Leisha in Africa

A long post about a long day

2012-01-16T19:14:00.001+03:00

Last week Fred and I went up to Nairobi for a pre-natal appointment at the hospital we’d chosen for the birth. It was kind of a dry run for next month (the baby is only a few weeks away!), and, naturally, almost nothing went to plan. After five years of using public transit here, I’ve experienced a lot in the way of inconvenience and discomfort, but this trip to Nairobi was probably top three in my list of difficult travel experiences.

It started at five in the morning on Wednesday, when we woke up to do final packing and get on the road, hoping to reach Nairobi by mid-afternoon. I ate some toast and coffee, and we walked to town to find a car to take us to Tarime. It’s only a three or four minute walk, but immediately we could tell something was wrong. Town, which is usually starting to buzz at 5:30am, was nearly deserted. There were no buses, no cars, no motorbikes. Fred found out that the police had set up a roadblock between Shirati and Tarime and were turning back all public vehicles whose drivers didn’t have a “new” driver’s license (whatever that is). Usually these roadblocks are just a bribe collection point, but the drivers weren’t risking it, so no vehicles were moving until that roadblock had been taken down. Without leaving immediately, we wouldn’t make it to the border in time to catch the 8am buses to Nairobi, so we had no option but to go back home and take a nap. We were both frustrated that our impeccably planned day had already been derailed, and I said a little prayer that God would be in charge of the rest of the day.

We tried again at 8am, and this time we had success finding a car going to Tarime, which, if you remember from before, is the Wild West junction where I got chased around by a guy yelling about me being a pregnant white woman. Fortunately this time we didn’t have to wait around at all, and just jumped in a car headed for the border. Passing through immigration was similarly painless. (I cut in front of a bunch of safari tourists who were filling out their forms soooo slowly.)

When we reached the Kenyan side of the border, we started looking for a bus to Nairobi. The bus we wanted to take, Transline, was expected at noon, leaving us with about an hour to hang out. Fred parked me in a tea shop, when we found out that there was a Nyamira Express bus leaving shortly, so we bought tickets for that bus, thinking to save ourselves an hour. The bus arrived and it was a piece of trash on wheels, but the ticket guy said there was another bus right behind it, so we should just wait for that one. Sounds good, right? Sigh.

We had great seats, front row right behind the driver with loads of leg room and seats that reclined a bit. So nice to be able to put my feet up and have a little extra belly room, and we hit the road. The bus stopped immediately, before we’d even left the border town, to weld something at the back of the bus. Safety first, right? Sigh.

We sat baking in the sun waiting for the welding to be finished. Then we hit the road…and stopped again. The Tanzanian police weren’t the only ones stopping public vehicles on the road. The Kenyan police were doing random checks for people smuggling marijuana, and there were probably twelve blocks on the road. Fortunately these stops were pretty quick business…until…. We stopped in the town of Kisii for “twenty minutes,” aka eighty minutes, during which time a parade of vendors entered the bus, and every single one of them had exactly the same merchandise, but each one insisted that I must want the lukewarm soda he was selling. Usually I just put in my headphones and stare out the window and they leave me alone. Not in Kisii. The vendors were hitting me on the shoulder to get my attention until I started being rude back.

Finally the driver and conductor returned and we started out again, having added a bunch of new passengers. It turns out that one of those passengers was being looked for by those Kenyan drug police. Apparently he had a bag full of marijuana under the bus. Of course he did. It took a surprisingly long time for them to send us on our way, considering it took about five minutes for the police to find the drugs and toss the guy in the back of the police truck, probably in part because every other man on the bus took the opportunity to jump off and pee on the side of the road. While we sat there, the noon Transline bus that we were going to save so much time by not waiting for passed us. *Fred shakes fist in frustration.*

We would continue stopping to add passengers at every wide spot in the road between there and Nairobi, making what should have been six hours into about ten hours. At one moment, thinking of all the delays we’d been through so far that day, feeling very fat and rather uncomfortable and needing to pee (not on the side of the road, thankyouverymuch), I was a little low. Then we passed the Transline bus, that very one that we had planned on then passed on then got passed by. The bus had run off the road and was tipped sideways into a ditch missing the front axle. It wasn’t a bad accident as these things go, but what a reality check that our best-laid plans are nothing compared to God’s plan for us.

We had planned to stay at the Mennonite Guest House in Westlands, but by the time we rolled into Nairobi it was about five hours later than our initial plan. We reached the guest house to find out that they weren’t going to let us stay there because the office was closed and we didn’t have reservations. The very nice security guard recommended a nearby guest house, so we walked the quarter-mile to that place at ten o’clock at night, where we were also told they couldn’t help us. As we wandered back to the Mennonite Guest House, Fred started calling our bishop, who gave him the number for the local Mennonite bishop, who said he would call the guest house. By the time we got back, the guard asked if we were “wageni wa kawaida” (common guests), and when he found out we work for the Mennonite church, he invited us in to rest while he sorted something out. I rested on an outside sofa, utterly exhausted, while we waited for the verdict. It was very much our Mary and Joseph moment of “no room at the inn”, but between the bishops and the security guard they found a room for us. (It was not a stable and I did not have the baby that night.) We were so grateful, especially when the security guard found us some peanuts and crisps for dinner.

Oh my. After that looooong day (and looooong story), everything else was great. We ate some good food, got to rest a bit in a really peaceful environment, and had a great experience at the hospital we’re planning to go to for the birth. We bought some baby clothes and a diaper bag and I pretty much ate my weight in ice cream one day (which I then regretted). There were a few disappointments, a few setbacks, but the return trip was virtually eventless. Oh, except for the moment when we were disembarking in Migori to see Innocent at school and as soon as I stood up my skirt dropped to my ankles. As I scrambled to pull up my skirt without losing my slip also or dropping my bag, my sandal snapped. Embarrassing for sure, but I only flashed a few people and Fred got my sandal fixed, and it was the last of our adventures for that trip. We reached home in one piece, found some dinner waiting for us (God bless our new, live-in housegirl Jaki!), and got to rest and recover all day Sunday. Now it’s just a hard push through two more weeks of Lahash work before maternity leave starts!

A few photos

2012-01-08T13:29:00.000+03:00

First of all, sorry these photos are so dark. I have a terrible camera with no flash on it. Turns out taking photos of an African child wearing dark colors in a dark room doesn't turn out so well, but oh well... Here is Innocent on the morning he left for boarding school in his new uniform with all his things safely tucked away in the trunk and his new mattress. Whenever we added something to his trunk, whether it was soap or socks, he made sure I had written or sewn his name on it. Fred delivered him to school on Thursday, and got him all settled in. His first night alone at school was a bit tough, but when Fred checked back in on Saturday, he was doing much better. He loves the matron, and has told her so many stories about his family already, including his Auntie from America. (Innocent never calls me a mzungu, bless him.)

The day before Innocent left we got our Christmas package from my family. Fred got a Kindle from my parents, I got some foods I've been craving from my grandparents and a beautiful nursing nightgown from my parents (there will be no picture modeling that). My grandma also crocheted a really cute little baby hat, in white, since we still don't know the gender of the baby. Innocent was so excited to get a set of construction trucks from my parents, along with a book about "Toad Builds a Road". He now knows the English words "steam roller", "bulldozer" and "hydraulic lift".

While Fred was delivering Innocent to school I did a few more little sewing projects for the baby, including these booties. The tops were made from some trousers of Innocent's that I had hemmed into shorts, and the bottoms are from the same cotton sheets that the baby's bedding is made from. Our friend Brenda just came over and laughed, saying we were training our baby from early age not to go barefooted. I got a flannel receiving blanket in the package from America, so I'm debating whether to leave it whole or make diapers or burp rags out of it.

Here I fully intended to put a photo of my huge pregnant belly, but I took the photo on my phone instead of the camera, and I can't get my camera connected to the computer, so it'll have to wait. Suffice to say that I'm at 35 weeks, 44 inches around, and feeling good. I'm tired of being pregnant, and I'm for sure ready to have the baby. We're (God willing) going to have an appointment at the hospital we're planning to deliver at in Nairobi. Hopefully we'll get a nice, clear ultrasound and find out the gender. Everything else seems to be progressing just fine.

Thank you to everyone who has been praying for me and for the baby. If you'd like to send a baby gift, there will be a team coming from Portland to Tanzania in mid-March, and there's room for them to carry some things. Clothes, especially in the 6 months and older range, are appreciated. Also, cloth diapers and even just flannel cloth that I can use for sewing things as needed would be great. (Hand-me-downs are awesome...pretty much all quality baby clothes here are second-hand clothes shipped from the States anyway!)

We love you guys!

Innocent, Christmas, Baby and Me

2011-12-27T18:14:00.000+03:00

A recap and update on our family:

Innocent – The house is so quiet! Innocent returned to spend Christmas with hisgreat-grandmother (Fred’s grandmother, called “Dani”), and on the way back,Fred took him for an admissions interview for the boarding school we areplanning to send him to. We didn’trealize how competitive the admissions process is, but Innocent impressed theschool officials and they offered him a place! Although I’m sure it seems strange to Americans to send a six-year-oldto boarding school, it’s really the best educational option here, and Innocentis so excited. He was also reallyexcited to go home and tell all his stories about life in our house, but hemade sure that Fred knew that he was planning on coming back to our housebefore he reports to school on 4^th January. We now have the list of school supplies heneeds, so I’ve been embroidering his name on his sheets and underwear whileFred collects pencils, notebooks and soap. It’s kind of fun being the “parents” for back-to-school time! We’re both planning to go on the 4^thto deliver Innocent to school and make sure he’s settled in.

Christmas – I got some really kind comments and emails aftermy last blog post about celebrating Christmas, including an especially helpfuland encouraging email from a friend who is a retired missionary to SouthernSudan and Uganda. I made peanut butterfudge for Fred’s family’s Christmas celebration and lemon hand scrub forDani. With Innocent’s “help” I madehomemade lemonade-flavored pixie stix (including sealing plastic straws closedover a candle…no joke) for the boy to give to his family. All things considered, I think I went throughan entire kilo of sugar (roughly 2 pounds), but everything turned out quitewell. I spent several days leading up toChristmas alone as Fred traveled with Innocent, so I made myself some Christmasdecorations using scissors, crayons and recycled paper from the office. I don’t have enough internet credit to postphotos, but I made a little red-and-green paper chain, some snowflakes, a MerryChristmas banner and…drum roll please…a Christmas tree! It’s my pride and joy, consuming 11 pieces ofpaper, complete with a star, ornaments and garlands. Fred made it home Christmas morning, and wespent the day resting and listening to Christmas music, then I got a fantasticChristmas gift…a restaurant opened in Shirati! I’m not joking that there were NO restaurants in this town, only acouple of bars that served nasty chips and meat. We had chicken masala and pilau, and Fredshared a bottle of champagne with some friends while I drank non-alcoholiccider. It was nothing glamorous, but areally nice way to spend Christmas.

Baby – I’m getting more and more inquiries about baby names,but it’s still not settled. I readsomewhere that the Luo tribe (Fred’s tribe) tends to believe that the name justcomes with the baby. This goes totallyagainst my hyper-planner nature, so I have spent considerable time thinkingabout names, but we’re not locked in to anything except a first name for a boy,which I’ve wanted for years. No spoilershere, but if you’re really interested, just email me. Today marks week 34 of the pregnancy, aboutsix weeks to go. I’m not toouncomfortable, except always hot, and not growing as noticeably rounder. The baby is still very active, but I can tellit’s getting a little tighter in there. I’m really not very nervous about the birth, but I really am gettingnervous about being prepared for the baby. We got our crib, which is beautiful, and while Fred was traveling Ifinished the crib sheets (white, blue, green, orange and pink stripes). Now I’m working on the matching bumpers, allby hand. My mom and grandma are sendingme some supplies to help with all these sewing projects, as well as a fewessentials, and hopefully the boxes will arrive soon to ease my mind that thebaby won’t be wearing a tea towel for a diaper.

Me myself – This Christmas season reinforced mysense of isolation here in Shirati, but along with that sense of isolation camea lot of peace. I have come to begrateful for this season, which has pushed me toward greater reliance on Godfor my strength and growth. I’ve alsohad a great opportunity to learn about being a wife, and, although there havebeen a few ugly, emotional episodes which I wish I could blame entirely onpregnancy hormones, I have learned so much about praying for, loving andsubmitting to my husband. I know I’lllook back on this time as a gift given to Fred and me to enjoy settling intomarried life with very minimal distraction from outside. I’ve also been given the opportunity toreally dream about the life God has for us, and my role in that as amother. I’m reading a couple ofparenting books, including The Mission of Motherhood by Sally Clarkson,which is challenging me to invest myself wholly in the children God givesus. Everything I’m learning in that areais a whole blog post in and of itself, so I’ll save it for the future. All this to say that isolation is not alwaysa curse, and although I’ve been tempted to view it as such from time to time,today I’m reminding myself of all I have to be grateful for.

To Christmas or not to Christmas

2011-12-14T14:38:00.000+03:00

I have such fond memories of the holidays growing up. Most of those memories are set at my grandparents' houses, mostly sitting around the dining room table eating great food. Christmas Eve at Grandma Jones' house was a little less traditional and a little more chaotic. We ate something different each year, from tacos to sandwiches to ham roast, with the standard eight to ten different kinds of homemade pie. The tree was always real, because my grandpa worked the Christmas season at his friend's Christmas tree farm (it's an Oregon thing), and usually at least one of the gifts under the tree was wrapped in garbage bags or the comics. Christmas at Grandma Adams' house was traditional and beautiful. I remember the glittery antique ornaments on the tree, and perfectly wrapped gifts underneath. We usually ate turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy and all that great traditional food.

I have especially fond memories of one Christmas Eve when we packed into the car for the drive from Grandma Jones in Newberg to Grandma Adams in Astoria (about 2 hours' drive) in the middle of the night. My brother, sister and I fell asleep, of course, but I remember waking up to the sounds of Amy Grant's Christmas album as we pulled onto Grandma's street. I loved that "Tennessee Christmas" tape.

As my siblings and cousins and I got older, there were more adaptations to the Christmas traditions. We got older, presents became less important and we were more distracted by plans with friends. The "Tennessee Christmas" tape got lost, and I personally became less interested in "non-Jesus" Christmas traditions like gift giving and Christmas music (aside from those amazing Christmas hymns). Now I'm in a position to re-evaluate Christmas traditions, and I'm not sure what to do. Christmas in Africa is quite different from the States, since the Christians here haven't really picked up the "extra" stuff that clutters our American Christmases. Plus there's no snow here (obviously), no Christmas trees or ornaments, and very few of the traditional Christmas foods I remember from Grandma Adams' dinner table. No Christmas cookies or stockings, very little gift-giving. There's a whole lot of church associated with celebrating Christmas, but not so much the Christmas carols and nativity plays, more like the usual service, just three times longer.

Being a new wife, I feel like this is the year to start Christmas traditions for our family, but I simply don't know what to do. Things like an Advent countdown and paper chains seem like kid things that are impossible to explain to Innocent. Snowflakes and Christmas trees and stockings mean nothing to anyone but me, and seem kind of silly to explain to Fred. Christmas cookies and other special food is pretty impossible to deliver on. The thought of trying to come up with a special Christmas tradition and pull it off somehow seems...daunting. All that combined with financial strain and baby preparation makes me want to opt out of Christmas this year, but the idea of sitting around watching movies and eating rice and beans on 25 December doesn't appeal either.

How does one truly honor the beautiful miracle of Jesus' birth? What's left after the sentiment and cultural traditions are stripped away? Or, maybe, is there room for some nostalgia and warm fuzzies mixed in with Jesus? Help me out, people! How do you honor Jesus' birth in your family?

Now I know the Luo word for "MINE!"

2011-11-30T13:05:00.001+03:00

Innocent, our seven-year-old nephew has come to stay with us for a fewweeks. It's been a very even mix ofdelightful and mundane, with a sprinkling of unaccountable tears (and not juston the little boy's part, if you know what I'm saying). I’m going to brag on the boy a little bit,and explain one or two things I’ve been learning from the experience.

I really enjoy the energy and interests of boys. (I very carefully crafted that sentence...Idon't want any weird traffic on my blog from pedophiles!) Ever since the age of twelve, when I firststarted doing child care in my church's 2-year-olds room, I've always hadsuccess connecting with boys. My youngerbrother and I used to spend hours and hours tromping around in the woods aroundour house playing "Army," a game mostly composed of dressing up infatigues and occasionally diving behind logs or pretending to shoot at “enemies.” As a youth pastor, I had a posse of teenageboys regularly haunting my house and car. The clutch in my car was never quite the same after teaching several ofthem how to drive. From age threethrough college, my best friend was always a boy. Somehow God wired me to “get” boys, and Ireally hope that God gives me sons so that I can put that to work raisinglittle men.

In some ways, Innocent reminds me of myself as a child, in that he isextremely sensitive and wears his emotions on his sleeve. Heaven forbid that he should receive thesmallest injury or frustration while he’s tired, because a meltdown iscoming. He’s getting used to sharing hisuncle with me, but I’ve definitely received some scowls when he thinks Uncle ispaying too much attention to Auntie. Hebecomes devastated if he has misbehaved or even just thinks he misbehaved. A few days ago he sent himself to bed becauseUncle corrected him for doing something he knew he wasn’t supposed to. He wasn’t punishing himself; he was just tooupset to stay in the room with us. The photo above was taken when he was upset with me for some reason I can't remember and fell asleep on the doorstep watching for Fred to come home from work. Thetimes of tears are very few compared to his laughter and smiles, though. Innocent has a great smile, with two missingteeth in front, and laughs quickly. I’mlearning to pay attention to his energy, his diet and meal times to help himmaintain a positive attitude. I’m alsovery aware that my own attitude coming into the day makes a difference, since heis so sensitive to the emotional tenor of the people around him. It’s a new level of responsibility for myimpact on the atmosphere of our home, not always easy with pregnancy hormonesraging. I am learning that I have totake care of my own sleep and food patterns so that I have the resources tomaintain a stable, peaceful atmosphere for Innocent.

Innocent is really smart and very quick to learn, which is so helpful sinceour communication is limited to the little English he has learned or picks upfrom Fred and I. He’s going off to aboarding school in January that requires English, so part of the strategy forbringing him to stay with us now was for him to get used to hearing andspeaking English. My mom had sent akindergarten activity book that teaches numbers, letters, colors, shapes, etc,and Innocent spends about an hour each day writing and coloring in thebook. Last night he wrote his own simpleaddition problems and solved them while we watched the news. He’s almost learned to tie his ownshoes. Although it’s a challenge tocontinue to find ways of engaging his intellect, he is good at entertaininghimself, playing with his Lego creations and animals or singing himself songsor just talking, talking, talking to himself.

Football (soccer) is a major connection point, and some of our most delightful timeshave been outside kicking the football around. Fred likes Arsenal (an English Premier League team), so Innocent haslearned the names of the major players on the Arsenal squad, especially when he’sscoring goals. Here they are watching amatch together while I work at the dining room table. Watching Fred play with and take care ofInnocent has given me a whole new reason to love my husband, and as we worktogether to meet the boy’s needs, it is connecting us in a new way. In spite of difficult moments anddistractions from work, I am really valuing the time with Innocent and learninga lot about preparing myself for full-time motherhood!

Sewing Projects

2011-11-23T17:07:00.001+03:00

Hand-sewing projects I've been working on lately

As I mentioned on Facebook, I've been in "nesting" mode lately, including the two sewing projects above. First I made a Christmas stocking for our nephew Innocent. It took a little trial-and-error, since I didn't have a pattern, but I'm pleased with the final result. I'm even more pleased with the towel. I saw a template online for changing a regular towel into a hooded baby towel. The first "hood" was the yellow one, which then seemed a little small, so I made another, larger "hood" in the opposite corner. I did it all by hand, including making my own binding. Although Fred was mildly amused by the "cloth sock" until I explained the Christmas tradition to him, our housegirl, Stella, was fascinated watching me sew. It's one of those domestic things that most Africans (including my husband) assume are beyond us pampered Americans. I owe thanks to my mom for teaching me to sew and letting me raid her sewing room for a number of hare-brained projects over the years.

Today I realized that there's a sewing shop in our little village (really? no restaurants, but a sewing shop?) and that sewing shop sells binding. If this nesting stage continues, I'm sure I'll be making friends with that lady. As soon as our crib is finished, I'll be making rubber sheets, crib sheets, crib bumpers and possibly a quilt also. I've even considered making cloth diapers, diaper covers and onesies, although all that sounds rather daunting with only my ten little fingers to sew with. Perhaps now that I've shown my sewing prowess with a few little projects, I can justify buying a manual sewing machine soon!

Between this and the cows (see last week's post), I'm starting to feel kind of "Little House on the Prarie"!

Dodoma and the Grass Cutters

2011-11-17T18:33:00.001+03:00

I was in Dodoma last week for a series of meetings with Grace and Healing Ministry and Lahash personnel. Getting to Dodoma is two days of buses. For those of you with a map following along at home, there's a two-hour car ride from Shirati to Tarime on a rutted dirt road. From the bus stage in Tarime, one catches a bus from Tarime to Mwanza, which takes about four hours. After an overnight stay in Mwanza, it's an eight or nine hour bus ride from Mwanza to Dodoma. In theory one could do it all in one day, if you started early enough, but I've never wanted to do that. Fred accompanied me to Mwanza, then I went on from there alone.

The trip to Dodoma was...adventurous. Fred rented our own private taxi (for $12) to take us to Tarime in lieu of squeezing in with six to twelve other people (for $5). In the Tarime bus stage, always a crazy place, a young man followed me to and from the toilets yelling "mzungu na mimba!" (white person with pregnancy) over and over again, while making wide gestures exaggerating my size. It makes for a funny story, but I did not have much of a sense of humor about it at the time. He wasn't the only man to give me some unwanted attention. In our hotel, two men ogled me in the lobby, then two others watched me for a whole flight of stairs, and while waiting for my bus in Mwanza, a guy almost walked into a cart on the street because of staring at me. Just when I thought I was used to being stared at for my skin color, there's a whole new reason to stare bulging out the front of my dress. I had a panicked moment on the very bumpy ride to Mwanza when I suddenly felt something wet between my legs. Several not-good possibilities ran through my head before I realized that it was water spraying up from the road through cracks in the floor. Alarms went off again when we reached Mwanza and I went to the bathroom to discover dry red smears on my legs. I quickly realized it was clay from the road water, but that was a scary moment.

I reached Dodoma safely, had a small adventure wandering around my friend Tiffanee's neighborhood on foot after dark trying to find her house, then a great week of food and meetings. Note that food was mentioned first, because I ate so much great stuff. Pizza, tuna fish sandwiches, homemade juice, samosas from Rose's Cafe, a chocolate bar and a Mounds bar, ice cream, and earning the "most craving inducing" award goes to the food at right: Zanzibari Mix from Rose's. They make only for Saturday breakfast, and it was one of Tiffanee, Leah and my favorite things in all of Dodoma. It will sound awful, probably, but it's a coconut broth with boiled potatoes, roasted chickpeas, homemade tortilla chips, broken up bits of baghia (a kind of maize dumpling), and coconut chutney on top. It's slightly spicy and slightly sweet and plenty salty. It's like a kind of "refrigerator casserole" but soup. Oh my word, it's delicious and I want it every day for the rest of my life...even more than pizza or chocolate or ice cream.

Oh, and the meetings were good too.

Lahash International just finished a strategic plan for the next five years, so we were presenting that to our partner, making plans for the conference next March and discussing various other things that would be neither interesting nor appropriate to share here. Suffice it to say, the discussions were great, but it was a lot of loooong days, especially for the six-month-pregnant lady who couldn't sleep because of her giant belly and indigestion from all that good food mentioned above!

I went to this great medical clinic on my last day in Dodoma for a full pre-natal checkup. As I mentioned on my Facebook status, I got a consultation with a doctor, a consultation with the midwife, had my blood pressure and weight measured, got blood tests for HIV, malaria, STIs and RH factor, an ultrasound, a prescription for an anti-malarial drug and filled the prescription all for 33,000 Tanzanian shillings, or approximately $20. What?! Everything went really well, and they were all delighted that I had married an African and kept calling me "Otieno." Although we still don't know the gender of the baby, I got to see how the baby is developing, and the ultrasound tech mentioned how active the baby is. (Believe me, I know.)

Fred met me in Mwanza on Sunday, and we reached Shirati on Monday evening, packed in the back seat of a super full taxi. The next day, I had to laugh at my life. The photos at right were taken at the same time from my front doorstep. The irony is that one we pay and one we should be paid for! We've asked time and time and time again for the owners of the various cows around to not tether them in our yard to graze because they leave huge piles of manure around and trample the trees Fred just planted. The calves are free-range, though, so I don't even know who they belong to. There are some "free-range" chickens and guinea hens who like to arrive at our house at about 6am and announce their presence under our bedroom window. Everyone sing with me now: "Greeeeen Acres is the place to be! Faaaarm livin' is the life for me!"...or perhaps not.

Amazing what can happen in a year!

2011-11-09T15:45:00.001+03:00

A timeline of a year ago:
31 October 2010 - I preached the Sunday morning service on the topic ofBiblical Marriage (part one). At the last minute I was also asked to talk aboutvoting, because it was election day. It was also the engagement dedicationceremony for a Tanzanian friend, followed by an engagement party. About fortypeople asked me why I'm not married yet. I just laughed.

1 - 6 November 2010 - People kept stopping me to tell me that they werepraying for me to get a husband. One of the prayer ministry people in thechurch stopped me in the hall, told me to put my hands in the air andprophesied over me that my husband was coming soon. I just smiled, and shecommanded "Say Amen!" "Amen!" I stammered. In Shirati, Fredwas trying to talk his way out of being sent to Dodoma for the Central DioceseStrategic Planning seminar the following week. It didn't work.

7 November 2010 - I preached Part Two of my marriage sermon series at thechurch. After the second service, the senior pastor and one of the wazee(elders) laid hands on me and prayed that God would send my husband soon, andthat he would be a man of Godly character. I laughed a lot (in my mind),because I was really not that pressed to get a husband. After the service Ifelt convicted about my response (like Sarah when she was told she'd have achild in her old age), and decided to take the advice of a good friend to havesome standards. I started a list of the things that I really hoped God would giveme in a husband. Fred traveled from Shirati to catch a bus to Dodoma, which hemissed.

8 November 2010 - The Central Diocese Strategic Planning seminar began. Ifinished my list of husband characteristics under the edge of the table, andhad another private laugh. I didn't know and had never met a man who came evenclose to the list in my journal. I figured that God would really have to be theone to bring my husband if I were every to marry. Fred arrived in Dodoma thatevening after I'd gone home.

9 November 2010 - I entered the room for the second day of strategicplanning meetings and noticed the tall, handsome African man sitting in thecorner, but, having just given all my "guy stuff" over to God, Ididn't pay close attention to him. Fred noticed me immediately (given that Iwas the only white woman in the room), and for him, something clicked. It hadbeen years since he'd been interested in any woman, and he'd never beeninterested in marrying a "mzungu" but for some reason he was drawn tothe white woman running the projector. After the meeting, I invited Fred tohang out with us for my host family's son's birthday party. He agreed readily,but then left early from the party. I wrote him off as anti-social.

10-11 November 2010 - No developments, except that each of us was becomingmore and more impressed with the other for his/her participation in themeetings. The night of the 11th, Fred and some other guests came to the houseof the bishop (where I was staying). I had the first intimation that Fred likedme when he crossed the room to talk to me about watermelons. Such a ladies'man! In spite of that, I took him with me to hang out with my friend, Martin.Along the way Fred broached the subject of marriage, and I immediately changedthe subject.

12 November 2010 - After the final meeting, I took Fred to dinner with mytwo best friends in Dodoma, Martin and Paul. They had already decided that Ishould marry Fred, making that 3 out of 4 people at that dinner table who haddecided views on my marital future.

13 November 2010 - Fred left Dodoma first thing in the morning, and I wentback in for another day of meetings, during which we texted each other. Via SMSI agreed to be his girlfriend, about one hour before another friend asked me tobe his girlfriend. (I turned him down.)

14 November 2010 and following - Electronic courtship over hundreds (while Iwas in Tanzania), then over thousands of miles (when I went back to the States)until February 2011, at which point I finally came around to what Fred, Martinand Paul had already seen: Fred was the man God wanted me to marry. We gotmarried in April 2011, meaning that, by the time we celebrated the one yearanniversary of the day we met, we'd been married for over half of the time we'dknown each other (and I'd also been pregnant for roughly half the time aswell!).

Really, I'm so grateful that God's hand was so evident in bringing Fred andI together. We freely give God all the credit and all the glory for theblessing that our marriage is. If I'd ever had any idea how much I would lovebeing married to Fred, it would have been so much harder to wait. I'm so gladthat God brought us together at the right time.

Let you mind dwell on these things...(and photos!)

2011-11-03T13:56:00.000+03:00

A few thoughts from the recent past:

First, if you missed one or both parts of my double blog post last week, check out Overcoming Fear (about some lessons I've been learning about fear) and Opportunities to Help (some great young people we know in need of very small financial assistance with schooling).

Second, our house has been painted...pink. Of course I don't have a before picture, but it had been a number of years since the last paint job, which was white. Now it's pink with grey trim and black foundation (they're only halfway done with the foundation). They want to paint the roof red, but Fred put his foot down and said we'll buy our own roof paint.

Third, pregnancy update: I'm getting rounder, but not heavier. I have to walk over to the hospital to use their scale to weigh myself, and I don't do it very often because the nursing students who work at the desk next to the scale always jump up to look at how much I weigh and make comments...usually along the lines of "wow, you weigh a lot". I weighed myself the day I took the pregnancy test in July (176 lbs), one day in September (172 lbs) and last week (back to 176 lbs). So in spite of the fact that I have 43 inches of belly, that hasn't translated into weight because I had at least 20+ lbs of American weight to lose. I feel healthy, but I'm beginning to have trouble sleeping because of the hugeness of my stomach. Next week I'm planning to get my first general checkup with an OB/GYN in Dodoma just to confirm that everything is going on well, and hopefully to find out the gender of the baby.

