Together

Matt rode the bus to Nairobi about a week ago to spend time with friends and await the arrival of the rest of the fam. Jenna and Amy arrived (a bit crumpled and bleary eyed as I understand it) on the 21st, but their bags decided they wanted to overnight in London. They came riding merrily out of the baggage conveyor belt the following evening. They spent a very interesting day visiting some residents of one of the distressed neighborhoods of Nairobi with some missionary acquaintances who run a school there. They took the bus here Christmas Eve. In the meantime (knowing Matt was taking good care of his sisters) Tim and I relaxed here in Arusha and took in a deeply meaningful and softly beautiful candlelight service at a local community church. We're grateful for these traditions that carry with them treasured memories of you - friends and family -as they echo through the years to touch us now and remind us of the truths that light our way. We've managed to bring some Christmas traditions with us; Stewart's breakfast casserole; Gert's snickerdoodles; weird candy in the stockings; and even the Muppet Christmas Carol DVD.  May you have a merry Christmas too as we celebrate the Child who is our light and our hope.

White Christmas

I'm taking in the scene outside my window - lush green ferns, the graceful arch of tall trees, a carpet of happily thriving grass, flowers of every color - all bathed in the light of the African sun. It's not exactly a "white Christmas", but then we provide a noticeable amount of white every time we walk out the door. So it all comes together for a distinctly Tanzanian Christmas.  If it makes you a bit uncomfortable to have me refer to my skin color so lightly (pun unintended, but now that it's out, let's go with it), you just have to come and live here for a bit.  For example, it's fairly common for strangers to yell out, "mzungu!" (white person) as we walk by; a toddler hid from me and his mother explained that he was afraid because he'd not seen a white person before; a little girl held on to Tim's hand then started rubbing his arm intently while grinning from ear to ear.  We've been introduced as the "white people" by the emcee at a party of some African friends. When we walk out of our house, our identity as whites goes trumpeting out before us. It's just the way it is. As a person who likes to stroll about incognito, it's been one thing I'm adjusting to. Usually,  the spirit behind the interactions is friendly and warm and light hearted. We choose to receive it in that same spirit. (And on the rare occasion when it's not, we pray He enables us to be gracious, understanding that life and history is a mixed bag.) And speaking of spirit - His Spirit dwells within us and Jesus Christ said, "Lo, I am with you always." And the white doesn't rub off. So... see? Everyday is a white Christmas... with the deep, rich ebony of Tanzania all around.  (-:

A typical class - Atypical teacher

Pic!

Tall White Guy

DaDaab continuued:

It took three days of travel before I found myself rolling into DaDaab with the Mobile Harem. This is the name that we five women dubbed ourselves as we laughed and chatted and prayed our way across Kenya toward the remote northeast area  where Matt was. (Yes, "was".... he has finished his time there and will be back with us tomorrow.) DaDaab is 99% conservative Muslim people of Somali descent. Matt was the only tall white guy in the primary school where he volunteered teaching two English classes, a math class, and a couple of P.E. classes (P.E. happened only if the heat allowed for any movement at higher speeds than a slow crawl.) There is a highly fortified U.N. compound within walking distance, but Matt had very little, if any, contact with the residents there.

We rolled in the winding dirt streets, through crowded lanes of little corrugated tin shops, past wandering goats and gawking pedestrians, through the gate (everything of any value in any developing nation is gated, fenced, locked) and into the compound where Matt was staying.

Let me now make a extreme understatement as the mother of this young man: it was good to see him.

Yes.

The elders and the teachers welcomed me warmly. The people there have appreciated Matt very much. Plus I'm older and in this continent that means honor. I'm good with that! I wish I could get to know the women, some of whom wore full coverings so that we could only see their eyes. You can tell when a woman is smiling, even if only the eyes are showing.And if anything is sure to elicit a smile, it's my blundering attempts at Swahili. (Most people in this area are of Somali descent so speak both Somali and Swahili.) I appreciated the friendly encounters, and also occasionally felt the strain of being an American woman in a very conservative Muslim world. For many women here, life is very harsh.

If you're interested in this neck of the woods, you can go to Tim's blog and hear about his visit to DaDaab. My women's trip was a bit different. (No trips to the local restaurant to socialize and no viewing of soccer games on the t.v. there..... no women allowed!)
takhere.blogspot.com


Thank you for your prayers on Matt's behalf. God has sustained him and upheld him. The young men who also teach at the school took him in as a friend, insisted that he take a meal with them everyday, and made him part of the town soccer team. The elders who manage the compound where Matt lived kept a watchful eye out. In turn our prayer has been that Matt would be a blessing, that in some small way he would be the hands and feet of the God of love who loves deeply the people of DaDaab.

