And that's about all I have to say about that...

I bought a bookmark in Kenya that I keep in my Bible. On it is written a Kenyan proverb in elegant handwriting - "Traveling teaches men their way." Here's what I think my trip is teaching me...

• I am far less afraid since my return. I hope hope hope that this effect has staying power. I have always been a 'fraidy mouse, but I have not felt that or thought those things since I've been back. I faced a whole bunch of personal fears in going, and right now, everything else seems like small potatoes. Thank goodness!


• Playing duck-duck-goose in a country known for their fast runners. Really? Not necessarily a good idea :-)


• This is definitely a season of refining and shaping.


• Creation. DANG! Creation. I want to notice Him more, enjoy Him more in what He has created.


• Turns out, I can live without Diet Pepsi. Who knew?

Okay, this one doesn't fit nicely into a bullet point. Back to that Anthropology class point from the last post - the notion that it's judgemental to label one culture as more advanced than another. I hear you. I do. We do vaccinate our children; we can communicate with people anywhere in the world within an instant, and we have way more food, clothes, and shelter than we need. Okay. I'll give you that. We're healthier, busier, better resourced, wealthier, and have more "knowledge" and gadgets. That's not an eternally valuable list; those aren't things that we aspire to as we desire to be more like Christ. The people of Segera are poor; they know their need for God in a way that I never will. It sounds like the rumble of hunger in their children's bellies, and it feels like the weight of the water bucket she carries every day. It looks like dirty feet eaten away by filth, and it sounds like a prayer to grow that tiny dark cloud in the sky to a life-giving shower. Joy and gratitude are radiant on their dusty faces. Those are circumstances and attributes dear to His own heart. The Bible is clear that Jesus is The Advocate for the oppressed, poor, and humble, and He is near to those who realize their need for Him.

We have done exceedingly well at using our wealth to cushion ourselves against our need for God. My children have never known their need for Him; that is scary to me as a parent. We are too busy, too selfish, too rich, too proud, and too stressed for Him. Our comforts come at a great spiritual cost. God, in His mercy, still loves us, is still moving in this place, changing and saving lives. But we will never need Him like they do.

So, I hesitate to call us more advanced.

That has been the hardest part of coming back for me. How do I cling to my need for Him here? How will I live differently because I have been there? How do I even begin to simplify my life? How do I parent?

So, it was really hard to come back to the busyness and materialism of Christmas in America. This was a more serious Christmas for me, but not really in a bad way. I think I was much more focused on Christ than I usually am but also less enamored by the bells and whistles of the commercial aspect. I was far less stressed than normal during the holidays but less silly and giddy as well. I definitely think this is the toughest time of year to come back from this kind of trip.

This concludes our journey to Segera together. Thought you might enjoy another look...

If you have any interest in donating to the communities of Kenya through The 410 Bridge, please check this out.

Or if you would like to sponsor a child in the Segera area through BrightPoint for Children, you can click here. You can actually sponsor some of the exact same kiddos I met, and if you look closely enough at some of my pictures you might recognize their faces. COOL, COOL STUFF!

Yep. My tongue turned black in Africa.

Randomness from the other side of the planet

On Wednesday morning, I woke up and my tongue was black. Yes, of course, I freaked out! I thought, "Oh, snap! I'm in Africa, and my tongue is black. That can't be good!" Jennifer, my roommate, kinda gasped when I told her; she thought that was pretty not good too. Heather said she thought it might be from the medicines I was taking (sleep meds, malaria meds, a regimen of stomach meds) or that I was turning into a giraffe (they have black tongues too :-). I texted Chris, "My tongue is black. Please look that up." So, I thought I might die at any minute the rest of the day. It went away when I brushed my teeth, and I kept checking all day to see if it grew black again. It did not. About twelve hours later I did speak with Chris on the phone, and he confirmed that it had just been a reaction/interaction of the medicines I was taking.

