Having seen Avatar for the second time today, I have perhaps a responsibility to share some thoughts on it to validate my experience. Not that it's infinitely awesome and I couldn't wait to see it the second day in a row—yesterday's was a gift and today's was just 200 shillings ($1 = Ksh 75). But you should watch it. Don't necessarily pay 8 bucks if that's not in your budget, but see it sometime. It is a tale of corporation and nature interacting. It is the story of Dune, the story of resource grabbing, and the story of wealth. The main character laments, "I was a warrior who thought he could bring peace, but sooner or later we all have to wake up."
Click here to show/hide spoilersDune, the unique features of the planet are all part of a complex process. Avatar's Pandora had resources not connected at all to the way of life (as far as we know). I felt like this led itself better to imperialist allegory—undiscovered oil underground is typically entirely incidental (as far as I know) to the life of people above.
Avatar was more moving than I thought, especially living in a place where people fought in 2007 because they felt like land had been taken away from them for political reasons. And political reasons are never far removed from wealth, here as anywhere. The best roads in the country connect the commercial centers pretty well and the presidents' hometowns very well. We walked through a library yesterday downtown erected by "His Excellency, the Governor of Kenya..." in 1929 or something.
So, besides being mildly depressing, the movie pointed me to the press, to look out for such blatant resource-grabbing that has simply lost our interest in today's entertainment climate. I've been pointed recently to Southern Sudan and its border-drawing, coming referendum, and continuing conflict. I also add material to my story, my glasses. These processes are the backdrop for our world—corporations or governments reaching ends by uncreative means. So, this movie, in its cliche way, made me think that it would be a good idea to punch somebody sometimes. Cuz the bad guy just really made me angry. And his nose would be a small price to pay for the lives of people he would be unable to shoot down covering his face. I've been pretty idealist about this in the past—violence begets more violence is surely true. But I guess there are probably things worth fighting for. Not sure about killing for yet, but definitely fighting for. Fight the good fight, people. And don't kill the earth. She might kill you right back.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Merry Christmas!
It's Christmastime in the city. Nairobi does Christmas with Santas, break, and food. The santas range from the fat white Coke billboard to the African man dressed in a red suit, white beard, and red fuzzy cowboy hat outside Westgate; offices' breaks typically last from a week before Christmas to a few days after New Years'--we had a pretty typical one at the Across office from 18th to 4th. And the food is chapatti. Already before school closed the games teacher was worried about the soccer team's likely weight gain over break.
I've had most of December off from teaching, and I came to Nairobi to work with Across, an organization that works as a church and community resource in Southern Sudan, seeking Christ-centered transformation. I helped somewhat setting up a website. It is strange to work on a website, the face of an organization, with an organization whose face you've not seen for more than 3 weeks. But there was a surprising face--my boss was from Hollandale, MN, where we lived for four years ('96-'00). I mostly was just a reminder that the website was a priority. And I got to nag our web design company that we hired. I'll link to the website once it's live early January. Across was a very cool community to be a part of, seeing some people working hard on the theology and reason for Across' existence, seeing others giving this theology hands and feet as they worked with communities.
For we are the body of Christ. One body spread over many lands, many people, sometimes tripping over its size, sometimes timid in its rarity. And we remember this Christmas a body born to us, the Christ our betrothed whose body we now are. God-with-us makes us with God. May we be represent that remaker of the world in the peace that passes understanding, the joy that is complete, the hope of a way through the desert, and the love that will not let us go.
I've had most of December off from teaching, and I came to Nairobi to work with Across, an organization that works as a church and community resource in Southern Sudan, seeking Christ-centered transformation. I helped somewhat setting up a website. It is strange to work on a website, the face of an organization, with an organization whose face you've not seen for more than 3 weeks. But there was a surprising face--my boss was from Hollandale, MN, where we lived for four years ('96-'00). I mostly was just a reminder that the website was a priority. And I got to nag our web design company that we hired. I'll link to the website once it's live early January. Across was a very cool community to be a part of, seeing some people working hard on the theology and reason for Across' existence, seeing others giving this theology hands and feet as they worked with communities.
For we are the body of Christ. One body spread over many lands, many people, sometimes tripping over its size, sometimes timid in its rarity. And we remember this Christmas a body born to us, the Christ our betrothed whose body we now are. God-with-us makes us with God. May we be represent that remaker of the world in the peace that passes understanding, the joy that is complete, the hope of a way through the desert, and the love that will not let us go.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Finances
Everything is in order—I have raised my money. If you wish to donate more, I'm sure that's fine with the YAV program—I think I have had to raise less money than YAVs last year because they raised more than they needed to. But the best way you can be supporting me now is with prayers. For I continue to need wisdom and understanding after my funds are complete. And stay interested! It is very encouraging to get comments on my blog or emails from people, reminding me of people I wish I could talk to more, sharing their lives with me when I cannot share in them as I am used to. And if you disagree with what I say, all the more reason to tell me about it. Thank you so much for your support so far. God is good. God has sustained me so far, and I trust the Lord to be in this place even when I don't know it, carrying me through and using me knowingly and blindly for the glory of the one already exalted.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Newsletter 1
The sun set yesterday a little before 7. Just like the night before. Everyone knew it would be completely dark very shortly. No extended twilight here—the sun's angle gets pretty low a bit before 5, but it stays light until, sneakily, the sun leaves and all is dark. Someday I would like to see a good sunrise here, the sun of this world burning bright mere minutes after its heralds invade a dark world.
The past three months have seen orientation to Kenya and then orientation to our placements. One day we were living in a roomy but windy wing of a house in upscale Lavington, the next we moved out and moved in to our respective situations. As the sun rose on our real lives for this year, we began to feed ourselves, to have neighbors, and to begin our work with the students. Josh Orem and I are set up in an apartment that has two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a large living room, neighbors to other teachers and staff who live right on the school compound. Thrown into classes after observing one Kenyan math class (Josh doesn't even teach math), we have found the students at Icaciri Secondary respectful, hard-working, and fun.
The area is very rural, but much more thickly settled than American farm country. Agriculture here begins at the home, not at the industrial farm machine. So the Deputy Principal has 200 chicks in a little canvas lean-to behind her house. Our neighbor to the north sells us milk—every day since the rains started we get a half liter in our entryway. One of the men who works in the kitchen grows sugar cane for sale, and we buy our eggs from someone about 20 minutes’ walk away. In that 20 minutes of walking, we do not see just one crop growing for miles, waiting for a cultivator. Rather, many crops greet us, maize mixed in with the beans, bananas everywhere in little pits, nduma-arrow root-down between the ridges near water, all growing in what I would call people's yards. Grass is an exception to this rule—many people have begun growing swaths of grass to feed the growing number of cows, which are quickly becoming the most profitable use of land.
In Nairobi, the cows of the Maasai (to whom, if you did not realize, belong all the world's cows) roamed the street with us, sometimes causing traffic jams (Why did the cow cross the road?). When we did some gardening, even in our fancy neighborhood, we walked for two minutes to a place where the cows often slept to buy boleo ya ng'ombe (cow manure) from the man who lived there in the manure pit with the cows and his son.
