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.
Monday, September 28, 2009
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.
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