Fourth, the title of this blog: "Let your mind dwell on these things..." I've been thinking about the verse Philippians 4:8: "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." (ESV) I've also been thinking about the kinds of input I want my baby to have, and creating a home environment and thought patterns for children that will help to draw them close to God even from infancy. I've begun to realize that some of the things I allow to influence my own environment and thought life are dark, unpleasant or even just frivolous. If I allow my mind to dwell on these things, I realize that it has an effect on my mood, my attention, my energy, and most of all, my joy and peace. In fact this verse about the things we should meditate on is sandwiched between two verses about having peace and the God of peace being with us. That's the kind of home environment I want for my family, one of peace, so what influences will I allow in my home? Are the things I allow in my mind and in my home those of truth, honor, justice, purity, beauty and excellence? Is there any room for Spanish soap operas on that list?

Opportunities to help

2011-10-28T14:12:00.000+03:00

I'm starting to see a pattern to the opportunities and needs that are around me. For the past several years I've been advocating for the sponsorship program of Lahash, which focuses on holistic care and education for children through high school equivalent. During this time I've realized the need for a fund available to help our kids apply to university and specialty colleges, like teaching, accounting or nursing school. It looks like I'll have the opportunity to begin designing and fundraising for that scholarship program in the next year, which excites me immensely. In many cases, these vulnerable, but brilliant and hard-working kids only need a little assistance to get the applications, birth certificates, death certificates for parents (to prove vulnerability for government grants), etc. In other cases, for vocational schools especially, the fees for a year of school may be only a few hundred dollars, but even the low cost for school can derail a potential student's future. A young man or woman faced with the opportunity to become a teacher, accountant, mechanic or nurse with a salary to support a family, may instead end up working in a restaurant or doing piece work in the market.

Right now Fred and I have several students we are trying to help, but with planning for the baby, the requests for assistance have overwhelmed us. I hope that, in sharing their stories, God might move on a reader's heart to help these students. (Disclaimer: these students are not part of any Lahash International program, but are personal "projects" that Fred and I are facilitating. Any funds would not go through Lahash, and would not be tax-deductible.) Here are their stories:

Habiba is the one who got me started feeling so passionate about these students. She is an ambitious young woman who finished secondary school (high school) in the Lahash program, and was accepted to St. Augustine University to get a bachelor's degree in education. She has a government loan and grant which covers her tuition, but is herself responsible for her registration fees. I've helped her out a couple of times in the past, but recently her family's financial situation degraded even more, and now, for lack of 188,000 TZS, or about $120, she might not be able to return for her second year of school. She needs these funds as soon as possible to finish her registration. Without the funds, she might never get a chance to return to university.
If you would like to help Habiba, she needs a one-time gift of $120 as soon as possible.

Tino is a young man who is a student at the Shirati Nursing School, which is part of the Mennonite diocese that Fred works for. Although Tino is an orphan, his grandmother and uncles have really sacrificed to help him with the first year of his school fees. He worked a low-level job in a hospital to save up the funds for the first term of his second year, which just started. Fred and Tino have become friends, playing volleyball together most afternoons, and Fred has a lot of respect for Tino's work ethic and dedication to school, as well as his leadership on campus. In March his funds will run out, and he won't be able to finish his nursing degree for the lack of only a small amount of money.
If you would like to help Tino, he needs a one-time gift of $300 by the end of February 2012.

Steve is another student at Shirati Nursing School whom we have tried to help from time to time. Like Tino, Steve is a young man on his own in the world. Steve is another volleyball friend of Fred's, and he attended my birthday party with Tino and a few others. He's a really joyful, funny young man, and super friendly. He is in his final year of school and has been assured of a job at the local hospital after his graduation, at which point he plans to begin repaying any funds provided to him. We would reapply these fees to assist additional students in similar circumstances.
If you would like to help Steve, he needs a one-time gift of $300 by the end of February 2012.

**EDIT**I had a story here about a girl I hadn't actually met named Leticia Namirembe. Turns out that the whole thing was an extremely elaborate scam, perpetrated by someone who had stolen Mama Susan's email password and sent me emails purporting to be Susan, Leticia, and the registrar of the nursing school. Lesson learned that no matter how much research I think I've done, there's nothing like a personal relationship!

Please contact me if you have been touched by any of these stories and would like to help out. You can send an email to my personal account: leishlin@gmail.com. Thank you and God bless.

Overcoming Fear

2011-10-28T13:31:00.000+03:00

I would imagine that most people who know me or read thisblog would say that I am not a fearful person, that fear isn’t something Istruggle with (except for fear of rodents). In fact, I hope that is the perception most of you have, because for thepast ten years or so I’ve made a concerted effort to conquer fear in my life.

I believe that fear has no place in the life of aChrist-follower, because fear is not of God. For me, this principle is true from the very small fears to the verylarge fears. I believe this so stronglythat I have confessed my fear of mice as sin and asked God to forgive me as Itry to conquer that irrational aversion. (Still plenty of work to do on that front, unfortunately.)

Throughout the Bible, God’s message about fear has twothemes: Fear God and Fear Not. FearingGod comes from having a true understanding of who God is and as ourunderstanding of God increases, our reverence (or fear) for God increases,which Proverbs 1:7 says is the beginning of wisdom. The other command, to “fear not” seems toalways be followed with a “because of God” statement. For example, as Moses leads the Israelitesout of Egypt and they are trapped at the banks of the Red Sea, Moses exhortsthe people “Fear not; stand still and see the salvation of the Lord which Hewill work for you today.” (Exodus 14:13,Amplified) It seems to me that the morewe fear God, the less we fear other things because our understanding of Godallows us to overcome the fear.

Here’s a little anecdote about how this “Fear God/Fear Not”principle worked out for me recently. Fred travels a fair bit, a few days at a time for seminars, meetings,trainings, and I’m becoming used to that, but one recent night when he wasaway, I had a moment of overwhelming fear. My usual approach to fear is to ask myself “What’s the worst that canhappen if this fear is realized?” but when that fear has to do with losing myhusband, imagining the worst case scenario sent me spiraling deeper intofear. I simply couldn’t imagine livingwith the pain of losing Fred. I beganpraying against the spirit of fear, confessing that the fear doesn’t come fromGod and asking for peace “beyond understanding.” That peace came, and I fell asleep, but Ihadn’t really overcome that fear. Thenext morning, I was thinking about God’s heart for widows and orphans, when Irealized that my fear was of that very thing…being a young widow…and the more Iremembered God’s character and promises to support and care for the widow, themore I felt fear fading. Obviously Idon’t want to lose my husband and I pray regularly to have a long life withFred, but a fear of God, respecting that God can take care of me and bring methrough anything, allows me to fear not what tomorrow may bring, even if it’sthat worst thing I can imagine.

I might have another post on fear coming soon, but to closeout this post, here’s a photo of my recent birthday party. We had a couple of nursing students over fordinner, which was prepared by not me. The students surprised us by bringing me birthday presents, even thoughthey’re all very broke. We had a greattime, and enjoyed some non-alcoholic wine spritzers with caramel corn fordessert.

Sonogram and Spinach Potato Cakes

2011-10-10T13:17:00.003+03:00

First of all, here's the long-awaited sonogram photo. I'm afraid it's a little blurry, but I promise, even if it wasn't, there's not much to see. We can distinguish the head and the heart, which is good enough for us. The slightly grumpy tech, who thought I was odd for wanting my husband in the room, said everything looks good to him and confirmed my estimate for the due date: Valentine's Day. My belly is still growing, rather quickly, actually, but I feel good.

In exchange for such a valuable item as a sonogram photo, I am going to now subject you to a cooking lesson. Probably boring, but it was a rather monumental achievement for me, and I feel the need to brag on myself.

I tend to be content to eat the same thing, with slight variations, every day for weeks, but my husband is more inspired by variety. He doesn't ask for much (since there isn't much to be had), but I try to show some creativity in the kitchen from time to time, rather than just the rice and beans every night that Leah and I used to eat. Yesterday I had fresh greens, tomatoes and potatoes that I needed to use, and it was Sabbath, so I had all the time in the world to cook. I did a little web browsing looking for something new to cook, and stumbled across a recipe for "Spinach Potato Cakes with Roasted Tomato Sauce" on the Epicurious website (click here for link). I just so happened to have all the ingredients, except for the optional cheeses, so I went for it. I love food blogs, so I should have carefully photographed each step of the process, but I didn't think that far ahead, sadly.

It sounds so simple in the recipe: four easy (long) steps. In reality it took me most of about five hours, although I was watching Season 1 of LOST at the same time, so I wasn't in any hurry.

Here are my step-by-step directions for making this recipe in Africa.

- First I washed thoroughly and peeled six or seven potatoes, then chopped them in half and put on to boil. I washed approximately one pound of greens thoroughly and remove from the stems. We don't have spinach here, so I used something called "pea greens" which are kind of like ramp, I think. Also, I didn't have any way to weigh one pound, so I took a half-kilo bag of pasta in one hand (1.1 pounds) and the greens in the other hand. Close enough. I washed very, very thoroughly the ripest six or seven tomatoes and cut in half. I made four pieces of toast in the sandwich maker, then crushed them with the handle of the knife to get one cup of bread crumbs.

- No oven, so I had to "pan roast" the tomatoes with a conservative amount of my very expensive and precious olive oil and salt and pepper. Meanwhile, I melted two spoonfuls of Blue Band (a kind of margarine that serves for butter here) in a pot and wilted the greens. When the potatoes, tomatoes and greens had all cooked, I set them all aside to cool.

- I mashed the potatoes with a fork, then, lacking a blender to puree the tomatoes, I mashed those with a fork too. I chopped up the greens, nearly removing my thumb nail in the process. Everything was then ready to rock and roll.

- I mixed the greens, an egg, the potatoes, salt and lemon pepper (in lieu of lemon zest and pepper). It really didn't appear to need bread crumbs, since it was sticking together well, but I was darned if I was going to waste the effort of smashing all that toast. I used about half, just out of principle, and preserved the rest in an old coffee jar. Here I ran into my biggest dilemma thus far: what would I use to hold the flour for dredging? Being Sunday, our housegirl wasn't around to wash dishes for me, and I had, in true Leisha form, used nearly every dish in the kitchen. I hate washing dishes, so I used the lid for a water pitcher instead of washing a plate or bowl. Just call me MacGyver.

- I formed the cakes and began dredging them in flour. At this point, Fred came home from playing volleyball at the nursing school and eyed with mild alarm the chaos of the kitchen. He diplomatically inquired how many dishes I had used, and I diverted the question by heating oil and beginning to fry the cakes. The smell of cooking food had its desired effect of inspiring him to walk to the shop and buy me a soda to drink with dinner. (This is a very important part of the recipe.) The first cakes cooked a little faster than I anticipated, and I felt compelled to taste test one (or two) to make sure they weren't spoiled. They weren't.

I also made some scrambled eggs to add a little protein to our dinner. At its core, this was a meal comprised of exactly the same ingredients we always eat--eggs, tomatoes, greens, potatoes--but it tasted fantastic. Between the two of us we ate "4 to 6 servings" of potato cakes. They were delicious, but it's going to take another Sunday to repeat the experiment because of all that prep work and dishes, which I dutifully left for my housegirl to wash this morning. (It's how she earns her salary, since the rest of the day she gets to spend on the sofa watching Nigerian movies. I used to feel guilty, but then I decided not to, since I hate washing dishes and that dislike outweighs guilt every time.)

I also made caramel corn this weekend, which was another big success with my husband and the nursing school students we shared it with. I feel like I'm finally getting the hang of cooking without a fridge or oven. Next time I jerry rig a recipe for my kitchen, I'll take some photos. Promise.

Oh! In closing, here's another photo for you. This was the view from our hotel room in Mwanza last week. One would think I'd have taken a photo of the fabulous view of Lake Victoria from the open rooftop bar, but I never took the camera up to the bar. I don't like looking like a tourist, taking photos of scenery or, Heaven forbid, animals. It would take a lot of begging from you all to get me to take a those kind of pictures. In fact, why don't you just come visit, and you can take the photos yourself? Then I'll steal them and post them on my blog for everyone else's enjoyment. We have a spare room (or six), and one of them actually has a bed in it. Karibu Tanzania!

TV can teach you something...sometimes

2011-09-29T15:08:00.000+03:00

Fred and I share a mild obsession withpolitics. Fred being Kenyan means thathe’s basically culturally obligated to be aware of current Kenyan politics andbe able to discuss these issues and people with anyone, anywhere. I’ve always found politics interesting, andI’m getting quite a (slightly biased) education on the intricacies of Kenyanpolitical dynamics from my husband. Allthis political interest on both our parts means that we were feeling the lackof news when all we had to rely on was intermittent internet and theradio. That wasn’t so bad for Fredbecause the news headlines were on every hour, but they were always in Luo orSwahili, meaning that I could maybe pick out two or three words if I really paidattention, but usually I’d have to ask “What’s going on?” once it was allover. Anyway, so a few weeks ago weborrowed a satellite dish from a friend, and Fred and two other guys spent twodays setting it up in the backyard and calibrating signals for approximately 50channels. Here are the two mostimportant lessons I’ve learned in the past few weeks of watching Tanzaniancable TV:

1. There aren’t many differences betweenwitchcraft and the prosperity gospel
Of our 50 channels, about 30 of them are religious channels. I rarely watch any of them, but the littlebit of preaching I’ve watched convinces me ever more of the danger of theprosperity gospel, which basically believes that God wants to bless us withmaterial wealth if we have sufficient faith. I’ll describe a common scenario, and you tell me if I’m describingwitchcraft or the prosperity gospel: A person has problem, usually motivated byenvy and discontentment. That persongoes to a powerful spiritual leader who assures the person that his/her deityhas the power to solve the person’s problem if certain conditions (*coughcough*money)are met. The person is led through aritual, in which the spiritual leader is very prominent, of asking said deity for aspecific solution to the aforementioned problem. Often the specific solution does not come about, which is usually blamedon the person asking for not meeting the certain conditions (*coughcough*money). Now, you tell me which deity is beingappealed to. This mindset is presentedmost persistently by preachers from Nigeria (renowned for its witchcraft) andAmerica (renowned for worshipping wealth). Sometimes it seems like the Muslim clerics on TV are presenting more godlyprinciples for living than many of the “Christian” pastors.
Yesterday, though, myattention was caught by an American black woman named Prophetess Juanitasomething. She was talking about theimportance of faith, which is usually a lead-in to having faith that God willgive you want you want. This woman pacedthe stage, sweating and shouting about how the church has corrupted faith toonly be for our own wants. She said “Ifthe church is over here, dancing about all our nice stuff, there is no room forfaith for healing of the woman with cancer or AIDS. Where are the soup kitchens and rehab programsand prostitute outreach programs that used to characterize the church? Instead we all want big houses andMercedes. Someone needs to desire thekind of faith where God doesn’t need to give me anything, because the thingsI’m praying for are for my neighbor and the prostitute and the child dying onthe streets.” I can’t tell you howrefreshed and encouraged I was by these words. The prosperity gospel is so corruptive and so prevalent in the churchthroughout the world, and it was fantastic to hear her defending the simplelife of faith on behalf of others. Cananyone argue that is true gospel?

2. Often the hardest things to hear are themost important
At the end of 2007 and beginning of 2008 violence broke out in Kenya followingheavily contested presidential elections. I won’t go into detail about who did what to whom, but the politics ofethnicity mixed with poverty and inflammatory speeches led to a wave ofviolence that was devastating for the country. After the dust settled, cries for justice echoed throughout theworld. The wananchi, or common citizenry of Kenya, called for justice, notjust for the perpetrators of rape, arson and murder, but for theinstigators. Common knowledge held thatthose instigators were the top politicians in the country. After the Kenyan justice system failed toindict the top level planners, even after reports by a special commission andthe Kenyan National Human Rights Committee, the International Criminal Courtbegan investigating. They named six veryprominent names, three on each side of the conflict, and are currentlypresenting the charges against them before a three-judge panel in TheHague. K24, the best Kenyan news station, airs the hearings live everyafternoon, and if we have power, we are always parked in front of thetelevision, fascinated. The worst part ishearing the prosecutors describe the violence which qualified these charges ascrimes against humanity. There were menof Fred’s tribe who were forcibly circumcised with broken bottles before beingbeheaded and even boys as young as age 5 were castrated with dull blades. Many, many women on both sides of theconflict were raped, some contracting HIV as a result of gang rape in thestreets of western Kenya, others becoming pregnant, and still others burnedalive in their homes with their children. It’s terrible, and easy to say “I don’t want to hear this”, but I thinkit’s so important to hear the stories of these people. It’s important for us to bear witness andstand against this horrendous violence, especially in the context of a placelike Kenya where the most powerful are rarely held accountable for theiractions. Fred wishes he’d studied law sothat he could be the kind of lawyer who represents victims against the entitledpower mongers who do whatever they want with impunity in Kenya. Injustice infuriates us both, and we’rereally hoping for truth and justice to come out of these pre-trial hearings atthe ICC.

Mixed in with these important lessons areso many smaller things, like “there is such a thing as too much news” and “theperspective of Iranian news channels is very different than CNN and BBC”. I’ve seen some fantastic things, like adocumentary about a poor family in South America which could have been filmedin our village for all the similarities. Also, did you know that “Touched by an Angel” is still airing in someplaces? It’s true. I’ve watched it. My life was not changed.

And finally, as promised, a photo. It seems that our baby knew that I was goingto take a picture of him/her this week and has been growing like crazy. This week marks week 20, so we’re overhalfway, and the rate at which the baby has been growing has been exhausting methe past few days. I weighed myself lastweek, and I’ve actually lost two kilos (about 4.5 pounds) since I first foundout I was pregnant, although the picture doesn't really show that. Fred’s been pushingme to eat more, even when I’m not hungry, to make sure I maintain a healthyweight, and I’ve been trying to get plenty of rest. Thank goodness for the remote control!

That’s all for this week. All the best to all of you. Comments welcome!

Love your Reader

2011-09-21T09:10:00.000+03:00

I recently read a blog post by author Donald Miller who said that the best writing advice he could give is to "love your reader" whether you're writing a book or a blog. That phrase has been haunting me of late, since this blog, which I try to update weekly, has suffered a shameful lapse, though not for lack of blog-worthy events. Here's a run-down of the past few weeks:

- Fred or I traveled every week in August, which taught us two things: 1. I don't like having house guests when Fred's not here (if you missed the story, you can read it here), and 2. Fred does not function well without his wife. While Fred travels, I just hide in the house and work or read or watch movies. While I travel, Fred stops eating and sleeps like a teenager. If it weren't for the bishop's wife, he probably would have missed a lot more meals. He even stopped shaving. I don't think I've seen him happier than when I got back home. We've both been thankful to have a few weeks of reprieve where we're both home before traveling starts again.

- We hired a house girl, which I talked about in this post, and she's still doing really well. An unexpected bonus is being forced to speak Swahili with her, which highlights how much Swahili I've forgotten from going back to the States for six months and only speaking English with my husband. It also reminds me of my old roommate, Leah, since my vocabulary for household tasks is shamefully deficient. I can fluently access the Swahili words for sponsorship, planning, development, poverty, flourishing, and a host of words related to spiritual development, but I cannot ever remember the verb for washing clothes. I'm going to have to go back to studying Swahili, but be far more practical this time!

- I went to Dodoma for a week for some meetings and training with GHMD. It was fabulous to see the kids and the staff. I was so touched when several girls came one day after school specially because they'd heard that I was at the office. They just wanted to see me and give me a hug! For the most part I was so encouraged by the health and development of all the children, but there were a few notable exceptions, all on the theme of housing problems. I'll be writing about that in my next support letter, which will be mailing at the beginning of October. If you're not receiving my snail mail support letter and would like to, send me an email with your address and we'll get that out to you.

- Speaking of email, I have a new work email address, leishao@lahash.org (let the spam begin). Note especially that last part: lahash.org instead of lahash.net. We have a new website for Lahash, and it's spectacular. You should definitely check it out. Please note that this new address is only for work related stuff, so please don't add it to personal updates, which I love, or random email forwards. For that use my old leishlin(at)gmail.

- I'm supposed to be taking more photos, but I am just not in the habit, so I forget that I even have a camera. Two note-worthy things I saw on my bus ride back from Dodoma which I would have taken photos of if they weren't flying by in the window: an old man building a boat in front of his house using only handtools (that's how we know we live by the lake! well, that and the thunderstorms) and a commercial gravel pit. I know that sounds insane, there's nothing interesting about a gravel pit, except that most of the gravel in East Africa seems to be made by hand, by people with small hammers sitting next to a pile of rock. Seeing a huge gravel pit with machinery surprised me a lot, until I saw what was built next door: a very impressive compound of houses, each with an individual air conditioner, with a Chinese flag flying over the whole thing. It seems there is a road construction project going on nearby, hence the Chinese expat engineers with the AC and the commercial grade gravel.

- Finally, a pregnancy update. I'm in week 19, so about halfway through. I'm starting to show a bit, and all the nasty first trimester symptoms are long gone. The only major symptom I'm struggling with is hormone swings...I think Fred preferred the nausea. I'm trying to be very conscientious about my moods and conduct, but sometimes I strike up a "conversation," thinking I'm completely balanced emotionally, only to burst into tears halfway through, making Fred extremely nervous. In saner moments we're having more conversations about cross-cultural parenting, and the aspects of each of our cultures that we want to instill in our children, regardless of where we live. It's complicated, but one of the most valuable parts of our marriage carries over into parenting: nothing is assumed. We can't assume that we will agree on anything, so we have to think about everything, from the languages we'll speak to our kids to the attitude toward leadership we want them to develop. (Fred and I are both over-thinkers...can you tell?) In a few weeks we'll go up to Nairobi to check out a few hospitals and make a birth plan. Right before we came back to Tanzania, we were introduced to an American family who were on their way to Nairobi to work at an international school. The wife is training as a midwife, and she's helping me do research and think through all the plans for the birth. While in Nairobi we're hoping to get an ultrasound and buy some baby clothes.

Well, after all those snippets, I hope you feel loved! I'll try to be more consistent in these updates, and my goal, which I'll publicly state here for accountability, is to have at least one or two photos for you next time! If you have any requests for something you want to see, whether it's our new dining room table or my increasing midsection, leave it in the comments and I'll do my best.

My Housegirl

2011-08-20T14:21:00.000+03:00

I finally got a housegirl! We've been kind of half looking for someone to help me with housework. It's very commonly done here when the woman of the house has a job, like me. I've been functioning okay...not great...at multi-tasking, but my housekeeping would not be up to typical standards of most African mamas.

I might tempted to feel badly about this. After all, the banner example for a Godly wife is the Proverbs 31 woman, who took care of her home and her family, did business and made fancy clothes for her kids. Her husband and kids respected her. I heard a sermon from Pastor Mark Driscoll on this topic one time in which he pointed out that she had a lot of help to achieve all this. He was talking to American women, so he pointed out the dishwasher, oven, washing machine, etc. that help them take care of all this business. He wasn't saying that it's cake for American women, just that the Proverbs 31 woman wasn't perfect and didn't do it all on her own.

I have a slightly less help from appliances than my working-wife American counterparts. I've been asked to take more photos, and I have my camera, the cable for it, power and a fair internet connection, so here are photos of (in clockwise order): my pantry, my dishwasher, my garbage can, my dish cupboard and my stove. It's super glamorous, so don't be too blown away. The garbage can is the size of the kind someone might keep under their office desk. It serves the entire house, but we only have to empty it every four or five days. That's good, since all garbage here is burned in a pit behind the house. Most of ours is organic, aside from the occasional bleach bottle.

Of course, clothes are also a big thing. We had been having a teenage boy who lives with our bishop wash our clothes every Saturday for about $2. Then Fred's favorite t-shirt went missing, only to be found a few weeks later being used a mop at the bishop's house because no one knew whose it was. Fred saved it in time, and it's still in good condition, but that was the last straw. I was about to have to take over all the clothes washing, where previously I had only been doing our underwear and some emergency items that couldn't wait for Saturday. This is my washing machine and you can kind of see the dryer in the background by the goat.

Now, as of Friday morning, I have a new dishwasher, washing machine and general cleaning agent. Her name is Stella. Her first day she got right to work, doing all the things I hate: washing the floors and the pots and the rugs and the curtains. This all took her about four hours, with a tea break. It would have taken me at least a day, maybe two. Today she came back for her regular shift of 8am to 1pm, but there's no water today, and hasn't been all week. Nearly all our buckets are empty, so she folded the clothes she washed yesterday, swept and mopped the kitchen and living room again, did the dishes, then I put a movie on for her while I work, and she promptly fell asleep.

Actually, she's great. She speaks Swahili, and is really patient communicating with me. If she gets that I'm not understanding her question, she's show me what she wants by miming. She works hard (when there's work to do), and is quiet and stays out of my way. Really, I could ask for nothing better. Right now she lives with a family nearby, but eventually she might come live with us, especially when it gets closer to the baby coming. She's excited about the baby, and totally okay with washing dirty nappies (diapers). All this for $25 per month! We'll start paying her more as time goes by and she sticks with us. We might also start giving her a chance to learn tailoring or some other trade, so that if/when she leaves us one day, she'll be better educated and trained than when she joined us.

Anyway, that's where we're at now. I'm excited to not have to wash dishes and she's happy to have an easy job where she can take naps and watch movies. Plus, you got the emotional rollercoaster of feeling sorry for me when you saw pictures of my kitchen, then of feeling jealous of me because I have an awesome house-girl. It's a win-win-win!

Sleepover Week!

2011-08-15T15:33:00.000+03:00

Last week Fred had to travel to Nairobi for a few days. It was a quick trip and we didn’t want to pay $50 for a Kenyan entrance visa for me, so I stayed home…alone…or not really. Fred was a little nervous about leaving me home alone, so we invited our bishop’s two granddaughters to come stay with me. Eva is 13 and Felista is about 9, and they love washing dishes. Win!

Fred left on Sunday afternoon and the girls arrived shortly thereafter. We had a good time, cooking special food and watching Toy Story 3 three times in three days. Really, they were excellent house guests, and the only inconvenience of having them around was getting up at 5:45am to wake them up for school. One evening when we didn’t have power, they used the dominoes to create a little home with designated dominoes representing people. Eva told Felista a story using the dominoes, which seemed to be about the girls living with Fred and me permanently. They love Fred, who lived in their home for several months, and, according to the many drawings they gave me signifying such, they love me too, probably because I made them hot chocolate and rice pudding.

Fred arrived home on Wednesday morning, and we expected the girls to go home after they returned from school…except they didn’t. In fact, they brought their brother, Johnson, over to spend the afternoon. As the afternoon passed to evening and they still made no signs of leaving, I scrambled to figure out what to feed them, since I had planned a meal for two. That night, for the first time, Felista wet the bed, and shamefacedly confessed to Fred the next morning. They packed their things and went home after school. A few hours later, they were back, with their brother. The next day was a big graduation ceremony at the nursing school (which is part of the diocese), and so many relatives and guests had come that the kids’ beds were occupied by visitors, so they came back to us.

I could understand the predicament, and they would surely be better off sleeping in our spare beds than on the floor at their house. Another morning up at 5:45am to wake them for school, then Fred and I spent most of the day at the graduation ceremony, which is a lot of speeches and choirs and really, really slow processionals. We had decided to treat ourselves to a nice (for Shirati) dinner out that night, and I was looking forward to an actual date and some quiet time alone with my husband. Alas, the kids showed up again right before we left for dinner, expecting to be fed and housed yet again. We told them to go home for dinner, then return for sleep, and we went out. (By the way, I should mention that their home is about 100 yards away from ours.) We got home rather late, and found the kids all in bed, but Felista wasn’t sleeping because Eva was sick and Johnson had refused to take Felista home for dinner so she hadn’t eaten. We scraped some food together for her, but eating and drinking right before bed was not her friend…again…and there was another nighttime accident which she didn’t admit to this time.

On Saturday Fred had to travel to a nearby town for about eight hours, and he assured me that the kids would head home as soon as they woke up. They didn’t. We fed them breakfast, then Fred left, and the kids spent the entire day just hanging around. It was raining and no power, so I read a book and they took naps and otherwise amused themselves. Their uncle, a university student, even braved the rain to come over to see what was going on, and ended up napping on our couch as well! Eventually the rain stopped and the power came back on, so Johnson popped in a movie and they settled in for the duration.

Now, by this time, you may be wondering why I didn’t just send them home. The main reason is that it is just not done in Africa. Hospitality is so important that you never send a guest away, even if that guest is eating you out of house and home. A good guest will finish their visit and leave at the appropriate time…these kids didn’t have a sense of that appropriate time.

Their uncle returned for them (“praise God!” thought I), and as they went the uncle was sure to say “They’ll be back in a little while. Their grandfather just wants to see them for a bit.” “Oh no, no, no, no…that’s not necessary,” protested I. “Oh no, it’s okay. They like it here,” returned the uncle. “No, really, they should just stay home. I need to…do…some…stuff,” I lamely finished. The uncle just returned a confused, slightly offended look (maybe he’d been planning to come back and finish the movie with the kids) and left. I breathed a sigh of relief, put in my own movie to watch, and waited for Fred...who returned with bad news. He had to go back to Nairobi.

Yesterday, Sunday, he left for Nairobi again. He asked if I wanted the kids, to which I replied an adamant “NO”, then tried to backpedal to legitimate reasons of establishing independence, getting ready for Innocent to come, etc, then I finally just confessed that I was tired of them! He laughed and agreed, and explained to the bishop that he was traveling again, but that I would be fine without any house guests. At least that’s what he said he told the bishop. I don’t know what got lost in translation or where, but about three hours after Fred left, I went to the door to find all three kids with their backpacks on, ready to stay another week! In desperation, I forgot all polite Swahili and just bluntly told them that I was staying alone and they should go home. Looking confused and slightly offended, they turned and went home.