The poor are separate here, but not too separate. Areas that began as British homes or Indian businesses are still rich, but no longer ethnically uniform. The poor are always with us. Every rich area of Nairobi has a poor area right next door. Kangemi is right down the road from where I am now, and Kibera is right by where we did some big shopping during orientation. The change is sudden. When we were on the border of Kibera, a primary school at the end of a market marked the beginning of the slum. And everybody knows it's there (except for the foreigners, of course). It's black and white, day and night—obviously, a white person is out of place in the slum but not in Village Market, an imperialist palace with mini golf, electronics, high hawker prices, and fancy landscaping. There is no twilit transition from rich to poor neighborhoods, just someone’s fence or a building on the border.
The ethnic diversity here is amazing. Most Kenyans seem to be very steeped in the traditions of their ethnic group, and I've heard from two different tribes that their tribe is the "backbone of Kenya." Big cities are mixed, but most rural areas are very uniform in ethnic composition. At our school the first day, a Form 2 (sophomore) told me with very serious eyes that he wished to be called by his Christian name; this after being introduced to me as "Maasai." There was something suddenly different about him in my mind—I had categorized him, accepting his classmates' view, which, with all my American history of racial tension, made me a bit ashamed. He's not actually Maasai, I discovered months later, but he is tall and runs fast. Obviously Maasai.
Most of the ethnic trouble comes when politics happens and a President does good for his people and no one else's. But this is changing, too, on the ground level. The tremendous loyalty I saw last month as the Harambee Stars lost to the Nigerian footballers, three goals to two, I had assumed carried over to political loyalty. But then a Kikuyu a few weeks ago, whose Member of Parliament is Uhuru Kenyatta (son of Mzee Jomo Kenyatta, first President of Kenya), from Kenyatta's hometown even, listed the son as a primary suspect in the 2007 post-election violence. I cannot speak to the allegations, but it was a surprise to hear his countryman calling him out. The winner-takes-all style of elections may be losing favor as Kenyans, seeking a new constitution, are sick of corruption. One evening, long after the sunset (at a little before 7), and then the next morning in worship, the boarders at Icaciri had changed the words of the Michael Jackson song in Free Willy.
"Father, your people are dying,
They're dying of corruption,
And they need your help...mmm."
Josh and I went to Gatundu Presbyterian one Sunday, to a sparsely attended English service. We then visited a friend in the hospital, returning some time later to bring greetings also to the worshippers at the next service. We could not have pushed into the back of the church for the press of people, all praying and singing in their mother tongue. But we went around to a side entrance and were ushered to the front. The matron of our school, who had invited us, encouraged us to present a song when we introduced ourselves. We went up, following a skilled choir, silently coming to the center and introducing ourselves. Our English was likely understood by all but the oldest and youngest among them, for we were brief. And we sang the same song we had sung with the full complement of YAVs at Meru town, "They will know we are Christians by our love." Two foreigners up front, singing in a language whose service draws no one, choosing a pitch too low for both our ranges, enunciating like Americans, difficult to understand, gave what they knew to a church they did not know. And God gave something, too. For the rest of the service, Mercy, the matron, kept telling us how they were repeating to each other "We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord," the opening lines of the song. There we stood, visitors unable to even participate intellectually in the goings on, singing about being one. And somehow we were. We knew with the churchgoers that even if there is a sharp, sudden distinction between our skins, between our country's GDPs, between our descent, or between our language, the day is ours together. The same Spirit draws us to our mutual redemption, into one body for the glory of God.
The past three months have seen orientation to Kenya and then orientation to our placements. One day we were living in a roomy but windy wing of a house in upscale Lavington, the next we moved out and moved in to our respective situations. As the sun rose on our real lives for this year, we began to feed ourselves, to have neighbors, and to begin our work with the students. Josh Orem and I are set up in an apartment that has two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a large living room, neighbors to other teachers and staff who live right on the school compound. Thrown into classes after observing one Kenyan math class (Josh doesn't even teach math), we have found the students at Icaciri Secondary respectful, hard-working, and fun.
The area is very rural, but much more thickly settled than American farm country. Agriculture here begins at the home, not at the industrial farm machine. So the Deputy Principal has 200 chicks in a little canvas lean-to behind her house. Our neighbor to the north sells us milk—every day since the rains started we get a half liter in our entryway. One of the men who works in the kitchen grows sugar cane for sale, and we buy our eggs from someone about 20 minutes’ walk away. In that 20 minutes of walking, we do not see just one crop growing for miles, waiting for a cultivator. Rather, many crops greet us, maize mixed in with the beans, bananas everywhere in little pits, nduma-arrow root-down between the ridges near water, all growing in what I would call people's yards. Grass is an exception to this rule—many people have begun growing swaths of grass to feed the growing number of cows, which are quickly becoming the most profitable use of land.
In Nairobi, the cows of the Maasai (to whom, if you did not realize, belong all the world's cows) roamed the street with us, sometimes causing traffic jams (Why did the cow cross the road?). When we did some gardening, even in our fancy neighborhood, we walked for two minutes to a place where the cows often slept to buy boleo ya ng'ombe (cow manure) from the man who lived there in the manure pit with the cows and his son.
The poor are separate here, but not too separate. Areas that began as British homes or Indian businesses are still rich, but no longer ethnically uniform. The poor are always with us. Every rich area of Nairobi has a poor area right next door. Kangemi is right down the road from where I am now, and Kibera is right by where we did some big shopping during orientation. The change is sudden. When we were on the border of Kibera, a primary school at the end of a market marked the beginning of the slum. And everybody knows it's there (except for the foreigners, of course). It's black and white, day and night—obviously, a white person is out of place in the slum but not in Village Market, an imperialist palace with mini golf, electronics, high hawker prices, and fancy landscaping. There is no twilit transition from rich to poor neighborhoods, just someone’s fence or a building on the border.
The ethnic diversity here is amazing. Most Kenyans seem to be very steeped in the traditions of their ethnic group, and I've heard from two different tribes that their tribe is the "backbone of Kenya." Big cities are mixed, but most rural areas are very uniform in ethnic composition. At our school the first day, a Form 2 (sophomore) told me with very serious eyes that he wished to be called by his Christian name; this after being introduced to me as "Maasai." There was something suddenly different about him in my mind—I had categorized him, accepting his classmates' view, which, with all my American history of racial tension, made me a bit ashamed. He's not actually Maasai, I discovered months later, but he is tall and runs fast. Obviously Maasai.
Most of the ethnic trouble comes when politics happens and a President does good for his people and no one else's. But this is changing, too, on the ground level. The tremendous loyalty I saw last month as the Harambee Stars lost to the Nigerian footballers, three goals to two, I had assumed carried over to political loyalty. But then a Kikuyu a few weeks ago, whose Member of Parliament is Uhuru Kenyatta (son of Mzee Jomo Kenyatta, first President of Kenya), from Kenyatta's hometown even, listed the son as a primary suspect in the 2007 post-election violence. I cannot speak to the allegations, but it was a surprise to hear his countryman calling him out. The winner-takes-all style of elections may be losing favor as Kenyans, seeking a new constitution, are sick of corruption. One evening, long after the sunset (at a little before 7), and then the next morning in worship, the boarders at Icaciri had changed the words of the Michael Jackson song in Free Willy.
