asks me if I actually went to Kawangware.
"Yes. I went to their home to visit."
"Oh! IN Kawangware?"
"Yes."
"Were you shocked at the conditions?" he asked me.
I told him I wasn't at all. "I am very much accustomed to areas like Kawangware. I really enjoyed seeing their home!"
Benjamin was impressed at this. He told me that it is such a good thing and that I visited and that it makes people in those area feel special and respected and affirmed as people. He also told me that I have a good heart and that someday when we visit him it will be very good because we will not be shocked at where he stays.

He was amazed to hear that we also had made friends in Kibera and that I have visited and plan to visit again.

I mentioned to him that there are poor in the USA as well, and even people who live on the street or in places in the middle of nowhere that have only just gotten electricity (like in some of Appalachia), but that many people refuse to realize that these things exist in my own country or they simply have no idea.

He was glad to hear that I was willing to go to these places in Kenya and meet these people. It made him very happy, I think, to know that I thought it was okay to live in places that don't look like the luxury condos that he guards every day.

I realized when I finally said goodbye to Benjamin and went up to our flat, that I have slowly been becoming comfortable with urban slums in the developing world throughout my life and that I am grateful to the community that encouraged me as a young person to open my heart to people in circumstances different to my own.

My home church in Michigan, MCRC, and my family have always been very supportive of my international travels, and our home church in DC, National Community Church, has also stood behind us as we have taken steps toward working in development. Also our Greenville College family, our friends from Christian Legal Society, and other like minded humanitarian lawyers and professionals have given us permission over and over again to live and love radically.

I am so blessed.

Without perhaps even knowing it, these communities have saved me from another type of poverty. They have rescued me from having an impoverished heart. The ability to be comfortable visiting people in different circumstances without feeling ruffled at all is due to the investment that others have made in me over the years and I am sitting in out flat in Africa feeling so very blessed to have such investors on my side.

Even if helping those in need is not something that is obvious to me in my own culture, I think it is awesome that widows in Africa can see the investment of people who have stretched me and encouraged me to live outside of the box. I cherish that the final product that these women recognize is that of love.

Thank you to all of you who have invested in Ian and me so that we can invest in the people we meet here.
B

Struggling through

I have had a hectic past month at Amani and Thursday a couple weeks ago was almost my tipping point.

Ramona* is from Uganda. her husband worked for the government that was overthrown or something of that nature and they have been refugees in Kenya for some time. I automatically loved her. She reminds me of my mother, I think. That is probably one of many reasons why when Amani couldn't give her a loan the size she was asking for that I lost it.

As far as we know her son is in prison in Uganda. We don't know why or how long he has been there, but he is in his early twenties and from what i understand was working with computers and I think going to university and now he is in prison. Ramona is trying to go back there and bail him out and bring him here to Kenya. As far as we know there are some problems with this. First, if he leaves before a court date he could be seen as fleeing from justice and be at risk of never really being able t travel again, or even just put straight back into prison if he is flagged at the border of Uganda with a warrant. Second, we have no idea what he did. Third, there seems to be no clear answers in any direction about how much they would need to get him out or anything.

When I was in the room when Ramona was getting the loan she thanked us and thanked God and then said she wouldn't even be able to leave with this much. 10,000 shillings is about $150. it isn't much. We dropped twice that much on furniture this weekend. What do I do?
After taking the loan and seeming so downcast at the small amount she left the office leaving myself and Pat sitting in silence. Pat has a hard job. She is the HR person and in many ways the advocate for these women. She used to be a principal at an arts university. She is a sharp lady and I like her. She is tough but merciful; what a wonderful combination. We looked at each other and she said "what do we do?" and I looked at her and said "I don't know" and I busted into tears. I lost it. Pat talked me through her struggles working at Amani where these women are sometimes paid very little, although better than they would be in other places. She encouraged me that God loves them and we don't understand his ways and that money is not always the answer. I really appreciated it even if none of my questions are answered and my heart is still in turmoil.

Ramona is obviously in low spirits. She needs 9000 more shillings at least and I just don't think i can do that. I know I can't give it to her directly anyhow. As a person who is very much a gift-love-language person... this hurts my heart. I want to give her whatever i can, but i can't. Not without the details and not on the budget we have. how do I chose who to help?

Lori* is another one. She's been sick this week and I met her on the road on my way to work and she was going to the hospital. I wanted to throw her in a cab and bring her there myself, but it is hard with precedent setting. I realize poverty is multi-faceted. Helping someone for a season may actually be a burden if they become dependent. The best thing i can do is pray and continue to encourage them as they continue to work towards sustainability. I can help set up programs that will create jobs and opportunities and I am trying to do that. I'm just struggling with always seeing the real face of the poverty and hurt that we've come to help.

I meet so many people in difficult circumstances here, and not just financially. Many people regardless of their income need hope. Aid and missions workers need this even more than others often. They stare hard circumstances in the face daily and work their tails off to make change happen, often to little praise... if any. The amount of bitterness that can seep into their hearts is uncanny, and it is not always shown in the ways we would think.