The argument could be made that I should have the kids around as much as possible to prepare for impending motherhood, but I would argue that there is a huge difference between having one’s own baby who grows into childhood with the boundaries and systems (and language) of his or her mother and having three visitors who are difficult to dislodge once established. Plus, can’t I have these last few months to indulge the selfish whims, like sleeping in past 5:45am and watching whatever movie I want to, that will soon be a distant memory? That's what I've been telling myself, anyway.

Celebrations

2011-08-03T12:27:00.002+03:00

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the way we experience good news in our digital culture. The fact that I live so far from so many of my friends and family means that I experience the vast majority of news, both good and bad, online while I’m sitting at my computer alone. I imagine most of you reading this blog have similar experiences.

Several weeks ago my sister had a baby, and my mom sent me an email to let me know. It was exciting, of course, but I had no outlet for my excitement until Fred came home from work. In contrast, when I randomly called my parents last week, I got to hear on the phone from both my parents that my sister-in-law had had an emergency C-section three weeks early because of her high blood pressure. It was much more fun to share that moment with my parents on the phone and with Fred in the room, then a few minutes later talking to Lyndsey on the phone.

Now Fred and I have our own news to celebrate, and want to do it right. I’ve thought long and hard about how to tell people back in the States our news, and I’ve sent emails to family members and a couple of groups of friends, asking them to tell others so that no one is alone to celebrate our good news. However, that doesn’t cover many, many people who love Fred and I and would like to celebrate our joy, hence this blog post. God has blessed Fred and me with a baby due in February!

If time and distance were no object, I’d love to have dinners and ~~coffees~~ herbal teas with all of you to rejoice together. Since that’s not possible, I’m asking you to celebrate with one another! Please call someone, someone who knows me or even who doesn’t, and have a little celebration on my behalf. Invite someone over for dinner, pop open a bottle of wine, and thank God for his blessing in our lives. I’ve been listening to the soundtrack for the musical “Fiddler on the Roof” (because I’m that cool), and I love the part of the song “L’Chaim” where they sing “God would like us to be joyful even when our hearts lie panting on the floor. How much more should we be joyful when there’s really something to be joyful for?”

So be joyful with us and for us. Celebrate in some small or large way the blessings God heaps upon each of us every day!

P.S. I have my own small, personal celebration: I got a toaster! Actually, it’s not a toaster in the traditional sense, it’s a small appliance called a “sandwich maker.” Fred’s aunt has one (the aunt who lives in an apartment in Nairobi with outlets and frequent electricity, not the aunt who lives in the village without outlets or electricity), and Fred bought me one as a surprise. I don’t know how to describe it, except that I butter the outside of two pieces of bread and put something in the middle, like fried egg or peanut butter, then close the lid, and it makes a toast sandwich, a delicious toast sandwich…when the power happens to be on during meal or snack time. I’m not sending out personalized notifications of this, because it’s just a toaster, and I’m perfectly capable of celebrating toast by myself, unless you want to make yourself some toast to celebrate this blessing with me as well.

My Nemeses (written a few weeks ago)

2011-07-31T13:15:00.000+03:00

At various points in days gone by, I have talked about how this person or that person was my “nemesis”, usually a person who I’d met recently and opposed me in some area of work or ministry. Actually, as it turns out, I’ve been abusing the word for years. I just looked it up in Oxford English Dictionary:

nemesis /’nεmisis/
n. (pl. nemeses /-si:z/) the inescapable agent of someone’s or something’s downfall, especially when this is deserved

So first let me offer an apology to both the English and Greek languages for my persistent misuse of this word (although it’s such a nice word – fun to say and more fun to pluralize). I also owe an apology to those I labeled as a nemesis inappropriately. In God’s funny way, though, I think every single one of those “nemeses” eventually became good friends!

Now let me introduce you to my actual nemeses, those things (not people) which are inescapably contributing to my downfall, whether such downfall is deserved or not.

1) A certain rat
I hate rodents, even guinea pigs and hamsters, but I especially hate rats. The family who used to live in half of the large house that Fred and I live in were not particularly tidy or careful about storing food, hence attracting a whole troop of rats. When they moved out, taking that messy food source with them, the rats began touring the house looking for my carefully stored and sealed food stuffs. Fred won’t tell me how many he’s killed so far, but there is (at least) one intrepid creature which likes to climb up our stove at night looking for bits of something. I not only hate, but fear rats, and on a recent late evening I sat in the kitchen reading by candlelight, the rat took advantage of the dark and quiet to pay a visit. I began hurling empty water bottles in the general direction of the noises, hoping to frighten it away. This rat has escaped Fred on a few occasions, and I am no help in the catching or killing, so the rat continues to imperil both my dignity and sanity as I sit with my feet tucked up in a chair praying for vengeance!

2) TANESCO
TANESCO is the nationalized power company in Tanzania, and I already hated them from my time in Dodoma, because a) the political science student in me recoils at the inefficiency and waste of a national utility company without private sector competition, and b) they tried to make me pay a gigantic power bill because they couldn’t check my meter (long story). Anyway, it seems that since late last year Tanzania has been experiencing almost daily blackouts without explanation or warning. This is particularly inconvenient for me because it brings into conflict my two main responsibilities. I am most productive as an employee of Lahash if I have power for my computer, but I am most productive at home if there is no power to distract me (with, y’know, work). I’m the kind of person who likes to have a plan and a routine for my day, but when I’m at the erratic mercies of TANESCO, I often end the day without feeling much sense of accomplishment. (Plus, no electricity at night encourages the rat.)

Still, in spite of the worst these nemeses are throwing at me (the other night Fred killed a rat IN OUR BEDROOM), and the other difficult things of my current life, like being far from family and friends, I have a lot of peace now. Although this isn’t a busy time of life for me, I’m learning to be content with that. I think God might be teaching me that the “downfall” of my preferences and comforts and fears even, are for my good, and that there’s a lot to be said for the seed which falls into the ground and dies to produce new life. It remains to be seen what that new life might look like, but it’ll be good…even if there are rats.

Living Room!

2011-07-08T13:58:00.000+03:00

We have the beginnings of a living room! Many thanks to Imago Dei’s Global Mission fund for some extra money this month, enabling us to make the trip to Uganda we’d hoped to take in June and buy some living room furniture and a bed for Innocent, who’s coming to visit next month.

(I had a photo of our furniture to put here, but I can't find the cord that connects the camera to the computer. Too bad...it was going to be a rare photographic insight into our life here!)

It may not seem like living room furniture is particularly missional, but I’ll tell you, in Africa, it is. Hospitality is such an important part of life here, and until now, we simply couldn’t have anyone to the house, even for a chat, because there was nowhere but the kitchen or bedroom to invite them into. Both these locations are problematic culturally. In Luo culture, it’s very much not done to invite a visitor to hang out in your kitchen, so my only visitor thus far has been a young co-worker of Fred’s named Goodluck. He’s from a different tribe which doesn’t have such stipulations against sitting in kitchens. Actually, his being from a different tribe and excellent English are two factors that have made us friend-ish. I think he often feels as much an outsider in Shirati as I do, since neither of us speaks the Luo language.

Our plans for the coming weeks are such:
21st July – Travel to Nairobi
22nd – 23rd July – Nairobi, visiting with some of Fred’s family and Edwin’s family
24th July – Travel to Kampala
25th – 26th July – Kampala, meeting up with Mama Susan, Tim Bata, and Jaclyn Konczal
27th July – Travel to Kisumu and Sindo
28th – 29th July – Sindo, picking up Innocent and Dadi (Inno’s cousin)
30th July – Return to Shirati with the two boys
Inno and Dadi are going to stay with us for several weeks in August, after we return them to Sindo, we’ll travel to Dodoma for a week or so.

The In-Laws!!

2011-06-23T16:51:00.000+03:00

(First and foremost, thanks to many of you who commented or wrote me notes of encouragement after my last bummer of a blog post. Now back to your regularly scheduled slightly self-mocking observations on life in East Africa!)

We had been planning our visit to “Dani” (grandmother in Luo language) and Innocent, Fred’s nephew who is like his own son, ever since we returned to Africa, and as the time drew closer for the trip to Kenya, I began to get really nervous. I knew language would be a barrier, since Dani and Innocent only speak Luo, but I also had a sense of the weight of the occasion. Fred’s extended family, aunts, uncles, cousins and all, had been waiting for Fred to get married for a long, long time. Most of them had not even seen a photo of me, but they knew I was a white American, and I put a lot of pressure on myself to make a good impression.

As an example, trying to dress for the day we went to their home almost drove Fred crazy. I wanted to wear comfortable clothes for the long trip, but I also wanted to look nice to see them, and I definitely didn’t want to look too American. Trying to find the perfect traveling outfit that would also be the perfect “meet the in-laws” outfit, pairing practicality with themes of cultural integration…my appeals to Fred for feedback or guidance were useless, as I imagine the importance of a wardrobe decision of this magnitude is beyond most men. They could probably identify “wrong” if they saw it on your body, but otherwise, you’re on your own, lady! I finally landed on something that didn’t appall me, and we hit the road for the big event.

Remember the car ride I described where the driver shared a seat with the eighth passenger? Well, I have now realized that this is an extremely common scenario. I have amended my award of “Maximum Vehicular Capacity” so many times in the past few weeks that I have determined that it is only my naivety that would even consider that award worth thinking of. (Eight in the seats, with three to four children in laps, and three to four riding in the “boot” seems to be the absolute capacity for these vehicles, but I’m still expecting to be proved wrong on that front.) The trip to Sindo, Dani’s village, took us about 11 hours, in which we rode in three packed cars, two packed mini-buses, and another packed car. This final car was the one that took us from the tiny town of Homa Bay to the village of Sindo, and the two voluptuous mamas who shared the back seat with Fred and I had us wedged in so tightly that even the bumps of the “detours” off of the “currently being improved” road didn’t budge us.

When we finally arrived at the bottom of the path to Dani’s house, I was so beat I almost (almost) didn’t even care what I was wearing. Fred’s cousin, Beatrice, a lovely 30-something-year-old married mother of five, came running full-speed down the hill from the house. She basically fell on me, hugging me and welcoming me, and she took the bags from my hands, threw her arm around my shoulders and started up the hill. We had to stop and rearrange luggage when Fred’s aunt came from the road where she’d seen us pass, and insisted on also carrying something after her hugs and welcome. Then we stopped again (it’s not a very long path!) when Innocent came tearing down the hill yelling “Uncle! Uncle!” Eventually, we made it to where Dani was waiting for us, and she started crying when she saw us. Half a second of “is that good crying or bad crying?” crossed my mind before she started hugging me and wouldn’t let go!

Suffice it to say that I was very welcome, and as I got to know them better over the weekend, I was let in on the secret: they had been dreading our marriage, although they hadn’t told Fred. Their few observations of marriage between Luo men and white women were not encouraging, and I will summarize their fears in this list. They thought I would be old, wear only tight trousers, refuse to have children (or be too old to have children), take Fred to America forever, and/or dislike them and their home. The stories I heard behind those fears totally legitimize the worst opinion they might have had of me, but by the end of the first day, Fred assured me that they love me and only regretted the language barrier. (Big sigh of relief!)

Their home is on a remote little bay of Lake Victoria. The village is ringed by huge hills (like Chehalem Mountain), and Fred’s family homestead is part-way up one hill, about a 45-minute walk from the village. The lake is nearly empty during the day, since it’s been over-fished for tilapia and Nile perch, but the dagaa (small fish like sardines) are still plentiful. Dagaa have to be fished for at night, so around dusk about a hundred boats set out from the shore with lanterns in them. The dagaa come to the lights and are caught with nets, so it’s like a whole city on the bay each night. There is no electricity or running water up at the house, so they have donkeys that carry full jerrycans of lake water up the hill each morning and evening. Dani has a couple of small gardens close to her three-room house with a separate kitchen, and each garden has a high fence of poles around it to protect from the baboons. They live so remotely that there are a large number of wild animals that come out from the hills at night, including baboons and even the occasional leopard!

Fred has spent the past several years sending Dani part of his salary each month to make improvements on the house, including constructing the kitchen and a toilet, but they hadn’t quite gotten around to a bathroom yet. Our first night Fred told me, a bit shame-facedly, that we would have to bathe outside. I thought, “no problem! I’ve bathed in the outdoor bathrooms at the orphanages, and I enjoy it!” Then he corrected me by showing me the rock he’d found that would be our shower stall. I love being married, because it was not only appropriate, but necessary for him to stay there while I stripped naked on a random rock in the middle of the great-baboon-ridden-outdoors and splashed water on myself. The next day, the first thing he did in the morning was go out and hire two neighbors to help him construct a bathroom from sheets of tin roofing and poles and rocks for the floor. By afternoon he had built me a bathroom, so that I wouldn’t have to worry about glowing-in-the-dark for any passersby to see.

There were loads of other wonderful and funny moments throughout the weekend, like giving Dani the gifts we’d brought her, Innocent praying at meals, Dani dancing with joy when she saw our wedding photos, Innocent hanging from a tree screaming “Auntie, Auntie, look at me!”, Dani and Fred’s aunt laughing at my attempts at Luo/Swahili/English mix, and the look on Dani’s face when she saw me brushing my hair one morning: “Well, you won’t have to spend a fortune at the salon with hair like that!” It was a huge blessing, and they made me very welcome, no matter what I was wearing!

Back in the Saddle...and sad...

2011-06-13T16:46:00.000+03:00

Well, I've been back here in Tanzania for almost a month, and all I've written about is my transportation woes! Here's a little sketch of my life in Shirati:

Office/Compound - Shirati was the first place Mennonite missionaries settled in Tanzania, something like 60 years ago, so there's this large compound of Mennonite facilities. There's the local church and their offices and nursery school and a huge playing field and playground equipment for the kids, which makes me jealous on behalf of the kids at Iringa Road Mennonite Church and their tiny dirt patch playing field/driveway/parking lot. There's a hospital and a nursing school and a home for people with leprosy, and a ton of houses, some built by the diocese or church, and others left behind by former missionaries. The diocesan offices are a pretty big one-story building with all the offices facing an inner courtyard and a guest house operating in the outward facing rooms at one end of the "community center". This is where Fred works, and they've given me the outer part of his office to use as my office. The first thing I did was put up something bright and colorful...it wouldn't be my office without some art by Spencer Reynolds on the wall! My outer office location basically means that I'm like Fred's receptionist, but I'm grateful for an office so close to my husband's office. He is the Planning Officer for the diocese, and a lot of his projects have to do with agriculture, so he's out of the office often working on his farm or garden or test garden. There are so many new people in the offices that I'm having a difficult time sorting out who is who, let alone their names and jobs. I do know David in the kitchen, though, because he is like Mama Neema Chiboni in Dodoma: the source of all that is good and edible.

Home - One of the perks of working for the diocese is rent-free housing on the compound, so we have a house not far from the office. It's been passed over by a number of doctors and other administrators who wanted nicer houses, so they're just really happy that we're okay with living there. When Fred first came and they put him in that house, it was no problem because he was a single man and insisted that he didn't mind that it was pretty old and run-down. When they heard he was bringing a wife back with him (and a white woman, no less), they started worrying that I would refuse to live in that house. I have to admit that it needs a fair bit of work, but it's got great potential. It's large (10 rooms plus entryway and back porch), and it was designed by some former missionaries (which accounts for the size). It is like the house I lived in in Dodoma in that it has electricity and water whenever the city permits them to be on, and in that there is only one working water tap at present, so we use a lot of buckets. It is unlike the house in Dodoma in that it was not furnished, so we have a twin-sized bed that we share and a couple of tables for cooking surfaces and some chairs, all on loan from the diocese. We can't have guests over, because we have no where for them to sit, which is not such a bad thing, since I'm the object of broad curiosity, and would have chai demanded of me on a regular basis if we had anywhere for people to sit while they demaded the chai. We're trying to plan for furniture purchasing, but I have a lot of traveling to do in the next few months, so a sofa will have to wait a bit. The thing I miss the most that we had in Dodoma is a toaster. What I wouldn't give for a toaster!

Sounds good, right? So why so sad?

A big part of my current ennui is just being physically tired and sick-ish. I have been suffering from allergies which medicine does little to help, and it's keeping me awake at night sniffling and sneezing, leaving me weary all day. I took a day and a half off work last week, but I can't seem to get my energy back. As my sister-in-law advised, I probably just need to drink a bunch more water, so I'll work on that.

Another part of my general gloom is feeling kind of lonely. I'm starting over, and knew only my husband when we arrived here, but it's becoming clear that people have already formed opinions about me. Probably due to my weariness, this seems a much bigger deal to me than it would ordinarily, but some of the nursing students who maybe were trying to make a play for Fred before I came along, are making comments about me and just generally always watching me. It makes me really self-conscious, whether at work or at home, it seems like I'm always on stage, so I end up spending a lot of time locked into the two rooms of our house that are occupiable. There's one person who has made it clear that he's delighted with me, and that's a friend of Fred's named Sam. He's an older man living with leprosy, and I'll write a whole post about him soon, but he's wonderful.

One difficulty has been that my Swahili has gotten rusty a bit, although it wouldn't matter too much, because the people I love talking to, the watchmen and cleaning ladies and little kids, mostly speak Luo, their tribal language. I've tried learning a few greetings in Luo, but I need to put some work into both my Swahili and my Luo. This was very apparent when I went on a home visit with a bunch of visitors from the States, and I couldn't even greet the palliative care patient we were visiting because he and his wife and son and mother only spoke Luo. I felt pretty inept that I couldn't encourage them or pray with them or even thank them without translation, which is like stepping back to my first days in Tanzania. This particular home visit was difficult because the man is dying of AIDS, the family is starving, and they didn't even have a home until the local volunteer social worker mobilized some neighbors to build them a simple house. They're sleeping in the dirt, and we had brought nothing to give them. Mennonite Central Committee had just sent hundreds of HIV care kits with things that would help this family, but due to reasons I can't get into without being disrespectful, this family is not receiving that aid. I encouraged the American visitors we were with to contribute some money to buy food for the family, which they did. A short term fix, but better than nothing.

Finally, my closing downer is this: I'm feeling pretty isolated from people in the States. It's always hardest right after I've been there, just as it was hardest for me to be away from my friends in Tanzania right after I arrived in the States. I could use some bolstering and frivolity, if anyone has the time to lift my spirits a bit. Thanks for reading all this etcetera, but please don't feel too sorry for me. I get to eat fresh-picked watermelon grown on Fred's farm in a few minutes, which will be great.

Safari Ndefu Part Two – Fred and Leisha hit the road!

2011-06-06T13:27:00.000+03:00

In this post our intrepid hero and heroine strike out across the expanse of Tanzania, encountering and defeating boredom, discomfort, poor customer service, gawking lurkers and overzealous taxi drivers.

Our story begins where we left off last time, in the airport of Dar es Salaam. A taxi delivered us to the bus stand in Dar es Salaam around 3:30am, leaving approximately 90 minutes before our bus to Mwanza would begin boarding. Fred and his friends, Paul and Henry, sat catching up while I made a pillow of my jacket and took a nap on the abandoned bench seat of a taxi-van (dala dala). When the time came to board the bus, the guys negotiated with the bus conductor the cost of transporting our two trunks, two suitcases and large backpack under the bus, leaving us with a small backpack and two computer bags to put under our feet for the 14 hour journey. We boarded the bus which was scheduled to depart at 6am. Tanzania has a law that commercial vehicles (like buses) cannot be on the road at night, so every bus that departs first thing in the morning from the main bus stage ALL try to leave the single driveway and cross three lanes of traffic at the exact same time. What chaos!

Looking at a map of Tanzania, you might note that our origin (Dar es Salaam) and our destination (Mwanza) are about as far apart (latitudinal-ly) as one can get. Both Fred and I were exhausted. He had spent Monday and Tuesday traveling by air, then went straight to the bus stage to travel to Dar es Salaam from Nairobi (about a 12-14 hour journey in itself), then napped a bit, picked me up, and hopped on another bus. We tried a variety of positions to get comfortable enough to sleep, but usually only dozed off for 20-30 minutes at a time. The rest of the time we spent staring out the front of the bus. The only point of interest in the whole ride was that we stopped in Dodoma mid-day for a lunch break, but, having had our phone stolen the day before, we couldn’t contact any of my friends there. It was so strange to reach Dodoma and keep going, since, until this point, Dodoma was home. However, keep going we did.

We reached Mwanza super late and checked into a guest house Fred had stayed at previously. The night watchman put us in what turned out to be probably the smallest and worst room in the place. We had to ask for sheets, soap, and a towel, and neither the lights nor the shower in the bathroom worked. The only food available that late were some sketchy chips (fries) from a street vendor, but we were hungry, so we gave thanks. Sometime after midnight the watchman realized that he’d not taken a name to write in the register, so he came and knocked at the door to get Fred’s name. Fred asked him why it couldn’t wait until morning, and finally just gave his name to end the discussion. At 5am the buses in the nearby bus stage started revving their engines and hooting (honking horns). Finally we got up and went into town to get breakfast and a new phone. This was Fred’s first time out in public in Africa with me, and the leers and calls of the young men who are always standing around places like bus stages. It bugged him, although I explained that hassling was not uncommon at all.

Around 10am we boarded the bus from Mwanza to the Shirati junction, a trip of about 3 hours. We were in the very front row of the bus with most of our bags nestled below the bus. There were two cool things about this bus ride: it rained hard and we saw a herd of zebra on the right hand side of the bus. I guess I’m not a typical white person, though, because I spent more time looking at the rain than the zebra. I took photos of neither. (In case you haven’t noticed, I take photos of almost nothing.)

Finally we reached…not Shirati itself, but the junction for the road to Shirati. It’s pretty much a wide spot in the road where they off-loaded our luggage and we were immediately swarmed by drivers of the small sedans that ferry people to Shirati and the other small villages nearby. Imagine, if you will, a Subaru Outback hatchback, but slightly smaller. Imagine, if you will, watching your two trunks, two suitcases and large backpack shoved roughly into the back of this vehicle along with several giant bags of food and sundry other suitcases and bags belonging to the other passengers of the taxi. Imagine, if you will, that the other passengers of the taxi number four, in addition to the driver and another random employee and you and your husband, total eight. How would you put eight full-grown adults into a Subaru Outback in addition to probably 400 pounds of luggage? They put Fred and me in the back seat with two other men, and we put our computer bags and small backpack on our laps. Then they shoved a large bag and a plastic basin through the window onto the lap of the other men. Then they put two men in the passenger seat and a woman in the driver seat, then, I kid you not, the driver sat ON the woman. I have occasional mild claustrophobia, which set in as soon as we left the paved road and it started raining again, causing everyone to roll up their windows. I put my head down on the computer bags I was clutching and asked Fred to talk to me about something…anything…to get my mind off my environment. He was rather distraught to see his wife tearing up and fighting hyperventilation. Not much further down the road the young man sitting next to me got out and we rearranged the bags, alleviating my rising panic. Then we stopped again, and they went to push another passenger into the back seat, but Fred protested, so they rearranged the luggage in the back in order to put the employee in the back. In such glorious manner we arrived in Shirati, earning the taxi driver the award for “Maximum Vehicular Capacity.”

The moral of the story is this: having a husband to fight your battles with luggage conductors and taxi drivers is so, so wonderful.

Safari Ndefu! (Long Journey) Part One - Sit on the floor for a change

2011-05-25T11:08:00.000+03:00

Faithful readers of this blog will remember posts about some very long journeys I have taken, including the road trip that equaled roughly the breadth of the United States last July and the tour of eight airports on my way back to the States last November. This past week’s trip wins the award for “Most time spent in airports” as well as the “Maximum vehicular capacity” award. Interested? Read on.
Beginning on Monday the 16^th, I took Fred to the airport in the morning and helped him get through the check-in process. I watched him pass through security, then ran a few errands and returned home to weigh my luggage one last time. I had a last late-night happy hour at the airport Stanford’s with my parents and a few friends, savoring my last Blue Moon until suddenly one of them mentioned that I had about ten minutes until my plane started boarding. After a momentary panic, it actually worked out perfectly because security was fast and I didn’t have time to linger over goodbyes. I was flying JetBlue to Dulles (since my flight to the States last spring was to the East Coast to visit my brother), and I had booked rather late on a crowded red eye flight, so I was relegated to the middle seat. The flight stopped at JFK first, and I had a four hour layover. The bit of carpet I chose for its strategic proximity to an outlet turned out to be an unofficial break area for airport employees. One, a Southeast Asian Muslim man, explained to me that there was roof construction nearby, and a net over the open construction area was allowing small birds to enter the airport, three of which were sitting on the seats near us. I know that this friendly employee was Muslim because he pulled out an Arabic prayer book and prayed quietly under his breath for most of his break. There was a short hour-long flight to Dulles, during which I had a window and empty seat separating me from another really nice man, this one wearing skinny jeans instead of a uniform and reading a book titled Straight? instead of a prayer book.

I spent most of the layover in Dulles on the linoleum floor of the ticketing area watching “The Biggest Loser” on my laptop (and updating this blog). I got a meal (by that time I had already lost track of appropriate meal times) and, with an hour left until the earliest possible check-in time, I pulled a jigsaw puzzle out of my bag. Disregarding the odd glances and tearful goodbyes of other waiting passengers, I got the border done just in time for check-in. Once I got to the gate, I got my last meal on American soil (a turkey sandwich on a jalapeno-cheddar bagel), watched one last episode of “Bones”, and boarded my flight to Istanbul.

On the plane they fed us another meal at approximately midnight local time before turning out the lights. Usually I am very strict about when I sleep while I’m flying internationally to prevent jetlag, but I had had only intermittent snatches of sleep in the previous 40 or so hours, so I hadn’t the energy to observe my sleep schedule. Both my international flights were only about 40% full, so I had a few seats to stretch out in, and slept pretty well. The rest of the flight was a confused jumble of movies, meals, and sleep. We arrived in the Istanbul airport, kicking off a three hour layover, most of which I spent playing a game on my Kindle and stealthily staring at the other East African passengers waiting for the flight thinking “Swahili! Vitenge dresses! Bizarre hand luggage!” (You’ll understand that last one if you’ve ever watched an African woman boarding with her open plastic tote full of her left-over food from the last flight and newspapers in languages she probably doesn’t understand.)

My excitement was building as I boarded that final flight. I presented my hard-won Tanzanian work visa with a flourish to the boarding agent who was checking passports and visas, and quietly scoffed at the amateurism of the other Westerners who were planning to get tourist visas at the airport (naturally I chose to forget that the last time I was flying to Tanzania I almost got turned away for having that exact same plan). At long, long last I boarded my last long flight from Turkey to Tanzania. Again, it was a blur of movie, food, and sleep, this time with the very interesting diversion of trying to figure out the relationship between a group of middle-aged Turkish men and the handful of Tanzanian middle-school aged boys they were travelling with. (My theories all had something to do with human trafficking until they were totally debunked by the boys’ families greeting them at the airport.) My favorite moment of the entire journey so far was exiting the plane and smelling Africa. I realized how bland and perfumed America smells compared to the humid odors of earth, vegetation, human body odor and waste. Sounds disgusting, I’m sure, but to me it smelled like home.

Entering the airport, my excitement peaked as I had my passport stamped (I got to shortcut around all the Westerners applying for their tourist visas), retrieved my bags, defended the contents of my luggage briefly to the disinterested customs official, then I passed through into Tanzania and was met by my husband and two of his friends.

Be sure to tune in tomorrow for Safari Ndefu Part Two - Fred and Leisha hit the road!

One of those EPIC updates!

2011-05-17T21:05:00.000+03:00

First off, we got married! Fred arrived five days before the ceremony, and we rushed around getting all the last minute details sorted out. Everything worked out, from license to suit to rings, and the day was really special for both of us.

We got a few days for a honeymoon, and spent the remaining three weeks having dinners, breakfasts, coffees, prayer meetings, Bible studies, road trips and sightseeing. People kept asking us how we are settling into married life, but there's nothing settled about our life this past month!

As I write this, both Fred and I are in transit. Our flights are on different airlines through and to different cities. Fred left Portland for Nairobi via Amsterdam on Monday afternoon. He'll arrive Tuesday evening, sleep, then jump on a bus down to Dar es Salaam. I left Portland Monday night, stopped in New York City on the way to Washington, DC. I am writing this from the ticketing lobby of the Dulles Airport. I'll fly to Dar es Salaam via Istanbul, arriving really late Wednesday night/Thursday morning. Fred will be there to meet me (God willing) and we'll immediately head to the bus park to catch a bus from Dar es Salaam (on the far central eastern coast of Tanzania) to Mwanza (on the far western border of Tanzania). That will take all day, so we'll sleep in Mwanza, then carry on a few more hours to our home town of Shirati on Friday. Whew!

Although this week will be a long, tough trek, after several rounds of goodbyes to family and friends, I feel much stronger than I did when I was making this trip in September 2009. It was hard to say goodbye to everyone, but I have so much I'm looking forward to in Tanzania that it was much easier to leave this time. I can't wait to see Fred on the other side of customs in Dar, and I can't wait to see our home in Shirati, but most of all, I can't wait to establish a home with my husband. For the past several years, I've not been able to call any one place in this world home, but now Fred is my home, no matter where that may be, and that makes me happy.

So I'm almost back home...in the arms of my husband. What a good gift from my Father! A better home than I could have ever imagined.

Shadrack, my Fiance, and Letters

2011-04-06T02:58:00.000+03:00

A few days ago we received word that Shadrack (on left) has died. Shadrack was an adorable, sweet kid who was part of the program at Tenderfeet Education Center. He had a brain tumor, and some friends in Texas took the initiative to get him the surgeries he needed. The brain tumor had caused some developmental difficulties, and Shadrack's friends arranged for him to be admitted to a great private school for kids suffering with disabilities. He started complaining of headaches again, and was admitted for another surgery, but died before getting to the operating room. I have had the chance to hang out with Shadrack on a number of occasions over the past five years, and it really saddens me that we've lost him.

