For Those Of You Who Didn't Know...

You might have seen my Facebook status change in the last month or so. Let me quell all the rumors here and now. It’s true! I’m in love!

So let me give you the vital statistics:

His name is Daniel Steyn. 

He’s 43. The same age I am, although he’s two months older. Another reason that is good is because he has the same birthday as my brother Tom. (No need to remember too many dates).

He is from South Africa. (He’s White.) For those of you who know me well, you might be giggling about now. Yes, I know I said I wanted to marry an African. But I didn’t specify the color with God. Guess who had the final word on that one.

He is an engineer. He works for Intel. (Yes, the computer company.)

He has lived and worked in Kenya for 3 years.

He is ridiculously handsome! And tall!

He likes to run…that’s what we did on our first date.

He is an amazing cook! Albeit with a recipe book close at hand.

And the best part is that he is a God-fearing, praying, Jesus follower!

But the best, best part is that he is crazy about me! I pinch myself every once in a while, not too often because I bruise easily…but often enough to remind myself that I’m not dreaming. There really is an amazing man in my life who loves me to pieces (and is not my father or my heavenly father), his name is Daniel, and I love him too!

Daniel and I in Kakamega, Kenya, during Easter weekend.

(It’s June 6!) Happy two-month Anniversary Daniel!

I can’t wait to see what the next two years…two decades bring!

I LOVE YOU!

- J

Once In A Lifetime

I spent the summer of my 16^th year of life living with my aunt and uncle in New Hampshire; they introduced me to the band Talking Heads. They called it traveling music. Any time we would get in the car for a lengthy trip, they would pop a tape…yes I’m that old…into the tape deck and off we’d go. These are some lyrics from the Talking Heads song, “Once In A Lifetime.”

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile

And you may ask yourself-Well...How did I get here?

How did I get here, indeed! I’ll tell you one thing for sure, when I was 16, the idea that I would be here - in Kenya as a missionary - was not even a notion in my brain.

I won’t back up that far, as it would be confusing and boring. This chapter started when I walked up to Stephanie Black at Karen Vineyard Church and told her I wanted to join her Bible Study.

As it turns out Stephanie ended up giving me rides to Bible Study often. We became friends. She knew I had been a journalist and referred me to Bob & Hope Carter, missionary friends of hers, who were looking for a Christian journalist to write the stories of the youth in the Positive Teen Camp they facilitated twice a year.

As soon as I finished my first interview in December of 2012 I knew I wanted to get more involved with youth living with HIV. That week I interviewed 14 youth living with HIV. They all talked about how alone they felt. They all talked about how discrimination and stigma made them not disclose their status to anyone, further alienating them from the world around them. They all wanted to know why God allowed this virus to infect them, and kill their parents. I didn’t have answers. I wanted to have answers.

When the work with Wezesha By Grace ended I was devastated. Why had God brought me to Kenya if it wasn’t to work with Wezesha? I found myself in a very odd place. I wanted to remain a missionary. I couldn’t imagine going back to a 9-5 job or earning a wage. I wanted to depend on God to provide and I wanted to be doing His work. So why had He let it end. I prayed and prayed and prayed some more. And then God reminded me of the Positive Teen Camp, and an idea came into my head.

I went to the African Inland Church Headquarters website and looked over their Health Ministries program and especially the division that deals with HIV/AIDS. When I didn’t see any psychosocial support programs for youth living with HIV, I wrote a proposal to start one and took it to the head of the Health Ministries Department.

My missionary visa is facilitated by AIC church and I need the visa to stay in the country; what better way to be a missionary than to work directly with AIC. Joshua, the director asked me why I didn’t start a non-profit organization. “Because I don’t want to own anything,” I told him. I want Maarifa (what it was later to be named) to be wholy owned and embraced by Kenyans as a means by which they can assist youth living with HIV – a community coming together to empower a generation of youth infected with HIV.

Joshua was eager to accept my proposal but was very clear that AIC could only provide human resources for Maarifa, not financial ones. At the time I thought writing a few grants to get Maarifa off the ground would be easy. But it turned out that money for psychosocial support is not readily available.

