Share your food, dude

Eating and playing after praising our Lord,

The pastor gave me a disturbing word:

Some of the kids in this very lunch line

Would not eat again for quite some time.

Many come to church there just for the food,

They come for the table, is that any good?

These children's needs are easily met,

Some cheap pilau, some games, and they're set.

Of course we will feed the neighbors who come,

The rice was enough for firsts and then some.

But how shall we feed the affluent ones?

The doctors and lawyers, their daughters and sons

Have different hungers, more deftly concealed,

What vacancy is filled before it's revealed?

We share at the table like children, we say,

"The bread and the wine that we share today,

remind us of Jesus' life and his death.

Partaking, we too have death and new breath."

But somehow after our cannibals' fare,

I still have some room in my belly to spare.

I can still go to lunch, I still eat a full meal,

Eating with all of my usual zeal.

Perhaps the last supper is only our first,

Without filling our bellies or slaking our thirst

The living bread builds us ever more able.

We live life in the habit of sharing our table.

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.