Though the kids thought my name was fun to say (they pronounced it more like kooky with a stretched out oo), they didn't actually know what a cookie is. Their word for cookie in English is biscuit, which is why they would often call to the bus as we were driving in, "Give me biscuit" or "Give me chock-a-late" in little raspy voices. It was the first time in my life that I met new people and they didn't think my name was funny.

Though the Kenyan children were very physically affectionate, they don't hug. That's just not something they do. The first few times I tried to hug a child, they didn't really seem to know how to respond. They found it awkward and perhaps even a little inappropriate. They were very comfortable holding hands, shaking hands, rubbing our arms, playing with our hair. They would say, "You have very smot (smart) hair."

I kept flashing back to my Anthropology class in college where we studied (and I do believe) that no culture is better than another. It's even judgemental to think of one culture as more advanced than another. There are just groups of people who do things differently, and it's pretty cool to study the hows and the whys of various groups. I'll come back to that point in my next post, but one of the differences we noticed in the classroom was though "thank you" is a huge concept; "please" is not. It caught a few of us off guard when a student would ask for something in class, and it came off sounding like a demand - though his face or disposition didn't communicate that. Their "Give me yellow" was equivalent to our "Please pass me the yellow colored pencil." It's just not part of the way they communicate. Though they are such gentle and polite people.

On some days there were passion fruits in our lunchboxes. After a little coaxing from one of our trip leaders, we agreed that when in Africa, you eat your passion fruit. Just because it's a passion fruit in Africa. You cut the top off and suck out the contents. It does have a fruity taste, but the consistency is that of an oyster full of sunflower seeds.

I did learn that if you totally pack each nostril with tissue all the way to the bridge of your nose, you cannot smell a thing. That was useful the one time I used the outdoor facilities.

Other Fun-ness from the week

On Wednesday afternoon, some of the Maasai came to the mission to sell their beaded wares: bracelets, earrings, key chains, tribal necklaces, beaded sticks and canes, etc... I bought a tribal necklace and then stored it in a gallon-size Ziplock bag to bring it home. When I opened the bag here, I was surprised. I received a smoky whiff - the scent of the hut my necklace was strung in. I inhaled big and left the necklace in the bag, resealing it quickly to keep the smell.

After shopping, a contingent of us had to walk across a narrow river to reach two of the buses on the other side. The red bus was stuck in the mud, and the white bus had driven over to help free it. It would have taken too too long for the buses to drive back around to where we were, so we walked through the river to the buses. That was a fun adventure and was the only time we actually just walked through the bush.

There were many many transportation fails during the trip. One bus had a flat tire shortly after we left the airport. Another broke down completely at lunch on that same day. The red bus was impounded and stuck in the mud, and I feel like I'm missing others as well. Good times... Seriously!

On Thursday, we attended a dedication of the Black Tank water project. My hubs, Chris, worked on this water project during his trip in June. In November, during our trip, the project was given to the community - for them to continue to work on and maintain. I had the cool opportunity to speak at that dedication service.

Then we headed to Sweetwaters Tented Camp. Amazing, amazing, amazing! We saw lots and lots of super cool animals (my pics didn't turn out too hot) and everyone had the option of going on a night safari. Cool stuff!

Planning to wrap it up tomorrow...

Meet Sara

Isn't she beautiful? Heather and I met Sara in a village called Jerusalem. Our group finished our work in the schools on Wednesday morning and went to visit homes in Jerusalem that afternoon. Faith, an employee at the Segera Mission, took us as a group and introduced us to many of the families - many of whom participate in Bible study and the feeding program at the Mission. As usual, children flocked to the bus as we drove up and parked. This late in the game we were pretty accustomed to and comfortable with the quick connection that would happen soon after we disembarked. Each of us would initiate conversation with the children outside of the bus; two or three would attach themselves to each of us, and they would accompany us during our time there. They were so open to us.