After my proposal was approved I realized I needed more training in HIV to feel as if I could speak intelligently about it. I looked on the internet for trainings in Kenya. I found an organization called HIV Hope International that did sporadic trainings on HIV for church leaders and wrote to the director who was based in the US. He eventually wrote back and said there was a training the next month (August 2013) in Maralal. I had never heard of Maralal. It was a full day’s journey into the bush and the last bit was basically no roads at all.

The training itself I’ve blogged about before, but what came out of that training for me became the framework of the Maarifa program. It’s called the Armor of Positive Living and is loosely based on Ephesians 6:10, which calls us to put on the armor of God.

From that point on it has been meetings on top of meetings, finding partners, finding curriculum writers, doing strategic planning, making site visits and the list goes on.

And so it helps to write it all down to identify the people God placed in my life to make “here” a reality. Stephanie Black has since returned to the states, but the Bible Study she started remains strong and the friendships I’ve made there inspire and lift me up to this day. Last Monday they prayed for me and for Maarifa. I’ve felt like I’ve been under attack lately, life just being more frustrating and hectic than usual, kids (mine) being more moody and surly than necessary, things just generally not working out as I hoped. I told the ladies assembled in Beverly’s living room that even though I was feeling beaten down, I was not letting the devil win.

I know how I got here. God ordered my steps to this path (to Kenya, to Maarifa, to Judie, Milly and Tamara, to Karen Vineyard Church) and I simply followed his lead. He WILL provide a way out. He will provide, period.

Here I am God. Use me.

Recycled Knowledge

The candidacy requirements at Globe International require that you read a number of books on cross-cultural living, fundraising and bringing the gospel to the world. I read the first two books on cross-cultural living and psychology in four days and wrote two book reports. The following is what I learned in a more personal format!

The two books I read were, Survival Kit for Overseas Living, by L. Robert Kohls and Psychology of Missionary Adjustment, by Marge Jones.

When we head overseas we pack our suitcase with our clothes and toiletries, but we also take with us our cultural baggage: our customs, beliefs, values, morals, ideals, language and accepted ways of behaving (among many other cultural indicators). This cultural luggage often reveals where we come from, even before we take out our passport.

Through the use of commonly accepted stereotypes we often form assumptions about certain people groups even before meeting someone from that group. Having a set of expectations is fine as long as they are not set in stone. Being flexible and adaptable is key to remaining sane in any cross-cultural setting. That doesn’t mean giving up your culture, it simply means knowing your culture and why you react to another culture the way you do. It also means understanding that other cultures are different, not necessarily wrong.

The Survival Kit provided information about culture shock and reverse culture shock, both of which I’m intimately familiar with. Having traveled abroad as an exchange student at the age of 17 and then in a semester abroad in college and then as an Au Pair the year after I finished college, I can vividly remember facing many cultural challenges. 

 One stands out in my mind. I spent Christmas in Spain as an Au Pair with a Catalan family. They were so welcoming and hospitable, but the food and customs were very foreign. One dish they had on Christmas Eve looked like small worms. Their eyes stared up at me from the hot oil in which they were boiled. I was given something else to eat, but as soon as lunch was done, I called my family in Minnesota just to hear what they were doing. When I hung up, I just sat by the phone and cried. I felt like life was going on without me, like I would never understand my surroundings or get to enjoy Catalan customs.

I never did try the worm dish, but I did become a big fan of the Catalan people and culture. Spain will also represent a transformative time in my life…not all of it good, but I learned so much about myself.

What a lot of people don’t realize is that experiencing other cultures changes you. That’s what the reverse culture shock is about. Fitting back into your own culture isn’t as easy as you would think because you are slightly different than you were when you left. Your world-view has expanded, your horizons have broadened, your rose-colored glasses are a bit clearer. You’re a new you. Enjoy it!

