Trip to Africa Concluded

Previous

February 15

We are up early. I need time to prepare for the long meeting ahead, and I want to have breakfast with Moses. Dorcas is feeling better this morning, thankfully. We have a long day ahead. Laquita is going to walk to Good Samaritan Lwanda Children's Home Orphanage to examine the sores on some of the children’s legs, and also check out what we thought might be scabies. Some of the older boys will escort her.

We did pretty well, starting only one hour late. The meetings went very well with only a break for lunch, we were finished by 3:30. Esther and I both feel we have learned so much about working with these three different cultures. Our plans to build one high school at Hope for Children Center Orphanage for all our children to use was thrown out the window when our pastors explained that doing so would put the Kisii and Ugandan orphans in danger. They would not be welcomed into the community by the Luo tribe, and in fact, might be killed if they were to venture away from the grounds. There were many other issues that needed cultural enlightenment. It is decided by all that we have learned a lot, and must try to have such meetings at least every two years. We also stress the importance of letting our Ministry know if we are being ignorant or insensitive to cultural issues.

It is good to have the evening fairly open. I spent most of it with my boys. I have discovered there are a few orphans there who are not on our spreadsheet. Pastor Maurice has “fessed” up, and asked for permission to keep them. I think he was afraid after the fuss we made over the admissions in the spring at Glory Children's Center Orphanage. Esther explained to him that as long as he felt he had room and could stretch his budget to include this dozen or so extra orphans, we would not object. We did stress that in the future, he needs to let us know immediately so we can get sponsors for the orphans. We agreed that the current number of 260 orphans at Hope for Children Center Orphanage needs to be frozen until we can get the orphanage built for Glory Children's Center Orphanage.

I have Moses help me, and the new kids are brought to Maurice’s house for me to interview and photograph. One boy touches my heart very deeply. His name is Dan Omollo, and he has been living in the streets of Homa Bay since he was 7. He is now 18, and has managed to get himself through primary school by working and being charming. That night when I went to bed, I could not stop thinking about this small boy living only by the grace of others. He has several scars on his arms and legs. I wondered if he had been beaten. I think I already knew from the first moment I spoke to him that I would sponsor him. I wished I could call Larry and ask him, but I really knew he would agree that Dan needed us. I decided to wait until Saturday to make my mind up for sure. I also decided to talk with Moses to make sure he would not feel displaced by another older brother.

February 16

The hours are ticking off now. We made plans to go to Homa Bay for a final day of shopping. I am armed with my list, and ready to finish up the sponsor’s shopping for their orphans. Esther is going with Moses and Prisca to Kisii to the email bureau, and to take Peter’s school agreements to be signed. They plan to bring Beatrice back for Sabbath. Mukhooli’s are riding along to take Dorcas to the clinic. She cried most of the night keeping all of us awake. I am only allowed to take Moses with me, as Dickens cannot miss another day of class. I feel awful and make Edith tell him. He had been up and ready to go since early in the morning. I saw him standing out near the gate watching the door. Moses tells me not to worry, he will pick out the coolest clothes for Dickens and he will then be happy. As usual, the van is filled with the older orphans. Edith and Laquita are along, and it promises to be a fun day. Our choir director, Malachi, is driving today, and everyone is in a happy mood. Soon out of Rodi, we suffer another flat tire. As luck would have it, we are very near to Malachi’s home. Two of his handsome brothers come out to assist, and soon his mother, cousins and wife join. Laquita is shocked to see a toddler laying in the road some 100 yards ahead of us, who it turns out, is Malachi’s baby girl. A child about 4 runs out and grabs her by the hand, leading her into the courtyard around the family home. None of the adults even raised an eyebrow!

Finally we are on our way, and once again, it is agreed that we must have lunch. The van is dropped off alongside the road at one of the many shade tree mechanic’s, and we walk the rest of the way to our now familiar café. Laquita and I try to check our emails, but after a short message to Larry, the power goes out once more. The restaurant has a generator, so we joined the rest of our crew. Moses, Shadrack, Kennedy and Malachi are waiting at one table, while Laquita, Edith and I join a single diner at another. I told the boys to order whatever they wanted, and they all ordered chicken! It was stewed in some sort of curry sauce, with Ugali and greens on the side. It looked to be a whole half chicken apiece. They also ordered chips. Edith had chicken too, and they tried to talk me into it. Of course, I refused. I ordered a tomato sandwich again, only to be told there was no bread! I am wondering why this place even has sandwiches on the menu as they clearly never have bread. So, it’s chips again, with fried tomatoes and onions, which are not fried at all, simply diced.