National Geographic

Tim and I love National Geographic magazine.Growing up, it was a useful source of pictures for school reports. (-:
Since that time, I've often looked at exotic photos from far off places and thought how I would love to be in those places. Well, in Matt's words, "Mom! I'm IN National Geographic!"

No words could describe DaDaab better.

I traveled with three nurses (2 from Germany, 1 from Brazil) and a community worker (from Canada). It was a delight to be in the company of these capable, adventurous, fun, faith filled women. Kelly drove the all terrain vehicle. We took turns riding on top, just for the fun of it. We passed scrub, and desert, and acacia trees, nomads herding camels and goats, small colorful villages, mosques, and had one sighting of a dik dik. It was awesome.

More to come.....

Ahoy, mateys!

Oct. 17
We traveled for ten hours by bus to DarEsSalaam, the capital of Tanzania, to pick up Tim's teaching materials and to check in at the American Embassy. It was nice being on U.S. soil for that brief time. There is much to be said for the good old US of A.

Since we were this close, we took a ferry across to the island of Zanzibar. According to Zanzibar.net, "The Assyrians, Sumerians, Egyptians, Phoenicians, Indians, Chinese, Persians, Portuguese, Omani Arabs, Dutch and English have all been here at one time or another". Presently, the majority of residents are conservative Muslim and so the women tending the stores or working at the banks or standing in line at the ferry or walking along the streets always were clothed in conservative dress, often in black overdress and head covering. Individual style was expressed through various colors, fabrics, trimmings - even on the basic black you could usually see something of a woman's style preferences. Interactions with people in the town were friendly.

The reality of vast socioeconomic differences was apparent just by glancing out at the water. Next to a few elaborate yachts we saw hand hewn wooden boats, called n'garawas, that are used by the locals and have been for generations. A n'garawa is canoe shaped, and made from mango wood. It has an outrigger on each side, a sail, and poles to navigate in more shallow waters. It's a beautiful sight on a morning and evening to see a fleet of garawas sailing out and in with the tides. Other than a little bit of water that seeps in now and then, the boats are very seaworthy and the men are very skilled in the art of sailing them.

Tim arranged with a local fisherman to take us for a mini cruise in his n'garawa. I sat nestled down in the middle, bailed a bit (if I know anything about sailing it's where the water should be) and recorded the adventure for posterity. Tim assisted in hoisting the sail, tacking, and then took a turn at the rudder which he said was very responsive. For me I was fully satisfied tucked within that mango tree, trailing my hand in the clear blue-green of the Indian Ocean, and trying to imagine myself back when this was the only type of vessel to be found in these waters.

Zanzibar has a checkered past when it comes to sailing vessels. At one time it was a main port for slave ships during the years of Arab slave trading until the British forced an end to that. That occurred in the same year that the anti slavery missionary, Dr. Livingston, died in Africa. His story is pretty interesting one as he was the first European to explore the interior of Africa.

Now a fairly steady stream of tourism is a main source of income encouraged by the beaches, the good dives at the choral reef, the spice farms, and picturesque Arabic Stone Town. North of here off of the waters of present day Somalia, pirating is a serious threat to boats in the area. We were content to sit tight in beautiful Zanzibar.

I'm grateful to have seen this corner of the world.

A Walk on the Beach

Bare sole on sand.
Bare soul in His hand.

Hot feet in cool pool,
toes wriggling, sinking, savoring, ahhhh...
Silky soft sandslip
embracing.

Listen.
What?
Look!
Across the waves sweeps a band of dancing waters.
Rain.
Rain?

Cool, fresh drops greet me,
surround me,
light upon me like liquid laughter.
Heaven's kisses on upturned face and outstretched arms.
Hello! Hello! hello.
Here, then gone.

Walk on,
Then stumble on hard knobs of sea treasure,
Unyielding truths from the deep.
Catch them up.
Hold them.
Ponder.
Remember.
Remember.

Bare sole on sand.
Bare soul in His hand.
Walking.