The Psychology of Missionary Adjustment offered information about how missionaries adjusted or didn’t adjust to life in the field. It addressed the issue that a lot of missionaries face of being treated as some sort of celebrity because of their willingness to answer God’s call in their lives. Just so you know, when you are called you will know it and even if you drag your feet like I did, sooner or later you will probably say yes, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. It doesn’t feel like I’m doing something out of the ordinary. So when people get all excited about it, I just feel perplexed and a little embarrassed. If everyone were called to be missionaries there wouldn’t be doctors and teachers and pilots and garbage collectors. We have all been called and if you were listening to God, He has told or is in the process of telling you exactly what your ministry is. Maybe it’s your office mate, maybe it’s a relative, maybe you need to walk in and volunteer at the homeless shelter you pass every day on the way to work. We are all called. So let me slide off the pedestal you propped me up on and get on with my work. Because I’m human and I make mistakes and I lose my temper and I step off the path sometimes.

Jones also talks a lot about the process of becoming a missionary. I didn’t go through the traditional process so that part of the book was very interesting to me. I’ve never been good at doing things the proscribed way, so even though I usually end up in the right place, I usually take the most untraveled or never traveled before paths to get there. God meets us where we are and starts working in us and through us immediately! How great is that!

There was another chapter on learning the language of wherever you are called. I was talking to a friend about this the other day. I spent 10 years learning Spanish. I can think in Spanish without translating it in my head first and God called me to Kenya where after 13 years I still don’t speak fluent Swahili. In my defense I have never studied Swahili the way I studied Spanish. I am determined to learn Swahili but may have to go to Tanzania and learn it properly. Kenyans have polluted the language kabisa (a lot)!

There was also a chapter on bonding and differences between acceptance, adaption and integration. It is interesting to read about different missionaries’ experiences in this area. When I lived in Barcelona, I had long hair and a spiral perm. I looked a bit Spanish because of my Armenian ancestry. Cataluyans would ask me directions on the street. I understood Catalan but I couldn’t speak it so I would answer their question in Spanish. They just looked flustered and walked away. (Most Cataluyans speak fluent Spanish.) It wasn’t that they didn’t understand me; it was what they heard that they weren’t expecting. I fit in by appearance until I opened my mouth. It’s like Black Africans who come from other parts of Kenya which are not Swahili speaking, they can only blend in so far.

Cross-cultural relationships are work. God created us to be in community but he didn’t say there wouldn’t be misunderstandings. Getting to know your neighbor if they have a different language and culture is the Mt. Everest of relationship barriers, but with God’s love and wisdom there is always a way to forge a friendship.

Another chapter I want to tell you about is called The Fish Bowl. I have been using that analogy for years, especially since I live in the small town of Ngong. I can’t tell you how many times someone has said to me, “I saw you yesterday in town by the bank talking to so and so wearing such and such.” Yesterday as I was walking from my house to the matatu, a random stranger asked me if they could take my picture. No! It’s like being a Hollywood celebrity without the income bracket!

I don’t think any amount of orientation can prepare you for the lack of privacy or misinterpretations of your actions that will occur while in the field. The best you can do is be as transparent and communicative as possible about who you are, what you are about and where your boundaries lie.

When things don’t go as expected, because missionaries do fail sometimes…there is something called the Let Down. One of the authors, Myron Loss, mentioned in Psychology of Missionary Adjustment, offered 15 tips for survival in the missionary field.

Because these are really universal and could be of use to almost anyone in any situation I will list them here for you to mull over:

1.     Set reasonable goals.

2.     Don’t take your job description too seriously.

3.     Be committed to joy.

4.     Maintain good emotional health.

5.     Remember that you are human.

6.     Don’t be afraid of being a little bit eccentric

7.     Be flexible.

8.     Don’t take yourself too seriously.

9.     Reduce your stress where possible.

10.  Make your cultural change gradual.

11.  Forgive yourself. Forgive others.

12.  Establish some close friendships with people from the host culture.

13.  Be thankful.

14.  Be an encourager.

15.  Take courage, someone understands.

After you have thoroughly mulled over this list write a couple of these survival tips (or the whole list if it helps), in your journal or planner and make a conscious effort to incorporate them into your lifestyle.