The inability to listen to others well is one of those things I have noticed in a number of missions workers since we have been on this journey. It seems to spring directly from some of the bitterness they have acquired, often because they have been taken advantage of by someone or some organization. This is a huge attack on the work that relief workers do. Yes, there are often many people vying for position in our schedules, but what good are we if we cannot listen and really hear what is going on? We are very little good, especially in a cross cultural context where listening is key to our understanding which is key to learning how to serve.

I guess this brings me to self-care. Self-care for Aid workers, relief workers, and missionaries is paramount They need a support network that is often not given to them. Maybe this is a strange cry in an odd direction, but if you are reading this you should know that the situation I have been put in above is barely even the tip of the iceberg for many people out in the field. If I have learned anything from this experience so far, it is that working this type of work can be a very lonely road. I have been blessed by you, our supporters, friends, and family with a wonderful extended network of support. Still, I know that not all people in my position have that network. Please consider being the person who encourages someone who is out doing amazing peace-building and development work. It sounds all nice and fluffy, but it is a tough road and they need to hear from you especially during times of moral dilemmas (which generally is every day).

May we be agents of peace and hope wherever we go and in all that we do.
B

(*real names have been changed to protect the identity of those in vulnerable situations)

Visiting Kibera

It's been a while without a substantial post, and I will give you all the down-low on why! I (Bekah) have finally begun working with the foundation I was hoping to get to partner with and it has been super-duper busy. I have hardly gotten a moment to breathe! More on that later though....

The day before I jumped in to my current position I went on a visit to the Kibera slum with my friend Lesley who helps plant urban gardens. Lesley has a passion for nutrition and is working to educate women with HIV especially on the benefits that good nutrition can have for their quality of life. She is a lovely gal and we have been blessed to come in contact with her and her husband Michael and hope we get to spend some more time with them in the future!


I had been hoping to take a trip into Kibera with Lesley for a while and was excited to get the chance to see what she was up to and meet some of her friends and co-laborers in the gardening effort.
We began our journey into Kibera in Lesley's car bumping along some of the dirt paths down to the school where one of the gardens is located. We were supposed to meet Stella who is one of the most faithful volunteers for the gardens. In return for her efforts she gets the benefit of the produce.
Stella was still on her way to meet us so we journeyed ahead to the daycare where Stella's son stays while she is working. Stella is a young single mother living in the Kibera slum
and is the only one caring for her tiny son.

The daycare was mostly a room with dirt walls a cement floor and a tin roof filled with tiny children. The nice lady running the daycare welcomed us and gave us all hugs. She told us that many of the women whose children come to the daycare have a hard time paying the fee for a day's stay for their babies which is 20 shilings... equivalent to just under 25 cents USD. These women spend most days looking for work to make ends meet for their families.
The little ones were enamored with our cameras and had plenty of smiles and giggles at getting to see themselves on the screen. Many of these children are undernourished which will greatly effect their development, especially in these early years. Still, they are full of smiles once they get over the fact that there are scary white people (maybe the first some of them have seen) visiting them.
As we left we passed by one of the main water sources fr the area; a polluted creek. Clean water is one of the things most needed in area like this. Children and adults alike die from water-born illness and dysentery.

We then made our way to a little school near-by and had time to play with the kids and talk with the staff. Many of the staff had grown up in the same slum and had dreams of teaching.

They make due with what they have and many have worked hard to get books and desks for the school. Still, life is difficult in Kibera and many of the children will end up dropping out of school for lack of school fees or various other reasons. Due to the large amounts of rain we'd been having here a couple of the walls in the school had washed out, and the one in their 'kitchen' was completely gone.

The amount of positivity here is still overwhelming. Even though it was a short visit to Africa's largest slum, I was grateful to get a glimpse into the lives of many of the people I meet here. They are often struggling to make ends meet in often grim circumstances, but there are glimmers of hope.
Educators who know that and education will give the next generation a boost up in the world.

Women like Stella who are volunteering in urban gardens.

People like Lesley who have befriended people in Kibera and are working to improve their lives in sustainable ways. And of course, the enthusiasm of children who still play games, tell jokes, and laugh in the face of great adversity.
God Bless Kenya.
B

From the sketchbook

I thought I'd leave a little treat here today. We're working on our update letter this week so hopefully you'll be hearing from us soon. Still, I thought I'd post a page from my sketch book.
We have a great view from our current apartment looking our over the suburb that we live in. We also have a balcony that affords us some outdoor space 5 stories up which consequently is great for drawing and bird watching.
I don't usually post my scribbles, so please be gentle in viewing them... they're a little shy. This drawing was made sometime last month as I was noticing all of the interesting movement and life in Nairobi and enjoying it move along as the day passed slowly... which things take a looong time here.


Hopefully you can see it alright. If you click on it you can view a larger photo. It made me chuckle and I wanted to share it with you!
Thank you for being part of our story here in Nairobi!
B

Holler Indeed

"He is risen!"
"Holler!"
(quote from a DC friend's first response to the Easter morning liturgy having never heard it before. Awesome)

This past Sunday, Easter Sunday, was our first Sunday in Kenya. It's always difficult to adjust to a new place, but I think that sometimes holidays make it more poignant that you are, in fact, no longer in a familiar setting. Easter held just such an experience.