"Father, your people are dying,
They're dying of corruption,
And they need your help...mmm."
Josh and I went to Gatundu Presbyterian one Sunday, to a sparsely attended English service. We then visited a friend in the hospital, returning some time later to bring greetings also to the worshippers at the next service. We could not have pushed into the back of the church for the press of people, all praying and singing in their mother tongue. But we went around to a side entrance and were ushered to the front. The matron of our school, who had invited us, encouraged us to present a song when we introduced ourselves. We went up, following a skilled choir, silently coming to the center and introducing ourselves. Our English was likely understood by all but the oldest and youngest among them, for we were brief. And we sang the same song we had sung with the full complement of YAVs at Meru town, "They will know we are Christians by our love." Two foreigners up front, singing in a language whose service draws no one, choosing a pitch too low for both our ranges, enunciating like Americans, difficult to understand, gave what they knew to a church they did not know. And God gave something, too. For the rest of the service, Mercy, the matron, kept telling us how they were repeating to each other "We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord," the opening lines of the song. There we stood, visitors unable to even participate intellectually in the goings on, singing about being one. And somehow we were. We knew with the churchgoers that even if there is a sharp, sudden distinction between our skins, between our country's GDPs, between our descent, or between our language, the day is ours together. The same Spirit draws us to our mutual redemption, into one body for the glory of God.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
The chiln's
"It takes a village to raise a child," says African culture. Mercy, the matron at Icaciri secondary, whose main jobs are supervision and student relations, had her twin nieces staying with her for a few days this week. Besides being refreshing and energetic, they were effective and amusing language teachers, enjoying our attempts at Kikuyu. They were often seen in the kitchen, over by Mercy's house, entertaining the students during tea, or playing with the daughter of the Deputy Principal. And they had pretty much free reign. There are children who come watch the soccer games and practices, fetching balls or subbing as keepers. I don't ever see their parents--the primary school field where we play doesn't have a fence on all sides of the compound, so they come and go as they please. Students walk back and forth between villages with minimum supervision. Children here are the concern of the entire community, so there is no expected security issue. Primary schoolers just walk home after school--sometimes a mile or two, the last bit of which they do by themselves if they're the only one living out that far.
Yesterday we went to a football game. Nigeria's team came to Nairobi as part of the 2010 World Cup. A child in a dirty shirt asked me with better English than I expected from a 9 year old if I would take him in with him. Curious, I refused, having only one ticket. Next I saw, he was in line with somebody else, who didn't look like him at all or, I suspect, know him. I saw him later inside and waved. I think that soccer games, like matatus (adventurous van transports), may just let kids in free. Children here are special.
Anyway, sorry to not blog in a while. Ish. Haven't thought of much. I still haven't blogged by phone. We'll see if that ever happens. But, I am working on a newsletter. I know I've told some of you this since I've been here, but now I'm putting it on the blog, so it must be true. If you are not one of my sponsors or in my family, send me your email address so I can send you the newsletter. If you don't have email, talk to one of my friends who does. But I don't expect too many blog readers to not have teh e mayls. Peace and turkeys, as Hunter Bailey might say.
Yesterday we went to a football game. Nigeria's team came to Nairobi as part of the 2010 World Cup. A child in a dirty shirt asked me with better English than I expected from a 9 year old if I would take him in with him. Curious, I refused, having only one ticket. Next I saw, he was in line with somebody else, who didn't look like him at all or, I suspect, know him. I saw him later inside and waved. I think that soccer games, like matatus (adventurous van transports), may just let kids in free. Children here are special.
Anyway, sorry to not blog in a while. Ish. Haven't thought of much. I still haven't blogged by phone. We'll see if that ever happens. But, I am working on a newsletter. I know I've told some of you this since I've been here, but now I'm putting it on the blog, so it must be true. If you are not one of my sponsors or in my family, send me your email address so I can send you the newsletter. If you don't have email, talk to one of my friends who does. But I don't expect too many blog readers to not have teh e mayls. Peace and turkeys, as Hunter Bailey might say.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
E minor
October draws to a close, and the rains have come. We wait to see if the rains will grow into the promised El Nino torrent. Now they just begin to assuage the drought. Every other day or more frequently the clouds break into a refreshing shower for a few hours. The sunsets have been better since the rain started.
I heard about a volunteer years ago in Kenya (I think even through the PCUSA, probably the VIM program) who apparently was sticking it to government corruption and whatnot. I heard recently that the denomination who places us, the PCEA, is the denomination of the President, VP, and many lawyers. The ministry here has not so far looked like protests and rallies, only presence. I am a missionary to a country with more Christians per capita than the U.S. I am a presbyterian missionary with a PCEA church some of whose members think "P" is for "Protestant." The language here tends away from denominationalism, and the divide is often between "born-again" and not. I haven't heard a layperson talk about Reformed theology to explain their presbyterianism. The leaders of the churches have studied, but the average churchgoer won't talk of total depravity or perseverance of the saints. They'll know the teachings of Osteen better than those of Luther, Calvin, Schaeffer, and Buechner combined (but that's a weird list). The separation in the situation stems from European and American missionaries arriving from different denominations in different parts of Kenya. Many ethnic groups are mostly of one denomination, as the early missionaries of different denominations went to different areas. Stir that up in a pot with 42 language groups in an area the size of Texas, and the current language trend for interdenominational unity (use of "born-again") becomes more than an authenticity test (which is part of it)--it is a survival strategy. The church must look like a church, and people must be able to communicate about spiritual matters in a unified way in order for those who lead their cows through the streets of Nairobi to tell their neighbors who run the country, brothers and sisters in Christ, of their spirituality.
For church this Sunday, Josh and I went to Gatundu PCEA with the Mercy, the matron of our boarding school. After a short English service with no pew full, we left. Returning for the Kikuyu service a bit later, we found standing room only. We didn't stay long, but we greeted them with a song. "They will know we are Christians by our love," we sang in a key about a third too low. "We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord," says the first verse. Mercy said they spoke of it throughout the service as a message from God. The Kenyan people, who worship divided by ethnicity and historical circumstance, gobbled up the message of unity from two wazungu (foreigners). Maybe that's what our ministry here will look like. If we can practice unity here among our Presbyterian brothers and sisters, maybe that's also the best thing we can take back with us to our United States, and work and pray that all unity may one day be restored.
I heard about a volunteer years ago in Kenya (I think even through the PCUSA, probably the VIM program) who apparently was sticking it to government corruption and whatnot. I heard recently that the denomination who places us, the PCEA, is the denomination of the President, VP, and many lawyers. The ministry here has not so far looked like protests and rallies, only presence. I am a missionary to a country with more Christians per capita than the U.S. I am a presbyterian missionary with a PCEA church some of whose members think "P" is for "Protestant." The language here tends away from denominationalism, and the divide is often between "born-again" and not. I haven't heard a layperson talk about Reformed theology to explain their presbyterianism. The leaders of the churches have studied, but the average churchgoer won't talk of total depravity or perseverance of the saints. They'll know the teachings of Osteen better than those of Luther, Calvin, Schaeffer, and Buechner combined (but that's a weird list). The separation in the situation stems from European and American missionaries arriving from different denominations in different parts of Kenya. Many ethnic groups are mostly of one denomination, as the early missionaries of different denominations went to different areas. Stir that up in a pot with 42 language groups in an area the size of Texas, and the current language trend for interdenominational unity (use of "born-again") becomes more than an authenticity test (which is part of it)--it is a survival strategy. The church must look like a church, and people must be able to communicate about spiritual matters in a unified way in order for those who lead their cows through the streets of Nairobi to tell their neighbors who run the country, brothers and sisters in Christ, of their spirituality.