Shadrack's second name was Otieno, the same as my fiance, Fred. They come from the same tribe, actually, which brings me to what's going on for Fred and I right now. We had hoped to get married at the end of March, but a long, complicated series of events meant that Fred's paperwork was delayed several weeks. We rescheduled the wedding for April 16th, and Fred has been working on getting his visa. Today he got to start that process, and, God willing, he'll get the appointment he needs tomorrow. If that goes well, he'll get his visa Thursday morning and fly out either that evening or Friday. We're praying a lot, but we also feel so much peace that this is God's hands. God is watching out for us, no matter what happens.

The whole story of how God brought us together is in the March/April support letter I'm about to send out. Many of you are on my mailing list, but if you're not, and would like to receive bi-monthly letters, shoot me an email or Facebook message with your address. I think that somehow I haven't been super clear about how I get money. I raise support, and I am reliant on donations from people who are interested and invested in my work. I get paid exactly what people donate to Lahash on my behalf. These bi-monthly letters are part of the way I help people learn about what God is doing in my life and ministry, and often have much more personal, intimate content than I would feel comfortable putting on my blog.

Speaking of personal, intimate content, I had a wonderful opportunity last night to speak at the healing groups at my church. Some trauma in my past has been beautifully restored by the grace of God in my life, and I got to share that with some people who are seeking that restoration in their own pain. It was awesome to hear how my story could encourage others who are suffering. It made me really grateful for the ways God has been working in my life personally, and using me to show his grace and hope to others. I hope you get a little hit of that grace in your life today.

Rice and Beans...ish

2011-03-05T00:25:00.000+03:00

This is Rice & Beans Month for Lahash, which is awesome...ish. I love this event, and I love the impact it has in East Africa. In fact, possibly one of my favorite things about this event is the opportunity it gives me to be the Rice & Beans Police. That's only partly a joke, because I'm known for selling this event hard and minimizing the difficulties. In general I don't suffer whiners gladly, and where R&B Month is concerned, I tend to flaunt my "Rice & Beans Year" or my "Rice & Beans for the rest of my life!" as credentials for riding herd, if you will, for the everyone else.

Like almost any police officer in the majority world, though, it turns out I am corrupt. While dishing out the R&B justice with a wicked-edged tongue, I admit that I'm wussing out. At this moment, I'm eating rice and beans for lunch, but what's that in my backpack?

Yes, that would be an open bag of free ginger snaps from Trader Joe's. When I went there to buy my lunch supplies (which will be a post on the R&B blog), they gave me a free bag of cookies for not using a bag to carry out my groceries. Oh, and what's that next to my little snack of hypocrisy? A DVD from The Justice Conference that says "What are you willing to die for?" Apparently I'm willing to die for my kids in East Africa, I'm just not willing to give up cookies for them. Truth is...I will probably eat that entire bag of cookies, because, as Doc Holliday says in the movie Tombstone "My hypocrisy knows no bounds."

I justify my half-assed approach to Rice & Beans Month a lot of ways, and if it was important to justify myself to all of y'all (grammar shoutout to Dan and Casey here), I'd list out my reasons, and most of you would probably let me off the hook. I guess what I'm learning from writing all this out is that whether or not I eat rice and beans this month and how pure I am about it has nothing to do with all of you. It has nothing to do with whether I get "caught" in my cookie gluttony. It has nothing to do with kids in East Africa. What I'm learning (again and still) is that I often fail to have grace for the people around me. Chances are I'd have more grace for a thief than a R&B cheater...and how insane is that? More insane is that when I "cheat", I'm taking advantage of the very grace that I refuse to others when they show weakness. bleh.

So that whole convoluted "think out loud" process is to say this: next time I'm being harsh with or about someone else, just ask if I have any cookies in my backpack.

Long time, No post, but BIG NEWS

2011-02-23T22:32:00.000+03:00

There are a few major reasons that I haven't really updated my blog lately.

Reason No. 1: Being in Portland has been SO much busier, and a much faster pace than life in Tanzania. Not having the same amount of rest as I do when I'm in TZ means that it's a lot harder for me to organize my thoughts and develop an idea to blog about. Also, my work load has been different, a ton more meetings, a very social work environment with volunteers and co-workers, and a lot of projects that can I can do to help others out with.

Reason No. 2: I've been learning so much about so many things at events like The Justice Conference and the Global Missions Conference at Multnomah University, as well as books, blogs, movies, and conversations with so many people. I have ideas about rest & sabbath, human slavery, living in balanced justice, food sources and health, relational ties and types, authority, respect, dignity, and loads of other things floating around in my head. I have so many pieces of so many things, and haven't really organized any of them fully, so it's hard to think of how to invite anyone else into them!

But the biggest reason I haven't been blogging is...
Reason No. 3: The biggest thing on my plate for the past four months was not something I could discuss publicly on this blog: my relationship with Fred Otieno. Fred and I met in early November, shortly before I came back to the States to see my family and friends. He works for the Mennonite church in another city, and we met at some Mennonite church meetings. He knew almost as soon as we met that God had designed our meeting, although I took a few extra days to realize that fact. We began "dating" (relational timeline terms do not mean the same things in different cultures) after the seminar ended, but because we lived in different cities in Tanzania and I left to come back to the States less than a week later, our courtship or dating or whatever you want to call it, happened over phone calls, emails, and text messages. We began making plans for Fred to come over and meet my family before I returned to Tanzania, and decided that we would get engaged when he came so that my family could be part of a formal part of our relationship developing.

Then, for several reasons, it was determined that I should stay longer in the States, and after much discussion and prayer, Fred and I decided that when he comes, instead of getting engaged, we will get married! There are so many reasons we believe that God has brought us together, in God's perfect timing and design, and we are so excited to begin our life together. Obviously this is not a conventional relationship in many ways, and in many other ways it is extremely old-fashioned and very conventional!

March 26th is the date we have set for our very small, mostly family wedding and reception. In the next few months and weeks, you'll see a transition from this blog being just my thoughts and experiences to being the thoughts and experiences of Fred and I as a married couple. As we begin this new season of life, we invite your prayers, questions, encouragement and advice. Thank you for being a part of this exciting new season of life for me/us!

Portland People Please Join Us

2011-01-05T08:29:00.000+03:00

I Don't Know What I'm Doing Here

2010-12-21T00:47:00.001+03:00

In true American fashion, I have found myself too busy of late to sit down and write a blog update. Usually when it happens in Dodoma that I go a few weeks between blog posts, I just run down major events that have happened with the kids or my roommates. When I look at the events of the past few weeks, it is a series of coffees, lunches, and dinners with friends and supporters. Not exactly blog-worthy, although significant for me.

I hadn't put a lot of thought into how I would spend my work time while I was here, and have had a number of people ask me if I am doing any speaking events. I am doing a few small-ish speaking events for groups like my mom's high-school students, my grandmother's social club, and my Home Community. Instead of large speaking events, I've been focusing on spending time investing deeper in relationship with the people who are invested in me and the work God has called me to, mostly in one-on-one or one-on-few kind of environments.

I've had a fair number of highs and lows in terms of enjoying my time back in the States. Overall, I've loved hanging out with my friends and family, but the pressure of being back is, at times, both overwhelming and depressing. I know it will be hard for some to hear, but, to be honest, I've been reduced to tears a time or two, wishing I had the extra $250 to change my ticket so that I can "go home". When I shared this with my Home Community last week, I explained it like this: "Being back here is like putting on a pair of shoes that don't fit anymore, then running a marathon." *sigh* It's difficult to hold on to "Tanzanian Leisha" and her values and priorities while being in "American Leisha's" environment.

On a lighter note, here are a few things that have startled me about how things/I have changed in the time that I've been gone:

1. Women Without Much Left On
I'm sure there was a progression from jeans to skinny jeans to leggings with dresses to leggings with tunics to leggings without much else, but I think I left somewhere during the beginning of leggings with dresses and have returned at the height of leggings without much else. It's startling to see friends who I know are modest, fashionable women publicly wearing clothes that African women would barely consider reasonable undergarments. I've done double-takes more times than I can count, startled at the obvious display of certain parts of female anatomy. (And let's remember that I'm coming from a culture where public breast-feeding doesn't even merit note.)

2. "Let Me Check My Brain"
I knew a handful of tech-saavy people with iPhones before I left, but I am astounded at how many people now have an iPhone or Android or iPad or whatever other device. I got my first glimpse of the prevalence of this technological dependence in the airports on my way back, where a gate full of people waiting for planes stared into their hand-held brains. A friend who has lived in Portland for several years now just admitted that he still doesn't really know his way around because he relies on his phone to get him from point A to point B without him having to remember the route. I'm sure there are long-term implications for our memory capacity, but I have to admit that I marvel at the ability of my borrowed Android to bounce a signal off of a satellite in space and tell me my location within a few feet. Scary and awesome at the same time...

3. Trust Me, It's Best For Everyone
My driving instincts are in the toilet. Even after a whole month back, I still don't trust myself to get behind the wheel of a car. Even though I had driven for ten years in America, after one year of driving in Tanzania, where we drive on the opposite side of the road, sit on the opposite side of the car, and obey only minimal road rules, I don't trust myself to drive here yet. Maybe I'll start driving again when I can go a week without walking to the wrong side of the car or looking the wrong direction before crossing a street or wondering why someone comes to a complete stop at an intersection. In the meantime, I'm rather enjoying riding the bus and walking, although my parents and friends are probably over having to pick me up or drop me off in random places.

So hopefully I've redeemed the bummer start to this post with a little witty cultural reflection, but if not, go easy on me. I'm a fish out of water.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

2010-11-26T02:10:00.001+03:00

How does a month go by without a blog post? I was trying to surprise my family...trying being the operative word. As I've mentioned previously, I made plans to visit the States in order to be around for my best friend's wedding (which will be nothing like that movie). I thought I would work with my mom to surprise everyone else in our family by coming back for Thanksgiving instead of Christmas as I had told them. That surprise didn't work out, and then they tried to reverse-surprise me at the airport, but that also didn't work. Turns out none of us are very good at secrets.

It took me five and a half days to get from Dodoma to Portland, a grueling solo journey which included three international cities, six American cities, taxis, buses, big international planes, little local planes, Amtrak trains, metro trains, and walking...all with about 75 pounds of luggage carried on my person.

Here's the rundown:
Tuesday the 16th, 11am - Left Dodoma on a bus for Dar es Salaam
Travel = 282 miles, 7 hours
       I had an uneventful trip on an air-conditioned bus (what comfort!) and upon reaching Dar I got to hang out with my friend Majula a bit.  I stayed in a hotel, reaching there via taxi from the bus stand which I shared with two men and a little boy with a broken, casted leg.

Wednesday the 17th - Dar es Salaam to Entebbe, Uganda to Istanbul, Turkey
Travel = 667 miles + 2,827 miles, 8 hours
        While in Dar es Salaam on the Muslim holiday of Eid, I was like 3 hours early for check-in for my flight because I had nothing else to do, and wanted to beat the afternoon Dar traffic. I was flying on Turkish Airlines, which turned out to be awesome...once all the checking in was done. That checking in process was totally disorganized and took about 90 minutes in the broken-air-conditioning, 100+ degrees heat of the Dar es Salaam airport. I don't sweat a lot (because, as Leah likes to remind me, I don't drink enough water), but even I was sweating in that heat and chaos. Once on the flights, though, I got the best airline food I've ever had. We stopped briefly in Entebbe to add some passengers, then proceeded on to Istanbul.

Thursday the 18th - Istanbul, Turkey to Dulles Airport to Arlington, VA
Travel = 5,230 miles + 24 miles + 1 mile, 12 hours
        With all the talk about increased security and TSA and whatnot, one expects a fair bit of security on a flight from Turkey to Washington, DC. Accordingly, after getting off the plane from Dar, those transferring to flights to the U.S. or U.K. went through a security interview, just the same one I've done in Amsterdam a number of times. They were slightly suspicious when I didn't have proof of my flight 15 months ago out of the States, because it's unusual to be staying a short time in the States and returning to Africa, I guess, but I'm cute and charming, so they let me go. After going through the regular security in the Istanbul airport, when I reached my gate, I went through an additional security check where they emptied my carryons and patted me down in a very matter-of-fact way. Then I was "randomly selected" for an additional check of my checked bag.  Once on the plane, I was treated to more good food, a litany of movies I've missed in the past year, and many glasses of water, since the ratio of flight attendants to passengers was like 1 to 5 and most of the passengers were sleeping. (The flight was only about 20% full.) I arrived in Dulles, and, just as my copious internet-based research had told me, I was able to get a bus to a Metro station, and take the Metro to a stop within about a mile of my hotel.  Just a mile? No problem. Oh wait, except for walking a mile with 75 pounds of luggage on my back. I felt like the Little Engine that Could stumbling up to the front desk and heaving my bags down on the floor. Fortunately, Priceline did not disappoint, and my $80 hotel room was super luxurious, even by my lowered standards. (Toilet=check, bed=check...and oh look! hot water for a shower, complimentary toiletries, and a hundred TV channels on a gigantic TV! What luxury!)

Friday the 19th - Arlington, VA to Washington, DC to Fayetteville, NC
Travel = 1 mile + 5 miles + 262 miles + 63 miles, 7 hours
        I got to catch the hotel shuttle for the return trip to the Metro, which I then took to Union Station in downtown Washington, DC. My train to Raleigh, NC was delayed about an hour, in spite of Amtrak's purported timeliness, and my seatmate for the trip to Raleigh was an elderly man who was extremely kind and interested in my life and work. I try to be nice to fellow travelers interested in my work, but I also prefer to read and keep to myself when I'm traveling, so it is a delicate balance. Upon arriving in Raleigh, my brother was waiting for me. He's in the Army, and is being deployed to Afghanistan this coming Saturday, so it was really great to get to spend time with him. He drove me to base, Fort Bragg in Fayetteville, to stay with him in the barracks. I met his girlfriend, Lindsey (shout out!), and his roommate and some other fine young men and women in America's military. I knew I'd have some culture shock readjusting, but I had not prepared for re-entry into American military culture. There were some difficult things, and I laid awake for about three hours that night in prayer for the brokenness in the lives of the young men and women on that base.

Saturday the 20th - Fayetteville, NC
Travel = NONE!
        Roy and Lindsey took me around to some of the holy places of American culture in Fayetteville, namely Walmart, Best Buy, and Starbucks. We went to the "black Walmart" so that I could feel more "at home", and I walked around like an idiot smiling at black people and wanting to pick up every baby I saw. (I miss my kids.) I'm sure more than one person steered their child a little further away from the manic-looking, gawking white girl apparently wearing every article of clothing she owned. (I pretty much was. It's been a hard weather transition, dropping over 70 degrees over the course of my travels.)

Sunday the 21st - Fayetteville, NC to Raleigh, NC to Charlotte, NC to Atlanta, GA to Seattle, WA to Portland, OR to Newberg, OR
Travel = 63 miles + 130 miles + 226 miles + 2,182 miles + 145 miles + 24 miles, 9 hours
        I'll tell you right now that 9 hours of travel time is deceitful. In reality, we left Fort Bragg at 7am and I arrived in Newberg at 1am, which, accounting for the time change, is 21 hours. I had some travel vouchers which required me to change planes in Charlotte, Atlanta, and Seattle, and I was standby for the Atlanta and Seattle flights. I was the last person on the plane for the Atlanta leg, and I missed my first Seattle flight, and had to wait another 90 minutes for the next flight, which I got on, thank the Lord. I had to go through security only twice, also thank the Lord, and I never got looked at twice or asked to go into any allegedly cancer-causing screening booth or patted down. My parents and grandparents and Annie, Shannon, and Katie were waiting for me in Portland when I touched down at midnight, and it was great to see them, although my energy level was pretty low at that point so enthusiasm was at a minimum.

So let's do the math. 12,132 miles (roughly) and 43 hours of active travel, not including the hours and hours of sitting in airports and train terminals. For 6 days and 10 time zones, I'm just glad to have made it to a place where I can sit on my butt for hours without strangers trying to talk to me and I can stretch my legs without having to worry about leaving luggage "unattended". It's important to be grateful for the little things.

Now I Know Why We Don't Pray

2010-10-26T16:38:00.000+03:00

In the past few months I've been learning more and more about prayer, and I've been trying to put into practice what I've been learning.

It's tempting to skate over passages like Luke 11, in which Jesus tells his disciples several different ways that God wants to answer their prayers. Jesus straight up says "Ask and you will receive", although we have all had times of asking and not receiving, so I think I've tended to write that off as a euphemism or hyperbole.

Then I was challenged to take it seriously, to actually voice my specific requests to God and believe that He will answer. I did, in two large situations that were outside of my control - one was the house, and the other was a situation I can't go into in such a public format as this - and got what I asked for in 0 for 2 of those situations.

Cynicism knocked at the door. "Remember me? Remember how comfortable and non-faith-stretching it was when you didn't bother God with what you wanted?" Then I slammed the door in Cynicism's face.

Yes, it sucks to ask for something and not get it. It is easy for the Enemy to step in and say that God is not really a good Father, that He doesn't really give good gifts. It is difficult to have to face reality, that sometimes I don't really know what is best for me. Y'know what is encouraging, though?

This:
"Now suppose one of you fathers is asked by his son for a fish; he will not give him a snake instead of a fish, will he? Or if he is asked for an egg, he will not give him a scorpion, will he?"

I have a great earthly father. I never feared to ask him for anything. The thing is that I'm sure that at some point in the past 28 years he did not give me something I asked for because it was not in my best interest. I cannot remember a single one of those times, but I remember loads of great things that my dad gave me, like when my sister and I were young and he used to bring us presents on Valentine's Day, or when he would spot me $5 to buy lunch if I was short. If he chose not to give me something because it wasn't good for me, I know that it wouldn't stop me from asking him again in the future, but I really don't have memories of him denying me things. Probably because those things were so fleeting, unimportant, or bad for me that I swiftly forgot them after the initial disappointment.

What about when my Father in heaven denies me something? Why so quick to listen to the Enemy accuse my Father of not being good? I honestly can't list out a long string of unanswered prayers on my other Father's account either. I know they're there, but when I think of things that disappointed me, they're always overshadowed by the better thing that came instead. The fish or egg, if you will.

Even more so, I can pray for specific things without being disappointed if they don't come about when that thing is for someone else. Healing for this mama doesn't happen? God is still good. That brother is still blind? God works in mysterious ways. I have to live in someone's spare room instead of my own huge house? Why does God hate me?!

In the end, I think it comes down to this: I don't want to know how often the things I want are snakes and scorpions, because if I knew that, I would know how far I have to move toward operating in the power of the Holy Spirit. The best gift God can (and has) given to me is the Holy Spirit, but when I find out how many scorpions I ask for, it is a humbling reminder of how far I have to go in taking advantage of the best gift He has given.

So here goes...goodbye Cynicism. I'm embracing Humility and Disappointment, because at least they're pointing me in the right direction...greater maturity, less self-love and self-will, and more and more Holy Spirit.

Things that Don't Have Answers...yet...

2010-10-19T16:45:00.001+03:00

#1 - Marriage is Tough
A few weeks ago I went to the wedding of the daughter of on of our church elders. I'd never met the bride or the groom before, but in order to honor the mother of the bride, Leah and I went. I was really unhappy to be there for a number of reasons: late notice of the event, feeling unwell, and a bunch of drunk female relatives. Unfortunately my discomfort at the reception was nothing compared to the discomfort of the bride. Within one week we received word that she had returned to her mother's house because her husband had beaten her quite badly for questioning him on a food-related matter, and the poor girl was so humiliated about being chased from her husband's home only a few days into the marriage that she attempted suicide. Praise God she was not successful. She is now living with her mother again, and at age 19, she is looking at her future, as she will probably never remarry (at least not officially).

A little over one week ago I was invited to a "kitchen party", kind of like a Tanzanian bridal shower, where married women come together to give practical advice to the bride to be. I was honored to be invited and asked to speak, even though I am unmarried. I stuck to what I knew, and advised the bride-to-be to remember that even though she is becoming Mama Charles (wife to Charles) and will one day be Mama Mtoto (mother of her child), that to God she is herself alone. I reminded her that she alone is responsible for seeking God and following Jesus, setting that example in the life of her husband and children, and as she seeks the Holy Spirit to be her Source of every good thing, she will be strengthened in her relationship with her husband and, one day, with her children. I was the first woman to speak, and as I sat back to desperately try to understand the advice of the other women in the room, I was struck by something: there were seven women, all leaders in the church, all respected and wise, but many of them had really suffered in their marriages. One mama, widowed before age 40, is raising four children alone. Another mama, the mother of the bride mentioned before, was also widowed by age 50, and is caring for both children and grandchildren. An evangelist is raising her teenage daughter alone because her husband left her when she didn't have a son after their daughter was born. The wife of a pastor is recently separated from her husband after he was caught in an affair, and is caring for their 2-year-old daughter while she works and goes to school. Two of the three women still living with their husbands have been married for less than five years.

These experiences back-to-back were a sobering reminder that we live in a world where marriage is difficult and often under attack, especially the marriages of our Christian leaders.
#2 - Prayer is Powerful

I mentioned the book Something More on my blog a while back, and because I love Catherine Marshall so much, my grandma sent me a couple more of her books. I've been reading her booklet "Adventures in Prayer", and it's been a gentle but insistent challenge to my perceptions of communication with God. At the same time I've been studying some things about the Lord's Prayer, and searching for answers to my own questions about prayer.

A few months back the church started a prayer service on Monday evenings designed to minister to the many, many people desiring prayer for healing and deliverance. The prayer team here is incredible, and they see God move in ways that many Americans would scoff at. I hadn't been to a service yet, because it happens on my Sabbath day, but I was intrigued at their reports.

Six months ago two women prophesied over me that "rivers of healing" would flow from my hands. I have been ruminating on what that means ever since. Yesterday I went to the prayer service to do some video work for Pastor Manase, but as soon as people started arriving, I knew that I was not at that service just to observe. Several times when I have seen people suffering from physical disability, I've had a serious pull on my heart, like the Holy Spirit whispering in my ear "That is not God's intention for that person." Last night I had that so strongly that tears sprang to my eyes. As we were singing "How Great Thou Art" a woman came in leaning on her niece. A stroke had virtually paralyzed her left side, and I felt overwhelmed by God's compassion for that woman. I got a chance to pray with her and pray for many other people (approximately 40 people present), and Pastor Manase encouraged me that when she first started coming she had to be carried everywhere, but now she is able to walk a bit unassisted and is getting stronger each week.

I was recently reading a novel that talked about how understanding and skills that come immediately and easily are not filled with the same grace as skills that come with work. I suspect that healing, like Swahili, might be a gift that needs investment and work from me before I see a lot of fruit, but it fills me with righteous anger to see people suffering and if God would grant me the ability to be a vessel of healing, there's not much I wouldn't do to reach "fluency" in that language.

#3 - I Miss My House
So Leah and I decided to delay the house search until we return from the States, especially since there are some people coming to Dodoma next year from Lahash and MCC who may go in with us on housing. So I have settled into Baba and Mama's house for the time being, and, overall, it's wonderful...but...

When I decided to move to Africa, my first step was to leave my lovely studio apartment in NW Portland to move back in with my parents. This current living situation feels similar. I love living in an environment which allows the maximum amount of independence (very American of me), and living with a family in their home does not equal independence. Even though I am discovering all that I have missed in children's television, like iCarly, Drake and Josh, and Go Diego Go, (the Askofus have some American cable channels), I miss the peace of no television in the house. I miss experimenting in the kitchen and making the awesome beans that Leah and I were becoming renowned for. I miss the daily battle with the water supply. I definitely miss living with Leah, who is a perfectly complementary roommate to me because she actually gets up when her alarm goes off in the morning to boil water for coffee and she enjoys washing dishes. ("Enjoy" might be too strong a word.) I was really missing living next door to the church last night when I had to wait 40 minutes for a taxi after the prayer service.

There are payoffs. As aforementioned, there is a TV with many channels, not all of which are in Swahili, and I'm fast learning to appreciate Bollywood (Indian cinema). I had a really great night on Saturday when Grace, Jastine, and Peace all borrowed books from me, and we sat on the front porch drinking hot chocolate and reading. I was pretty frustrated with God when we first entered into this desperate housing situation, but then I accepted that this might be His way of pushing toward a reminder that I am not independent, and never will be. I will always need others, and it's good to be in a position of embracing that rather than fighting against it. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

See You Soon, Beautiful Friends!

2010-10-05T11:26:00.000+03:00

As those of you who are my friends on Facebook already know, I am planning to come back to Portland for a few months. This is unexpected, about a year earlier than I had anticipated being back in the States, but there are many good reasons for this timing.

First and foremost, my bestest friend, Annie, is getting married!

Annie and I have been kindred spirits since an infamous Last Thursday event where we sat waiting for Thai food for ages, and speculated about the "Garnish Boy" who was probably gumming up the works in the back. That first dinner was followed by several planned and unplanned road trips, lots of dinners (many involving chicken), more coffee than I can easily remember, curling, Buffy, hotels, family reunions, rodeos, LOTR, house boats, Bernie's, all-night Harry Potter vigils, neck ties, airports, kick ball, vampire teeth, fro yo, and various other things I cannot mention due to the public nature of this blog. In fact, she's been such an important part of my life that I cannot believe I've never done a tribute to our friendship here.

I even had the incredible privilege of baptizing her a couple of years ago.

We have spent lots and lots and lots of random time together, doing things that probably no one else would think at all interesting, except maybe one person...

Karyn has been a great friend for not so long as Annie, but if God sometimes got bored and doubled up on certain aspects of people's personalities, I'd believe that Karyn and I are essentially spiritual doppelgangers. From the beginning when Karyn first came to our home community, she and I hit it off. She and I share a compulsion to tell utter strangers extremely intimate details of our lives, so we had shortly shared pretty much everything that no one would ever want to know about us. I slept on her couch many times during my last year in Portland, and took some hefty walks with her at weird hours of day and night.

During this past 13 months that I've been in Tanzania both of these amazing friends met awesome guys, fell in love, and got engaged. I've mourned the fact that I missed getting to see two of my dearest friends falling head over heels, got the news of their engagements over Facebook, and have never ever met either of their fiances at the same time that I completely rejoice that two of my favorite people are so happy. I have decided that it is essential that I be present at their weddings, so I will be coming back to Oregon to be a witness at each of their happy days. I love these girls, and I'm so excited to be present for the first step of their lives as married women.

Annie and Karyn, I love you and wish you so many good things. You are wonderful, and I can't wait to see you in just two months.

What We Need Versus What We Want

2010-09-28T13:06:00.000+03:00

I made a mistake. I was counting the days of my lease from the day I received the keys, but my landlord was counting the days of my lease from the day we signed the contract. She showed up on Friday while we were at an awesome graduation party for our friend Bette. Casey and Abbe were home, and she explained she was the owner of the house and promptly deposited 15 gigantic boxes and bags in the middle of the living room. She explained that she would be doing some renovations to the house, and that she would come to see me the next day.

We waited, but she didn't come that day, or the next day, or the day after that. This morning she came to my office and asked when we would be ready to leave, since she was going to come on Saturday. Saturday? As in the end of this week, Saturday? Yes, Saturday. Leah and I are expected to vacate the premises on Saturday because that's when my lease is up. Casey and Abbe will leave Dodoma on a bus that morning, and the landlord will arrive at 9am the same morning to take possession.

Leah and I had already determined that we were ready to move somewhere smaller and cheaper, and had one friend start looking for a place for us, but we thought we had three more weeks. Turns out with have three days to find a new home.

The situation is not desperate. We don't have too much to pack, since the house was furnished, and several of our friends are looking for possible houses for us to move into. If nothing works out by Saturday, we have many homes we can crash at for a few days or weeks. It's good to have community to be a safety net.

Yesterday Leah and I had discussed our needs versus our wants in a new place. There are the mostly non-negotiables (water on site, power, two bedrooms, secure) and then there are the things we're asking God to bless us with. Will you pray with us that the perfect house will be found and available by Saturday?

This is the specific dream we have:
- Indoor plumbing that works
- Working electricity in all rooms
- Easy walking distance from the church and our friends (within 2 miles)
- Quiet, private, secure neighborhood
- 2-3 bedrooms, living room, and kitchen
- Cheaper rent than we have been paying (less than $100 per month)
- A walled compound with some vegetation of some kind
- A nice landlord who will work with us

We're confident that God will provide our needs, and that we will not be homeless. Please pray that we will have peace of mind and heart, and that we will release all control and worry to God.

Now we are going home to start packing...

They're enrolled!

2010-09-17T15:35:00.000+03:00

A few months ago I wrote in one of my support letters about my dreams for building an education fund that would enable our kids to go to university. As part of that dream, we want to prepare kids academically to be eligible for university. To that end, when we received a $100 investment from a friend of Leah's, we used the money to enroll five of our kids in a Pre-Form 1 tutorial program. Essentially, it's a three month tutorial program where the kids are getting prepared for secondary school (like high school) by being coached in English, computer usage, mathematics, and sciences. Our five kids, Sauda, Veronica, Michael, Judi, and Emmanuel, started on Monday, and will report to Leah and I each week what they're learning. The idea is that by getting a head start on secondary school, they'll be able to succeed from the start, and by the time they graduate in six years, they'll be ready to not only attend, but excel in university.

Best of luck to these five test cases! Make us proud!

In a difficult moment...

2010-09-11T14:35:00.000+03:00

Usually my Facebook status is something cheery and upbeat, an update from the program, repeating something that struck me as funny, or informing the world of something odd that happened. Sometimes, though, something deeper slips out.

A few minutes ago, on my way out the door for lunch, I updated my Facebook status to say "Leisha Adams is weary in body, mind, and spirit." I don't think I'd even realized how true that is until I had already written it.

Since the end of June I have been traveling or had guests from America here in Dodoma. The guests have all been great, and most of them were either dear friends or have become close friends during their time here, but the continuous grind of arrangements, assistance, and rearrangements has taken its toll. In addition, I am far away from my family as they are dealing with several unexpected developments, and a couple of friendships, here and in the States, have had conflict.