That’s the end of my reports. I hope you’ve enjoyed the recycled knowledge. I added some artsy photos so you wouldn’t get bored. They don't have anything to do with the content except the one below.

Next up for a book report blog is Funding Your Ministry, by Scott Morton. That one might take me a while to crank out, as I’ve also started the Perspectives in Global Missions online course, which has a mammoth amount of reading included in it.

Not that I wish I was in Minnesota right now, but it would be much easier to stay inside and read if the view out my window wasn’t this!

           

A Blog about a blog

My work for the month of January is to facilitate the travel and logistics for a group of students from Bethel University who are taking a J-term course about the Media in Kenya. As communication students they are recording their experiences in a blog. www.ourkenyaexperience.blogspot.com

Please check it out and keep track of their progress. This is their third and final week in the country so there is a lot to read already.

I am so encouraged to know that God is working in the lives of young people all over the world. The Bethel students have interacted with both Christian and Muslim students. They have especially enjoyed meeting Kenyan and international students at Daystar University where we have been for the past week. They have discovered that the similarities far outweigh the differences in culture and experience.

Enjoy the Bethel Blog!

Christmas in Kenya

I’m not fond of snow. But Christmas without snow is still a bit difficult to get used to. Getting a bit of sunburn the day before Christmas Eve felt weird and wonderful all at the same time.

On Monday afternoon I met some of the ladies from the Chronological Bible Study at the newest restaurant in Karen, called Dari. It sits in a beautiful garden just off Ngong Road. While the service was complete crap, my hot chocolate was divine and the scenery was fabulous. And my friend Kim invited me for Christmas Eve lunch! YEAH! I had already been invited for Christmas Day dinner at my Canadian friend, Jana’s home, but had been hoping for another invitation!

Kim is an America. She and her husband, Joe, are missionaries here and have two adorable children Sophia and Theo. They had friends and neighbors over so there were about 15 of us. It was a nice relaxed sit where you want kind of lunch. Milly tried some new foods. Pork is not a winner in her book. But she is a huge fan of pumpkin pie and wants to know why we don’t make it. Well, there is no such thing as frozen pie crusts and pumpkin from a can here…my friend Kim had made her pies from scratch, including cooking the pumpkin. I told Milly she could go to Kim’s to make pumpkin pies!

Judie opted out of all holiday celebration. She is an introverts, introvert. She recently got a job as a nanny, so she said she just wanted to stay at home. In her defense the people she nanny’s for were invited to the same Christmas day party we were, so I can’t blame her for wanting some down time from her charge, although he is a cut little bugger. His name is Zikomo. He is 8 months old. Every time we have Tamara and Zikomo together we tell them they were destined to be together.

After lunch at Kim’s I headed to Nairobi Hospital to see Josephine, my downstairs neighbor. She has some issues with her back and has lots of pain. She was in the hospital in Karen a few months ago and then went in again this past Sunday. Her son, Martin, was in the compound in the morning so I asked if I could go with him to visit his mom. He was glad for the company. When we arrived Josephine was being moved from her bed in the common ward to a bed in a private room. Martin and I helped pack her up. As we were moving her into her new room another patient, a white woman, passed us in the hall. I spent about an hour with Josephine before another friend of hers arrived. As I was leaving her room, I ran into Joep, a member of my church who is a development worker from the Netherlands. He was on his way to visit Esther, the woman I’d seen earlier in the hall. Esther is a friend of Joep’s sister. She is a volunteer in Niger, where she was involved in a bad horseback riding accident and had to be flown to Kenya for an operation. Joep had never met Esther before and I decided since I was already there I would go visit Esther with Joep. It was a nice visit. And I promised to send Esther some baked goods with Martin the next day. I also introduced her to Josephine as they were both going to be in hospital on Christmas, they might as well know another person nearby to spend a few minutes with to celebrate the day.

I loved the food and fellowship at Kim’s but I can’t think of a better way to celebrate the spirit of Christmas than by visiting people in the hospital. How lonely it must be to be in pain and alone and have no one with whom to celebrate Jesus’ birthday.