For church this Sunday, Josh and I went to Gatundu PCEA with the Mercy, the matron of our boarding school. After a short English service with no pew full, we left. Returning for the Kikuyu service a bit later, we found standing room only. We didn't stay long, but we greeted them with a song. "They will know we are Christians by our love," we sang in a key about a third too low. "We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord," says the first verse. Mercy said they spoke of it throughout the service as a message from God. The Kenyan people, who worship divided by ethnicity and historical circumstance, gobbled up the message of unity from two wazungu (foreigners). Maybe that's what our ministry here will look like. If we can practice unity here among our Presbyterian brothers and sisters, maybe that's also the best thing we can take back with us to our United States, and work and pray that all unity may one day be restored.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Dusty Gatundu no longer
I do my own laundry here. This does not mean I go to the first floor and throw my clothes in the washer or even take public transit to the laundromat. It means I put soap in a bucket, fill it with water, then fill another with just water. Then, washing, agitating (with some friction), and rinsing complete, the clothesline becomes home to jeans, shirts, trousers, and socks. Our cautious site coordinator told us to be more discreet with other items, so they go to the line in my room. The efficacy of this washing style depends on the skill of the operator, but as much as I worked really hard to get the soil (Africans respect it too much to call it “dirt”) out of my cuffs and trouser hems. There are pieces of Africa stuck so firmly in my wardrobe that I cannot but take them with me.
I was counting on that. A year in a place will leave its mark, and this place has things to teach me from language and geography to how to respect people in a different way. I have yet to see what dirt I'd like to leave with the people here to remember and respect my culture. It's easy to be a friend, and sharing the love of Christ is why I'm here. So that's part of it.
There was a wedding yesterday! One of our fellow teachers took us to his family's home, where we learned some Kikuyu, had some delicious food, and learned to slaughter a chicken. We got to the wedding late (I don't think we knew when it started), so we caught people as they were going to the reception from the service. It was remarkably similar in what happened (waiting, food, announcements on a low quality speaker, cake). It was pretty tame--there was no loudness and little dancing, just smiles, family, and friends. The tradition here is to have a married couple for Best Man and Best Woman. Or whatever it's called. They not only help plan the wedding, they advise the couple--early troubles in marriage are not taken to parents or counselors, but to the best couple.
Finished Sir Gibbie--we’ll see what I read next. Last one was Confessions of an Economic Hitman. I recommend either and especially both. I read an edited version of Sir Gibbie which was terribly easy to read for all the ramblings filtered out. Theres a Wilde Picture that I think will be next, but it is on my computer--will need something else for the staff room.
The rain is here almost every day, and my time is up.
I was counting on that. A year in a place will leave its mark, and this place has things to teach me from language and geography to how to respect people in a different way. I have yet to see what dirt I'd like to leave with the people here to remember and respect my culture. It's easy to be a friend, and sharing the love of Christ is why I'm here. So that's part of it.
There was a wedding yesterday! One of our fellow teachers took us to his family's home, where we learned some Kikuyu, had some delicious food, and learned to slaughter a chicken. We got to the wedding late (I don't think we knew when it started), so we caught people as they were going to the reception from the service. It was remarkably similar in what happened (waiting, food, announcements on a low quality speaker, cake). It was pretty tame--there was no loudness and little dancing, just smiles, family, and friends. The tradition here is to have a married couple for Best Man and Best Woman. Or whatever it's called. They not only help plan the wedding, they advise the couple--early troubles in marriage are not taken to parents or counselors, but to the best couple.
Finished Sir Gibbie--we’ll see what I read next. Last one was Confessions of an Economic Hitman. I recommend either and especially both. I read an edited version of Sir Gibbie which was terribly easy to read for all the ramblings filtered out. Theres a Wilde Picture that I think will be next, but it is on my computer--will need something else for the staff room.
The rain is here almost every day, and my time is up.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Update!
It's been a long time. I may have just set up posting by email, which means I don't have to blog from Gatundu (when they have power) or Nairobi (where I've been for the past two weekends, but not again soon). Last time we tried to blog in Gatundu, there was electricity rationing because it was Wednesday. Anyway, we are spending a weekend in Nairobi. Josh and I, seeing an opportunity to travel with the prefects, rode in a packed bus of high schoolers to the giraffe sanctuary and Mamba village Friday (see pics). The giraffes ate pellets from our hands and, if coaxed, from our lips. I need to get the pictures of that online-my previous picture uploading was interrupted and I don't have them today. Mamba village had crocodiles! Their toothy grins and surprisingly squishy flesh
So, we have seen many beautiful things this weekend on our midterm break. The Min. of Ed. actually recommended (mandated? I wasn't sure of the wording) that boarding schools (most of them) not take midterm recess to stem the spread of H1N1. However, students still needed to go home to collect school fees (that would've been today--they would've just stayed at school for the weekend and gone home today anyway), so we let out as soon as we knew that schools nearby also had. I wonder if some politician just wanted to cover his bases with that mandate.
There have been some interesting discussions about polygamy that we have heard. Because of a proposed change in legislation, it has come up a few times. As far as I can tell now, the church does not support second marriages (polygyny, of course), but tradition and government will as long as the man can support a second wife and has the first wife's permission. Josh and I have both been surprised to hear women championing the cause more rationally than men. For obvious reasons a man's argument for a second wife is accompanied with chuckles and grins, but a woman's argument can be based on bitterness. One intelligent unmarried woman lamented that all the good men would not take second wives, proposing (is twice too much?) a situation where good husbands have multiple wives and bad guys have none. I was not converted, but it was the most effective argument for something that until recently was just part of the culture, or as one person told us, part of being "a gentleman."
Monday, September 28, 2009
Facts
We are in Gatundu this afternoon for our groceries. We are sick of lentils. We saw some bananas, garlic, bread, and tomatoes that look good. The forty-minute walk was started after lunch, and it's nice to break in the shade of this internet cafe before we buy our groceries in the market on the way back. Our apartment is great--living room with a pair of couches and a pair of chairs. We each have a room with a double bed, and the kitchen has one burner. The single burner, absence of hot water, and necessity of walking to get foodstuffs are simple enough, I suppose. The school (Icaciri High) has welcomed us well. I taught a math class today, with some dimensional analysis. I'll be getting used to the board, to the style of math they've learned, etc, but it helps that for the next week at least, they know most everything already.
But, that's all for now. Keep reading for musings.
But, that's all for now. Keep reading for musings.