We have been told to wait at the café until Maurice returns. One hour ticks by, then another. I am really getting upset, but try not to show it. The list is long, and the time is short. Finally after about three hours with it approaching 4 p.m., I talk the group into walking back to where the van is being worked on. They are still working on trying to manufacture lug nuts for it. Finally around five, it is finished. However, we have no spare tire.

Pastor Maurice senses that I am aggravated, and just laughs. “Are you ready now”, he asks.  Since the market in Homa Bay is not so good, we drove all the way back to Rodi to shop.  We talked about the possibility of Dan joining our family, and Moses was very excited and happy. I told him I would decide for sure on the Sabbath. Moses is begging me not to leave, and insisting that if I do, he must escort me to Nairobi to make sure I get on my plane safely. He is not ready to give this new mother of his up. Along the way back, Malachi stops and toots the horn at his house, and out runs Emma, his wife. She joins us for the weekend. She is all dressed up and has plaited her hair for this special occasion. I learned this was her first visit to the orphanage.

When we hit Rodi, we did so with a vengeance. I have split the list, and we all head in different directions to shop, shop, shop. 60 pairs of shoes, many metal boxes, book bags, underwear, blankets, dresses, shorts, t-shirts, socks, numerous tubes of toothpaste and brushes later, we are feeling very good. It is now going on eight and I am worried about shopping on their Sabbath. The older boys were very concerned that Dan Omollo did not have shoes other than rubber thongs. As they are picking him out a pair, I asked the three of them if they had leather shoes. They did not, so I bought shoes for all of them. The final item is the sweets I had promised. The first shop we checked tried to sell us cough drops. Finally after a few tries, I was able to purchase 9 bags of gumballs, fruit drops, and some sort of chewy candy. It would have to do. The list was fairly well complete, and I left what was still remaining in Edith’s capable hands along with the money needed to complete the purchases. I also made a list for each orphan stating exactly what he or she was going to be getting the next market day.

There is a storm brewing, and the vendors are hurrying around packing up what is left of their wares. We have to make several stops along the way at various shops for rice, fruit and vegetables. I assume the bank wire must have come in. By the time we reach Hope for Children Center Orphanage, the dirt is blowing so hard it stings your eyes. The gifts are all brought to Maurice’s house so that the orphans can be given them after church tomorrow. They need to be told the gifts are from their sponsors, not from me or Esther. Dickens has been watching for us, and is thrilled with the items his big brother has selected for him, from baggy shorts to athletic shoes. The boys head off to the chapel for choir practice. When the storm hit, it was unreal. The wind blew the rain under the eves of the house (the roof is raised above the walls by about a foot to allow the hot air to escape). I was so worried about Esther and the rest of our group driving on those horrible roads in the driving rain. When they finally arrived, Pastor Nyamora parked his jeep right up by the door stoop, mowing down a young avocado tree in the process. We were so happy they were safe that nothing else mattered.

I found it hard to sleep this night, still thinking about what I should do about Dan. I have met another boy who I would also like to sponsor, 18 as well. But Dan’s gentle nature just keeps tugging at my heart. I’ll decide in the morning, when I see him.

February 17

My boys are here bright and early to share breakfast with me. I have a knot in my stomach this morning, partly from not sleeping and partly due to the fact that this is my last day with my African sons, and all of the other orphans who I have hosted on my lap and in my heart for the past few weeks. The boys are fairly silent, and I know their minds are drifting to tomorrow. It has been hard to read Dickens, but Moses carries his heart on his sleeve. I am thinking about how they have identified me as their mother, and wonder how they will deal with me leaving them, yet another abandonment. I try to be cheerful and upbeat, but they are not playing the game along with me. Moses is often quiet and tearful, clutching me in awkward embraces. My heart is breaking.

After we take our seats in the chapel, I begin to look around for Dan. He is near the back, sitting near a window and staring at the back of my head. He smiles when I turn to him. I knew the decision had been made. I got up and walked back to him, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. When I told him that I had decided to sponsor him, he grabbed my hand and whispered “momma”. I told him we would talk later, and went back to my seat. When I looked back, he was silently weeping. I knew I had made the right decision.

The lesson was good, and Pastor Maurice was at his best. He had the children (and us) laughing but all the while, learning. I was happy to see Carringtone had arrived from Nairobi to escort us back on Sunday. He had traveled all night only to arrive just before church started, but looked fresh as a daisy. What a handsome young man he is, with so much promise. I wonder what will become of him in this country of little opportunity?