Zanzibar

Zanzibar. Yes! Google it. It looks like that! White beaches, blue water, dhows cruising casually about as they have for generations. Then there's Stone Town with it's Persian architecture right next door to the East Indian architecture, right down the street from a street market I've heard is reminiscent of something right out of Arabian Nights. The hotel keyboard I'm typing on now has both English and Arabic letters. We two Washingtonians are a bit wilted, but other than that, we're doing very well. We came via a ferry. The Indian Ocean! Yes. We're grateful.
'

Things I Love About Tanzania

jacaranda tree blossoms
sunsets
avocados – 3 for a dollar
beautiful African profiles
little Joviti’s hugs
milk in a box (creamy)
giraffes!
dirt paths winding through communities of Masai huts
smoked pork chops from Meat King grocers
freshly washed feet after a hot dusty trudge into town
amazing life stories of amazing people
the hair raising adventure of any form of transportation on any road anywhere
the respectful traditional greetings of children to their elders/ the response of the elder’s blessing
t I m e s l o w e d w a y d o w n
interdependency
kazoo birds in their flying kazoo bird band
an African wedding with African feet moving to that African beat
the laughing sound of a goat's call
a good belly laugh over yet another botched attempt at Swahili
the silhouette of an acacia tree
ready smiles and long greetings
a cold tall glass of passion fruit juice (with no sugar to spoil it!)
fewer things in my house to dust, organize, fix, store, wash
women with bundles, bags, pots, stacks balanced expertly on their heads
color and flowing liquid shapes
little feet in little school shoes; hair done done up lovingly
water... in any form
courage, dignity, grace in the face of the most challenging of circumstances

Of Rakes and Hoes and Children's Bellies

They studied the house, in the dim light of the streetlamp, an undistinguished building with a standard red-tiled roof and unkempt garden.
“He obviously does not employ a gardener,” observed Mma Ramotswe. “Look at the mess.”
It was inconsiderate not to have a gardener if, like Dr. Ranta, you were in a well-paid white-collar job. It was a social duty to employ domestic staff, who were readily available and desperate for work. Wages were low – unconscionable so, thougth Mma Ramotswe – but at least the system created jobs. If everybody with a job had a maid, then that was food going into the mouths of the maids and their children. If everybody did their own housework and tended their own gardens, then what were the people who were maids and gardeners to do?
By not cultivating his garden, Dr. Ranta showed himself to be selfish, which did not surprise Mma Ramostswe at all.
“Too selfish,” remarked Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,”said Mma Ramotswe.”

Tears of the Giraffe, by Alexander McCall Smith
setting: present day Botswana

Nairobi Wildlife Projects

"We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto." (Ireland? that's a bit down the road too...)

Read this one!

Go to takhere@blogspot.com  I REALLY like what that guy is blogging about East Africa.

Hamjambo? or “How ya’all doin’?”

Christine here, reporting from East Africa in response to the kind friends and family who expressed interest in our year here at Mt. Meru University, Arusha, Tanzania.

Things that we have NOT seen: children being carried off by giant tsetse flies; armies of giant tarantulas taking over whole villages; King Kong.
Things we have seen: twigas (Swahili for giraffes), families of baboons, Pumba and his cousins rooting about; noble Masai warriors striding along in their deep purple and red robes; warm and generous welcomes.

I’ve finally begun to master the many varieties of handshakes. They range from the typical one handed professional handshake to the one handed shake whilst holding one’s own elbow or forearm to the grip/slide/thumb grasp/slide/grip. Any confusion on the part of the newby Westerner is warmly amusing to all concerned.

Upon our arrival at the airport, the first signal that we were somewhere other than the U.S.A. – Nairobi airport provides a chapel room for Christians, a prayer room for Muslims, and a reading room for anyone who does not fit into the first two.
Interesting fact: There’s no malaria in Nairobi, Kenya, so the 100% DEET OFF (guaranteed to kill anything standing so watch where you’re pointing that thing) can be stashed. Our itinerary originated in Lynden (Blaine, really – thanks cousin for seeing us off); we flew out of Seattle, changed planes in Amsterdam and set down in Nairobi. We spent five days there, then took a bus to Arusha.

Farkel report: Chris beats the socks off of the two Keiper men three nights in a row. Matt finally manages to eke out a win in the final round of the final game.

Want to pray? Tim and Matt leave Sunday to head up to the refugee camp near DaDaab, Kenya where Matt will be visiting longer term.

First Swahili song that I’ve learned:

Ni wewe, ni wewe bwana; ni wewe ni wewe Bwana
You are, Lord; You are.

(simply profound)

Tutaonana!