Mind the pedestrians
Written 27 Sept 09
I've been pointed by a dear friend to ponder the place of Eden in theology. The gist of it is that the Garden is not simply the sundering of humans and God, but a pivot or even a pedestal in human development as a species. The Genesis account of the Garden had humans in a small space, naming animals and living without conflict. They disobey the only command they are given and are banished, cursed. The elements of the curse include working the land, childbirth, and hardship. "Knowledge of good and evil" is the fruit of their disobedience. The snake said they would become like gods, and they did a little. But the elements of the curse allow for humans to grow and develop in unique ways, ways that are now incorporated into our humanity itself. For humans are satisfied in working the land, in raising children, and even in working through adversity. Working the land fulfills better "fill the earth and subdue it" than simple naming of animals, and in romantic relationships and child rearing (and letting go of) there are uniquely complex images of God's love for us. So thinks one Jewish rabbi, anyway. Perhaps this direction to take the text is unorthodox, but it seems to work fine in the text--Genesis does not read "thus the human race was sundered from God" or "thus did humans come to be equipped to know God better." So maybe either reading is wrong if it is oversimplified. They are perhaps opposite faces of a jewel, or mirrors with different hues.
The Road Goes Ever On and On
I asked someone whether the road behind us was Uhuru highway and they responded categorically, "No, that's Waiyaki Way." I was confused--I had been thinking for a while that it was Uhuru Highway. So the next time I consulted my Nairobi map, I checked. Sure enough, right by where we were the road was called Waiyaki Way, but a km east the road was Uhuru Highway (written much bigger). Earlier in September, we heard about Mombasa road (which I think is an extension of Uhuru Highway as well, but I won't offer that nomenclature to a Kenyan). After we had discussed the road for a while, I pointed to it and was corrected then, too--it's not Mombasa road if you point to the side on which the cars go the other direction. It seems like the same road to me.
Out from the door where it began
Two sermons here have pushed the bounds of good theology without actually overstepping them. The pastor at Icaciri High today talked on Jeremiah 29:11, and the plans God has for us. He talked of the specificity of God's plan for us equally as emphatically as he talked of the importance of our aspirations and God's plans to fulfill them. He went almost farther than I was comfortable following talking of God's plan to make us successful, and I was getting all self-righteous, saying to myself "should have guessed from a Jer 29:11 sermon from an itinerant pastor." But I realized he started out from a very high view of God's plan that dictates our actions, and he returned to it after talking of success. I felt stretched--I could not reach both the extremes he seemed to be coming from. A connector came. It was not explicitly meant to connect an intentional paradox in the previous parts, but this was how I interpreted the role of Christ. Heart transformation and new birth are what unifies our success with God's plan. Oh, duh. Humbled after my critical episode, I remembered the first Sunday here in Kenya where I heard a sermon that bordered on answering "who sinned so that this man would be blind?" (but in regard to the current drought). But that pastor, too, apparently disregarded the possibility of tumultuous theology and plunged forward in the Scriptures, speaking truth not by staying on the fence but by disregarding it and passing through.
I won't even connect this here to issues of identity with rural, pastoral, traditional African on one side and American, British, urban, and technological on the other. That's one road many travel here, but starting from different places and going different directions. I cannot predict how that landscape is shifting. I will say that I once heard of a theologian (I don't remember which one, I think it was an early 20th-century person) soaring over the conflict of others with sound, scriptural truths. It would uphold Jacob's Bethel utterance if the God who is surely in Mombasa, Nairobi, and Meru is in Calvin and Arminius, Osteen and St Francis, and split Presbyterians.
I've been pointed by a dear friend to ponder the place of Eden in theology. The gist of it is that the Garden is not simply the sundering of humans and God, but a pivot or even a pedestal in human development as a species. The Genesis account of the Garden had humans in a small space, naming animals and living without conflict. They disobey the only command they are given and are banished, cursed. The elements of the curse include working the land, childbirth, and hardship. "Knowledge of good and evil" is the fruit of their disobedience. The snake said they would become like gods, and they did a little. But the elements of the curse allow for humans to grow and develop in unique ways, ways that are now incorporated into our humanity itself. For humans are satisfied in working the land, in raising children, and even in working through adversity. Working the land fulfills better "fill the earth and subdue it" than simple naming of animals, and in romantic relationships and child rearing (and letting go of) there are uniquely complex images of God's love for us. So thinks one Jewish rabbi, anyway. Perhaps this direction to take the text is unorthodox, but it seems to work fine in the text--Genesis does not read "thus the human race was sundered from God" or "thus did humans come to be equipped to know God better." So maybe either reading is wrong if it is oversimplified. They are perhaps opposite faces of a jewel, or mirrors with different hues.
The Road Goes Ever On and On
I asked someone whether the road behind us was Uhuru highway and they responded categorically, "No, that's Waiyaki Way." I was confused--I had been thinking for a while that it was Uhuru Highway. So the next time I consulted my Nairobi map, I checked. Sure enough, right by where we were the road was called Waiyaki Way, but a km east the road was Uhuru Highway (written much bigger). Earlier in September, we heard about Mombasa road (which I think is an extension of Uhuru Highway as well, but I won't offer that nomenclature to a Kenyan). After we had discussed the road for a while, I pointed to it and was corrected then, too--it's not Mombasa road if you point to the side on which the cars go the other direction. It seems like the same road to me.
Out from the door where it began
Two sermons here have pushed the bounds of good theology without actually overstepping them. The pastor at Icaciri High today talked on Jeremiah 29:11, and the plans God has for us. He talked of the specificity of God's plan for us equally as emphatically as he talked of the importance of our aspirations and God's plans to fulfill them. He went almost farther than I was comfortable following talking of God's plan to make us successful, and I was getting all self-righteous, saying to myself "should have guessed from a Jer 29:11 sermon from an itinerant pastor." But I realized he started out from a very high view of God's plan that dictates our actions, and he returned to it after talking of success. I felt stretched--I could not reach both the extremes he seemed to be coming from. A connector came. It was not explicitly meant to connect an intentional paradox in the previous parts, but this was how I interpreted the role of Christ. Heart transformation and new birth are what unifies our success with God's plan. Oh, duh. Humbled after my critical episode, I remembered the first Sunday here in Kenya where I heard a sermon that bordered on answering "who sinned so that this man would be blind?" (but in regard to the current drought). But that pastor, too, apparently disregarded the possibility of tumultuous theology and plunged forward in the Scriptures, speaking truth not by staying on the fence but by disregarding it and passing through.
I won't even connect this here to issues of identity with rural, pastoral, traditional African on one side and American, British, urban, and technological on the other. That's one road many travel here, but starting from different places and going different directions. I cannot predict how that landscape is shifting. I will say that I once heard of a theologian (I don't remember which one, I think it was an early 20th-century person) soaring over the conflict of others with sound, scriptural truths. It would uphold Jacob's Bethel utterance if the God who is surely in Mombasa, Nairobi, and Meru is in Calvin and Arminius, Osteen and St Francis, and split Presbyterians.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Buckets
Perhaps it has rained buckets since my last post for some of you. We haven't seen much rain, but buckets are plentiful and multifunctional. The one day it rained (of many--el nino is expected), it was heavy for a couple hours as we ate our pizza this past Saturday. It was just a bit of pizza after we had cooked ourselves silly in the afternoon with Kiswahili practice galore. Our progress has been off and on, with six hour-and-a-half lessons spread out over the past two weeks, with various opportunities to talk scattered throughout.