Joep gave me a ride to where he turned off to go toward his home and I hopped on a matatu that smelled of the usual Saturday early evening perfume of body odor, booze and cigarettes. I prayed my way home as I usually do when I will get home after dark. God is good.

Tamara in her 11-month old adorableness, was a hit at both parties. Have I mentioned she’s walking! 

Mobile Tamara at 11 months.

She walked at 11 months and 2 days. She now has two nicknames, Houdini and Hoover. We really don’t need to sweep, we just waits until she puts whatever is on the floor in her mouth and then we take it out of her mouth. Better than having to deal with a vacuum bag!

Anyway on Christmas got up and made pancakes for my girls and then headed to church because I was responsible for the welcome team (ushers), who were made up of new recruits because this was not a Sunday service. Which meant I needed to do most of the seating. The auditorium we meet in has a capacity of maybe 250, if you squeeze them in. After most of the seating was done, I did a head count…not counting some of the kids, I came up with 350+ people. Needlesstosay, I didn’t get to hear much of the program.

We went home after church and at about 2 in the afternoon, I woke Tamara up from a nap and we went with my friend Wendy and her two children to Jana’s house. Jana had invited people to arrive starting at around 3p.m. We played games and sang Christmas Carols and visited with the approximately 40 quests until 7p.m. when we finally sat down to eat. The food was marvelous, but Tamara, who had only slept about 40 minutes, was grouchy so I couldn’t really enjoy my food. Milly was supposed to come join us after a friends party but couldn’t find Jana’s in the dark, (she was supposed to come much earlier) so we had to pick her up on the road after rounds of desserts and a conga line that threaded its way through the house. It was a Canadian Christmas, so in true British/Canadian tradition, we all pulled crackers and put on our paper hats, and read our jokes to one another. 

Mine went like this: “What did Adam say to Eve the day before Christmas?”

“It’s Christmas, Eve!”

In those crackers is also a little charm…mine was a snowflake! 

My snowflake cracker pendent.

God has a funny way of always reminding one where ones heart is. To my parents, family and friends back in the states (those of you in the snow especially). I love you and miss you!

Merry Christmas and may you have a blessed New Year!

Life is a series of Journeys

If we have faith enough to set out and follow unknown paths full of risks and rewards, we can find ourselves constantly growing and stretching and being renewed at the end of one for the start of the next journey.  I want to share two journeys with you; Everline’s and mine.

Education is worth the rocky path: Everline’s journey

For those of you who don’t know the story, I met Everline Aoko Okumu almost 12 years ago in Nyaoga. She was the mother of three, wife of James Okumu. She sold vegetables in the market. In one of our first conversations she told me she had dropped out of high school when she’d gotten pregnant and that she was very smart and needed to go back to school but more than that she wanted to go to university. It took a couple of years because she had another child, but I started saving money to send Everline back to school. I don’t remember how many terms I was able to get funds donated to pay for this or when Give Us Wings stepped in to assist her,; what I do know is that I wasn’t going to miss her big day -  the day she finally realized her dream of graduating from university.

Everline and I at her graduation.

Everline attended Macinde Muliru University of Science and Technology in Kagamega. She graduated with a degree in sugar technology. It is a very specialized field. There are only three graduates. The other two are men. She graduated at the top of her class, beating out the two men for top honors!

I didn’t actually get to see her walk across the stage; there were too many people to get anywhere close, but I was there to hug her and give her a high five and remember together our journeys and how far we have come.

Traveling Kenyan-style: Jessica’s journey

Day One: There is something magical about the number four or maybe I just think that 96 hours is enough time get just about anything done. This particular journey is the third time in three years that I have attempted to get to Kisumu and back in four days with a whole lot of work sandwiched between 6 hours of travel to and from Nairobi in that stretch of time. I used all public transport, which while exhausting was not intolerable.

I left early on a Tuesday morning and boarded a matatu (a usually overcrowded van) to take me to Nairobi to catch an Easy Coach to Kisumu. The man who sat next to me was a Christian and turned out to be my knight in shining armor when I needed transport assistance in Kisumu, including where to get off the bus so that the people hosting me the first night would not have to go into Kisumu town to fetch me.