I have an Enemy, just as you do. His desire is to wear me down however possible, drawing me away from the Source of my life and strength. To that end, on top of the large complications of my personal life, there are innumerable small difficulties arising, like our new neighbors, who literally scream at each other throughout each evening, and the kitchen tap choosing this moment to start leaking a steady stream of water whenever there is water in our neighborhood, regardless of which way we twist the handle.

Nothing that has come my way is insurmountable, but all of these things together is...well, daunting. Continuing in humility, patience, and grace is taking every ounce of my attention and daily allocation of strength, and, returning from lunch to continue on with my work, I had trouble refocusing on the five hundred word Swahili essay I have to translate today. I decided to read some friends' blogs while I ate, and my friend (and recent traveler) Will Campbell had posted this photo of me with one of the kids here.

I can't say why exactly, but this photo really ministered to me. Something in the beauty and peace of the photo refreshed my heart a bit. I needed that small boost, that reminder of why I am here.

I really covet your prayers right now. There's plenty of work to do for the rest of this month, and the last of our visitors for the time being are leaving the first bit of October, then I'll probably take some time for vacation and integrate back into the parts of life here that I've put to the side during this busy season. Please pray for balance and rest, and that the Holy Spirit would be the Source of my "endelea", the Swahili word for continuing on. I need some of that supernatural continuing on right now.

Be blessed, family and friends.

His Words

2010-09-02T12:20:00.000+03:00

There are two things that I use to energize my passion for God's words when reading the Bible starts to feel a little stale. One is The Message, a modern language paraphrase of the Bible. I find that familiar verses grab my attention because they're stated differently than in the translation I'd been reading since childhood. The rephrased words take me back to the actual meaning of the verses, rather than just skimming over easy-to-ignore, half-memorized sentiments for the umpteenth time.

The second thing I do is take a Psalm and try to get at the images of the words. Scripture, and the Psalms in particular, are so full of imagery, so I start making little sketches to bring a new dimension to the verses. When I'm ambitious, I'll even get out the box of colored pencils that Donovan and Jenice Baker sent me.

The picture below is scanned from my journal. Every morning of the work week we gather as a staff to worship, pray, and study the Bible together. We rotate through being responsible for the devotion, and a few weeks ago my co-worker Tiffanee led us in a time of meditation on Psalm 89. These were my notes:

If you're interested in my life and live in Portland...

2010-08-25T16:08:00.000+03:00

...attend this event. Katie Potter, Will Campbell, and Erin Weiss, the visitors we've had here in Dodoma recently will be presenting their photos and stories. It will be a great opportunity to eat ice cream, hear a little more about what we're doing in Tanzania, and even invite and introduce friends to the work of Lahash International, Grace and Healing Ministry of Dodoma, not to mention yours truly.

A Glimpse of Tanzania

Be sure to ask lots of questions about me and applaud every time you see a picture of me. *wink*

Something More...

2010-08-18T15:00:00.001+03:00

When I was in college, I went through a very difficult time in my third year. For no apparent reason, I became depressed, laid around on the couch continuously between classes, and avoided my friends. During that time I read a popular modern Christian book. In that unremembered book, the unremembered author had a quote that struck me particularly, so I looked up the footnotes to see who had written it. The author of that quote was Catherine Marshall (author of the novel Christy) and was from her book Beyond Our Selves, written in 1961. I noted it, having read Christy as a young woman, and carried on with my miserable life.

A few weeks later I had to get my driver's license replaced, which involved waiting 30 minutes for them to print it. During that 30 minutes I perused the book section at the Goodwill next door. As I scanned the books for something I wanted that cost less than $2 (all that I had in my pocket), my eyes landed on Beyond Our Selves by Catherine Marshall, hardback edition, for $1.99. Of course I bought it. Its forty-year-old wisdom impacted my life in a way that the popular, modern, utterly forgettable book hadn't. I read the book again in 2004 when I broke my leg and spent weeks on the couch recuperating. My hospital bracelet is still in that book, marking the spot I left off. The hardback book got tossed out of my luggage in the final morning purge when I discovered my trunk to be 2 pounds too heavy, and I've been missing it.

When I was on my way to Uganda last month, I stopped in Arusha (in northern Tanzania) and had to get some paperwork for my cell phone. While I was waiting for that, I walked to the nearby supermarket, and on the way I spotted one of the tents that are the used book stores in East Africa. I scanned the piles of English, French, Russian, and Swedish titles, looking for anything worth reading for any price, when my eyes landed on Something More by Catherine Marshall. After reading Beyond Our Selves, it never occurred to me to see if she had written anything else, so to see another book by her in a pile of French language romance novels was a surprise, to say the least. I snatched it up, and paid roughly $2 for it.

Just as her earlier book had impacted an earlier time in my life, Something More, written in 1974, has been such a challenge and encouragement to me. Each chapter is about another topic related to following Jesus in a practical and common-sense way. Her tone is always humble, so that although her words on each page are cutting to the center of my increasingly cynical heart, it is in such a tender way that I cannot resist the call to greater faith and discipleship. Here's something I underlined yesterday that speaks very much to my current state of mind:

"Criticalness leads to discontent. Discontent expels appreciation and gratitude. Self-pity moves in and turns the attention inward; surely self deserves something better, we tell ourselves, such as happiness, prosperity, that its ideas and demands be heard and implemented. If what self wants will hurt others-spouse, children, parents, store proprietors, educational institutions, bystanders-well, they asked for it in one way or another. Anyhow, the end justifies the means." -"The Dilemma of Our Rebellion", Something More, p. 196

Too often as young people, we appreciate only modern perspectives, foolishly thinking that only the most recent, up-to-date writers and philosophers can understand and speak into this world we live in. As I have learned, twice now, and as the Seeker said in Ecclesiastes "There is nothing new under the sun."

So I challenge you to read something old. Not just "classic" and old, like C.S. Lewis or Henri Nouwen, but something a little off the beaten path. You know my recommendations.

I always have to read this book with a pen to underline with and my journal to take notes in.

I'm not allowed to take care of white people anymore.

2010-07-21T12:01:00.000+03:00

Photo taken the first week I came to Dodoma with Peace and Grace Muhagachi, taken by Leah Burkholder

Now that I am back in Dodoma with our new visitors, Katie, Will, and Erin, Leah and I are realizing how far we've really come from our first days in Dodoma. Here are a few of the things that have changed for me:

1. I have developed an African stomach. When I first arrived in Dodoma, I ate like an American girl: small portions at meals and frequent snacking. Now realizing how often we have to think about feeding our visitors, I'm realizing that I never eat between meals anymore, and comparing my portions of meals, I eat huge plates of food. (Of course this is why I don't snack, because my stomach is always full of delicious rice and beans.) My stomach and appetite have adapted to accomodate the giant dinners and infrequent lunches and complete lack of snack food. That doesn't mean I'm not grateful for the Chex Mix and Gardettos and peanut M&Ms everyone sent me, it just means that they're lasting me much, much longer than they would have 10 months ago.

2. I can tolerate much more heat. While our guests blow on their tea before they drink it, Leah and I swig it down, and my fingers and hands are much more capable of handling the hot metal pots and lids we use for cooking. I almost never feel hot from the sun, although that has meant that I feel cold much faster than I used to. In fact, right now is like our winter in Dodoma, and the visitors are going around in their t-shirts perfectly comfortable while I shiver in my sweater.

3. I go off-roading in strappy sandals. After my TOMS shoes finally bit the dust, my first impulse was to order another pair, but then I decided that "when in Rome..." and bought a pair of black flat dress sandals to wear for everyday shoes. I hadn't really considered the conditions I walk in those sandals until Sunday when I led Erin into crossing a drainage ditch by jumping down into it and scrambling up the other side, and when she jumped in she broke a bone in her foot on a stray rock.

4. My Swahili is better than I've been giving myself credit for. Now, it is definitely true that my Swahili needs immense work, but, hearing the guests valiantly stumble over pronunciations and try to remember the few phrases we've required them to learn, I remember how much I struggled initially. Now I remember to thank God when Swahili flows off of my tongue, or when I understand something without translating it in my head.

5. On some level I get Tanzanians. First I should say that I was reprimanded only yesterday for an inadvertant lapse in respectful behavior toward an older man we work with, but for the most part, I find myself anticipating what will be expected of me, both socially and professionally. I am understanding non-verbal behavior and unspoken requests much more readily, and I see my relationships deepening as a result.

6. My hearing just might be permanently damaged. I've always marveled at Tanzanians ability to hear quiet conversations in crowded rooms, especially considering that music is blared at maximum volume for every event. As I was writing this, a flat-bed truck drove by with the back full of speakers blasting music, and it didn't even interrupt my conversation with Leah, where 10 months ago we probably would have been covering our ears to block the noise.

7. I love rice and beans. After a few weeks of traveling in which I treated myself to Chinese food, pizza, salads, coffee, and other luxuries, I can't tell you how happy I am to be back at home eating rice and beans. I've lost about 50 pounds in the rice and beans (and walking) lifestyle, but that's seriously just an unanticipated additional benefit. Eating such simple meals of rice, beans, and fresh local produce has made me feel so much more healthy and energetic, and I don't even enjoy eating frequent meals of Western (or Eastern) food without having a few days of good ol' rice and beans mixed in.

The time here has been flying by, and apparently I am keeping up. It astonished me to realize that in 6 weeks I will have been here for the whole of my first year. I cannot believe where the time has gone.

Thank you for following my adventures on this blog for the past 10-1/2 months. I'm blessed to have such a committed "fan base" back in the States watching my progression from needy, picky American girl to confident, capable pseudo-African. Photo of me preparing to preach at an evangelism event a few months ago, taken by Rachel Warren

Missing home, but not the home you think

2010-07-11T16:20:00.000+03:00

Right now I am on the road with my assistant Katie Potter. I've been traveling for about two weeks, with very limited access to the internet, hence my silence since the Father's Day tribute.

I left on Tuesday, 29 June, and have not been in the same bed for more than five consecutive nights since then. I spent one night in Arusha, one night in Nairobi, one night on a bus, two nights in a guest house in Kampala, two nights at Mama Susan's house in a suburb of Kampala, then five nights at Amazing Grace Orphanage in Adjumani. We left Adjumani at about 8am this morning, arrived in Kampala around 3:30pm, and we're now killing time until we leave for Nairobi on an overnight bus at 10pm. We should arrive in Nairobi around 11am tomorrow morning, and spend three nights at Edwin's house before leaving on the all day bus to Dar es Salaam. There we will pick up friends Will and Erin W, and go to Dodoma the next day.

I can't tell you how much I'm missing Dodoma. This is a weird experience for me, because always before I felt so grateful to be in Africa it didn't matter which country I was in. Now I'm missing my own bed, my roommates, my friends, my kids, my church, and I just keep telling myself "a few more days, a few more days"...

Good thing I love all the people I'm with along the way home, or I'd be miserable!

Things You Should Know About Me and My Dad

2010-06-24T10:06:00.000+03:00

Because I have not updated this recently, and because I was a crappy daughter and missed Father's Day (and Mother's Day, but let's not dwell on that just now), this will be a "mash-ups" post where I will try to give you items of interest about my life here in Dodoma and then somehow link them to how cool my dad is. Let's see how many I can do!

1. As every person on this continent and in the city of Portland know, the World Cup is on right now. For my friends in less enlightened parts of America, this is a very big deal. It's been difficult to establish any kind of loyalty so far since no East African teams made it through, but America did, but I feel somewhat obligated to cheer for African teams like Nigeria and Ghana. We did cheer loud enough to disturb our friend's neighbors when USA scored that brilliant goal last night. All these matches I've been watching remind me of my dad because pretty much any football-related comment I make to impress my male African friends is pure regurgitation of things I heard from my dad during years of watching my brother and sister play football/soccer and the brief time I played under him on my high school's co-ed team. (The team needed girls, he was the coach, ergo, I played.) When I criticized Honduras for standing around watching while their shots bounced out, I remember my dad's mantra to always follow your shot (also basketball advice). When I screamed at the forwards from Australia for always scooting around to shoot with their right foot, I remember my dad's pride the one time I accidentally scored a goal because the ball just basically ricocheted off of my left foot into the goal (but it still counts, even if it's an accident). The guys have been very impressed with my understanding of the game, entirely thanks to my dad.

2. We have a volunteer from Mennonite Central Committee staying with us. Her name is Rachel, and we have been enlightening her in the awesomeness that is the first season of Friday Night Lights, a television show about a high school (American)football team in Dillon, Texas. (If anyone wants to send me additional seasons of FNL, I'd be grateful.) The other day we were watching this episode where a guy gets in the coach's daughter's face and is telling her that they should start packing because her dad wasn't going to make it in that town. Coach Taylor goes over and leans real close to the guy and gives a little speech about how ridiculous the guy is because he's picking a fight with a 15-year-old girl, etc. Something about what he said and how he said it totally reminded me of how my dad talks to men who use their strength to try to intimidate women. I told my roommates that if anyone ever make a movie about my life, I want that actor to play my dad. Also, my dad loves and coaches American football, and he instilled that love in me, so much so that I was the only girl in my college's "Football Coaching Theory" class. My dad was so proud he even drove to Linfield to help me draft plays for my final presentation. I got one of the top grades in the class, shaming many guys who'd been playing football all their lives. Also, because of his training, I was able to explain to Leah what the ref meant when he told the boys to "only hit what they see".

3. We sing a lot here. A lot. Nearly every meeting starts with at least one song from the songbook (a little orange book called the Tenzi Za Rohoni). Many of the songs we sing are English hymns that have been translated to Swahili. Every morning before work we have devotions and we sing three songs from the Tenzi, often the same songs over and over and over, but then, miracle of miracles, two days ago we sang a new song: number 82, "Sioni Haya Kwa Bwana", a rough translation of my dad's favorite hymn, "At the Cross". The chorus, in English, says "At the cross, at the cross, where I first saw the light, and the burden of my sins rolled away. It was there by faith I received my sight, and now I am happy all the day." When I was little, I remember singing that with my dad in the car, and having a mental image of being at a stoplight and having a big backpack of sins roll away down the hill.

4. Related to music, I have joined New Life Choir, the young people's choir at the church. I was in choir with my mom when I was in high school, and I always sang in my high school's vocal ensembles, but this is a whole new ball game. In addition to singing in public, in Swahili, we dance. This is not American dancing either, where a choir might sway back and forth, but hard-core, sweaty, choreographed dancing. I've been thinking of how glad my dad would be to see me doing this because he was always concerned about the fact that I haven't really rebuilt the strength in my right leg since I broke it six years ago. Being in choir is probably the best physical therapy I could be doing, since we jump up and down, we jump side to side, we shift our weight from one leg to the other while doing stuff with our hands, and there's even one dance where we spend half of the song sliding our right legs backward and forward. It's exhausting, and I have had a fair number of mornings spent rubbing IcyHot into my back, shoulders, and hips, especially after our twice monthly all night practices. That's right. All night, as in starts at 9pm and ends at 4am. Anyway, I'm sure my dad would be thrilled at the range of movement I'm forcing my leg through, and when we reach the fifth consecutive hour of dancing and I just want to fall down, I hear him telling me "Don't let anyone know you're hurt!" and I keep pushing, because my daddy didn't raise no quitter.

5. When Rachel came to stay with us, she was given a bicycle that had been used by a prior MCC volunteer. Unfortunately for her, that volunteer was a 6-foot-tall guy who liked to go off-roading, and the men's bike is way too big for her 5'2" frame, especially when wearing a skirt. Thus the bike has been relegated to our locked front porch for the past few weeks. Last Saturday, however, we discovered a couple of young teenage boys trying to sneak into our compound through the back fence to take the bike off of the porch while Rachel sat in the living room. She chased them off, repeatedly, but then Leah came home on Tuesday to find that someone, probably the same boys, had tried to wrench the lock off of our porch gate with a piece of welded rebar (I know what rebar looks like because of my grandpa), damaging the gate a bit. Leah's impulse through this whole ordeal has been to fix any vulnerable points in the house and double check the locks. Rachel's inherent optimism believes that now that we've moved the bike inside, the boys will leave us alone. I am my father's daughter, however, and got myself a weapon (a big stick). I find myself secretly hoping that they'll come back while I'm there so that I can show them that we aren't some helpless white girls that they can mess with. In fact, yesterday morning I was brushing my teeth and I glanced out the window to see a leg coming through the hole in our fence. I immediately ran to the front door, wrenched open the deadbolt and ran (forgetting the stick) toward the hole yelling "Wewe!" (You!), only to come face-to-grinning-face with our watchman who was trying to figure out how to fix the hole. He's done a bang up job at reinforcing the compound (it sounds so cool to talk about my house like it's a besieged castle), and he's hanging around during the day as well as all night to make sure no one comes back. I think I'll have to give him a bonus.

6. My dad's name came up last night. We were at our friend Martin's house, and started talking about names. In Tanzania a child is given a baptized name, then they take the first name of his or her father as their second name. The third name is the name of the child's paternal grandfather. We were explaining about the concept of a family name, and that when a woman marries she takes her husband's family name. Even for a culture that has, on the whole, a rather lower view of women, this seems completely odd to many Tanzanians. My name is pretty simple for Tanzanians to pronounce and remember, especially since Adams is so close to Adam, which is a common name here, and Leisha is easily pronounced in Kiswahili (although I'm called "leh-sha" rather than "lee-sha"). It was entertaining, though, to think that my name could be Leisha Samuel Mark, or, in Kiswahili, Leisha Samweli Marco. At the very least, I rather like the idea that if I ever marry a Tanzanian, I could keep my family name and be Leisha Adams for the rest of my life.

7. I actually just avoided getting married off to the younger brother of one of my co-workers recently. She's been pushing me and pushing me to consider marrying her brother, who looks like he's about 18 years old (although I'm assured he's actually 30), he doesn't speak any English, and can hardly drag his eyes off of his shoes when he's around me. When I first came, and she asked me to marry her brother, I laughed and she didn't, then she asked what dowry my father wants. I happened to have already had the dowry discussion with my dad another time, so I could say with confidence that he wants "two camels shipped to America". Well, the camels have not materialized, but the brother kept coming around. Trying to be kind, I made the point that I couldn't marry anyone without my father's consent, and she replied that Baba Askofu is my Tanzanian father, and he approved the marriage, so that's not an obstacle at all. (I'm pretty sure that Baba Askofu did not actually approve the marriage, except as a joke.) When the brother started showing up at my house, I asked for some intervention, and Mama Askofu made it clear to everyone that I would not be marrying the brother, much to my relief.

Unfortunately, I've run out of news and stories that I can tangentially link to my dad, although I do have to say one more thing. If it were not for my dad, I would not be in Tanzania today. When I came back from my very first trip to Africa, the first person I thought of taking back with me was my dad. He's always been up for adventures, and he came with me on my second trip. He was a trooper, in spite of my poor planning and several unexpected expenses, and it really blessed the people here to have him come with me. He has always supported my work with Lahash, contributing money, helping me raise money from his contacts, talking to anyone who might be interested about Lahash's work, and even coming to help us with construction projects on our various offices. When I decided to move here, he was very supportive (and cautionary) and, although sad to have me moving so far away, he was happy for me to be continuing down such an exciting life path.

There is no way I would be able to hack life here without the training I received as his daughter. People tell me all the time how strong I am, and how much they admire my courage. They say things about how confident I am, especially for a single woman. For all of those things, and many more, I am grateful to my dad. I know that I have him to thank for teaching me character and strength of will and general toughness. From him I learned about justice and compassion, and that I have purpose and value. It is because of the example and leadership of my dad that I have learned to love and follow my Father in Heaven. I see so many young women hurting because their fathers were abusive or absent or weak, and I really thank God for a father who was always present and always loving and who had a big part in shaping me into the woman I am today.

Thank you, Dad, for being a part of my entire life. I would not have had the courage for so many of the things I've experienced if it weren't for you. I don't say it enough, but I love you and there is no man I respect more than you.

Maduka and the Mouse

2010-06-01T12:04:00.001+03:00

No, I am not writing a children's book, although that would make a good title. The story would be a realistic, if not particularly child-friendly, tale of dealing with rodents.

I do not fear many things. I don't fear heights or snakes or spiders. I slightly fear tightly enclosed spaces. I have an overwhelming, undignified fear of rodents, especially rats and mice. I know this is irrational, and I have had loads of people tell me how rodents are more afraid of me than I am of them (I'm skeptical). Regardless, I've been thanking God that I haven't seen any mice around my house, probably because there are about eight cats that patrol the grounds.

Edit: I HADN'T seen any mice, until two weeks ago.

It was a Sunday night, and I was asleep. I woke up to hear the small bag of garbage on the floor in my room rustling. Since this post is obviously about a mouse, I'm sure you've guessed what was in the bag, but I was thinking it might be a cockroach, since we do have plenty of those around, some the size of Matchbox cars. I turned on my flashlight and pointed it at the rustling bag, which immediately stopped moving. Suspicion started to burgeon in the back of my mind, so I got a long nail file from my bedside table and poked the bag gently. I might have screamed a bit when a grey tail flicked into sight then disappeared again.

The distance between my bed and the door had never seemed so long, and before visions of the mouse running out of the bag over or, worse, under my feet could become too real, I jumped for the door. I had one thought in my head: "Maduka".

Maduka is our watchman. He's a member of our church, and has been really faithful and helpful at the house. He not only keeps watch, but also burns our garbage for us, sweeps the compound daily, and trims the bushes when needed. He has helped us with countless small tasks, and I knew he was my only hope of dealing with that mouse. I ran down the hallway, turning on lights as I went with complete disregard for my sleeping roommates. I paused in the living room to look up the word "mouse" in our English-Swahili dictionary, then ran out to the front porch where Maduka sits. He looked up in alarm at my abrupt appearance, and I gasped out "Naona panya! Ninaogopa sana!" (I see a mouse! I am fearing much!)

He followed me into my bedroom, where I stayed in the doorway and pointed to the corner where I had seen the mouse. He started moving the furniture looking for the mouse, which failed to appear. He probably was starting to think I had been dreaming when I saw the mouse run from under my bed. I yelled and pointed to the corner where it had run, and he moved the trunk it was hiding behind. It started running around the room, so I leaped onto my bed pointing and making girly noises of fear. Maduka had taken off his shoe, and was chasing behind the mouse trying to whack it with his shoe. We must have made quite a picture.

Finally the mouse ran out the door of my bedroom with Maduka right behind him. There were two doors the mouse might have disappeared through: the empty bedroom we use as a storeroom for the program and Leah's bedroom. Maduka thought the mouse had gone into the storeroom behind a bunch of mattresses, but there's no electricity in that room, so we couldn't check. I decided to use the power of elimination and check out Leah's bedroom. By this time our temporary roommate Rachel was out of her bed and watching as I opened the door of Leah's room. She looked up at me in sleepy confusion while I explained that there might be a mouse in her room. I explained it twice, from the doorway, then asked her to move her curtains to make sure the mouse wasn't hiding behind them. (I was NOT going in that room until I knew for sure the mouse wasn't there. It wasn't.) I told her I would put something across the bottom of her door so the mouse couldn't get in, and she went back to sleep. Maduka moved all my furniture back, and Rachel and I both laid clothes across the cracks at the bottom of our doors and went to sleep.

The next day, Monday, was our Sabbath. We ran some errands in town, then came back to the house and played cards, but the whole time my mind was on that mouse in the storeroom. Finally, I devised a plan, and Rachel and Leah bravely helped me put it into effect. We moved all of the mattresses into the hallway, then I blocked the doorway with a mat so that the mouse couldn't run out. Leah had the broom and Rachel had a plastic basin we use for washing clothes. Methodically they worked their way through the hospital kits on the floor of that room, expecting at any moment for the mouse to run out. Finally it did, and hid under a stacked bed frame in the corner. After we all screamed and danced around a bit, Leah started try to scare the mouse to run out in a certain direction, which it did, and Rachel was ready to trap it with the basin. We jumped up and down screaming, from triumph and delight instead of surprise and/or terror this time, then put a box of paper on top of the basin, just in case.

When Maduka arrived that evening, I triumphantly led him to the storeroom and pointed at the basin, announcing "Panya!" (Mouse!) He looked astonished that we had caught the mouse, then we told him we wanted him to kill it. He took the box of paper off, and started scooting the basin toward the living room, planning to kill it on the front porch. He ran into a problem when he couldn't move the basin over the lip of the front door lintel without losing the mouse, so he slid the basin back and forth several times, hoping to daze the mouse. I realized what he was going to do, and jumped onto the couch, just in case. He lifted the edge of the basin, and when the mouse started to make a break for freedom, he brought the basin down on its back, killing it instantly. He flicked the dead mouse outside while we thanked him profusely.

As I said, not exactly a child-friendly tale, but we have proudly repeated it to almost everyone we know because we caught a mouse, and that makes us feel pretty bad-ass (even though I mostly just stood around squealing while other people did the work).

Unga and Maharage

2010-05-12T13:58:00.000+03:00

Because so many lovely people participated in Rice and Beans month, we received an installment of funds for the purchase of food for families in our program. We decided to spend it as quickly as possible. What good is money for food when people are hungry?

Leah and I sat down to sketch out a budget for the food money, and were quite impressed with ourselves at our ability to discuss the market price of salt and plastic bags and debate the practicalities of buying rice versus maize versus ground maize flour. We decided to take the simplest, most nutrion-packed course we could, buying maize flour (unga) and beans (maharage).

Just like with the Christmas money, we saw God miraculously expand our resources. We had an unprecedentedly high exchange rate, and the pastor made a connection with a new grinding mill who agreed to sell us the maize flour at distributor price, which saved us 450,000 shillings ($345 or so) which we used to buy more unga. Our regular beans supplier gave us a great price and even threw in some extra beans and arranged for delivery. They delivered the 1,875 kilos of flour and the 525+ kilos of beans, and Leah and I wrote each child's name on a bag of flour, then, while we conducted a parents' meeting, Leah and Jeff meticulously measured and weighed 75 bags of beans with 7 kilos in each.

Aside from three parents who were sick and two kids who came without their parents, there were representatives from all of the families, and they were so happy to receive the food. Some of the families have multiple children in the program, so they took their first share of unga and beans, and will get to return when they've used it in order to take their second, or in one case third, share. We have several families on our waiting list, so each of the families donated a bit of their unga to give to the waiting list families and we also gave them some of the extra beans.

After everyone received, we still have about 20 kilos of beans and about 20 kilos of unga left for emergencies in the coming months. We really thank God for this blessing. I could tell you so many stories, 75 in fact, of the difference this will make in these families, but the only words we, the staff, volunteers, kids and parents, have right now are "Asante, Mungu awabariki sana!" Thank you, God bless you all very much.

Craziness, chaos, and confusion (and crying)...otherwise known as Tuesday

2010-05-06T12:07:00.000+03:00

I made a deal with myself that I would update my blog every week, regardless of whether I could think of something to post or not, but I have not posted in three weeks, now, and that last post was a little...boring.

My life, however, is far from boring. Well, that's not entirely true. I was mentioning to Leah (my roommate) the other day that people often say to us "You live in Africa! That's so cool!", but our perspective is more "We live in Africa. Yup." We don't wake up every morning thinking "I am so blessed to have this opportunity", we think "crap, it's my turn to lead devotions". There is a lot of tedium in our lives, but we thank God for the tedium because when chaos strikes here, it's not usually a good thing. It isn't about getting reports in by deadlines, it is more about people dying. Chaos is not pleasant, and we have had a fair share of late.

Last week we took one of our girls, Victoria, to the HIV clinic because for about six months she has been wasting away before our very eyes. Victoria is an orphan living with her middle-class aunt, but the aunt puts no effort into caring for the girl. Victoria had tuberculosis back in March, and every time she has been offered food, she refuses it. Two weeks ago she contracted oral thrush, which is a fungus in the mouth. It covered her teeth, tongue, and down into her throat. We got her the medicine to treat that, and took her for a blood test to check her immunity levels. For a healthy person living with HIV, the count of white blood cells should be upwards of 400, below that you start on hard-core medicines to boost immunity. Victoria's blood tests came back on Tuesday at 10. In two months, her counts had plummeted over two hundred points. The doctor said to admit her right away to their HIV children's ward, but to expect that she might die any day. We spent Tuesday running all over town getting the things she would need in the hospital and finding a caregiver (the HIV+ mother of another girl in our program) to stay at the hospital with Victoria.

When we got to admitting at the Catholic hospital, they had to take Victoria's blood count again, which involves drawing blood, obviously. She cries at the sight of a needle, since she has to have blood drawn every few months to monitor her HIV, so I sat with her on my lap and covered her eyes which she screamed the entire time the needle was in her arm. I had to bite back my own tears. After the blood was drawn, she curled up in my lap and fell asleep. We carried her to her bed, prayed with the sisters who will be caring for her, and left. (Update: our last update is that she's asking for food and smiling!)

We returned to the church, and Mama Askofu immediately asked me to drive her to the house of one of the palliative care clients. Palliative care is for people who are in the last stages of a terminal illness, usually cancer, and is meant to help monitor pain and make the last months as easy as possible. Unfortunately GHMD has the only palliative care program in Dodoma, and it has an extremely small budget, mostly designed to pay a doctor who makes sure that the clients get the appropriate pain management drugs, although there's not much available more intense than Tylenol. We went to the home of a woman named Salome. She lives with her three daughters, aged 18, 11, and 5. She was lying on a bag, the kind that 25 kilos of flour come in, because cervical cancer has made her too weak to sit up for long periods of time. They share that same bag to sleep on each night, with a dirty khanga (cloth) for a bedsheet, on the mud floor of their single room. They'd eaten some porridge earlier in the day, and were not expecting to eat again.