Thursday past we talked with a wonderful professor from the university of Nairobi about early humans in the Rift Valley. He gave us a useful overview of general ethnic distributions with their corresponding expansions. I was surprised at the number of non-Bantu-speaking tribes there are. Nilotic was a language group I had quite forgotten, and some of the Kushitic-speaking residents of northeast Kenya are likely to have been here as long as there have been people there. From the second archaeological site we went to (in Nakuru--where we saw flamingos pinking up most of a lake and zebras, gazelles, and baboons on the side of the road), we went to a magnificent bowl. It was the crater of an active volcano, with a few vents steaming. You need to see it, but I forgot my camera--image searches on Menengai should find you pictures almost as good as ones I could've taken (or check out my friend Whitney's blog, whitneyinthemotherland.weebly.com. The clouds were thick in some places, with Lion-King-esque beams escaping from thunderheads as the sun sank low to its late afternoon angle. From our perch on the rim, the bowl streched out to our left, and on our right was (at a bit higher than the center of the crater) developed land. These people living near the volcano were not quite as risky as the scrubby plants that popped up all over the crater's black floor. Our professor, who had been to the inside to make geological observations (paleo-anthropologists seem to be well-versed in many disciplines), told us that warthogs and snakes live there, too--animals who rarely drink water.
Our clothes were still wet--jeans still dripping--after a night hanging on the line. The buckets we used for washing and rinsing last night greeted me after I woke this morning and stepped into the tiled entryway that had seen us attempt to clean our clothes. We checked for buckets this morning at Phyllis's house--we will need them as we travel Thursday. When we want a hot shower, hot water must go in the bucket with a sponge. Here, luxury is an electric hot water plate attached to your showerhead. That was how I showered at my host family--it was just a day without water, and I needed my shower. I will be well acquainted with buckets by the end of this year.
We roll out Thursday for placements. We're taking a day longer than expected as we work to ensure our schools we don't come with a bonus gift of H1N1.
Peace of Christ be with you.
Thursday past we talked with a wonderful professor from the university of Nairobi about early humans in the Rift Valley. He gave us a useful overview of general ethnic distributions with their corresponding expansions. I was surprised at the number of non-Bantu-speaking tribes there are. Nilotic was a language group I had quite forgotten, and some of the Kushitic-speaking residents of northeast Kenya are likely to have been here as long as there have been people there. From the second archaeological site we went to (in Nakuru--where we saw flamingos pinking up most of a lake and zebras, gazelles, and baboons on the side of the road), we went to a magnificent bowl. It was the crater of an active volcano, with a few vents steaming. You need to see it, but I forgot my camera--image searches on Menengai should find you pictures almost as good as ones I could've taken (or check out my friend Whitney's blog, whitneyinthemotherland.weebly.com. The clouds were thick in some places, with Lion-King-esque beams escaping from thunderheads as the sun sank low to its late afternoon angle. From our perch on the rim, the bowl streched out to our left, and on our right was (at a bit higher than the center of the crater) developed land. These people living near the volcano were not quite as risky as the scrubby plants that popped up all over the crater's black floor. Our professor, who had been to the inside to make geological observations (paleo-anthropologists seem to be well-versed in many disciplines), told us that warthogs and snakes live there, too--animals who rarely drink water.
Our clothes were still wet--jeans still dripping--after a night hanging on the line. The buckets we used for washing and rinsing last night greeted me after I woke this morning and stepped into the tiled entryway that had seen us attempt to clean our clothes. We checked for buckets this morning at Phyllis's house--we will need them as we travel Thursday. When we want a hot shower, hot water must go in the bucket with a sponge. Here, luxury is an electric hot water plate attached to your showerhead. That was how I showered at my host family--it was just a day without water, and I needed my shower. I will be well acquainted with buckets by the end of this year.
We roll out Thursday for placements. We're taking a day longer than expected as we work to ensure our schools we don't come with a bonus gift of H1N1.
Peace of Christ be with you.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
What dreams may come
Today we had a lecture and lunch with a premier scholar and social leader on ethnicity in Africa. He's kind of a big deal. But we weren't told until most of the way through the lecture. He may give Obama's grandmother a call so we can see Obama's family house, Raila Odinga's family home, and our site coordinator's husband's family home, all in a trip. And we spoke of dreams. In his tradition, dreams are the means of communicating with the ancestors, or rather, of the ancestors communicating with you. Children are named after a relative who appears to a parent in a dream near the time of birth. This same man, who reminded us (as have others here) of the importance of sleeping dreams, asked us of our future plans. I, not certain (and greatly intimidated by an intelligent and powerful gentleman), nebulously fumbled my words until he went on to explain that dreams are necessary for progress. And I wish to dream this year. Maybe between the mefloquine side effects and the presence of a culture that respects them, my dreams will blossom. But maybe is lazy. I don't know what I will do when I get myself a profession, but at this point, it keeps being confirmed that seminary is the place for me, so I will dream of that until dreams are stopped. For I won't know if the door or the window is passable unless I go right up to them and try. Lazing around in the hallway of ignorance does not satisfy "when God shuts a door," the proverbs, or even simple curiosity. But what to walk towards? Maybe a dream will appear this year. I have a few dreams in the pipe already, though. I'm coming to think it is better to walk towards them in confidence and hurt my nose if stopped than to get a sore butt waiting around for a direction.
Meru!
Yesterday was our first day back in Nairobi, where we were welcomed at the Organization of African Instituted Churches. We cover a lot in our MWF Kiswahili lessons--the teacher knows we won’t have as many classes as we could use, so we skip around. The time approaches when we head for our respective placements, Josh and I to Gatundu, Whitney, Mara, and Nicole to their places here in Nairobi, and Deanna to Meru.
We visited Meru this weekend for a “Youth Rally” with Imenti North Presbytery of the PCEA (Presbyterian Church of East Africa). “Youth” here means 18- to 30-year-olds, so we spent Saturday in fellowship with our peers. After volleyball, soccer, songs, and introductions, we were about eighty for lunch (“Americans like rice,” someone had said before we came, so rice it was Sat. and Sun. lunch). Splitting up into small groups, we shared our stories and backgrounds. It was great to see the fellowship between married and unmarried. The youth were not a “singles group,” organized to pair up. They were just young adults, professionals and students all together sharing fun, stories, and the love of Christ. At worship Sunday morning, the similarities in the worship style were astounding. If we sang hymns we didn’t know well to a drum track, the results may be similar, if we all sang along. A woman I sat next to after worship commented on the joys of being reminded of our worldwide network of worship and fellowship.
Before we left Friday, we had gone to New Life Home of Barnabas Ministries, a home for abandoned children, especially HIV positive babies. They reported an amazing conversion--most children who arrive HIV positive leave HIV negative. After a tour, we got to play with the kids. Those who are not adopted by the time they are too old for this house are taken to other homes of Barnabas Ministries.
Now, the surprise--Pictures!