I stayed in Orongo Village, about 8 km outside Kisumu. I had met Mama Florence and her son Charles at a church planting conference near Nairobi. They have a project that helps HIV/AIDS orphans and widows. Charles was waiting at the road. We took piki taxis (motorcycles) to the site of their homes and the project.

Charles showed me around their project site while Mama Florence was interviewed by K24 a Kenyan TV station about the progress of her adult education class. Around 9 pm dinner was served. By this time I was half asleep and famished. After dinner I was asked if I’d like to retire early. It was almost 10 pm. I said yes! I slept in a comfortable bed under a mosquito net. Before I went to bed while Florence and I were talking two bats flew in the room. I have never been so happy to sleep under a net before in my life!

Day Two: I got up in the morning and took a very refreshing bucket shower. Then I ate a couple of fried eggs and finished packing my bag. A piki was called and I was taken back to the main road. The piki driver hailed a matatu for me to Kendu Bay. This leg of journey is okay except for a long stretch that is under construction. The journey took two hours instead of the estimated hour and a half!

My mission for the day was to see Charles Omondi, the boy who used to live with me. He is now back with his grandmother and cousin who lives nearby. When I arrived in Kendu Bay, I located another piki to take me to Nyaoga. It is about a half hour trip. I had arranged for a man from the village to translate for me. James was waiting for me when I arrived. We climbed up the hill and sat down with Justina, Omondi’s 90-something year old grandmother. Omondi’s mother died in childbirth and Justina took him in. Omondi is now 13 and as he has never lived a particularly structured or disciplined existence, he is not easily controlled. His cousin, the education coordinator for sponsored children, the translator who has known him all his life, his grandmother and I tried to come up with a plan for him. Omondi is running out of options. He wants to live with his brothers who can barely take care of themselves much less a rebellious 13 year-old, but he has burned every other bridge. The only other option is some sort of military school, of which there are few in East Africa and none that we know of in Kenya.

Charles Omondi, 13

Selfie with Justina, Omondi's grandmother.

I have known this child since he was about 9 months old. Even though I know it’s not true, I feel somehow responsible for him. But there comes a time when you’ve done all you can that people have to choose for themselves if they want to try to achieve a level of stability and success in life or just survive on the margins. You can’t force people to do what’s best for them. I don’t want to lose this boy, but in reality he was never mine to save in the first place. I did all the counseling I could jam into 30 minutes. He has to make a choice now.

But day two wasn’t over. I hopped on another piki and headed back to Kendu Bay and then back to Orongo to pick up my suitcase. It was quite the journey! Up-country (what Kenyans call pretty much anywhere outside of Nairobi), is very rural and I am even more of an oddity there. The matatu touts had a grand time speaking English. “You going Kisumu mzungu…get in.” When they found out I was only going as far as Orongo they gave me a wider berth…Orongo is a very poor place, not the kind of place mzungus hang out. About half way through this leg, I gave up my seat to a woman with a toddler. They also overfill matatus so that people have to stand in the aisles. I was the only foreigner on the bus. I saw some of the other passengers looking at me, probably wondering why I would give up my seat. I hope a little spark of God’s light filtered through that act to those who observed it. Or maybe just that they will follow the example when they next see someone who needs to sit down more than they do.

I got off the matatu at Kendu Bay and was taken by piki to Orongo where I collected my bag. Mama Florence wasn’t there so I made a deal with the piki driver to take me all the way to Kisumu. I called Ishmael, the man I’d met on the bus to ask if he knew of a good place to stay in Kisumu (I did this while on the back of the piki at about 5 pm). Ishmael told me to meet him at a mall in Kisumu and he took me to a Christian guest house called Shalom House. It was sparse but fine for a night and cheaper than the other places I’d heard of. He told me he would take me to the bus stage in the morning.