I've seen a lot of desperate situations, but rarely have I seen so little hope in a woman's eyes. None of her girls have every gone to school, meaning that the oldest daughter's $17 per month salary for house cleaning is all she can ever expect to make to care for their family. When Salome dies, probably soon, that daughter will be the primary caregiver for the younger girls. I rarely cry during home visits, even the difficult ones like this one, but I couldn't help myself. I was so close to sobbing as the despair poured out of Salome's mouth, that I had to excuse myself to go lie down in the backseat of the truck. There was so little hope to offer her, and after spending the day mentally preparing for Victoria to die, I had no more strength in reserve.

I had about four more errands to run Tuesday evening after leaving that house, and I had barely enough energy to get through them all. The next day, Wednesday, we were able to take Salome to the hospital for a checkup, we got a mattress donated by Mennonite Central Committee, and used some food money sent by the Main family to buy them a couple of weeks worth of groceries. Hardly a long-term solution, but in such a desperate situation, even short-term solutions help.

I have decided I love monotony. I wish that every week was like last week, when the worst things I faced were a budget meeting and convincing a boy to go back to school. Chaos sucks.

Ubatizo, watoto wapya, na mapulizo!

2010-04-14T12:18:00.000+03:00

On Easter we got the treat of seeing another brother baptized. Our friend Mohammed is part of the "village bank" program here, a group of clients from the Home Based Care program who work together in a small business. Their business is dying batik fabrics, and they're getting really good. (I love my red and brown with hints of green batik skirt.) Mohammed was Muslim when he joined the group, but over the course of the past few months, he's come to a faith in Jesus. There are many Muslims here who are sympathetic to Christianity, and some are even secret believers, but fear to publicly confess their love of Jesus because of the probable repercussions from their family and friends. Mohammed decided to become an open disciple, and was baptized on Easter. He's one of my favorite people to see around the church because he is so friendly and kind. One day I met him at the house of one of the other clients. He had walked into town to get her prescription filled for her because she was too sick to go herself. When a Muslim is baptized here, they choose a "Christian" name to replace their Muslim name, so our friend Mohammed is now called Japhet.

We have been gaining more and more sponsors for our Tanzania program, and we got permission to add an additional five kids to the program. The first official day of program was last week for the new kids (watoto wapya), and we are so excited to have them around! Already they are jumping into the games and choir, and they wrote their first ever letter to a sponsor. Many of them are still needing sponsors, including two sets of identical twins. Aleni and Alecksi Mathias are the four year old sons of an HIV+ father, and are just starting nursery school. They do everything, including go to the bathroom, together and are adorable! Kulwa and Dotto Mombo are about age 10, and are true orphans, meaning that they've lost both parents. They've never attended school, and are not very good yet at socializing with the other kids. We are really excited to have all these new kids in our program!

Last Friday we had a special Easter program for the kids here, and wow, what a crazy day. We didn't meet the Friday before, because it was Good Friday, a holiday, so we had a double food budget to spend for special food and soda for the kids. We did a teaching on Easter, then gave prizes for the children who could answer questions. After the teaching, the kids wrote Easter greetings to their sponsors. Their reward for finishing the letter was a soda, then they got to eat special pilau rice and meat. Then we used the many balloons (mapulizo) sent by Leah's Aunt Linda (hi, Aunt Linda!) to play games with the children who are not in the choir. First we did a back-to-back relay, then a waddling relay, then you had to run down and pop the balloon by sitting on it. The small children aren't quite heavy enough, and they kept bouncing back up off the balloon, so I would reach under them and pop the balloon with my fingernails, which made for some odd looking photos! They had a fantastic time, as did Leah and Mama and I!

"Photocopy Mzungu" (epically long blog post)

2010-04-08T12:39:00.001+03:00

I have allowed a shocking amount of time to pass between blog posts, for which I apologize profusely to my faithful readers, especially Grandma Adams, whom I email infrequently, and thus depends on my blog to make sure that I continue to live and breathe. I have many excuses for my lack of posting, some of them are quite valid, but my dad always said that “Excuses are like armpits - everybody’s got two of them, and they both stink.”

When last I posted, I had just returned from traveling to Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar. Here’s what has happened in the meantime:

New office - Right after I returned from that trip, office renovations began around the church. My office, which was initially a “guest room” back when the church building was a disco/brothel, had a non-working bathroom in it, severely impinging on working space. Due to an unexpectedly favorable exchange rate, GHMD was given a year-end bonus of approximately $6,000 to spend within one month on whatever would benefit the program. As a result of this bonus, my office got renovated to remove the bathroom, now making it large enough for Leah and me to share. Leah has a desk for the first time since she’s been here, and we have a ceiling fan for the hot days we are now experiencing. Several offices are still in the process of renovation, so there is a fine dust of concrete and dirt and probably asbestos covering everything.

Mail - I had a big envelope from my Grandma Adams with books and oatmeal in it waiting for me upon my return, then the next week I got a big envelope from Grandma Jones with my requested Italian seasoning, powdered cheese, and lots of varieties of tea. At the same time I got a letter from my cousin, Kyle, and on Monday I got letters from my brother, who is in military EMT training in Texas, and my friend Rachelle. I have been taking advantage of the many long church services of late to reply to Kyle’s letter, and replies to Roy and Rachelle are coming forthwith. (My grandma says I write “a real good letter”, so if you want some international mail, write me a letter – KMT Iringa Road, Leisha Adams, PO Box 3230, Dodoma, Tanzania.)

Travel – The last weekend of March I was invited by the leadership of the church women to come with them to conduct a seminar in the town of Mbeya, in the southwest part of the country. The Mennonite church in Mbeya is quite small, and the women of the church here in Dodoma are very well organized, so they wanted to go do a one day seminar for the women in Mbeya. They invited me to come along and speak about caring for the vulnerable. The eight of us (and a baby) went by car, in the Nissan Patrol which fits seven comfortably, on the 14 hour trip. Apparently if you drive fast straight through it’s an 8-ish hour trip, but we had a puncture and had to change the tire, then we stopped to take tea while the puncture was being repaired, then we stopped to greet and encourage the Mennonite pastor in Iringa and have lunch with them, then there was road construction leaving Iringa, so it took us 14 hours to finally arrive. The next day we did the seminar, at which we did teaching on small business, the role of women in the church, prayer, and organizing a women’s ministry. My teaching was on generosity toward the poor, how generosity is one of the marks of a Christ-follower, and how caring for the poor is only religious activity unless we are connected to the love of Jesus for the people we are serving. The leaders of the church asked us to preach, and the ladies in our group nominated me to preach both services. I spoke in the morning on marriage (I know I’m not married, but it went well), and in the afternoon about being a man or woman with excellence of character. We were all staying in the home of one of the deacons of the church, seven of us (and a baby) sharing four single mattresses on the floor. I was sharing my mattress with Mama Askofu, and I can say with certainty that she hogs the bed, but she shared her blanket with me, so I can’t complain. The night before we left I got the best compliment I’ve ever received. The ladies of the Mbeya church told one of my co-travelers that I am not really a mzungu (white person), I’m just a “photocopy mzungu”. Because I was sleeping down on the floor, bathing from a bucket and using a squat toilet, eating the same food as them, and wearing modest, traditional dresses, they had decided that my skin looks like a white person’s, but I’m not like any white person they’d ever met. That made me feel absolutely fantastic. We returned to Dodoma the next day, another 14 hour trip because it had been raining, so we had many delays. At one point two semis had gotten stuck halfway up a hill, and another two semis had tried to pass them and started to fall off the road. Our master driver, Shomary, took us off-road around the right side of the trucks, so that was only a short delay, but we spent an hour at a bridge that had a pretty decent flood pouring over the top of it. After a while the water subsided enough for us to power across. I thought it was kind of fun, but the ladies in the back had their eyes closed and were desperately pleading the blood of Jesus over us. We arrived back safely, with baskets full of pears, avocados, and guavas from the much cheaper produce markets in Mbeya (5 huge avocados, and about 10 huge Asian pears for $3.50, and the guava for free from a friend).

Party – Using some of that $6,000 bonus, we threw a party for the staff and volunteers of GHMD last week. The party was on Thursday, and we got to distribute gifts to each of the staff members and volunteers that we work with. Tiffannee, the local MCC worker from Cleveland, Leah, and I wrote small words of encouragement and appreciation about each of the workers, which really touched them. Then we got to eat really good fried bananas, fried potatoes, fried chicken, fried meat, and cabbage cooked in oil. My stomach is still happy from that horrible meal.

Proposal – When we were in Dar es Salaam we stayed with a friend of the Muhagachis who is extremely wealthy, and often has many guests who are passing through the city on their way somewhere. When we were there one of those guests was a young man named Emanuel, who tried very hard to talk to Leah and me the one night when we got to watch American television shows. Needless to say, our attention was not on him, and I responded to his frequent interruptions with not-too-thinly-veiled impatience. The next night the power was out, so Leah and I retired to our room early to bathe and sleep, but heard a greeting at the window from Emanuel, who was insisting on getting our phone numbers. We usually have a policy against sharing our phone numbers with people we don’t know, but were both mostly naked, and he wouldn’t leave the thinly-curtained window until we gave him our numbers, so we judged that the quickest and easiest route out of the awkward situation was to be sharing our contact information. Emanuel immediately texted us, and continued sending messages including several terms of endearment, in the following weeks. We never replied. Last Friday night, Leah received a message from Emanuel saying “Please I want to marry you”. She freaked out, especially since he then immediately tried to call. She rejected the call as I laughed heartily, but then he sent a follow-up text saying “Sorry that message was meant for Leisha”. The shoe was on the other foot, as Leah laughed, and I stared blankly at the message he sent to my phone saying “Please I love you and want to marry you”. I tried in vain to explain that he couldn’t possibly love me because he doesn’t know me, and when that didn’t work, I tried the no-fail “I’m in a relationship” bit, but that didn’t work either. He kept insisting that he loves me and wants to marry me. Finally I said I didn’t want to hear any more about this nonsense, and stopped texting with him. I had tried to be nice, but he simply wouldn’t take no for an answer! Who knew I am such a hot commodity?

Pasaka – Pasaka is the Swahili word for Passover, which is what they call Easter. We got an unprecedented six day holiday, starting on Good Friday and finishing yesterday on what happened to be the holiday for the anniversary of the death of the first president of Zanzibar. Friday we had a long church service, Saturday we did a massive spring cleaning that made us both sore and tired, then went to an evangelism service in one of the poor neighborhoods where some of our clients live. On Sunday we had another long church service and went to another evangelism service. Monday we dealt with the chicken for most of the day (see Leah’s blog for details), and on Tuesday we walked to the post office and got our favorite chips from our friend Rasta Chitema. Yesterday we rested for most of the day, then went to church in the afternoon, and today, at long last, we are back to work!

Alas and alack, this is Africa after all

2010-03-17T11:46:00.000+03:00

I'm back in Dodoma. "Wait", you might be thinking, "her last blog post said she should be in Nairobi right now!" Well, in Africa, very little works out quite the way you think it will.

The Morogoro leg went exactly as predicted. We did meetings with the key staff of the Mennonite church there about starting up a program. They're at the very beginning baby stages of starting, so we encouraged them in their work and gave them advice for raising money locally and building sustainably. It was actually really refreshing to see them so passionate about meeting the needs of the people in their community. It reminded me that as we develop programs, we lose that attitude of being willing to do literally anything to get help for these needy people. As time goes by, volunteers need to be paid and staff need larger offices, and we forget the desperation of not having anything to give to the poor except our sweat and prayers. Our host family was very very kind, but Katie ended up sleeping in the bed of the baby, and found out halfway through the night that the baby pees the bed. No rubber sheets here!

When we got to Dar es Salaam, we learned that a) the fundraising we had been told was scheduled was indeed not scheduled, b) the church we thought we were speaking at was not aware of the fact, and c) our work visas were indeed still missing that elusive last signature, so no fundraising, no Nairobi. We took Katie to the airport, watched some cable television (which was like crack to me...we got to see CURRENT episodes of Project Runway, House, Fringe, and Lie to Me...all favorite shows of mine back in the States), watched a bunch of Tanzanian movies, met a Tanzanian movie star, enjoyed air conditioning, WAIT, WHAT?! That's right we met a Tanzanian movie star. We had been watching these seriously mediocre Tanzanian films with improbable plots, when one night the star of two of the very movies we had been watching walked into the house where we were staying! At risk of embarrassing her, Mama Askofu was a little star struck and tended to babble. We were invited to come to watch him film one day next week, but we will no longer be in Dar. Too bad.

In the middle of all that Dar stuff, we got to go to Zanzibar to see my friends Nashon and Kessy, whom I had met at that conference I spoke at in January. We didn't have much time there, but we saw a lot of cool stuff, toured the old slave market, and bought spices for CHEAP. Turmeric powder, about 5 oz, was 1000/=, or about 80 cents. Be jealous! (If you're not jealous, next time you're at the grocery store cruise the spice aisle and check out what you'd have to pay for the stuff.) Leah bought them out as gifts for home. I bought star anise, for no other reason than that it smells good like licorice, and some Zanzibar coffee powder, which also smells good, but we can't figure out how to drink because it doesn't appear to be instant coffee like everything else we drink here. I bought a huge bunch of lichi, which I haven't had since I was in Cambodia, but tastes so good. We bought a bracelet for our friend Clyde from some Maasai men who were friends of my friends, and we chatted with them for long enough that they let us take a picture with them. Then one of them very, very seriously began negotiating with Kessy for Leah's hand in marriage. He kept insisting that the number of cows needed was no problem, but he wanted her. She started to laughingly suggest an outrageous-to-her number, 500, but I warned her that we would shortly see a herd of 500 cows cresting the horizon in Dodoma, and Leah would have be expected to marry this short, squat, ugly, earnest Maasai man. Still, the pictures were great. Watch for my soon-to-be-changing Facebook profile photo. On the two hour ferry ride home, we got to watch Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade...with no sound. I've seen that movie roughly 25 times, so I narrated the whole movie to Leah, which I'm sure she was delighted with. Who wouldn't be?

Now we are home, and, although we regret that we have to put Nairobi off for another month, we are happy to be home, sleeping in our own beds. Dodoma feels very cool compared to the 100 degree plus temperatures in Dar and Zanzibar, and we were missing our co-workers and friends and kids after only one week. Apparently we really are settling in here!

Traveling in East Africa on the cheap

2010-03-05T13:33:00.000+03:00

Tomorrow we leave for a few weeks of what is essentially African couch-hopping. Here's the plan, but we'll see how successful we are at sticking to it.

First Stop: Morogoro (March 6-8)
A few weeks ago we met a Mennonite pastor and his wife who are trying to start a similar program to the one that Grace and Healing Ministry does here in Dodoma. They came to Dodoma to see our programs, and asked Mama Askofu and I to come see their program and advise them on how to proceed with capacity building, church-NGO partnerships, local fundraising, grant writing, and relationships with board and volunteers. Tomorrow morning Leah, Mama Askofu, Katie and I will travel by bus to stay with them for two nights to encourage and advise them.

Second Stop: Dar es Salaam (March 8-10)
Monday afternoon we will leave Morogoro for Dar es Salaam. We have been invited for an American dinner of tacos at the home of a missionary whose niece is my mother's student. We are staying with the uncle of my now-ex-roommate in his beautiful house, then, the next day Katie is leaving us! Already her month is up, and we're taking her to the airport on Tuesday to go to Ethiopia for two weeks before she heads home to the States.

Third Stop: Zanzibar (March 10-13)
Wednesday morning we will take the ferry to Zanzibar to stay with some friends that I met when I spoke at the Life Ministry conference in January. I have always felt weird about going to Zanzibar, because it is a very tourist-y thing, and I tend to pride myself on NOT acting like a tourist. Plus ZZB is really expensive, but now that I have friends who have assured me that they'll show us the real Zanzibar, I'm excited to go. We're taking Mama Askofu and paying her way so that she can have a real vacation for the first time in ages.

Fourth Stop: Dar es Salaam (again) (March 13-16)
Saturday morning we'll return to Dar es Salaam to begin a series of fundraising meetings. Lahash's agreement with GHMD is that half of the program would come from the States and half should come from local donors. In the past this meant a national church-based NGO, but they have been uncommunicative and unhelpful, so we're taking it to the streets. Mama Askofu is really excited to talk to some rich Tanzanians about our wonderful kids. Leah and I are there for emotional and technological support. Again, we'll be staying with my "uncle" David.

Fifth Stop: Nairobi! (March 16-25)
We got word today that our work visas are waiting for us in Dar es Salaam, so we'll finally be able to do the trip to Nairobi that I've been meaning to take since January. It's a 14 hour bus ride from Dar to Nairobi, but we'll have Edwin and Cristine Angote waiting for us at the other side. It will be a mostly work-related trip for me, visiting Tenderfeet and maybe another organization that we're thinking of working with, and collaborating on some reports with Edwin. Leah and I are definitely planning to spend some time in coffee shops, book stores, and maybe even the movie theater.

Sixth Stop: Dar es Salaam (March 25/26)
We'll return the 14 hours from Nairobi to Dar, and probably stay in a hotel close to the bus stand. A friend of Baba's owns the hotel, and he might even throw in a free ride to or from the bus stand.

Seventh Stop: HOME! (March 26)

We're hoping to do three weeks worth of traveling in two different countries for about $200 each, and that includes treating ourselves to some nice food along the way! Fingers crossed!

Snot-covered tidbits - Post from last week

2010-03-01T10:15:00.000+03:00

I have the flu. I’ve had it for about 10 days now. It’s definitely cold and flu season here in Dodoma, and many people on the staff are or have been sick. I took two days off of work last week, and one day off this week, trying to rest up and beat the bug, but it’s hanging on. C’est la vie.

I got my first haircut since I’ve been in Africa. Last night Leah used a pair of safety scissors and cut about two inches off my hair. I can’t really see the back of it, but it seems like she did a pretty good job. I’m just happy to have some of the weight off.

I lost my cell phone two weeks ago. A friend gave me a phone, and I’ve been trying to get my same phone number back. The cell phone system is just different here, and I have to petition the cell company to get my same number. Otherwise I’ll just have to buy a new line, which is cheap, but annoying to have to update my number to everyone. I lost about half of the phone numbers which I’d not written down, so I’ve learned a lesson there. Hopefully I’ll be back up and running in a few more days.

One of our kids, Victoria, is really sick right now. She is HIV+ and lost both of her parents, so she lives with an aunt. Her aunt has a really good job, but totally neglects Victoria. We’d been noticing that Victoria seemed to be getting sicker and sicker, but the aunt said she’d taken her to the hospital. Yesterday we took her to the special Catholic-run HIV clinic, and they ordered an x-ray of her lungs. It looks like tuberculosis, which is very serious for HIV+ clients. Please pray for Victoria.

The rumors are true. I’ve lost a ton (not literally) of weight in the past six months. If you want to know the exact number, you’ll have to read my next support letter.

I’m losing my other roommate. Beatrice has been volunteering in Dodoma for almost a year, but she’s returning to her home town on Saturday. Overall she has been a wonderful roommate, and I’ll miss our complicated Swanglish conversations over dinner (her English is minimal, and my Swahili is still pretty poor, but we manage to understand each other for the most part). There is some discussion if Leah will come and live with me for her remaining six months. She’s been staying with me while another traveler is here, and we’ve had a good time. Otherwise I’ll probably just live on my own for a while.

Anyway, nothing too glamorous to report, just a lot of dirty handkerchiefs to wash.

Christmas Gift distribution!!

2010-02-16T13:21:00.000+03:00

I got to do the best part of my job as sponsorship director last Friday. I have been dreaming for the past year about a Christmas gift program for our sponsored kids in which we could give each sponsor an individualized Christmas list of things that the children and their families actually need, then the sponsor could choose an item, donate online or through the mail, then we purchase the gift here, give to the child/family, and send photos and thank yous to the sponsor. Because of my trans-continental move during the key planning month for this program, it was really rough this year, but we still had our sponsors come through in a big way, and the evidence showed on Friday.

Not all of the sponsors could/did give, but some other friends gave money for school kits for the kids, which helped make sure that every child received a gift. Also, God blessed us so much in giving us a great exchange rate on the money, and we were able to bargain so many amazing deals that we remained with some money to buy extra food for hungry families.

I also got to experience the best part of being a sponsor. I sponsor three kids here, Potina, Anjela, and Kibiro. I bought dresses for each of the girls (and they look stunning), but I saved up to buy Kibiro the thing that he had been praying for for months: a bicycle. Kibiro is totally my little brother here, we are quite close, and he is always running errands for me to pay my water bill or mail something, and he always goes on foot. Well, now he has a bicycle to carry him around! We had been teasing him for months now that he should pray for financial blessing for his sponsor (me) to buy him a bicycle, and he always replied very seriously that he was indeed praying for his sponsor (me) every day. His gift was the very last one presented, and he was so happy!

On a side note, now is also the most difficult time to be working here. The growing season has started, but many, many families are going without food. Every week a new family comes to our attention because they are sleeping hungry. Some very small children are suffering from hunger right now. Leah and I have already given more money from our own personal budgets than is probably wise to buy food for some families, and we've scrimped and saved from the program budget also, but every couple of days we add another family to the list of those with no food.

I'll write more about what I've been learning from this season in my next snail-mail support letter, which will come out in early March. If you are not on the mailing list for that letter and would like to be, please email me your address. ladams[at]lahash[dot]net

If you would like to help with the hunger problem here, please sponsor a child (there are about ten remaining) or just donate to Grace and Healing Ministry at www.lahash.net/donate.html. Thanks.

A Weekend Full of Food

2010-02-09T11:22:00.000+03:00

A cheeseburger! An Audi with leather seats! Air conditioning! Is this heaven? No, it is Dar es Salaam.

Leah and I went to Dar es Salaam on Friday to pick up new Lahash volunteer, Katie Gresham. Baba Askofu went with us to do some work on our work visas. Here is our food diary for the time in Dar.

Friday dinner: We ate at a little African restaurant, watched Man City play Portsmouth, and I ate the Tanzanian classic - grilled chicken and chips (french fries) and Coke, Leah ate BBQ chicken and chips and Sparletta (citrus flavored soda similar to Squirt), and Baba ate grilled beef and ugali and juice. I made a strong African effort on my chicken (sucking on the bones, even), then ate about a quarter of Leah's chicken because Baba didn't think she'd eaten enough.

Saturday breakfast: Hotel brought us standard, but posh, breakfast of white bread with margarine, an omelette/fried egg each, and a slice of really good pineapple, along with Nido (milk powder) for our tea, a huge luxury. It shows how far I've come in my eating habits that I didn't even think twice about eating the egg, just made an egg sandwich and enjoyed.

Saturday snack: While waiting at the airport, we bought sodas and treated ourselves hugely to crackers. We should have just bought one box of the insanely expensive treats, but we couldn't decide on the right flavor, so we spent an extremely exorbitant 10,000 shillings (about $8) for two boxes. In retrospect, we let ourselves get a little carried away, but they were so good!

Saturday lunch: We went back to the same restaurant of the day before while Katie rested, and this time Baba and I ate the BBQ chicken and chips with Cokes, Leah ate chicken stew and chapatis (she's becoming so African!) with her Sparletta, and our friend Kangoye ate nyama choma with ugali and Fanta. Any American would have considered my chicken well eaten, but I received only grudging acceptance from Baba. There was a lot of skin that could have been eaten, in his opinion, and I hadn't sucked the bones totally clean.

Saturday dinner: We had an extremely un-African experience for Katie's first meal. We went to a mall so that Leah and I could make some purchases at the grocery store, then we went to a restaurant that serves American food (and beverages, if you catch my drift). I had a really good cheeseburger and fries, Leah and Baba ate chicken burgers and fries, and I made the huge error of recommending the fish for Katie. I had forgotten that the traditional African style of serving fish is with the head still on, which was rather distressing for her, but she made a valiant effort.

Sunday breakfast: Same as Saturday, except no pineapple and they only gave us one egg to split between us. We were annoyed at first, but eventually gave thanks, because...

Sunday snack: After church the pastor invited us and the other guest, Pastor Kateti, father of my roommate, to his office and served us sodas and glucose biscuits (cookies that taste like animal crackers). Immediately after that we were picked up by Pastor Kateti's brother (in his beautiful, air-conditioned, leather interior, dual personal DVD players Audi) and taken to his huge, amazing house where...

Sunday lunch, take one: His wife immediately gave us sodas again. We felt a little bit swimming from soda, but it would be rude to pass, so we sucked them down. Then, she served us lunch, a really tasty African meal of rice, ugali, peas, greens, chicken stew, potatoes, avocados, oranges, and bananas. I ate small portions, because something in the back of my mind told me to save room. That was wise because...

Sunday lunch, take two: After about a half hour, we left the house, ostensibly to go back to the hotel, but first we stopped at this beautiful outdoor restaurant. We thought for drinks. Leah and I were pressed to have the beverage that we miss so much from the States (then another round was ordered while we were just halfway through), and they insisted that we order "bites", which is basically finger food. After protesting that we were full to no avail, Leah, Katie, and I agreed to share fish bites. That ended up being a huge plate of really good chips and the biggest fish I have ever been served. Leah and Katie wussed out, leaving it to me to make a good, respectable showing. We did finish the chips, but the fish...well, we felt lucky to have finished one side, let along flipping it over to eat the other side! We were able to pass it off to Kangoye to finish for us, but as soon as that was done, a plate of fish kebabs was brought to us. Those tasted insanely good, but if we had had top buttons on our skirts, they would have been unbuttoned at that point.

Sunday dinner: Didn't exist. There was no way we could have eaten anything else. It took a good 14 hours of digestion to be ready for Monday breakfast.

Monday breakfast: Back to the proper proportions of Saturday's breakfast, which we finished completely.

Monday lunch: I hate eating on the bus, because I get carsick, and it's a lot easier to not throw up if there's nothing in my stomach, but we did finish off the crackers from Saturday at the halfway point.

Now we're essentially detoxing from splurging on so much food, and we're really happy to be back to our standard rice and beans. Ah, the simplicity of Dodoma. Food heaven is nice to visit, but I think I'm ruined for living there.

Alert: This post is both very long and very sad. Please read.

2010-01-27T10:04:00.000+03:00

Part One: Darkness
On Monday, instead of taking my usual Sabbath, I went home visiting with Leah and Mama Askofu and Mariam. (Don't worry, co-workers, I took my Sabbath yesterday instead.) We had a few families that we were planning to visit, but we have so many kids living close together out in that neighborhood that we ended up visiting several additional families, as well as meeting other parents along the way. All of the children were in school, as they should be, but we had valuable time with their families.

One of the unexpected home visits was to the family of a boy in our program called Saddam. Saddam's older brother has made a previous appearance on my blog, as he is the blind young man who sings so beautifully in the choir. His name is Chimanga. As we left the home of Timo Chidwele, we met with Saddam's mother. She is a very petite woman who is partially paralyzed on her right side. Her arm is almost completely useless to her. I see her often at the church, and greet her and Chimanga, but I'd never been to their home.

As we approached the house, the grandmother greeted us from her home next door. We entered the 10x15 foot room that the mother and her sons live in, and greeted Chimanga. He seems to spend most days sitting in the tiny, dark house, doing nothing. He had dressed very carefully in the much-worn suit he had received from the women in the church, and identified both Mama Askofu and Mariam from the sound of their voices, much to their delight. We sat down on the double bed that all three of them share, and immediately the mother burst into tears. Her mother appeared at the door, and I could tell just from the tone of her voice and the effect her words had on Mama Chimanga that she was being unkind. Sure enough, Mama Askofu politely but firmly dismissed the grandmother and murmured disgust at a woman who would mock her own paralyzed daughter and blind grandson.

Mama Chimanga shared, through tears, the difficulties of their life. While she talked, Chimanga carefully put on a tie, his favorite hat, and one sock, but failed to find its mate. I fought tears of my own imagining the difficulties of a young man with such obstacles, sitting every day in the dark, mocked by his own grandmother, unable to change anything for himself. Yet, this young man has hope in him, hope that is beyond human understanding. He smiles often, and gets great delight from small blessings. He was shining in that dark, stuffy room.

That hope and life has died, almost completely, in his mother. I didn't understand much, but Mama Askofu confirmed what I felt. This woman was on the edge of despairing, on the edge of being consumed with bitterness. I shared a bit that God put on my heart about how Naomi had found herself in a similar position, and had changed her name to Mara, meaning bitterness, but that God did not abandon her. Leah prayed, and all of us, save Chimanga, were wiping tears away as we exited the tiny room to the still-mocking glares of the grandmother.

The family had not eaten that day, and had nothing to prepare for later in the day, so Mama Askofu asked Mama Chimanga to meet us at the church so that we could find some food for her. In the meantime I gave her a bit of money, less than a dollar, to get a few things to eat. As we walked on to the next place, we planned for how we could find work around the church for Chimanga to do, not for pay, since there's no money for that, but at least to give him some hope and encouragement. We began planning to use his talents in working with the children's choirs and writing music, but all of our plans seemed very small in comparison with the desperation of their lives. My parents sent me some additional money this month, so Leah and I are hoping to buy some food for their family and a few other things that they need, and are planning some meetings to see if there are ways we can help them generate an income.

Part Two: Death
Last night I was on my way to Mama and Baba Askofu's home with them and their daughter Grace when Mama received an urgent phone call from our friend Shomary. Shomary is the driver for the church, and he's been a friend for several years. Mama cried out for Baba to stop the truck, and we whipped around and sped to the hospital. Shomary's 3-year-old daughter, Halima, had been hospitalized for malaria, she said, and Shomary was very upset. We arrived at the ward where Halima had been admitted and jumped out of the truck. As soon as Baba Askofu rounded the truck, a woman nearby screamed his name and fell over. It was Shomary's pregnant wife, being supported by her sister-in-law. Baba stood to one side talking with Shomary's brother, while Mama talked to the wife. Grace and I stood by Mama, holding hands and turning alternately from watching the prostrate, weeping woman to Shomary, alone nearby with his head in his hands, also sobbing. I didn't need a translator to understand that the precious little girl had died.