Later, after service, Dan joined with his new brothers in escorting me for the day. At a private moment, I asked him if he was surprised that I had decided to sponsor him. He simply said "no, I knew you would." when I asked how he knew, he told me that since the first time I talked to him, he prayed I would be his mother, and he knew God would not let him down again. Did I choose well or what? I had expected the other sons might be a little jealous, but they were more than willing to accept Dan into our small family circle.

This day was spent fairly simply. I walked about and visited with my boys for much of the time. Later in the day as they swam with their friends in the river, I finished packing, accounting for funds, and preparing myself mentally for the leaving. I wanted to walk back to Good Samaritan Lwanda Children's Home Orphanage, but another storm was brewing, and the day flew by before we could make the trip. I imagine it would have just added more pain to the departure, so it was just as well.

The rain came about 10 p.m., and my sons did not come by after choir practice. I went to bed by 11 with a request to be called if they came, but they did not.

February 18

We are up early, with an early departure anticipated. Esther, Laquita and the Ugandan entourage are leaving in one direction, south towards the border. Steve and I are heading north first to Kisii, then southeast to Nairobi. Kisii is the only city that we can hire a driver in to take us clear to Nairobi, even though it is out of the way. Breakfast is served early. I am sure Edith is ready to reclaim her house.

I am wondering where my boys are. I expected that they would be there as soon as the dawn cracked. Finally Moses and Dan appear, but no Dickens. Moses is very subdued, and still insisting that he must escort me. I try to explain, but he is not buying it.

Soon our driver arrives, and our luggage is being stowed, when Dickens arrives. He is crying so hard that he can hardly stand up. As I embrace him, Moses also begins sobbing uncontrollably. At this point, I loose it. We stand in the shade, clutching each other and crying. My shirt becomes wet with their tears. Dan has disappeared. I just want to get in the car and leave. Finally all is loaded, and I kiss them goodbye one last time. After I am seated, Dan comes to the window. He has been crying. He leaned his head through and kissed me on both cheeks, and said “don’t worry momma, I will take care of my brothers”. as the car pulls away I look back and see my three sons weeping together. I cried half the way to Kisii.

Soon I am engaged in an interesting conversation with our driver. It is the “momma” place of honor to ride in the front seat. He is hard to understand, but has many questions about America. He wants to know if I have a co-wife. He is young and has one wife who does the work about the home, but would like me to find him a good American wife who would work and bring home a pay check. I don’t know if he is pulling my leg to try to get me to laugh, or if he is serious. But it does cheer me up. It is hotter than blazes, so we stop and get four Stoney’s for the road. This is a type of ginger ale that is just great. Nothing like it’s American cousin. We realized we have no way to open them, when Carrington pops the caps off with his teeth as if it were nothing. Not only are African teeth beautiful, they are tools.

Arriving in Kisii, Steve and I are locked in the car while Carringtone goes to barter a ride to Nairobi for us. It is so hot, and I am soaked with sweat by the time he reappears; the ride had been arranged.

The luggage is reloaded, and we are off with our new driver, a Muslim. He does not talk, but smiles quietly at some of our conversation. He drives like a maniac, and I fear that one of the wheels will go rolling off at these excessive speeds. Steve and I are bouncing around like two bobble-head dolls. The route taken is retraced as we speed through the Masai land, (more giraffes and zebras), the mountains, and finally, Nairobi. We arrive about 5:30, half hour before dark.

We are unloaded and make our room arrangements. Steve has decided to go with Carringtone to visit his Uncle and the orphans who reside with him. I beg off, anxious to stay in my room and have some time alone for the first time in three weeks. I take an ice cold shower and open the windows wide to the noise and confusion of the streets below. As the hours pass, I begin to worry about Steve.

About 10 p.m. I am suddenly hungry. Since I have two coffee bags left, I decide to walk up to the 9^th floor restaurant and ask for a pot of hot water. The attendant is alone in the room, watching television. I have a hard time explaining to him what I want, as he speaks only Kiswahili. He is looking at my room key, with the number attached as large as a stop sign. This makes me nervous. He asks me if I have had supper, by pointing at his mouth and stomach, and I reply I am not hungry, only thirsty. But, he sends me away with nothing.

I was sitting on my bed sorting letters about 20 minutes later when I heard a tap at the door. There stood my new friend, with a tray bearing the best egg sandwich I have ever eaten, a pot of hot water, and some raw sugar and hot milk for my coffee. He had even grilled my bread! As I was finishing up my sandwich and coffee, another tap at the door. There he stood with a bottle of ice cold black current Fanta, which he had run about the area to purchase. This act of kindness was my reward for being distrustful. I was so ashamed and moved, I gave him a very large tip! Penance, I guess.

