Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Tall White Guy
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.
Monday, November 15, 2010
National Geographic
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.....
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
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.
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.
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