Grace and I climbed into the back of the truck so that there was room to drive Shomary and his wife and sister-in-law to their home. When we arrived, the family members rushed to the truck, having had no news of Halima. The grandmother screamed out, where is the girl?, at which Shomary's wife nearly collapsed again. Soon the all-too-common sound of grieving filled the air as relatives and neighbors heard that Halima was dead.

Baba took us home, then returned to the hospital to help them receive the girl's body for burial the next day. Shomary and his family are Muslims, but they welcomed the pastors who quickly made their way to Shomary's home to sit with the family and help with preparations. The funeral is this afternoon, and the staff of the church will all attend, although only men are allowed to attend the actual burial.

Conclusion:
I wish these situations weren't so common. I wish that there was an easy way to help families like Saddam's. I wish that malaria didn't kill so many children under the age of 5. I wish this world was different.

However,

I have to take a lesson from Chimanga. There is hope in the face of darkness and death. There is hope that doesn't come from the circumstances, indeed, it comes in spite of the circumstances. I can wish all I want, and dream of the day when there is no more poverty, no more disease, and no more despair. In the meantime, I cling to hope that there is purpose in all of this tragedy, and that there is opportunity for the peace and love of God to penetrate even darkness and death.

Something small and light...things that have made me happy lately

2010-01-22T09:37:00.000+03:00

- My roommate cooked Tabasco into the beans yesterday. Oh, heaven. I could have eaten the whole pot.

- Received a book and a picture of my brother in his uniform from my mom. Read the book in four hours that same night. Note: packages take ages, but I've now received two books sent in just regular envelopes that arrived within two weeks of sending.

- Received a notice that a package from one Rachelle Webster had arrived. One of the pastors is picking it up for me as soon as he gets tired of me pestering him to go get it.

- A new baby in the neighborhood! Our friend Rasta and his wife (she of beauty and grace, even while nine months pregnant), had their baby a few weeks ago. Gloria got a septic infection right away from the dirty knife the hospital used to cut the umbilical cord, but she was treated for it right away, and is now happy and healthy.

- Nursery school has restarted, which means that there are little boys and girls running around every morning. Last year my thing was shaking each kid's whole arm when I greeted them. This year is high fives. Some of my favorite kids are in the class, including Charles (he who eats any and everything), Rose (big sister to baby Gloria and perpetual grinner), and Pierson (son of my co-worker, Mama Seche). It's taken Pierson a few days to get used to nursery school, but he's stopped screaming and saying "I don't like Mennonite!" every time he gets dropped off, so I think he's adjusting. Every time Rose sees this picture, she screams "Rosie na Mzungu!" regardless of how many times her mother tells her to call me Auntie Leisha.

- Phone call from my grandma at 1:30pm local time, which equals 2:30am PST. At first I thought something was wrong, but then she just happened to be awake, and knew I'd be awake, so she called me. We could only talk for a minute or two because I was in a meeting, but it was funny to hear from someone back home in the middle of the day.

"you talk like you're 40 years old" or something like that

2010-01-13T16:09:00.002+03:00

I've been doing a lot of speaking lately. If you are part of my Facebook group "I Support Leisha Adams" and read the prayer update last week, you read that I began a 4 week, 12 sermon series on the subject of "shalom". I was rather nervous at the thought of preaching the Sunday morning services. I've done loads of teaching, in East Africa and the States, mostly to children and my peers, and the thought of full on preaching to an African Mennonite congregation was intimidating.

I've had plenty of opportunity to prepare, and this subject was something I'd already been thinking and praying about, so I got lots of prep time in, but it was almost too much. I have pages and pages of scribbled notes, and finally pulled out a couple of poster-sized sheets of paper and made Leah read my random thoughts out loud to me while I put them in an outline. On Sunday I preached an introduction to shalom, the Biblical concept of, not peace, as many believe, but God returning all things to His original intention. Naturally this complicated concept would be translated as "peace" in many places, because that is the main symptom of God's intended order. Shalom is something that we are waiting for in the "new heaven and new earth" of Revelation 21 when "nations will not learn war anymore", but it's also something we are to be working for in our own lives and the lives of those around us in the here and now. For this reason shalom is closely linked to justice throughout Scripture. This is a tiny bit of what I preached on Sunday, and at the evening service I taught from Matthew 5, re-examining Jesus' "Blessed are the..." statements in light of the shalom-oriented "Kingdom of Heaven" that Jesus was declaring.

I was meant to teach at the Wednesday evening service also, but I had an unexpected opportunity to take some time away from Dodoma, and I took it. Last Saturday I was introduced to the national director of Campus Crusade for Christ in Tanzania. I'm very familiar with CC4C from the church I grew up in, and when the director invited me to participate in their 3-day conference at a campground near Dar es Salaam, I took the opportunity. As I write this I'm at the campground, surrounded by 40-some Tanzanian members of the national staff. These are pastors, evangelists, campus ministry workers, and Jesus film exhibitors who are facing budgetary cutbacks from the States-side organization, so they have agreed to (and welcomed) the opportunity to begin fundraising for 20% of their budget. This conference is the first step of training these men (all but three are men, and the three women all work in the national office in administrative capacities) in raising their own salaries and ministry expenses from their friends, family members, and community contacts. It's the same system that I (and many other) ministry professionals in the States use to raise their funds, and the focus is on developing partnership teams, not a donor base.

I am speaking for three sessions here (two down, one to go), and after listening to the other speakers, I'm focusing on story-telling as part of engaging partners in your work. Although Africans are famous story-tellers (read _Things Fall Apart_ for evidence), many Western-trained ministry professionals have been taught a strong focus on reporting numbers only. I have a great translator, since everything is in Swahili. His name is John, and he and his wife work in Zanzibar. I've had a lot of translators, and, after Mama Askofu, John is the best I've ever had. He is not only translating all of the sessions for me, and hanging out with me after meals, he translated my sessions on story-telling with no prior preparation. It's quite a feat, let me tell you.

Now, in order to put my money where my mouth is where story-telling is concerned, here is a story from yesterday at the conference:

I asked the group to break into small groups to tell stories to one another, then a few offered to tell their story to the entire group. The effort was good, but lacking in the key piece: relating the story into your ministry and how your partner can be involved. The last volunteer of the afternoon, an older man called Eddy, began telling a story about a church in a village in Mozambique. In that village was a woman called Cristina, a very strange woman. She was unkempt and dressed very strangely. Her trademark was a red scarf around her neck. One evening she came to the church and came forward to accept Jesus as her Savior. The church leaders began praying with her, and she removed the red scarf and strange outer clothing to reveal cords around her neck, arms, chest, waist, and legs. Each cord represented the bondage of a demon. As the church leaders prayed and untied the cords, Cristina was delivered from the demons. She has been living a very happy and free life since that day, and was recently married. This story, said Eddy, makes me want to serve Jesus and see more people freed. I'm inviting you to join me in this work of seeing more people like Cristina living free in the love of Jesus.

Wow. This story just knocked it out of the park. It's an extremely common story in most of the non-Western world, so every person could relate to the story as familiar, and Eddy shared with such quiet passion that the man behind him mimed reaching in his pocket for money to give to Eddy. Even now as I think of it, I have vivid mental pictures, and I feel so grateful for people like Eddy who are sacrificing to serve those who are suffering from broken shalom, from oppression and violence and a lack of peace. I feel honored to be counted as a teacher in some small way to these incredible men (and three women).

Bless you, friends. You're a fantastic support team, and I'm really grateful for you supporting me to be here to hear these stories and meet these people.

____________________________________________
P.S. The title comes from my new friend and translator, John. He and another friend were talking about my teaching, and they looked at me and said (in Swahili) something to the effect of me talking like I was forty or fifty years old instead of twenty-seven. I am really flattered by their appreciation, and I can see how much God has developed teaching gifts in me over the past few months. Even with translation, people are consistently grateful for my lessons, although I think that has more to do with the East African hunger for education than with anything I have to say being so profound.

How I spent Christmas and New Year's - the Cliff's Notes edition

2010-01-05T11:41:00.000+03:00

One of my most popular posts so far was the one when I did a highlight of each day in the prior week. (I'm too lazy to go find that and put a hyperlink to it, so you'll have to do a little old-fashioned looking on your own if you want to read it.) Since it has now been two action-packed weeks since my last post, I'm going to adopt the same, cliff notes style updating here. Commence.

23 December - No power at the church, so went to the internet cafe to use their power to make the schedule for the Christmas program. It looked lovely on my computer and wretched printed. (I've been using a lot more British vocabulary lately.) Leah and I spent hours organizing and personalizing the children's Christmas gifts. They each got a pretty nice t-shirt courtesy of a donation from the local bank.

24 December - Lahash Christmas program was a bang up success. The kids sang "The Little Drummer Boy" and did a fantastic job, despite my and Leah's jitters over the abysmal final rehearsal. These kids are true performers. I spoke a bit on the importance of children in the Christmas story, and we distributed the gifts to the children. I felt a bit like Santa. The new American volunteer from the Mennonite Church baked a cake, which I got to each a bit of, and it was fabulous. I took an hour long nap, then we had a four hour church service from 8pm to midnight.

25 December - After midnight, Leah came to stay the night, and we used the candy canes from her mom's care package to make peppermint lattes (ten minutes before we went to bed). My family called in the morning, then we had church again, and I had a fancy new dress to wear. I did manage to keep my dress clean although it was storming pretty fiercely for most of the morning. Some friends came over for dinner (fried chicken=yummmmmmmmmmm), and we played cards all afternoon.

26 December - Rested after a hectic week and watched movies. Played cards with my roommate Jacky and our friend Warioba.

27 December - Church, then friends over for lunch. Napped and watched the entire first season of Firefly.

28 December - Severely disappointing day because power was out all over town, so when I made a special trip to town to pay my power bill, they were closed until the power came back on. (definition of irony?) I couldn't even treat myself to ice cream like I had planned because the freezers were all off.

29 December - Was supposed to have a driving lesson, but didn't. Instead I cleaned my office and continued my preparation for a month's worth of sermons I have to preach, starting next Sunday.

30 December - Continued sermon preparation and watched the entire first season of Psych. Skipped out on the standard Wednesday church service because I was (ashamed to admit) tired of being in church.

31 December - Evening church service for four+ hours. Spent about an hour of that praying for a girl who had been committed to be a witch doctor by her family, but she now loves Jesus, so she's trying to fight some pretty severe demonic oppression. I know that sounds pretty out there to some of you, but that's normal life here, and that's what I was doing at midnight.

1 January - Church again in the morning for four+ hours, and again, I had a new dress for the occasion. I continued sermon preparation and watched a movie. (For photos of me in these fancy new dresses, you'll have to read my January/February support letter. If you aren't on that list, email me: ladams@lahash.net with your mailing address.)

2 January - I was meant to go to a picnic for the children in the Compassion sponsorship program, but I didn't go. Some friends came over for lunch, and I spent the rest of the day watching one of my new favorite movies: Lars and the Real Girl. My grandma called in the evening, and I spent most of the time whinging about the food that I miss. Honestly, she probably thinks I hate my life because everytime she calls I'm complaining about something stupid. For the record, I love my life!

3 January - Church again, a special long service for the new year (came in at over five hours long). After church, Baba and Mama Askofu took Leah and I with their kids to have a picnic at the University of Dodoma campus. The picnic food was PIZZA!!!! They bought two pizzas from the local hotel, and we got two slices each of veggie pizza with cheese on it. I think the last time I had cheese of any kind was in Kampala in September.

4 January - My normal day of rest, I spent my last day of holiday cleaning our kitchen. I watched the entire first season of Arrested Development while I did that and cooked myself some fried potatoes and onions.

So you can see that my holidays were neither glamorous nor all that fun. I didn't mind too much, although I did have a couple of rough moments of missing home. Fortunately Annie was always close by her phone to text message with during the tough times.

I received one physical Christmas present, two pieces of bubble gum from my sponsored girl Anjela, but when something that precious is my gift, what else do I really need?

I didn't make any formal resolutions, because I feel like all of 2009 was my resolution to be where I am for 2010. Everything was so difficult in 2009, from the physical to the spiritual to the emotional, and I feel like I've landed exactly where I'm meant to be for 2010. With that kind of conviction, what resolutions do you make, except to be grateful? So that is my "resolution" - to be grateful for finally being settled where I've been trying to get for so long. Moving forward and making goals doesn't seem right just now, I think reveling in this time is the right thing. So in spite of my complaints about running out of books to read and craving Doritos and chicken salad, I'm really blessed and grateful to be here. I have a great life.

How to open a soda bottle...without an opener

2009-12-23T11:45:00.001+03:00

We drink a lot of soda here, and nearly all soda comes in the old-fashioned, reusable glass bottles. A problem that one frequently runs into is how to access said soda from said bottle without an opener.

Method 1: Teeth
In this extremely popular method, one hooks a bottom eye tooth (the pointy ones) under the ridge of the soda bottle and pulls away from the bottle creating a gap. One then readjusts same tooth into the wider gap and pulls up this time, releasing the seal and opening the bottle.
Pros: Your teeth are always available, and this method is nearly 100% effective.
Cons: Almost certain damage to your teeth over time, and if someone else is opening your soda for you, it's a little bit gross that your bottle top has been in his or her mouth.

Method 2: Another soda bottle
In this method, one uses another sealed soda to open the first by using the cap as a lever against the one being opened. This method is usually employed when opening an entire crate of sodas for a party.
Pros: Extremely quick and efficient
Cons: Takes some skill, and there is not always another soda available. Also, it shakes up the opener soda, and then how do you open the opener soda when you get to the end?

Method 3: Water bottle
This method is similar to the soda bottle method, except that one uses an empty water bottle. I have only ever seen one person pull this off with consistency, my co-worker Edwin.
Pros: Makes a loud popping sound and shoots the bottle cap into the air (I've been hit by these projectiles on several occasions.)
Cons: Specialized skill, there is not always an appropriate water bottle available

Method 4: Karate chop
I am fairly certain I learned this method from some former fraternity members, and I've never seen it done in Tanzania. In this method, one rests the edge of the bottle cap on the edge of a desk, window sill, coffee table, etc. (must be wood surface). One brings one's hand down on the top of the soda in a karate chop motion, and the force seperates the bottle from the cap.
Pros: Appropriate wood edges are commonly available, almost everyone has hands, makes you look tough
Cons: If you wuss out and don't hit the bottle with enough force, you'll just end up hurting yourself. I don't think this method is advisable for as often as Leah and I employ it, seeing as she recently gave herself a nasty bruise from hitting the bottle with the wrong part of her hand. I advised her to play through the pain, but she's still on the disabled list, so I'm opening both of our sodas these days.

Do you have an additional method for our consideration? Preferably one that does not involve permanent harm to teeth or bones?

Also, speaking of the disabled list, Leah and I were in a dala dala (minivan bus) on Monday, and I saw a man who looked a heck of a lot like someone famous. I pointed him out to Leah, and said "Is it just me, or does that look like Emmett Smith?" To my delight, Leah not only knew who Emmett Smith was, she also knew enough of what he looked like to agree with me. When the look-alike got off at a stop where there's a large guest house, we decided that we were right, although, of course, it's extremely unlikely that anyone famous in the States would ever vacation in Dodoma. Still, we can dream.

"Are you ready to go home, my husband?"

2009-12-18T10:11:00.000+03:00

Imagine my surprise yesterday when I was thinking of what to blog about this week, and I realized that, aside from a few brief mentions, I’ve not described my roommates to you! I have two roommates, Jacky Stephen and Beatrice Kateti.

Jacky is 24 years old, and the accountant for one of the projects at the church. She recently graduated from college with a degree in accounting, and speaks English very well. She is from a town up in the north, near Lake Victoria, and is engaged to a man who lives in Dar es Salaam. A few weeks ago her mother and one of her brothers came to stay with us to celebrate her graduation and birthday.

Beatrice is about 25 years old, and she volunteers at the church right now. Her father is a very dear friend to Bishop Amos, so he asked to send Beatrice to work with the Muhagachis. She and I became friends when we were both living at the Muhagachi house. She doesn’t speak very much English, and I still don’t speak very much Kiswahili, but, surprisingly, we are able to understand each other very well, although Jacky helps a lot. This is Beatrice and I at Jacky's graduation party.

When we first moved in together, we were joking one day that I am like the father, because I am responsible for paying the bills, fixing things that break (to the best of my limited ability), and breaking down bedroom doors whose locks fail to unlock (no joke, that really happened). I am rather inept at cooking over charcoal, washing clothes properly and efficiently, and recognizing when the floors need to be mopped, but fortunately, Jacky is excellent at all of those things, as well as budgeting for food for the month, and cooking creatively with what food we do have, so she is the mother. Beatrice spends a lot of time talking on her phone in her room, and tends to help Jacky only when Jacky asks for help, so we call her our daughter.

The dynamic in our house started as a joke, but we’ve settled into our roles quite nicely. When we have guests over, I sit in the living room and entertain them while Jacky and Beatrice cook in the kitchen, just like a real African husband/father. When Beatrice needs a couple of hundred shillings for a soda or for phone credit, she borrows from me. We’ve started calling each other by our titles. Jacky calls me “my husband”, and Beatrice often calls me "Baba" (father). I make sure to tell Jacky every few days what a good wife she is to me, and pat Beatrice on the head and call her “mtoto wangu” (my daughter). The staff of the church hear us talking to each other this way, and just laugh, as do our friends who come over to visit and see this dynamic at work.

Seriously, though, we complement each other very well in taking care of each other, but also as peers and friends. I trust them both implicitly with the struggles I have in daily life, and we pray for each other and each others’ families every night. It is a joy to come home to such wonderful sisters in Christ, and I’m so grateful for them! (Here is Jacky and I arm wrestling with Beatrice looking on and laughing.)

Today Christmas begins...

2009-12-11T12:52:00.000+03:00

I know that for most of you who read my blog, Christmas started weeks ago, but in Tanzania, far removed from the manic commercialism of American Christmas, it begins today.

Actually, it is only starting today because the Lahash kids are writing Christmas letters to their sponsors, and Leah and I will be teaching them a few Christmas songs. We are all really excited about Christmas with these kids for two reasons:

First, Christmas is on a Friday this year, the same day as the Lahash kids program. In the States that would mean that the program is canceled to celebrate Christmas, but here it means that we get to spend Christmas Day with the kids! Because of extremely generous donations from a local bank, we'll be able to have a fantastic Christmas feast with the kids, complete with sodas for all!

The second reason we're all excited is the Lahash sponsorship Christmas program. We developed a program which allows sponsors to give toward a personalized Christmas gift for their sponsored child. As I get updates about sponsors giving to this program, we get to imagine Joseph riding his new bike, Jennifer and Noel looking so smart in their new clothes, or Zuhura learning to use her new sewing machine. So much better than getting any of those things myself, because I know how much these Christmas gifts will mean to the kids. (If you would like to give for one of these children who doesn't have a sponsor or whose sponsor cannot afford a gift, please contact me or my assistant at kpotter@lahash.net.)

Personal reasons I'm more excited for this Christmas than I have been about any Christmas in a long time:

- I was thinking that I would be going out of town with the Muhagachi family, but they've changed their plans, so I get to be here with my darling kids and beautiful roommates and wonderful friends.

- NO FLEEPING CHRISTMAS MUSIC! (fleeping is a word I made up to replace certain inappropriate cusswords in my vocabulary, feel free to use it) Although I did run into my roommate's bedroom to listen to someone on TBN singing Ave Maria, and I'm teaching the kids my favorite Christmas carol (Oh Holy Night) today, I could go the rest of my life without hearing Feliz Navidad, Santa Baby, or Rudolph. I know this all sounds like rank heresy to some of you, but I have loved knowing that for roughly the past month you all have been hearing Christmas music piped in everywhere, but I can observe my personal policy of no playing Christmas music until mid-December. It actually makes me excited for the two Christmas CDs on my computer.

- People here don't give a lot of presents for Christmas, and I already arranged my family's Christmas presents (months ago). Leah and I are thinking of buying chips for all of the staff for lunch one day as our Christmas gift to them, and I'll buy the Christmas gifts for my three sponsored kids (I'm thinking a bicycle for Kibiro, since he already does so many errands for me, it will make him even happier to do my errands! Potina and Anjela will probably get new clothes, but don't tell them!). I might buy something small for my roommates, and I'll be done! We're all allowed to be excited about Jesus, not presents. It's really nice.

Time to get my Oh Holy Night on! (that sounds oddly inappropriate somehow...)

You know you live somewhere odd when...

2009-12-03T16:03:00.000+03:00

…you decide against your nightly bathing because you can’t get a lizard out of your bathtub.

…the man next to you in the internet café peers over your shoulder to read your blog, even though he probably cannot understand the English.

…you are grateful that your Swahili tutor smokes, because the bitter smell of stale tobacco just covers the odor wafting off of his feet.

…you listen to a young woman tell a story of flying on a basket with a witchdoctor and it doesn’t rouse an ounce of skepticism.

…you know how to say “I peed my pants” in Swahili, but will probably never have occasion to use it because you don’t wear trousers except to bed, and if you peed during the night, you’d say I peed the bed, regardless of what you were wearing while you did it. (you also know how to say that, although so far, you’ve never had to say either one.)

…you are invited to serve on the Board of Directors for a nursery school, but need the assistance of a nursery school student to read the letter of invitation. (Not really, you had a pastor read it to me.)

...you ask for instant oatmeal in care packages, and astound friends by sharing chocolate chips because they’ve never seen a chocolate chip before.

…you understand when you’re being told to stand up, but then can’t really figure out why you’re the only one standing.

…you notice the moon because if it weren’t for the moon, there would be no light for your mile-long trek to a friend’s house.

…you find teeth marks on your calculator case because Charles Chatanda believes that everything might be food, regardless of initial appearances.

…you have a pep talk for the “what if…” moment of your quarterly HIV test.
…you forget the name of the bus to your neighborhood, and choose the wrong bus, but decide to ride the wrong one across town just to see if you can get yourself home walking. (you do, but you’re really sweaty and tired by the time you arrive)

(After such a sad update yesterday, I thought I'd give you all a little upper post. Truth is I've had a really tough two days, and it encouraged me to laugh at myself while putting this together.)

The ugliness of myself revealed

2009-12-02T15:04:00.000+03:00

My cohort Leah has blogged about a woman called Cristina, an HIV+ client in the Home Based Care program at the church here. Leah was with the social worker, Mama Bette, on a routine visit to Cristina’s house where they found Cristina essentially starving to death. She was living with her parents and brother, but they were either refusing or just failing to take care of her.

It was really difficult for Leah to witness, though, I think, good in a way. This is a tragically common scenario for people living with advanced HIV in East Africa. We knew a woman in Kenya whose son had built a room onto the side of their house for his mother to, basically, die in. They refused to care for her, and were just waiting for her to die. It puts a hard knot in my stomach to think of what goes on in the minds of these families.

The result of Leah and Mama Bette’s visit to Cristina’s home was that Cristina was admitted to the hospital. About two or so weeks ago I mentioned that we visited her there. You can see from the photo how frail she was, but she was much improved from when they first found her. To be admitted in this kind of situation, the patient needs a family member to stay also to provide food, water, clothing, clean linens, and to advocate with the doctors and nurses. Cristina’s mother, having been severely reprimanded by Mama Bette, was there at the hospital. This was my first hospital visit to a client, but even I could tell that the mother was still not taking very good care of Cristina. We had brought clothes for her, which was good because the mother had only a few fabric wraps (khangas), and Cristina appeared to be cold lying on the plastic hospital mattress. Her skin was so dry it was cracking in spots, and until Mama Bette arrived, the mother had made no effort to change the wrapped diaper.

Poor Cristina suffered through nakedness and having herself cleaned by other people with as much dignity as can be mustered in those situations. Her eyes, huge in her head, were still pleading, and it was clear that she was extremely hungry. The staff of the HBC program had brought prepared food every day, although they suspected that the mother was eating it. Eventually, over the course of about a week, Cristina became strong enough to be sent home. We rejoiced, and hoped for the best.

Last Tuesday evening her mother came to the church with another woman. The woman told Mama Askofu (Esther Muhagachi) that Cristina was very, very ill, as bad as she had been before the hospital. The mother sat in dumb, resentful silence, as this woman, a caregiver to someone with HIV herself, volunteered to take Cristina in her own home. I listened to this conversation, parts of which were translated for Leah and I, and the anger I felt after hearing about that first home visit revived in my heart as I watched the mother, inertia and apathy etched on every feature. As Mama Askofu berated Cristina’s mother, vehemently enough that the Swahili speakers found reasons to turn away into other conversations, I reveled in the mother’s discomfort, indulging my pettiest self.

There was talk of doing a home visit immediately, but Cristina’s house was too far to walk so late in the day, and the church’s two vehicles were both in use. There was another HBC client, a woman called Grace, in the hospital, and the hospital’s limited visiting hours were fast passing. Leah was leaving in the morning for a little trip with the Muhagachis, and needed to go home to pack. I told them to fetch me if they went to Cristina’s, but the trip never happened.

The next morning word reached us that Cristina died during the night. She is neither the first, nor the last client who has been lost in the program. Hers is not the first death of a client that I have suffered through, but the battle of “right” emotions never becomes simple. In my spirit there is holy rebellion, rebellion that dates back to the Garden of Eden where sin and death entered the world for the first time. Death was never God’s intention, it was a necessary and merciful adaptation to save us from having to live eternally in a corrupt world where disease and neglect exist, but it was not part of God’s original plan, so the part of my spirit that is living for the renewal of God’s original design hates her death in the same way that I hated her illness and poverty.

Also in the mix is that anger toward her family. A desire for some kind of justice or retribution, abated by the pragmatism that there are no realistic legal consequences for this family who essentially starved their daughter to death, but unabated by any kind of mercy. There is honestly a part of me that wants them to suffer, not to the extreme of Cristina’s suffering, but enough to jolt them out of their indifference. Obviously it is impossible to impart compassion through those means, but an ugly part of me would really like to try it.

Finally, part of me is relieved for Cristina’s sake. From what I understand she loved Jesus, so release from her frail, sick body is release into a perfect peace and rest that would have always been impossible in this broken and ugly world.

So, rest in the arms of the Lover of your soul, Cristina. Rest in peace.

Sights and smells of Dodoma

2009-11-18T12:07:00.000+03:00

Kate asked for more pictures, but I'm that girl who carries around a camera and never ever takes photos with it unless they're specifically required for work. I think part of it is an inferiority complex brought on by working with media geniuses (geniusi?) like Dan and Casey, but here are a few of the sights and smells (can't wait for smell technology on the internet!) of my week:

Smell: Pilau
Pilau is this awesome rice stuff with spices in it. Often it also has big chunks of irish potato and bits of meat. It's like the original, first and best Rice-A-Roni. My roommates made pilau on Monday, and at one point it actually kind of smelled like Cup-a-Noodle, which made me all nostalgic.

Sight: Pomegranates
The pomegranates at my house are beginning to be ripe, so Jackie and I sat outside Monday evening and ate a pomegranate each, fresh from the tree. We also stole one off of our neighbors' tree because it was hanging on our side.

Smell: Goat fart
There are goats that graze in a field that I walk through every day on the way to work. Yesterday as I was passing by them, one farted. Sick.

Sight: Dead rat
'nuff said. It was laying dead on a cinder block in one of the yards I cut through on the way to work.

Smell: Marijuana?
It's not really marijuana, but when people burn trash around here, it often smells like the first floor of Hewitt Hall in Fall 2001, if you Linfielders know what I mean.

Sight: Rosey and her mama
My friend Chitema's daughter Rose is always around, ready to play. In fact, because of her I've had lots of practice saying "Sichezi!" (I'm not playing!) Her mother, Chitema's wife, is probably seven months pregnant and the most beautiful and graceful woman I have ever seen. Yesterday she was fetching water, wearing a muumuu and plastic shoes, but looking for all the world like she could be posing for the cover of Vanity Fair. She had Rosey along to "help".

Smell: Smoke
Because the rainy season has started, lots of people can't cook outside anymore for lack of cover. Many of the families of the kids in our program here have only one room that functions as sleeping and living quarters, and, when it's raining, cooking quarters also. Lately whenever I've picked up a Lahash kid to sit on my lap I've been breathing deep the smell of charcoal or wood smoke in their clothes. It reminds me of camping and my friends who used to smoke pipes.

Sight: A small yellow ball whizzing at my head
Jackie has a game she likes to play that is basically like two person dodgeball. One person stands against the wall trying to dodge the high velocity pitches of the other player. You score goals by catching the ball, then throwing it back at the thrower. If you hit the thrower, it's a point. Jackie and I played for about 20 action-packed minutes on Sunday, then we did some stretches and the only yoga poses I could remember. We had some little competitions for stair-stepping (I lost because I fell off the stair) and wall-sitting (I lost, but I think she was cheating). I can kick her butt at arm-wrestling, though.

Final sight: The watchman's bemused face
Jackie and I did our stair-stepping competition outside, and our brand-new watchman, Maduka, just watched us like we were crazy. I suppose we are a bit. He's cool, though, and still likes us and we like him.

Highlights of the past week...

2009-11-12T16:59:00.000+03:00

It's been a crazy busy week, so I'm going to limit myself to one highlight from each of the past seven days.

Friday the 6th - HUGE thunderstorm to kick off the rainy season. I sat out on my little verandah to watch and listen to the spectacle. One thunderclap sounded right over the house (I've never heard one closer), scaring me badly enough to duck and cover my head, and making Jackie scream and fall down inside the house.

Saturday the 7th - We visited a woman who is living with HIV and had been so neglected by her family that she was found essentially starving to death. Leah had been to visit her several times, and was present the day she was found, but it was my first visit to her in the hospital. I'll spare you all the details, but they let me be a tiny bit helpful in getting her dressed and fed, but I wasn't the one who had to clean her up, if you know what I mean. She was so sweet, and so grateful to be alive, and she gave us a thumbs up as we left. (Second runner up for best highlight was a call from my parents.)