Because this was late in the week, we had at least encountered many of these children at a school or worship service earlier in the trip. I recognized some faces but didn't know any of them well. Before we turned the bend into the village, Sara grabbed mine and Heather's hands. She held on until we left. She was a quiet one which caused me to question whether she knew English. The younger kiddos definitely spoke varying levels of English. She stayed with us and held our hands - insisting on having us both.

At the nicest hut I visited during our trip, Heather and I began to wonder about a separate enclosure to the right of the hut. We were guessing quietly what it might be when Sara, in a soft voice explained, "Kitchen. That's the kitchen." Before that, she had only spoken to tell us her name, so it was so cutie for her to understand our whispers and very matter of factly answer our question. From then on we peppered her with questions; she was sharp and understand and spoke English well. She pointed out enclosures for the hens, one for the chicks, and even the fact that one of the mothers was building a new hut beside her old one.

Sara became most excited when our group moved to her very own home. Her mother was standing outside; Sara quietly yet proudly shared that this was her home and her mother and her siblings. If I am remembering correctly, her mother had ten children, one of whom had died. In their culture, a woman who has a lot of children is considered to be blessed.

Sara's mother did not speak English but gestured to us that Sara was her daughter. She seemed equally proud to be Sara's mother and communicated to us that Sara knew English (which we had already discovered :-). Sara translated for us, allowing us to talk with her mom a little. We had Sara ask her mom if she'd like a family photo with those close by (not all of the kids were present at the hut at the time). Sara's sister on the far right closed her eyes in one of the first pictures we took, which troubled her greatly. That's why she's making such big eyes in the picture. She was determined not to close her eyes again :-)

This was the first village where I noticed locks on the doors. Many of the huts had small padlocks on the stick doors, and they would wear the keys on a necklace or ring.

After a loop through the village, we met to pray with the people of the community. They sang and danced for us (which happened every single place we went, which was complete awesomeness) and this time they grabbed two of our peeps to dance with them. The pastor/leader of the village spoke to us via Faith, and two guys from our group spoke to them. Good times. Then it was time for goodbye. Here Sara says, "Goodbye, Cookie :-)"...

Class 2 - You're gonna love 'em...

So, two and a half days of our trip were spent in three different schools (nursery, primary, and older) - the morning at one, the afternoon at another - allowing us the opportunity to return to work with the same students and classes on two different days.

After recess that first day at the primary school, the students went in to their classes and we held a brief planning meeting. After having spent an hour or so with the kids, it had become clear that these students didn't know English super well (not the case with the students at the older school). They knew the basics for introductory conversation, but that seemed to be the extent of it. There were 60-70 kiddos in each class; the plan was that 3-4 of us would go in to each class and lead/teach for an hour and a half. AN HOUR AND A HALF WITH SCORES OF STUDENTS WHO BARELY SPOKE ENGLISH! Are you sensing that the teacher in me began to secretly hyperventilate?

But.

It was amazing! The teachers stayed in with us to help translate when we needed it, and the kids did seem to understand more than I initially thought. We had two activities planned (God keeps His promises - Noah and the rainbow (they see lots o' rainbows), and God is my sun and my shield - Psalm 84:11) and we had plenty to do.

Felix, the teacher of Class 2, was a great teacher, and I don't throw that compliment around lightly. It was sooooo apparent that he loves his 60-70 charges, and they respect him. There were no behavior problems. Like none. Zilch. I honestly never saw any kids out of line the entire trip, but if Class 2 got a little too excited about what we were doing, Felix could bring them back instantly.

When James came in the room at the end of our time, Felix quietly asked if we would be returning. When James informed him that we would be back the next day and he shared that with the kids, they stood and clapped and cheered wildly. They taught us to say "See you tomorrow" in Swahili (Tuoanane kesho) and repeated it over and over as we made our way to the bus (which is the closest I will ever come to feeling like a rockstar. Each time we left a school, there were ten or so little people walking with each of us, holding our hands, shaking our hands, holding our arms and others popping over quickly to say goodbye or thank you. We literally had to make our way through the crowd of school children. I loved it!).