I had made plans the night before to meet Danielle, who works for Give Us Wings, for dinner in Kisumu. By the time I got to Shalom House I had very little time to get ready. My face was a shade of brown from dust that I didn’t dare go out without showering first. The piki driver said he knew where the restaurant was. Mind you it was dark by now and I didn’t have a clue as to where I was going. We drove for a while and then the driver said, “ It’s on this road somewhere, right? “ “No,” I said, “ it’s downtown.” After many phone calls to Danielle at the restaurant and driving around in circles downtown we located the restaurant. The driver asked me for extra money since he went out of his way. Seriously! You don’t know where you’re going but you say you do and then you think I should pay you for your ignorance. Sorry! He smiled. He knew that was a long shot.

Danielle and I had a lovely dinner and I went home in a tuk-tuk and sank into an exhausted yet peaceful sleep!

Day Three: Are you tired yet? I certainly was, but I didn’t have to rush off. I got up and had breakfast and Ishmael picked me up as promised around 9:30. He took me back to the mall where he had picked me up the night before. I did email and then headed across the street to get a matatu to Stendikisa, a matatu stage near Vihiga where my foster daughter, Milly is from. She was visiting her family in the village where she grew up. She had been there for almost three weeks.

 

 

 

Milly and Tamara in front of Milly's uncle's house.

Tamara seeing her Nana again after three weeks!

Bathtime village style!

I was not up to the task of keeping this pesky rooster out of the living room!

Milly met me in Stendikisa, and we took a matatu another 30 minutes to her village and then took a piki from the main road to her uncle’s house in a valley. It was quite the journey. She lives in a beautiful setting. I got there around midday. The first meal we ate was around 8p.m. I was beyond hungry but then I thought about the reason people don’t eat in the middle of the day. There is nothing to eat and no money to buy anything to eat. That night we ate sukuma (cooked kale) and ugali (corn-meal mush). I was also given a fried egg, being the honored guest.

Milly and I attempted a walk around her village in the afternoon with her younger sister but it started to rain. I did get to see where Milly went to elementary school. I met Milly’s mom, Rose who has 7 children with Milly being the oldest.

Milly, Tamara and grandma Rose.

I heard drums and singing in the afternoon and asked Milly what that was. She said schools in the area have competitions and they were practicing. We went to watch. I loved hearing Christmas carols sung in Luya. I slept on the floor in the living room with Milly and Tamara. We didn’t have a mosquito net. Luckily I only heard one mosquito in the night.

Day Four: I got up in the morning around 7a.m. and used Wet Ones to shower, put on my wrinkle-proof dress and ate my last apple and hiked up the hill with Milly to catch a matatu to Everline’s graduation.

Instead of taking a matatu, I decided to take a piki because I wanted to be dropped off at the gate of the university and not at some stage in town. It’s a good thing I did, because the traffic was insane!

I didn’t see much of the graduation, but I was able to meet Everline’s mom, and sister and two of her brothers. Her sister has a six year old daughter and has enrolled in teacher’s college, following Everline’s example. Her two brothers are also college graduates. I don’t know if her mother even finished high school.

Everline's mom tries on her cap!

 After graduation, I had to go back and pick up Milly and Tamara from the village and then get back to Kagamega to catch a night bus to Nairobi. Everline’s brother Garrett asked one of his friends to take me to pick up Milly. On the way back there was a torrential rain and hail storm. When we arrived back in Kagamega it had not rained there! I changed in the car. We dropped our bags at the bus station and we went to meet Everline and her other brother and sister at a restaurant. We had a nice dinner and a talk.

This is the end of a chapter in her life and the next pages are blank. She will need every ounce of courage and determination she possesses to take the next steps.

Milly and Tamara did great on the way home. I tripped up some stairs at the last rest stop and banged up both my knees! The rest of the ride home was not pleasant. But today they are not hurting although they are very colorful.

Judie came home Saturday night from Chogoria, where she was visiting friends and family. It was nice to sleep in my bed and know my girls were safe in their beds.

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The journey is never easy. It doesn’t matter if it’s a journey of a few days or many years. Some parts turn out better than expected and others are utter failures due to the choices we’ve made. The journey is not as important as the lessons we learn along the way.