Sunday the 8th - I got my second roommate, another Tanzanian woman named Beatrice, and we had some Leah and two of our friends, Mseti and Paulo, over for lunch. It was the first time I felt like I fit in with these young people as one of their peers, in a similar, but different, way to my friends back home. We had a fantastic conversation, and had some meat for lunch that Jackie had cooked in the taco spices I brought from home, which turned out to be a hit.

Monday the 9th - Leah and I attempted our first public cooking spectacle: French Toast. It was the 14th birthday of my Tanzanian little brother, Victor, so we made some French Toast for the whole family, sweetening it by making a kind of sugar syrup and pouring it into the egg/milk mix. People enjoyed it so much I attempted it later in the week for another crowd, and got similar enthusiasm.

Tuesday the 10th - Small triumphs: I finished The State of Africa, which I had been reading for work, and The Man in the Brown Suit I re-read in almost one sitting out on the verandah.

Wednesday the 11th - So many great things happened this day. First Jackie, Beatrice, and I hosted the church staff meeting at our house in the morning, where I asked them to go around and affirm the person on their right. They'd never done anything like that before, and it was lovely to see them encouraging them one another. Mama Neema, the accountant, said such beautiful things about me that I nearly cried. Later at a planning meeting for the HIV Community Event, (remember how I was learning to dance for this event?), someone said "Why do we need to change the ngoma (dancing)? If Leisha can dance with her hips, surely the rest of us can." I'll take that as a compliment. Best of all, we finally got to the post office, and I had a book from my Grandma Adams and a stack of photos of my family from my Grandma Jones. Grandmas are the best!

Thursday the 12th - Does it sound callous to say that the highlight of today was firing my house help? She'd been making me dread the days she came to clean because she didn't clean well, didn't cook well, was rude to my roommates, always demanded breakfast that I didn't even have for myself, and might have been stealing sugar and oil. She's gone now, although she made it clear that I can call her if I want to hire her to do my laundry, which she's actually decent at. The lowlight of today is that I haven't had a soda. First day in probably two weeks that I haven't had at least one soda, although the day isn't over yet!

Things I love about my house...

2009-11-06T11:11:00.000+03:00

I love that the front gate sticks, so you have to either finesse it open or use brute force. It's a good mark of my attitude which one I resort to.

I love the flowering shrubs and trees and bushes all over my compound. It's really peaceful, and it cuts down on the dust that blows everywhere else in town.

I love that the kitchen is big and has a table in it, so when my roommate, Jackie, or I are cooking (aka Jackie cooking and me cutting veggies or watching), we have plenty of room to move and hang out together. More about Jackie to come in the future.

I love, love, love my bedroom. It's large and still lacking in important furniture, but it gets lots of natural light during the day, and is just peaceful.

I love this spot. This is my favorite part of the whole house. It's my verandah, overlooking the fruit trees along the side of the house. Nearly every day after work I come here and relax, read, text with people in the States, or just sit and think. It's amazing how much free time there is with no internet access at home, no television, no taking work home with me (which I have promised myself that I will absoutely not do). This is where I relax and take introverted time for myself. Sometimes Jackie or Leah join me here, but we just have quiet conversation or read. It's really nice.

So now that you've seen my house, come join me! I have lots of room for guests, and you can even partake from the oranges and pomegranates growing in the compound. There might even be water, if you come at the right time of year, which is not right now.

Best to all of you!

Various snippets of my life here

2009-10-27T10:44:00.002+03:00

Leah and I got a special treat yesterday: apples. That's right, they sell apples here, although at an exorbitant price. A single smallish apple costs 500 shillings, or about 40 cents. Compare that to a huge mango at 300 shillings, or 22 cents. Nonetheless, in celebration of October and the autumn happening in the Pacific Northwest and the five minutes of rain we had on Friday, Leah and I treated ourselves to two apples each. Such luxury!I went to a birthday party on Saturday for the one-year-old son of my good friends Manase and Neema Mhana. The first time I came to Dodoma they were recently engaged. The second time I came they were recently married. The third time I came they were recently pregnant. Now little Yohana (John) is a year old already! Like all parties here it was long...we came two hours late and were there for three hours. There is a program that reads very much like a church service, complete with multiple sermons and the same music we hear on Sunday mornings. These parties are a bit grueling, being entirely in Kiswahili, so my understanding is limited, and there is always a ton of great food at the end of the program, although I never can eat as much as is expected of me. Still, there is something charming and fun about these parties, which happen regularly for a huge variety of reasons.

I moved into my house yesterday! I realized this morning that I still don't have any pictures of my house, but those will be coming soon. The whole house came furnished, which is good because a) I don't have much stuff, and b) I hate shopping, so I probably would have gone ages with one bowl, one cup, and a box to sit on. I'll do a dedicated blog post with photos, etc. soon.

What I'm reading, watching, and listening to:
Reading: The State of Africa by Martin Meredith, "The Case for Early Marriage" in Christianity Today, and the Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde

Watching: Season One of Friday Night Lights and Lars and the Real Girl (which is so excellent!)

Listening to: Mars Hill Bible Church's series on the Sermon on the Mount, Imago Dei's sermon series on Living in the Story of God, N.T. Wright's speech titled "Living the Language of Life: New Creation and Christian Virtue" for the 12th or so time, and a free playlist of folk music that's really good.

Final note: If you read my previous blog post, you'd have appreciated that yesterday that gentleman had a solo, and he absolutely rocked it. It was beautiful. Also, one of our sponsored kids, Charles, is standing at my elbow watching me type, chewing on a piece of plastic that he found on the floor of my office. Guess I need to sweep this place!

Is there room for excellence in the church?

2009-10-22T11:48:00.000+03:00

I've been doing a lot of reading and listening to sermons and the like of late. I've also been reflecting a lot on the body of Christ, the church.

When in Kampala, I attended a huge church that does really wonderful work for vulnerable women and children. I was struck by the professionality of everything presented, from the stage dressing to the music to the alternate video shots broadcast onto the large screen over the stage. There were professional quality video announcements, and the 70 or so person choir wore perfectly matching outfits. On huge banners on either side of the stage were listed the core values of the church, including Excellence. I suppose one could understand that to mean any number of things. From what I was presented as a guest, I would assume that they mean excellence in their presentation and professionality, although I could be wrong.

I got to thinking about that, however, and it's stuck with me. I heard a talk from a pastor called Jimmy Dorrell in Texas whose church meets under a bridge. Their worship team stands on the back of a flatbed trailer, and when a mentally ill man named Patick asked to join the worship team, they bent over backward to accomodate him. He gets easily distracted and tended to interfere with the other musicians, so they built him his own kind of box stage to stand on, gave him an electric guitar with two strings, and let him go. He sometimes jumps down to greet visitors, have a cigarette, or get some coffee, but they really emphasis the value of each member of the church serving as their member of the body.

There is a man in the choir at my church in Dodoma who reminds me of the diverse members of the body of Christ. The choir is really good, they have choreographed dances for each of their songs, and they usually mostly match their clothing, but not always. This new man in the choir, though, doesn't have the matching outfits, he's still learning the songs, and he simply cannot do the choreography, but he sings with such joy and dedication it brings tears to my eyes. As much as I love listening to the choir, I have never been pointed to God so poignantly as by this wonderful young blind man. To me, his participation in the body of Christ is so much more reminiscent of the values of the kingdom of Heaven than any definition of excellence which might keep him humming in the back row.

Wait, is this a bus or a trampoline?

2009-10-15T13:23:00.001+03:00

Well I made it home, at long last, on Saturday night. I was intended, as I wrote last week, to leave Kampala at 4pm on a bus. That didn’t really happen. There was a traffic jam in Kampala so bad that we didn’t leave until 6pm. I had purchased my ticket late in the week, a week including Ugandan Independence Day, so there weren’t many options for a seat. I chose number 40, which looked to be in the second to last row on the diagram, and I was okay with that, because, although you never want to sit in the very back row, but the second to back row is usually okay. The back row is bad because it is a bench across the entire back of the bus, seating five people, and all of the cold air coming in from any window is immediately sucked into the back of the bus and sits there. Also, most bus drivers, being more concerned with the point A to point B than the comfort of the passengers, will ease the front of the bus over speed bumps and potholes, then gun it, so that the back of the bus hits that same pothole pretty hard.

I knew all of this, so I was pretty pleased with myself for choosing the last seat in the second to last row, until I got on the bus and realized that the diagram did not match the actual layout of the bus, and seat number 40 was the first seat in the back row. The bus, being an overnighter, had reclining seats (think airplane seats) in every row except the back row. The back row had only me and one other mama in it, so she stretched out completely prostrate across four of the five seats, such that I could hardly move without bumping her feet. The wind starting blowing into the back of the bus, sweeping under my skirt, and through the four layers I was wearing on top. As it got a bit darker, we picked up two more passengers who joined us in the back row. The woman who sat next to me asked if it was okay with me if she took her hair out, meaning removing her extensions. (I am still finding small tufts of her artificial hair in my bag.) The girl sitting in front of me kicked her seat all the way back to sleep, leaving me about three inches between my chest and her seat. For the next eight hours I tried to sleep without resting my head on the freezing cold window pane. Sleep never really came, needless to say. We arrived in Nairobi around 6am the next morning where the girl in front of me woke up and realized my tight quarters, shook her finger at me for not waking her up and telling her to move her seat up. The hair lady and her friend got off, giving us a bit more space, and the bus company stopped to serve us breakfast, which was really nice.

We went on toward Arusha, Tanzania. The road from Nairobi to Arusha is being improved, which means that they create a kind of off-road dirt track parallel to the road for vehicles to drive on. I’ll leave the state of that dirt road to your imagination. At the Tanzanian border we picked up a mama and her 2-year-old daughter. They were sitting in the space of the back bench that opened onto the aisle, so as we went over these huge bumps, big enough to unseat everyone on the bus, the mama would fly up in the air, holding onto the baby, with nothing to hang onto. I was pretty well wedged in, so I took the baby, and held onto her with both hands and braced with my legs against the seat in front of me as we flew over the bumps. My long unused volleyball thigh muscles got a little work out trying to keep us elevated a bit above the seat so that I wouldn’t jar the baby too much on the way down.

Upon arriving in Arusha, I was met by some friends of Mama Esther’s who had arranged a guest house and pre-purchased my bus ticket from Arusha to Dodoma the next morning. I got to the house around 2pm, and promptly fell asleep until around 10pm, when I got up to pee, then went back to sleep until 4:30am, when I had to get up to get to my next bus.

If you drive straight from Arusha to Dodoma in a private car, it would take about 5-6 hours, but the buses leave at 6am because they take such a circuitous route that it requires 12 hours to get to Dodoma. The seats on this bus didn’t recline, but were so close together that my knees were constantly pressed into the seat ahead. I’d forgotten to take my car sickness medicine, so I couldn’t read, I just listened to nearly anything on my mp3 player (thank you, Grandma!). There was a pastor sitting next to me who really wanted to chat with me, but I was simply not in the mood. The poor man tried valiantly, then gave me all his contact information anyway, in case I ever found myself in the tiny village where he lives.

I finally arrived in Dodoma at 6pm, filthy and tired after 48 hours of travel, to be warmly greeted by Mama Esther, Leah, and Shomari. (My co-workers returning to the States arrived home in about half the time it took me to get home!) I had really missed Dodoma, and it was really good to be back at one of the many places I call home.

Somebody's feet stink...oh, that's me

2009-10-08T15:02:00.000+03:00

The past six weeks or so have been an absolute whirlwind of activity for me. I am now sitting in a bus stage in Kampala, Uganda, waiting to board the bus home. I can hear the torrential rain pouring down outside, I can feel my shoulders cramping at the very thought of 18 more hours on a bus this week (already had six hours), I can smell my wet shoes and stinky feet, but I found free wireless internet, so all is good.

I've had so many things demanding my attention lately that I've neglected updating this blog, but here's the skinny:

**Lahash conference was fantastic. Such a blessing to have all of our partners in one room with 4/5 of our Lahash staff! Who'd have thought it possible?

**Nsambya Children's Home is as fun and goofy as it ever was. The kids average around six years of age, and they're really fun to play with. I didn't get much play in, though, as I was assisting with some video work, sitting in meetings, and trying to facilitate the sponsor letters. I did have some play time with my little friend Nancy, though.

**Amazing Grace was wonderful. I got to distribute a number of sponsor gifts here, which is like being Santa, and got to spend a few days of quality time with the children there, who I love like crazy. I was asked today if I have a favorite child, and I replied that it's a bit like having a favorite body part: There are some I think about more often than others, but I'd miss each one if it wasn't there.

**We made a super quick, 24-hour trip up to St. Bartholomew's in Kajo Keji, Sudan. Lahash doesn't have a sponsorship program here, but I have some great friends up there, not least of which is Heather Sumner with Seed Effect. She's overseeing a cyber cafe and vocational school, and doing a great job. We had a few brief, but sweet hours together, and shared a bit of dark chocolate.

**We visited the secondary school students who board at Metu Senior Secondary School, including my good buddy, Piting. She greeted me with our customary sing-song greeting of "Leisha Leisha" to which I replied "Piting Piting". We're getting ready for our first secondary school graduate, Akon Emmanuel, who will be taking his final exams soon, and craves your prayers.

**I spent one day alone at Amazing Grace to finish up some projects, and they really spoiled me. All day long they were bringing me treats, like a not hot Coke, half of a fresh papaya from their own trees, roasted maize, and freshly roasted groundnuts. I then spent about an hour with the girls discussing, to the best of my ability, all those pressing questions of adolescent females regarding the opposite sex.

**I came down to Kampala on Tuesday, where we commenced two days of meetings, very difficult meetings. I am now preparing to head home to Dodoma, much to my delight and relief. I'll be so happy to get back there and relax, even if I'll be giving up my special treatment of private rooms and not sharing a bed. That's right, I'll even be glad to be back to sharing a bed with Leah! (It's not for much longer, though, since I'll get to move into my house soon.)

Send me some good comment love!

A few disconnected thoughts from a few exhausting days

2009-09-26T13:25:00.000+03:00

Last Saturday morning at 6:00am I wedged into the back seat of Grace & Healing Ministry’s truck between Mama Esther and Pastor Musa, and we set off for the 2009 Lahash International East Africa Conference in Kampala, Uganda. The day ended at a Lutheran guest house in Bukoba in western Tanzania, just across the border from Uganda at just past 9:00pm. That’s right, 15 hours of driving. Oh, the bone weariness, and it wasn’t over yet. We left around 9:30am the next morning to cross over into Uganda. It was fascinating driving over the 10 miles or so that Uganda and Tanzania fought over during the rule of Idi Amin. I saw a Tanzanian church that had been bombed by Amin’s forces, and has been left as a landmark. It stands near the site of a girls’ secondary school (like a boarding high school) where Amin’s forces raped over 100 teenage girls. Even now that puts a knot of nausea in the pit of my stomach. We arrived safely in Kampala around 3pm on Sunday, and I cannot describe the delight of seeing so many of my dear Lahash friends from Kenya, Uganda, Sudan, and the States.

We have spent the week going over the application of the Lahash values in our partnerships in East Africa. Most of it is probably not that interesting to the majority, so I’ll spare you the details. My day for speaking was yesterday, as I presented about five hours of material on Holistic Care and the sponsorship program. Again, not that interesting for most of you, but if you are a sponsor, you should be getting really excited for the direction our programs are going. Prepare to be impressed by the child you sponsor (Inshallah, aka God willing). One thing I’ve been thinking a lot about is the value of each individual child and each individual sponsor, and our partners really responded to that principle, and we had a great time discussing how that affects our programs.

One evening this week we watched the documentary “War Child” on the life of Emmanuel Jal, a Southern Sudanese musician. He’s just two or three years older than I am, but the absolute terror of his life was really heart-wrenching. I’d heard of Jal in a fantastic book called Emma’s War, recommended to me by my friend Frank So, and I’ve heard some of his music in different Lahash videos. (You can purchase his music on ITunes, I highly recommend the songs “Emma” and “Gua”.) Please try to get a copy of the film “War Child” if you’re at all interested in the civil war in Sudan, Darfur, the Lost Boys, child soldiers, or the Sudanese children we work with. As I’ve mentioned before on this blog, in just over a year Southern Sudan could be erupting into civil war again, and if that happens, it will be children just like those in our Sudanese sponsorship program who are picking up guns to fight.

On a purely selfish level, I received a great blessing this week. Since I arrived in Tanzania I’ve been sharing a room and a bed with Leah, and this week I am the only unmarried woman at the conference, so I got my own room! It’s not just a single, either, because they ran out of singles, and they charge by the person, I got a huge triple all to myself. My introverted self is eating this up, and it’s lovely to be surrounded by so many people I love, but still get time to just be alone. Mama Esther is so jealous of my room that she comes in sometimes in the evening to lay on the bed next to me and stroke my head while we watch a movie. (She really misses her kids, and I’m the next best thing. I’m not complaining!)

Finally, last night we went to Mama Susan’s home for the amazing feast she always puts on and a little worship service. Any of you who have eaten Esther Basa’s food or heard the Nsambya kids praise Jesus will know the pure magic of that night. I spent the two hours of the worship service listening to testimonies and prayers and Scripture with little Nancy sleeping in my lap. Nancy was burned in a fire when she was a baby, and my friend Jose took responsibility for getting the facial reconstruction surgeries that she needed. She looks marvelously better, and I think it is a tremendous privilege to get to snuggle a toddler who has already been through so much pain.

Thanks, friends, for caring about me, and putting me in the position to love these kids, learn from our partners, and sleep each night under the blanket of East African humidity. I love you, and all of the friends here love you, too, although they’ve never met you. They love that you love me, and yet still sent me to live with them.

Let us strive to be grateful and gracious followers of Jesus. Amen.

Letter dated 10 Sept 2009

2009-09-11T13:12:00.001+03:00

(So each day of the Peer Education Seminar we are to write our secret friend a letter, then on the last day, which is next Tuesday, we give a gift and reveal who we are. I've been trying very hard to write letters that no one will be able to tell are from a mzungu, but the first day I had no idea of what other people would write, so I just wrote what the pastor I asked for help told me to. It was a very nice, very formal letter with Scripture in it. I had a little better reference for the letter yesterday, and made it more funny and complimentary. My friend's name is Remmy, and he's probably about 19 years old, dresses very nicely, and is very shy.)

Rafiki Mpendwa Remmy,
My dear friend Remmy,

Napenda kukusalima katika jina la Bwana Yesu.
I would like to greet you in the name of Lord Jesus.

Kila mtu anajua hilo unapendeza na una akili.
Everyone knows that you look smart and are smart.

Nafikiria una jambo la kusema kwenye semina.
I think you have fine things to say at the seminar.

Nataka kusikia unapoongea!
I want to hear you speak!

Usikate tumaa.
Never give up.

Ubarikiwe.
Blessings.

So at the beginning of each day, they read the letters out loud to everyone before it is delivered to you. When this letter was read out, everyone laughed and thought it was funny and Remmy smiled and kissed the letter when he took it. A kind of laughing gesture of appreciation. Success! Too bad it took me like four hours to write five lines!

"White People Are Weird!"

2009-09-09T15:27:00.000+03:00

* I've been attending the Peer Education Seminar at the church this week, learning about HIV/AIDS education. It's all in Swahili, but our friend Philipo is translating in whispers in the back of the room. We'll be doing a community-wide event for education about HIV in November, including songs, poems, skits, and, get this...traditional drums and dancing. And guess who's group got assigned "ngoma" (the drums and dancing)...that's right, it's mine. Sure to be lots of funny stories and great pictures over the next two months as I learn this traditional art form. Leah's group got singing. Piece of cake. : )

* As of today, I have a house! It's a fantastic, slightly beat-up, four bedroom house only 5-6 minutes walking from the church, and the rent is about $150! I'll move in in a few weeks, but the owner, a widow, is moving to Dar es Salaam to live with her children, and is letting me keep all the furniture I want! I'm super, super excited, although the house will need some TLC, for only $150 a month, I'll have some extra money to spend on those repairs and repainting.

* The title comes from Baba na Mama Muhagachi's 7-year-old daughter Peace. She and Grace, who is about 11, have become my good friends over the years, and she frequently grabs my face to whisper "I love you" in my ear. Thanks to Annie, we've working our way through the first season of Psych, and thanks to the Espinozas, we've also been watching some episodes of season one of Lost with their older brother Victor. Makes me happy.

Love you all!

We made it, all in one piece!

2009-09-06T12:47:00.000+03:00

So this is my version of a mass email. Leah and I arrived in Dar es Salaam at 9:45pm on Thursday, met with Mama Esther Butendeli, and traveled to Dodoma by bus on Friday afternoon. That was an adventure in itself, as the bus broke down multiple times, and it seems that the driver may not have even had a driving license.

Yesterday (Saturday) we intended to write, but were at a primary school graduation for my little dada (sister) Neema Khatiba later than expected. I've seen many of my friends, and have had many warm hugs and greetings. We just finished church, and this afternoon we may take a tour of Dodoma and view some houses that Mama and Baba have located as possible homes for me to rent.

I am missing you all very much, at the same time that I am very happy to be here with my other family and friends. Thank you for the warm send-off parties and to the group who came to the airport. I had a very emotional plane ride from Portland to Amsterdam as the reality of leaving you behind set in, but I am so happy to have arrived here, and my spirits are lifting. I can feel your prayers, and crave that they will continue.

I hope to update with some photos or video later on. Best to all.

All kinds of final...

2009-09-01T19:05:00.001+03:00

Today is my last day in the States.

The problem with my situation is that no matter where I live, I'm not entirely home. No matter where I live, I am missing people. I can't be fully comfortable in either place because part of my heart is not at home.

Tonight I say goodbye to my Home Community, a group of people who have been such an important part of my life. This is as hard as saying goodbye to 30 brothers and sisters, because that is how important they are to me.

I feel very prayed for and pretty strong overall, but the next 24 hours will be absolutely brutal emotionally, so please continue to pray for me!

Nearly a month later...

2009-08-27T02:10:00.001+03:00

I've been sitting at my computer ready to update my blog a half dozen times in the past three weeks and almost immediately abort. I have no thoughts. I have no depth. I have no profundity. (I love the word profundity. I don't even know if it's a real word, but I use it a lot.)

Here are the three most frequently asked questions (and answers) in no particular order:
1. Are you packed yet? I have everything assembled, but it's not actually in the suitcases yet. That's tonight/tomorrow's project.

2. Are you stressed out? No. I have a lot on my plate, but it's not all that much more than my regular life. (I think that either says a lot for the prep work I did in advance or the intense stress level of my regular life.)

3. Are you ready to go? I never know how to answer this question because there is so much to it, so the answer is yes, no, ages ago, and I might never be.

I am now one week away from leaving, and this is how my week looks:
Wednesday: lunch with Grandma, work, packing
Thursday: last counseling session, meetings all day, final purchases, packing
Friday: insurance office work, finalizing financial paperwork, hanging out with Annie
Saturday: breakfast with Anna, any final insurance work, prep for party, coffee with Leah
Sunday: sending services at Imago Dei, Going Away Party #2
Monday: mostly empty, coffee with the Armours
Tuesday: final Lahash business and meetings, final meeting with Erin, my accountability partner, sending off at Home Community, slumber party with my HC sisters
Wednesday: airport prayer and final farewell at 9am, board plane at noon, leave

If I'm a good sister, I'll clean the bathroom somewhere in there also.

If you want to jump in on some of my free time, especially on Monday, let me know.

2009-08-03T23:24:00.000+03:00

How does one juggle money and people?

2009-07-30T02:54:00.000+03:00

Well, it's crunch time, folks. I fly out in just under five weeks.

I've taken a serious look at my financial situation, and I have some work to do. Lahash would like me to be funded at 80% before I leave. At this stage of the game, if all of my pledges come through, I need to raise $510 per month in additional support before I leave. That works out to about $100 per week between now and departure. Currently my average recurring donation is around $45. If twelve people see their way clear to make that donation, I'll be more than set! Now how, in a recession, do I go about finding these twelve people?

I have had a chance to meet with a number of people about the work that I am privileged to do, but I recently realized that most of the time I get too caught up in the stories of our clients and partners. I go on and on about their lives and how wonderful they are, and get to the end of the meeting, then feel unwilling to make those stories perverse with discussions of money, so I never ask. I never let people know that I need their help, and thus never give them the chance to participate in the work with me.

At the same time of needing to raise money, I'm saying goodbye to many great friends. How does one go about communicating that a friend is valuable, that one is grateful for his or her friendship, and oh, by the way, would said friend be willing to give me some money every month? In addition, to that awkwardness is the matter of only having limited time (four weeks, six days) before leaving. Do I make a list of people who I want to say goodbye to and start scheduling them in? Do I wait to hear from the people who want to see me? Maybe I shouldn't worry at all (in which case, I'm sure I'd receive an array of text messages the night before I leave bemoaning the fact that we didn't get together ever).

If you are able and willing to help me with the money debacle, I'm very grateful. If you want to hang out with me before I leave, please take the initiative to plan something with me. Thanks for reading this, and thanks for being my friends.

Parties upcoming

2009-07-24T00:23:00.000+03:00

It's time to plan the official exit! There will be two going away parties to be attended. There were two Facebook invites sent, but if you're reading this and want to come, you're welcome. There are still details being nailed down, but mark your calendars.

Portland-area Party
Saturday, August 22nd, 7pm to 11pm
Location to be determined, either NE or NW
Watch for more formalized details.

Newberg-area Party
Sunday, August 30th, 5pm to 8pm
Windrose Conference Center, 809 W 1st St
BBQ and African food

Hope to see you at one (or both)!

Might be actually going crazy

2009-07-15T21:56:00.001+03:00

I've done a couple of stupid things in the past week or so. I've also had moments when I absolutely forgot basic information like the address I've had for the past four years and which speed dial is my brother (7, just like it has always been).

There are probably a number of reasons for this, especially the fact that I've been saying yes to pretty much everything. I want to take advantage of all the fun opportunities available to me before I leave, thus last week was:

Monday - Dinner with Dana, dessert with Sara and Shannon, stuck in traffic on the home, arrived home around 10:30pm
Tuesday - Home Community, late night walk with Karyn and Aaron (making three blogs in a row where Karyn was mentioned), home around 1:30am
Wednesday - worked late, until about 10pm, then headed home, arriving around 10:30pm
Thursday - went line dancing with a group of people, got to sleep on Karyn's couch around 1am
Friday - had a presentation at the Reeser's house, stayed to chat with them, got home around 1am

With seven weeks to go, this frantic pace makes some kind of sense, right? No regrets, right? Unfortunately, I'm a pretty introverted person, so I need time by myself to re-energize and refresh.

At Lahash, we're going through the traditional Christian disciplines, and this week was my turn to prepare a discussion on the discipline of solitude. I learned so much, and when we practiced the discipline for twenty minutes yesterday morning, it was insanely refreshing. I could have lain there for an hour staring at the ceiling, concentrating on releasing every thought on the exhale, and basking in the love of God.

If you're interested in this discipline, Mars Hill Bible Church is also doing a series on the Christian disciplines, and they also did solitude this week. Check it out: http://www.marshill.org/teaching/pcast.php

63 Days and Counting...

2009-07-02T04:05:00.000+03:00

It's only 63 days until I am on a plane to Dar es Salaam! Shortly after, I'll be on a bus to Dodoma, my other home, for at least the next five or six years.

A good friend asked me yesterday: What are you looking forward to? Most people ask what I will miss, so I was thrilled at her question, and as I thought through my answer, I grew more and more anxious to be on that plane leaving!

I am excited for the chance to be a real big sister to my sponsored girls and boy, Potina, Anjela, and Kibiro. I am excited to sit outside the converted brothel that is Iringa Road Mennonite Church and have the children in our sponsorship program talk to me about school and life and the English words they're learning and the games they want to play. I am excited to sit with HIV+ people in their homes, share a cup of tea, and hear their stories. I am excited to work hard at my Swahili and see the faces of my friends light up as my vocabulary expands and communication flows freely for the first time. I am excited to visit families and deliver mattresses, blankets, clothing, food, and other gifts from friends in the West. I am excited to have photos and stories to share with my community in Portland, and to hear their encouragement as they pray for me over many miles.

I am excited to have the opportunity to be a vehicle of love, dignity, grace, and respect in the lives of the poor, ill, and vulnerable of East Africa. I am excited to share their lives, to live simply, to be challenged by their challenges, to rejoice in their joys, and to mourn with their losses.

*sigh* Still 63 days to go?

Horribly neglectful lately

2009-06-16T22:59:00.000+03:00

Here are 10 random things that have made me happy lately, in no particular order:

1. Friends helping paint at the Lahash house

2. Kombucha (took some getting used to)

3. Praying for strangers on the Max (don't be deceived into thinking I'm super spiritual...I'm definitely don't pray as much as I should)

4. A mix CD titled "the one in which leisha keeps on keeping on." brought to me "by Karyn, the People Who Support Leisha Adams, and the number 8"

5. Grilled Chicago dog with dijon mustard and relish and a cold Coke in a can

6. The music of Annie Bethancourt, The Woodlands, Tavis, and Allison Sattinger

7. Sorting through the awesome ties that belonged to one Mr. Tom Skroski

8. My friend Aaron drawing something in Paint and sending it to me

9. Por Que No fish tacos with good friends (Mandi first, then Nate, Erin, and Dan)

10. Reflecting on the call to worship at Imago Dei from three Sundays ago: "Let the sweet smell of justice linger like a garden-picked bouquet."

Please help me!

2009-06-03T01:36:00.000+03:00

Lahash International is having an epic cleaning event this weekend to begin to prepare a house that has been offered for our use as an office and hospitality house. It's in wretched shape, and needs a lot of help, so we're calling on all of our friends to come help us "muck it out" and clean.

I'm in charge of this specatular event, which means that my entire weekend will consist of wearing a surgical mask and rubber gloves. Won't you come be so stylish alongside me?

The house is at 4850 N Vancouver Ave, Portland, and we'll be starting at 9am on Saturday. Another shift starts at 1pm, or we'll be working again Sunday afternoon starting around 2pm.

Thanks, friends.