Felix told us that his kids had never had so much fun, and one of the teachers told James that they didn't have words to express how thankful they were. Gratitude. Humbling gratitude. Almost seems counterintuitive that a people with so little could be so grateful. "Thank you" was definitely one of the most common phrases I heard while there (right up there with "Look! There's a lion!" :-).

Unfortunately, our plans changed for the following day and we did not return to Class 2 until Wednesday. Upon our return, Felix told us that his kids stared out of the window all day the day before - wondering why we had not come. That hurts my heart just to remember. They again cheered at our entrance and waved calling "Tuoanane kesho" at our departure. We yelled and waved goodbye like crazy, knowing we couldn't promise another tomorrow...


While in Class 2, we met a sweet fella named Hassan. Hassan is a small gent and was always more bundled up than his classmates - wearing a toboggan and a jacket at all times. Hassan has AIDS and will probably not live to be older than nine. His parents abandoned him, and he is in the care of his grandfather. Felix told us that he misses a lot of school when his health is poor, but he was well during our visit. They try to love on him good and are believing that God is going to give him new life. Will you ask God for that on behalf of this sweet little friend? He is in the blue jacket and red hat...

At all three of the schools, the students would spontaneously burst into song and dance while they worked. There was always a song leader who would open the song and EVERY ONE of the others would join in as they continued to color, write, etc... I would just stand in front of the classroom, frozen by delight - falling head over heels over and over again with every refrain. Thinking, "Take this in. Allow this moment to so penetrate you that you can relive it over and over again. You are in Africa, teaching, and they are singing just out of the overflow of their joy. Soak it up!"

This video (1 min) is actually from the older school, but it so accurately captures what I'm trying to describe:

Adonai, I love you so so much too!

Jambo Again! Part III

Jambo means "Hello" in Swahili.

As we drove in every day - in addition to savoring the amazing beauty of the landscape - we encountered handsome people out in the bush - mostly shepherds (boys and men) tending and feeding their livestock. I'm guessing that three big buses full of white peeps rolling down the long dusty road isn't a super common sight because the kids would start barreling towards the road, waving - many times with both hands. We would lean and wave and smile big toothy smiles and yell "Jambo!" in return. It was so fun...



On Monday, we split into our service groups. Some treated the feet and hands of those affected by jiggers (condition where a small black flea embeds itself in dusty, dry skin, lays eggs, and feeds on the flesh and blood of its host; this is a monumental issue because many of the kids don't have shoes. at. all. Affliction with jiggers can lead to the loss of fingers and toes, paralysis, and social ostracism - a modern leprosy, so to speak). Another group worked to roof a water tank that is going to radically change how people live and feed their families once water is gravity-fed to many villages who currently walk great distances to the nearest water source. I was a part of the group who worked in the schools with the children. We were allowed to play with them, make crafts with them, shower them with affection and attention, and teach 'em straight Jesus, which was so fun...



When our big white bus pulled in to the school yard at Uasonyiro Primary School, all of the children were outside drinking their porridge (there is currently a government-subsidized feeding program in the schools because the area has been in drought for an extended length of time; enrollment is up because food is provided. The government plans to end the program soon, and the reality is that fewer kids will have the luxury of attending school when food is no longer distributed). There were around three hundred and fifty or so of them, and they quickly encircled the bus. We stayed put while James, one of our trip leaders, went to discuss plans with the teachers. The children stood around, looking up with interest and curiosity - giggling, laughing, and waving shyly. After a couple of minutes of us watching and smiling at them and them watching and smiling at us, a guy on our team yelled a hearty "JAMBO!" from the back of the bus, and the entire group of them yelled "JAMBO!" back in unison :-) It was on after that...


We all began conversations from the bus with small groups of kids standing closest. "What's your name? What's in your bowl? How old are you? How are you?" Their striking faces and their British accents could melt butter. They would reply and question as well. "My name is Susan; what is your name? This is porridge. I am fine, thank you."


