Join me...

"We did not go to Kenya do so something great. We went to be formed. And we were."

This is what I found myself saying to a dear friend as we had our final goodbye conversations. The truth of this may be found winding through the stories told on this blog and of those never written down, but held in memory.

Thus endeth the season of our stories from rural Kenya among the Maasai. I appreciate you very much, dear readership and followers. Telling stories on this blog became a helpful way of processing my experience and the fact that you read them and even seemed to enjoyed some of them was a special bonus.

I'd love if you would join me at my pre-Kenya blogging site. It is in need of some updating, but will soon be up and going again. I'm not sure what I will write about. We are entering a season of change, transition and open future. As the stories come, I will do my best to write.
Thanks again.

Some final shots...

Saying goodbye to the woman who walked the closest with me through our three years. My next door neighbor, colleague, prayer partner and hero of faith.

I've never eaten so much popcorn in my life as I did in Kenya. 

I remain at a loss as to what to write about returning to the U.S. Here we are on a frozen lake in Minnesota, the land of 10,000 lakes, one of our many places of home. The transition across cultures in some ways is staggering and stark, and in others is like putting on a familiar pair of jeans and an old favorite sweatshirt.

Last Day in Najile

The wind is blowing over the dusty land. The constant sound of it buffeting the dry savannah bush is punctuated by the boys at the secondary school singing and dancing their masculine Maasai dances. This place has only had a handful of significant rain days in the past year. We need rain. This is my last afternoon here in Najile. Its not sinking in. Even though the house is empty now, except for our mattress on the floor.

This afternoon I didn't have a thing in the house to host any visitors, not even chairs so I went and spent the afternoon under the tree at my friend Ann's house so anyone who wanted to see me could find me there. We cut cabbages and onions and plucked a chicken. She is a hero of mine- bold and respectful, passionate and so wise. I will miss her.

Last night we put the kitchen table on top of the car so we could take it to its new home. Working in the night to pack the car, I started to get more of a sense that this is really happening- just for a moment. That table was the center point of our life and work- if there was a three year time lapse photography of our lives in Najile, that table would be a point around which we revolved. 

In church yesterday, the church chairman preached. Whenever he gets up front to speak, I get nervous because he likes to single us out, talk directly to us from the pulpit, sometimes in Maa, sometimes in English, in the middle of his long Maa speech. We always have to be on our toes or else feel foolish. Sometimes we feel foolish even on our toes. You never can tell what he might ask us to do or when. This time, he spoke directly to us to tell us that they  appreciated having us here in Najile. We never gave them any problem for three years and we had... (he paused and searched his English vocabulary) human hearts. Hmmm. I wasn't sure what to make of that, but I believe he was meaning it to be something positive. 

Tonight we will have dinner for the last time with some of our dearest friends here, Ann and Daniel and their children. Perhaps we'll tell stories one last time and exchange a couple gifts. And we'll feast on the food that has been prepared all day long as a gift of love by one of their older daughters.

The richness of these last moments with the community and this place is so hard to express. It swells and flows over and around us in rainbows of color and warmth. There are threads of pain, too. We've been here long enough to connect deeply to the fear and anguish in the community and culture. We are caught in swirls of God's beauty reflected in resilient, generous people, but our guts wrench at the horror of entrapping brokenness.  This place is not unique. We see no difference between the situation here and that of our home communities with regard to this brokenness and beauty. Near or far, the rock of God's grace is the refuge we find.

Doug and I just watched our last Najile sunset, intensified by huge clouds of dust, painted purple- orange like smoke across the horizon. Goodbye Najile. 

2 days till we leave Najile

First thing, Doug has a last minute fix-it job. A broken "sanduku" the box that every bride takes into marriage to hold her personal things. He's fixed many of these over the last three years. Almost all his tools are gone at this point, so it took some creativity.

After attending our final church service in the Maa lanugage at the next door church (an average length- 2.5 hours), we went for the final visit to our Sokento neighbor's home. The favorite activity there is always taking pictures. And then looking at them. A chorus of  "Lele nanu!" "there I am!" always rings out with all the tiny fingers pointing to the lit up frame on the camera.

The man of the house having shaai and chapati with Doug and another elder from our church.

This is where the cooking magic happens at Nalamae's house.

One more round of little bead gifts

Both wives each gave us something.

One of the young fathers and Kokoo (grandma) resting in the shade tree next to the boma, a common hangout place for the family.

Silas Sokento, his two wives, Grace and Nalamae, another wife of his brother, Nalotuesha, and less than half of all his many children. Two of his sons and their wives live in the same compound with their father.  They also have a handfull of children each. Its a large group.

3 days till we leave Najile

The ekomono olosere gathering was small. In fact, we were relieved because it meant that the food would be very much enough. There were many speeches. I did my goodbye speech in KiMaasai. I'm not usually nervous for speeches, but my hand was shaking for this one. They prayed over us for our journey home and our next steps.

Staff and board members from the Generations Organization (HIV/AIDs).

One of my favorite pictures from the day. My dear friend and colleague, Ann. Notice, I'm loaded with masaa (means "wealth", a word used for beads and cattle) gifts.

The gifts were special, from each of the organizations we worked with and then from the church itself. I liked the small group because it meant that the people who cared the most were there. To me, it was easier than if it had been a huge crowd of people who came just because they were supposed to come.

4 Days till we leave Najile

First thing came a power outage after three passes of the hair clippers over Doug's head in the early morning sunshine. Thankfully, the generator hadn't been moved to Nairobi just yet.