We visited Meru this weekend for a “Youth Rally” with Imenti North Presbytery of the PCEA (Presbyterian Church of East Africa). “Youth” here means 18- to 30-year-olds, so we spent Saturday in fellowship with our peers. After volleyball, soccer, songs, and introductions, we were about eighty for lunch (“Americans like rice,” someone had said before we came, so rice it was Sat. and Sun. lunch). Splitting up into small groups, we shared our stories and backgrounds. It was great to see the fellowship between married and unmarried. The youth were not a “singles group,” organized to pair up. They were just young adults, professionals and students all together sharing fun, stories, and the love of Christ. At worship Sunday morning, the similarities in the worship style were astounding. If we sang hymns we didn’t know well to a drum track, the results may be similar, if we all sang along. A woman I sat next to after worship commented on the joys of being reminded of our worldwide network of worship and fellowship.
Before we left Friday, we had gone to New Life Home of Barnabas Ministries, a home for abandoned children, especially HIV positive babies. They reported an amazing conversion--most children who arrive HIV positive leave HIV negative. After a tour, we got to play with the kids. Those who are not adopted by the time they are too old for this house are taken to other homes of Barnabas Ministries.
Now, the surprise--Pictures!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Some thoughts after a discussion on African Spirituality yesterday, 9-9-09.
Pondering African Spirituality, wondering if an African Christian would be tempted toward works righteousness after being in the habit of appeasing spirits to ensure safety, I wondered
"Do African Christians have a tendency to act in a way in which prayers, blessings and invocations are a way to 1) appease an angry God 2) control a domestic God or 3) ease their conscience about the first two?"
And as I circled these issues, I debated works righteousness, and whether a stereotypical African convert would think themselves in control of a God by prayers and behaviors. But as I realized that Western Christians will wrestle and have wrestled with the issue of salvation by works or grace, I realized that African concepts of spirituality have the equipment to handle the discussion. Because there is a recognition of the Holy Spirit as the ultimate benevolent spirit, with active power, God's reconciling work through Christ can still be given credit for drawing people to God. There is no need in either approach to assume that humans hold the chips of salvation. I am not surprised to report that African spirituality is capable of describing the intricacies of Christian doctrine, with perhaps different linguistic biases. For, as our lecturer said, language is a bridge to wisdom. Different languages have different wisdom.
Pondering African Spirituality, wondering if an African Christian would be tempted toward works righteousness after being in the habit of appeasing spirits to ensure safety, I wondered
"Do African Christians have a tendency to act in a way in which prayers, blessings and invocations are a way to 1) appease an angry God 2) control a domestic God or 3) ease their conscience about the first two?"
And as I circled these issues, I debated works righteousness, and whether a stereotypical African convert would think themselves in control of a God by prayers and behaviors. But as I realized that Western Christians will wrestle and have wrestled with the issue of salvation by works or grace, I realized that African concepts of spirituality have the equipment to handle the discussion. Because there is a recognition of the Holy Spirit as the ultimate benevolent spirit, with active power, God's reconciling work through Christ can still be given credit for drawing people to God. There is no need in either approach to assume that humans hold the chips of salvation. I am not surprised to report that African spirituality is capable of describing the intricacies of Christian doctrine, with perhaps different linguistic biases. For, as our lecturer said, language is a bridge to wisdom. Different languages have different wisdom.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Orientation
So, it has been a long time. Orientation began August 24 in Stony Point, NY with all YAVs, domestic and international. Friends were made for a week and for a year as we learned about how to act on site and how to be in relationship with it and the people we'll find. And then we were sent off to find some people.
At the Nairobi airport, the closest people we found to what we were looking for was a guy with an A.V. poster whose people did not come find him. After looking around a bit, we asked him whether it was possible there was a "Y" at the beginning. Which there should have been. We had met one of the two drivers who was to take us to our house. We stay in a guest wing of a University Doctor's house until Sept 22. We'll take Kiswahili lessons and various other classes and discussions. Next weekend we are to go to Meru for a Youth Challenge with a mission coworker also from the PCUSA. The other absence from our guest wing was this past weekend. From Friday to Monday we have stayed with our host families for the year. Coming from the middle or upper class of areas in or near Nairobi, our families will be great resources for us as we learn language and culture. And we can hang out with them at will. My family lives outside Nairobi a good distance (took about 2 hrs in traffic--"jams") in Kahawa Sukari. We spent time together relaxing, cooking, watching movies, and exchanging stories and views. They live in a two-story concrete house they built themselves with a nice yard, chickens, and a German Shepard. They have bananas, mangoes, and papaya trees in the yard, and maize (not sweet corn--a bit firmer kernel) in a field nearby. My father here is a pastor, working now in the denominational offices of the PCEA, and the family is very involved in the local parish (a terminology used here in the presbyterian church).
A highlight of the weekend was Saturday's family get-together. (not much time--I may revise later). By the time we got there, the men had gathered around the fire and hunks of goat were sitting on the grill. As it roasted (after having been slaughtered and boiled that morning), they spread a sauce much like pico de gallo on it. As we talked and the man of the house led me around the yard (cultivated skillfully for maize, fruit trees, 2 cows, sitting areas, and good-looking shrubberies), I learned of "African Socialism." Neighbors share. Family shares. It is a beautiful mutual reciprocity, assuming abundance of the land and provision from God. Even in the current drought and hardship, abundance and hospitality is tantamount to identity. And I was welcomed into the eating of tongue, leg, and various other tender and tough pieces. The women swapped some other food for some of our meat, and we had salad, beans, ugali (think grits but more cakey/biscuity), and rice. I had a delicious citrus pod from the garden. Peeling back red, stringy casing, I discovered a fleshy citrus with black peppery seeds (which you aren't supposed to chew, just swallow). The highlight was a rosemary stew with the broth from boiling the meat chunks. The secret ingredient, stirred in after much boiling, was the brain of the goat. It was deliciously thick and fatty. I had 3 mugs. I learned that "men do not eat a little."
More later.
At the Nairobi airport, the closest people we found to what we were looking for was a guy with an A.V. poster whose people did not come find him. After looking around a bit, we asked him whether it was possible there was a "Y" at the beginning. Which there should have been. We had met one of the two drivers who was to take us to our house. We stay in a guest wing of a University Doctor's house until Sept 22. We'll take Kiswahili lessons and various other classes and discussions. Next weekend we are to go to Meru for a Youth Challenge with a mission coworker also from the PCUSA. The other absence from our guest wing was this past weekend. From Friday to Monday we have stayed with our host families for the year. Coming from the middle or upper class of areas in or near Nairobi, our families will be great resources for us as we learn language and culture. And we can hang out with them at will. My family lives outside Nairobi a good distance (took about 2 hrs in traffic--"jams") in Kahawa Sukari. We spent time together relaxing, cooking, watching movies, and exchanging stories and views. They live in a two-story concrete house they built themselves with a nice yard, chickens, and a German Shepard. They have bananas, mangoes, and papaya trees in the yard, and maize (not sweet corn--a bit firmer kernel) in a field nearby. My father here is a pastor, working now in the denominational offices of the PCEA, and the family is very involved in the local parish (a terminology used here in the presbyterian church).