James returned to share the plan for the morning, and then we prepared to join them on the ground below. When the first person from our bus descended the steps, they corporately and spontaneously erupted into a cheer of excitement and approval.

The older school - up the road a bit - walked over to join us all. Five hundred sweet African school children. My heart be still. It was definitely a bit overwhelming because they all wanted to see us, touch us, feel our hair, hear us speak, (lick one of our team members; she smelled tasty :-), etc... Eighteen of us to five hundred of them. Some of us had lotion and fingernail polish, and they went nuts. I know that I didn't make it ten steps from the bus for a good hour. "Cutex!" they called as we painted (which you probably know is a brand of nail products - great commercial that would have been!). They would stand in line (boys and girls) to be polished; then they would go scratch off that color before it dried well and get in line again for a new color from a different nail technician. Very funny.

After painting just about everybody a few times, we put the polish away to play. The guys had taken out jump ropes and soccer and volleyballs, which were an ENORMOUS hit! I looked over the playyard to see a game of duck-duck-goose over here, singing practice/performance over there with teacher Helen, ballgames and races in different patches here and there. Again, I was pretty stationary as I was receiving an education in the discipline of partner hand clapping/slapping games to great fun songs that I couldn't understand the words to. I loved it and would sing the sounds I heard but had no clue what I was saying. They were patient with my learning and would practice with me over and over and over and over again at my request. I was determined to master what they had to teach, even though they laughed at my goofy flubs...

PS - Jenn, I'm headed towards your question about how this is affecting my Christmas, and I did want to add that I am borrowing pics from many of my teammates (thanks, guys!).

How do you say Part II in Swahili?

So I got eight hours of zzzzz's the first night in Africa (sleep meds were my friend), and it was a new day on the continent. I woke up on Sunday and fell in love. Hard. With. Segera. And. Its. People.

We stayed in a hotel in Nanyuki, a 45-minute bus ride from the community we served. We drove in and out every day in open-air buses and just feasted on the raw, unmanipulated beauty of Creation: zebras, camels, cattle, goats, impalas, gazelles, monkeys, and the daily lion sighting (which was usually not a lion at all - though we did see about five over the course of the whole trip) set in the never-ending bush with massive Mount Kenya monopolizing the horizon.

I am not outdoors girl, by any stretch, but I have peeked through the blinds a couple of mornings this week to check out His brushstrokes at dawn. And I've been hungry just to be outside, not wanting to miss His presence in what I would usually deem "ordinary." He is crazy creative and imaginative.

We attended church services (at Faith Chapel and an open-air service in a small village).

During the open air event in the village of San Maria, I amassed a group of little people. They were quiet and respectful during the service, but as we made eye contact they would make their way over to stand with me, to hold my hand or arm. I so vividly remember the feel of having my arms around the five of them, their little bodies warm against my legs, as a cool wind blew and songs of praise were belted out. One of many fave memories.

After the service, I was swept into the mix of many of the tribal ladies of the village who did not speak English. They wanted their pictures taken (they all loved seeing themselves in the display screens of our digital cameras) and then they wanted me in the pictures. After a few photos, one of the ladies grabbed my hand and began to lead me away from the group - away from our group as well. Honestly, I was a little apprehensive, but I followed.

She led me into her hut, and that was the most afraid I was during the whole trip. Because it was pitch black dark inside. I had to lean over to enter, and I could not see anything. I was alone and we could not understand each other. There were other people inside - which made me more uncomfortable but I quickly determined they were children. The smell was the thick, heavy smell of a fire, and I wondered if I might step in it. My hostess was so gracious and sweet and realized my fumbling. She rattled off something in her native tongue and a small child scampered to pull what looked like a feed sack out of a hole in the wall to allow sunshine to pour in. She wanted me to be her guest; she wanted to show me her home.