Finally, Steve called to let me know he was back. He had a most interesting evening, and was full of praise for Carringtone’s family.

February 19

I enjoyed a long shower. I never realized that a cold shower could be such a luxury. I shaved my legs, underarms, and shampooed my hair twice. It was heavenly.

Steve and I meet at “our” table about 8:30 a.m. He was squeaky clean, too. Neither of us had slept, likely due to the anticipation of leaving, and the joy and sorrow it provoked. We enjoyed our familiar breakfast of juice, toast, eggs, and coffee. No bananas this morning. I was hoping to see my friend from the night before, but he was not on duty. We had developed an easy relationship as traveling companions. Steve is very good company, a wonderful human being and an interesting person. It made me wonder once again about all of the people in this world that would become good friends given the opportunity.

Soon Carringtone arrives to take us to the City Market. He is insistent that the three of us have our photo taken together, so that is taken care of first. I wonder why he wants his photo with two old Musungu’s.

He is the ultimate guide, clasping our hands to navigate streets and crowds, always cautioning and patient. Our arrival at the city market is noticed by several shop keepers, who descend on us like vultures. I can hardly bear the smell of the meat section. Fish, chicken, and various types of meats are lying directly in the hot sun, covered by flies. My stomach is at the base of my throat, and I am very impatient with the shop keepers who insist on showing us every item in their kiosks. I have no money left save a few thousand shillings, and I have a ready list. Steve is looking for carvings, so I basically just follow him and Carringtone around as he negotiates his purchases.

I am happy when Carringtone insists that we must go for lunch, then arrange for a taxi to the airport. He is very concerned about getting us there before dark. Steve and I “enjoy” a final plate of greasy chips and a cold drink while Carringtone negotiates. When he returns, it is time to go back to the hotel to retrieve our luggage and head for the airport. It is so hot, and we get caught in a huge traffic jam. Both Carringtone and the driver insist that our “windscreens” be rolled up and doors locked for safety.

We are stopped by the police on the way in, who are interested only in finding drugs. I think that the sight of two old Musungus softens them, and they wave us through. The boys unload our luggage and we walk what seems like miles, only to have to part with Carringtone right at the entrance. He kisses us both good-bye, and asks me for money for food. I am ashamed that I never considered he had spent all of his money to come to Oyugis to escort us, and give him 1,000 shillings. I am now ashamed that I did not give him more. I was just taken off guard and my belongings were moving through the screening process.

After we cleared security, Steve and I split up and explored the airport. I changed into slacks for the return trip. My only purchases were a cap for Larry and two bags of Kenyan coffee. My funds were nearly depleted, as I had used all available money for the orphans at the gates. I found a little shop and had the best cup of coffee that I had tasted since I left home. It was brewed one cup at a time, and was so strong it could walk to your table on it’s own. I sat facing the corridor so I could flag Steve down should he walk by. I was soon joined by a gentleman from India. We had a good visit, as he explained to me about the orphans in India. I wondered how sheltered I was, and how small the world actually is. I saw Steve and called him in, and my new friend left. Steve was on cloud nine. This little shop had a beautiful white, coconut layer cake for sale by the slice. It was ironic, as Steve had been craving this very cake for several days. It was like a sign that we were returning to our lives. We both had a big wedge, along with another cup of the wonderful coffee.

Soon, we were called to our gate. Neither of us was in the mood for sleep, and we talked far into the night. Steve did doze off for a few minutes, but I could not. In Amsterdam Steve found a quiet place to sit and watch the luggage. I went exploring, but my only purchase was two diet cokes, which Steve and I had been searching for over the past three weeks (there is no diet soda in Kenya). It cost me $5 for the two of them, but it was well worth it.

February 20

We have landed. Poor Steve has no coat, having given it away while in Kenya. He has to fly to Minneapolis yet, to try to start a car that has been sitting in below 0 weather for parts of three weeks. I am sad to leave him, but so excited to see my sweet husband. It takes nearly 2 hours to get through all of the security, even though they don’t question our luggage. Two planes have arrived simultaneously, and the room is full of Indians, Chinese, Americans and Kenyans. Many do not speak English, which further complicates matters. One elderly Indian woman approaches me with her customs slip, and I can’t help her The sad part is, I don’t want to. I just want to get through the line and find my husband.

When I walk off the elevator, I see him right away, but he doesn’t see me. He looks worried and anxious, like a new bridegroom. He turns away and walks up to an airport employee, and I walk up behind him and say "I am here." We both start to cry.  I am so very glad to be home.

Previous          Top