A highlight of the weekend was Saturday's family get-together. (not much time--I may revise later). By the time we got there, the men had gathered around the fire and hunks of goat were sitting on the grill. As it roasted (after having been slaughtered and boiled that morning), they spread a sauce much like pico de gallo on it. As we talked and the man of the house led me around the yard (cultivated skillfully for maize, fruit trees, 2 cows, sitting areas, and good-looking shrubberies), I learned of "African Socialism." Neighbors share. Family shares. It is a beautiful mutual reciprocity, assuming abundance of the land and provision from God. Even in the current drought and hardship, abundance and hospitality is tantamount to identity. And I was welcomed into the eating of tongue, leg, and various other tender and tough pieces. The women swapped some other food for some of our meat, and we had salad, beans, ugali (think grits but more cakey/biscuity), and rice. I had a delicious citrus pod from the garden. Peeling back red, stringy casing, I discovered a fleshy citrus with black peppery seeds (which you aren't supposed to chew, just swallow). The highlight was a rosemary stew with the broth from boiling the meat chunks. The secret ingredient, stirred in after much boiling, was the brain of the goat. It was deliciously thick and fatty. I had 3 mugs. I learned that "men do not eat a little."
More later.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Preparation and placement
Thank you to all who already support me with gifts and prayers. I am readying myself and my stuff to leave August 24 for orientation. From there, I leave September 1 for Nairobi. With less than three weeks now, I'm deciding on things to pack, whether to get a computer, which malaria medication to take, and other such fun things. Before I pack, though, I must thin the perverse accumulation of junk in my bedroom (and yes, still in the the garage, too). Excess will be hard enough to come back to without having to swim through it to get to my bed.
I have finally noticed that I am actually going to Kenya. This fact is more easily grasped in the concrete tasks of visa application and packing list generation than in the abstract processes of waiting and discernment. Waiting has become active, with physical preparation readying my thoughts. I pray for wisdom as I pack and peace as God prepares me for my journey.
News! I have heard from our wonderful site coordinator that I am placed at a high school in central Kenya. I am terribly excited. I love working with kids. With another YAV at the same site, I have an automatic friend there. He's probably already sick of me. I'm looking forward to working with him.
Two and a half weeks or so? Time to get rolling. I must leave you. I need your prayers for wisdom and peace as I prepare. God has certainly been providing for me this summer. I realized today that the story of Jacob at Bethel that has meant so much to me every time I move will be especially true this time, as my malaria medication is likely to cause strange dreams. God is already in Kenya at work. I look forward to seeing that.
I have finally noticed that I am actually going to Kenya. This fact is more easily grasped in the concrete tasks of visa application and packing list generation than in the abstract processes of waiting and discernment. Waiting has become active, with physical preparation readying my thoughts. I pray for wisdom as I pack and peace as God prepares me for my journey.
News! I have heard from our wonderful site coordinator that I am placed at a high school in central Kenya. I am terribly excited. I love working with kids. With another YAV at the same site, I have an automatic friend there. He's probably already sick of me. I'm looking forward to working with him.
Two and a half weeks or so? Time to get rolling. I must leave you. I need your prayers for wisdom and peace as I prepare. God has certainly been providing for me this summer. I realized today that the story of Jacob at Bethel that has meant so much to me every time I move will be especially true this time, as my malaria medication is likely to cause strange dreams. God is already in Kenya at work. I look forward to seeing that.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Welcome!
You have found it! The blog of my experiences in Kenya!
My name is Jacob Geerlings, and on August 24 I leave for orientation with the Young Adult Volunteer (YAV) program of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). This program is designed for young adults in the church to get involved for a short-term (one-year) mission opportunity, allowing us to see what the church is doing abroad, to participate in local churches' responses to both the gospel and the needs in their community, and to take time for spiritual formation, simple living, and discernment. The YAV program is a great fit for me. God works in this program, evidenced by the wisdom of the people I see return from it, and so without knowing yet "what I'm doing with my life," I take my next step in the direction of the YAVs in Kenya.
YAVs in Kenya work in partnership with the Presbyterian Church of East Africa (PCEA), one of the fastest-growing denominations in the world. YAVs of previous years have been stationed in classrooms, orphanages, church offices, interdenominational organizations, and halfway houses.
I invite you to participate. To support my trip:
My name is Jacob Geerlings, and on August 24 I leave for orientation with the Young Adult Volunteer (YAV) program of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). This program is designed for young adults in the church to get involved for a short-term (one-year) mission opportunity, allowing us to see what the church is doing abroad, to participate in local churches' responses to both the gospel and the needs in their community, and to take time for spiritual formation, simple living, and discernment. The YAV program is a great fit for me. God works in this program, evidenced by the wisdom of the people I see return from it, and so without knowing yet "what I'm doing with my life," I take my next step in the direction of the YAVs in Kenya.
YAVs in Kenya work in partnership with the Presbyterian Church of East Africa (PCEA), one of the fastest-growing denominations in the world. YAVs of previous years have been stationed in classrooms, orphanages, church offices, interdenominational organizations, and halfway houses.
I invite you to participate. To support my trip:
- Pray. For Jesus to work in me and through me, that I may be a faithful servant in a new place.
- Stay in touch--send me email if you wish to subscribe to the newsletter that will go out in addition to this blog. It's heartening to know people care.
- Go to www.pcusa.org/yav/support.htm. Click my name under "Kenya", second to last name on the list. It should say "YAV, Kenya, Position 4" (this website). Then click on "give $." I need to raise $10,000 for the program to cover my expenses. The church doesn't get much money for the people they put to staff orphanages, I suspect. And I need to eat, live, and keep the Dept of Education's student loans division off my back.
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The contrasts of the movie were intentionally drastic. In the first five minutes, the shuttle takes people in from orbit, passing over verdant jungle with huge trees on low gravity to a mechanical octagonal fortress of metal, concrete and looming towers. Technology, fueled by resource-seeking industry, meets natural, balanced life. The life on the planet is so advanced that the trees together make a world brain, and touch-sensitive phosphorescent plants light the path of the Na'vi, the people, at night. The Na'vi can even interface with the network of trees to upload memories or with animals to ride. I assume millenia of deliberate selection have caused this outcome in an already condusive biology, compared with the millenia of science and progress that consumed Earth by this time. The fire that Jake lights as soon as it becomes night leads to unneccessary wildlife death, and the first spat with his future lover. Such symbolism of nature and technology swept through the entire film—James Cameron stayed general enough that different people saw different things. There was intentionally no direct connection to specific situations—natives did not dress or speak exactly like Zulu or Cherokee or Maya.What people saw in the movie was not always universal. Yesterday when I saw it someone saw mostly an environmental message—don't mess with the Earth, she'll kick back. But I had been entirely in imperialism mode—people were deliberately pushed aside because they couldn't have understood the "wealth" they were sitting on. A tree thousands of years old was destroyed, the ancestral home of thousands of people, for millions of dollars of ore. But the processes of environmental destruction and of imperialism are the same. Human life and animal life are both consumed in the furnace of technology and resource-grabbing. It makes me wonder if the shareholder model of business is flawed because we don't see what our money does. I wonder, too, at the press that came out of Pandora. I assume that it would be very expensive to get there, so in the absence of professional journalists, the company could filter information however they saw fit. Or, after a flurry of interest initially, future information was not as interesting, not as profitable for the press.