There is a certain peace that comes at the end of a journey. I saw everyone and did all I needed to do. Now the blank pages appear again. A new opportunity to be thankful for God’s provision, his faithfulness and his guidance. A new day, a new journey.

Thanksgiving times three

The week before Thanksgiving, I emailed my mom expressing my sadness that I would miss the annual Hasslen celebration of family and friends from all over the world. And worse, I had no one with whom I had been invited to share the day. But in the end……I had not one, not two ,but THREE Thanksgiving celebrations this year, and they couldn’t have been more different from one another.

Here is the highlight reel.

Thanksgiving #1:

I was invited to the home of an American couple, who invite missionaries every year for Thanksgiving. They are in their late 30s and have ten…yes you read that right, 10 marvelous kids!  They are all home-schooled, bright and very engaging. The other guests were also delightful and the food was AMAZING! People brought dishes to share, but Jenny our hostess is from Virginia and cooked up some nice Southern Thanksgiving dishes as well! I decided to walk the couple of miles home to my house because even though I had on my turkey eating pants and was not too full, I had remembered to wear my Keens so that I could walk off some of the food in anticipation for my next Thanksgiving feast on Friday night.

Thanksgiving #2:

My American friend Natalie, 34, started a non-profit in Kenya that trains community organizers. She decided to prepare a vegan (except for the turkey) Thanksgiving feast for her Kenyan staff and some of her expat friends. I told her I would help her cook and host. She had asked me to be at her house around 2pm. When I got close to her house I called her. She told me she had a little more shopping to do and she would pick me up on the way to do her shopping. Being the daughter of a mother who likes to have most of the meal cooked well in advance, I found this act of last minute shopping a bit disconcerting. But this is the new less-uptight-more-go-with-the-flow self, so I hopped in the car and kept my big mouth shut. It didn’t stay shut for long when Natalie described how helpful her househelp had been. Natalie had asked her to take the meat out of the coconut in preparation for a dessert she was making. The househelp, being unfamiliar with coconuts, didn’t understand and the only meat she saw was the rather large chicken (read 10 pound turkey), so she cut it up and boiled it. I kid you not! Never one to panic, when Natalie asked what I thought we should do with the turkey, only one thought came to mind. “We’ll curry it,” I said. And so we had maple-roasted vegetables, greens, arugula salad for which I made a maple vinigrette dressing, mashed lentils and squash, green beans with almonds, cranberry sauce, stuffing and curried turkey. We didn’t start cooking until 4pm and we started eating around 8:45. There was little food left as about 20 people showed up. Natalie made a vegan pumpkin cheese cake, vegan pumpkin muffins and vegan chocolate peanut butter fudge for dessert. She and I divided up the dishes that needed to be made and a Kenyan friend of hers was our sous chef. It was so much fun. We rocked that kitchen…by they way we had very little in the way of the right kinds of pans for cooking, but God is good and the food was delicious and we are still friends. All’s well that starts in chaos.

Thanksgiving #3:

Every year sometime in November or December, Wezesha throws a Thanksgiving celebration for their supporters and uses it as a chance to get all their students together over the holidays. This year it just happened to be on Thanksgiving weekend. It was also special because they had quite a few students graduating and in their last years of high school and they gave very moving testimonies about how Wezesha had assisted them. We ate traditional Kenyan food but this celebration was the most in line with what I think of as being what the holiday of Thanksgiving is all about -  Giving thanks to God for what he has done in our lives, the people he used to make our dreams a reality and the friends and family he gave us to support us along the way. And please know, those of you who have helped support these students, that without you their education would not have been possible!!

In the US, we have a special day for Thanksgiving but we should really celebrate our thankfulness everyday. That’s my excuse for writing about Thanksgiving a week or so after the event!

I am thankful for the time to write today. I’m thankful after a week up country (I’ll write about that next) that my girls and I are home safe and sound, I’m especially thankful for all the busy work details buzzing around in my head. I don’t like to be idle and God has seen that my life is full of meaningful activity. And more than anything I am thankful for each of YOU who makes my work possible.

(I'm uploading this without photos. Will try to post some soon.) 

Thank you God for the ability to be thankful every day!