In their culture, the women construct the homes out of sticks, mud, and animal waste. They walk great distances to collect wood, and it takes about a month to build. A hut may last about a year and a half before it will begin to collapse in on itself. As you can imagine, when it rains outside; it also rains inside.

After some time with Jennifer (it tripped me out that many of them have such common English names - but Kenya was a British colony which is why most Kenyans speak English in addition to Swahili), another guy from our team and a local guy entered the hut. The local fella began to translate for us, and Jennifer wanted us to ask questions about her home, to take pictures of her home, and to show us different items in her home. Communication was quite awkward, but she was so proud to have us. In fact, she had us taking picture after picture with various household objects as we began to hear the team calling all back to the bus. Pictures with the milk gourd. Pictures with the beaded stick. Me with the milk gourd. Mike with the milk gourd. Jennifer and Mike with the milk gourd. You get the idea. It was way cute and funny and strange in the end.

A day of worship on the far side of the world. Definitely something to write home about... Thank you for indulging me, and Tuoanane kesho (See ya tomorrow in Swahili)...

I definitely needed Africa more than Africa needed me.

Okay, I stole that title from this blog, but it is right on the money for me.

Remember me? Hi! My name is Cookie, and I am an intermittent blogger. Sorry about that. I really am, but I have to submit to constant monitoring or I will allow my expectations of myself to grow large and woolly and mammoth with big, sharp teeth.

So, two really major things have happened in my life this fall, and I would love to catch you up in small doses, if that's okay. Back in October I led a women's study on Five Lies of the Devil, and it was soooo soooo fun to do my teachin' thang again. AND now I am fresh off the plane from Kenya (and glad to have both feet planted firmly on the ground again, thank you very much!), and I can barely talk or think about anything else. I have exhausted all of the peeps in my fam and circle with my endless, "In Kenya..." comments; I have forced a slideshow and presentation on Carson's second grade class, and I've worn down my Facebook friends with pics and video, so I turn to you as a new venue :-)

Obviously, we'll tackle Kenya first and come back to Five Lies.

For those of you who aren't NewSpringers, my church has partnered with The 410 Bridge (you should watch the video on their site) to invest in the people and community of Segera in Kenya - a partnership that will send teams and resources to the same area over at least a three year time frame. We have sent three teams already and have five trips planned for 2010.

My Chris went in June and came back insistent that I go. I wasn't opposed to going, but it was never a matter of feeling like it was something I had to do. It became something I really, really, really wanted to do. And I knew it would require me to face a whole bunch of fears (not the least of which was flying) and get way far removed from the comforts of my cute lil' life.

I didn't go thinkin' I was gonna be any great help to anybody while I was there. I certainly went to love, love, love some beautiful kiddos and mamas, to serve them in absolutely any way I could, and to share Jesus if I had the opportunity, but all along I knew that God planned to change me more than He planned to use me.

It took two days to fly there, and the instruction began immediately. After bad weather, a flat nose tire on an airplane, a missed flight to Paris, an unexpected 13-hour overnight flight to Dubai, a middle of the night flight to Nairobi, no shower or bed for two days, very limited access to Diet Pepsi, and then a four-hour bus ride, I had been beaten into submission upon arrival.

In my life, I am a planner, and I like to stick to the plan. I am pretty much in control of how my day goes. I generally do what I want to do and don't do what I don't want to do. I give a lot of thought to what is safe, what makes me feel secure, what I am comfortable with, and what allows me the greatest degree of control over my circumstances. I quickly got the message that this trip would happen on His terms, not mine. The first two days were a butt whoopin' for sure, and I was allowed to see with supreme clarity the issues that comfort, security, safety, and control are in my life - golden calves gleaming brightly before me in the African sunrise on day two.

At that point I would've quit if I could have. I wanted to go into the airplane bathroom and cry my head off but I didn't think I would be able to stop if I started. Ever feel that way?

Stay tuned...

PS - Thank you, Kristin, for the awesome pic!