We packed the kitchen and the pantry, keeping just a couple spoons, bowls and plates for use in the next couple days.  Its popcorn, scrambled eggs, bananas and P.B.J. for us from here on out, except for the Maasai meals of the next three days.

Doug went down to our neighbors where he finished up the plumbing system he designed with them for their new house. Its a basic hook-up to the public water pipe.

Meanwhile, I sat down to get a few thoughts out for my speech tomorrow, my last words to the broader Maasai population of this region. Just then, a neighbor opened the gate. And I spent the next three plus hours sitting in the living room with her and her daughter, looking at the photos books of the Najile neighbors interspersed with moments of silence. Near the end, two more neighbors came in and sat with us.  Since my Maa is limited, especially after three hours, this picked up the conversation flow significantly.

About that time, Doug returned. He mentioned that the neighbor who had promised to bring us a chicken, in fact, had kept her promise. It is currently boarding at the next door neighbor's till we can decide her fate.

To wrap up the day, between 5 and 6 p.m. came the flurry of kids asking for lip medicine (which I don't have), or for water to drink, or ladies coming wanting to fill their jerrycans because the water flow is slow at the other watering point (and then they all want a plastic bag to help seal the lid, which I also don't have to give today).

Life here can be like a roller coaster. In the late day rush of people came my regular begging neighbor and today she went through her routine. I kindly refused over and over to give her more things. (I'd already hosted and fed her earlier in the day). However, she wouldn't give up and she took it just a few steps too far when she asked me for the clothes I was currently wearing.  For three years now, I've fought to find ways to build relationship and dignity with this woman. At that moment, I tried to fight the blow to our dignity, both hers and mine which that kind of behavior perpetrates. But, despite all my head knowledge, I was hurt and mad.

Moments later, a colleague and friend dropped by with his hands full of gifts for us. Big meaningful gifts, completely the opposite of what I'd just experienced. Among the gifts was an orkwatiti for me. It was the tail of a wildebeest attached to a handle. This, he said, is a very special piece. It represents leadership. It is for a leader to bless others at special events. Oh, and also you can swat flies.

The orkwatiti belonged to my father, he said. I've saved it all these years. He'd lost his father at the age of 12.  His father, a powerful man in the community, was assasinated by his driver. My eyes got huge. You are giving this to me?! Are you sure?! (Its impolite to question a gift, but I couldn't help it, it just slipped out because I was so shocked and touched). Yes, he said. This is a very hard thing to find now-a-days, he repeated. Yes indeed.

My heart and mind were reeling. One minute I felt like if I'd stripped myself naked, handed over my clothes, and offered to cut off my arm, someone would still have happily taken more from me. The next minute, I felt humbled down to my toes by the honor lavished on me by this young man, who knows I lost my own father recently and gave me a very special gift to tell me his appreciation of leadership and blessing.

We thought we were through for the day, as the last light faded over Mt. Suswa and we closed the front door. But this was not to be. A final guest arrived in the form of the dear mzee pastor. I quickly pulled out the tea making materials and fed him a humble dinner of eggs and bread on the few eating utensils available in our nearly empty house, while Doug hosted and made conversation about corn, beans, bees and the drought.

At long last, this day is ending.

And tomorrow, God give me strength to stand up under all the limelight of a goodbye event with hundreds of community members and colleagues.

5 days till we leave Najile

We had a final meeting with the food security organization located about 2 hours away in Ngong town that partners with MCC. We went to a Maasai resort about 3 hours from home. We enjoyed a shady breeze and a typical feast, then drove all the way home.

These guys are so serious about their meat. A server came with three different preparations
of meat in large quantities in addition to the chips, greens and ugali. He cut them up into small pieces including large slabs of plain blubber, right then and there on his board and served them onto plates to be passed around. Silence ensued, except for the slurping and chewing of large chunks of meat. All food, including kachumbari (fresh chopped combo of onions, green peppers, tomatoes) was eaten straight from hand to mouth.

We finished the day with a dinner with our friends, Solomon and Lydia. Doug passed on a donated laptop to support Solomon in his work. He is a local leader on the board of our HIV parnter organization.  He is an entrepreneur who together with his wife, has started a small private school. He also runs a food stuffs shop and his wife runs a little kinyozi (hair styling shop for weaves and cuts). We walked the 1 km home around 10:45 pm under the full moon.

6 days till we leave Najile

Our last official meeting with the Generations HIV/AIDs organzation that MCC partnered with during our time. (Our neighbor,friend, and lady who does laundry joined us for lunch) This group did not get their funding renewed by MCC, which was a pretty difficult thing for us to be involved with, but they have recently acquired complete funding through a new organization for the next 5 years. Such a good note to leave them on.
I wasn't sure whether the hen they promised to bring would arrive "toonkejek" (on foot, walking) or what. Turns out, it was already dead, but needed a little more work before it hit the pan and the fire. Doug graciously dressed the beast, while I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off, building the fire, serving tea, preparing the rest of the food, answering the door, etc. 

We gave goodbye gifts and affirmations around the circle.

The men got a beautiful photo book on Maasai culture. They quickly identified family members in the book that are still alive today.

For a lady, a "very smart" dress I had made by the local seamstress.

And this one is for posterity. Someday, I told Micah (my dear neighbor boy) in my broken Maa, I will meet you all grown up, and I will pull out this picture. You will remember when you couldn't find your mom at home, so you came to my house and had leftover cake and Sprite in the afternoon.