We set out Sunday morning in a taxi with a fellow IJMer to head to All-Saints Cathedral in Nairobi which is an Anglican congregation. As at most churches on Easter, there was quite a crowd gathering outside to head in to the next service and we were among them. The crowd comprised of an interesting mix of ethnicities and ages as we squished through the doors.

Disclaimer: I should probably just put it out in the open that I love church. I don't usually think of myself as particularly traditional, although I am not particularly non-traditional either... but just any given person I may meet in casual conversation at a party probably wouldn't assume that church-loving-ness about me straight off. So there it is.

I know I have a number of expectations and stereotypes stored away in my subconscious for what Kenya would be like and what our experiences would be. Some of these come courtesy of the big screen such as Lion King and The Constant Gardener, while other expectations are rooted in my previous experience in South Africa in 2001, while still others are the product of reading too many guidebooks and blogs about what to expect. I try to recognize those expectations and stereotypes when going to a new place in order to attempt a separation, or maybe more appropriately attempt to take inventory of truths or lies that are embedded in my preconceived notions.

In the case of Easter Sunday, I was expecting a lively time of worship and celebration with lots of color and 'African flare'. You know... the stereotypical unaccompanied choir and maybe some dancing. What I received was not exactly what I expected.

We began the service with a responsive reading and the traditional Easter call "He is risen!" which the congregation responds to with "He is risen indeed!" This has to be one of my more favorite Easter traditions (apart from Peeps and Easter bonnets of course *wink*). I get really excited before Easter services knowing it is coming and getting ready to reply with gusto. Needless to say with the combined personal excitement at this tradition and the expectations of a boisterous Easter Sunday Kenyan style, I was all ramped up for my response to the clergy's call.
Just as I expected, a ridiculously dark and adorable bishop got up and began the service "He is risen!"

I took a big breath and put my diaphragm behind my much anticipated response "He is risen INDEED!". And that is when it happened.

I suddenly realized that I was the only person in my general vicinity besides perhaps Ian who seemed to be super jazzed about responsive reading. (I guess I should be used to this as responsive readings aren't exactly the most exciting part of most people's church experience, but... it's Easter for crying out loud!) I got a somewhat startled half glance from the woman two seats down with the umbrella, and one of those trying-not-to-look-at-the-crazy-person grimace from the older couple in front of me. Yikes!

I calmed myself for a moment and tried to reign myself back in. I listened to a couple more responses and was surprised by the muddy mumbling all around me. Sure enough, I seemed to be the only crazy in the 5 or so pews on any given side of me. This was not one of those expectations that I was preparing to be dashed to pieces. Where was my happy African Sunday service!? What the heck is going on here?!?
So I flaked. I was in shock and frustrated, and as a rebellious move I decided not to stand up with the rest of the 'first time visitors' when asked by the provost. Who even likes doing that? As far as I know.... NOBODY.

It didn't take long for me to bounce back to full roaring-choir-kid volume and exuberance. One thing that continues to be difficult to learn as we transition from place to place is to not let a crushed expectation keep you from enjoying the moment as you had hoped. Sure, my fellow church-goers murmured through all of the responsive readings in the liturgy. That is no reason to join into the mumbling and let a few rumbly lines rain on my (Easter) parade.

Looking back, there are many reasons why the response could have been muddy: the architecture, lack of familiarity with the text (I mean it is Easter and lots of people show up on Easter who don't usually frequent church services), even low literacy rates could be part of the deal... and probably a couple church grumps thrown in. Not to mention that while I love Anglican services, I have to remember that the tradition is probably a little less charismatic than even my good 'ol Reformed background.

Either way, I belted my way through "Up From the Grave He Arose!" and a few more rousing celebratory hymns, laughed at the jokes of the wonderful Bishop who was preaching from Ezekiel about resurrection (brilliant! talk about throwing a curve ball to the usual text from the gospels), and shared The Peace with those around me.

Communion on Easter is always special since we are celebrating a fulfillment of the covenant and Christ's conquering death. Even though I didn't get my high-powered responsive reading, the procession up to the altar was great as we proceeded right through the cathedral's choir with the choir singing on either side as we reached the altar. That was awesome. Honestly, I love my teetotaling American Protestants at large and all of their weekly Welches grape juice, but there really is something about the heat of real wine going down your throat when observing Christ's blood shed for us that makes me feel connected historically.

All in all, Easter was great. Confusing, mildly disappointing in some ways, but in general a good beginning to our time here.

Our Easter celebrations didn't end there, of course. We walked around city center, through a park where I was almost run over by a camel while crossing a footbridge, in and quickly out of the Maasai market, into a grocery store to buy a man named David a bag of rice, and into a coffee shop for some of the best Masala tea I've had outside of Asia. A little after-noon nap helped soothe some of the jet-lagged feelings we're still getting and then we had a friend over for Garlic Chicken and some exciting rounds of Set and Nerts.

We're settling in and looking forward to new experiences and new friends during our time here in Africa

And finally....
He IS risen. Holler!
B