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.  

7 days till we leave Najile

We met for the last official time with the staff that runs the Self Help Group Project. We celebrated with a special lunch of beef stew on rice  with mango pie. Three years ago, we sat for about three hours in this same spot, under this same tree, with this same amazing woman and plied her with questions and ideas about how best to approach/design a project that focuses on fighting dependency by strengthening groups and leaders to design, fund, complete their own small community projects and networks them to local resources. What an amazing partnership it has turned out to be. We are grateful to God for the victories on the challenging journey of this project. Now, instead of asking for more handouts, the groups are saying, "We feel like the world is open to us." This is the best feedback we could hear.

February Photo Show

Summit of Point Lenana of Mt Kenya, 16,350 ft Marking 5 yrs of marriage.

Fashion session with the neighbor ladies in preparation for the coming send-off on March 7

Visit to our MCC colleague, James and his family near Nyeri, in the shadow of Mt. Kenya

"One of the best gifts you can give to a couple" in Kikuyu tradition, recieved by us.

Amboseli National Park, famous for elephants and Mt. Kilimanjaro views.

My all time favorite: the Lilac Breasted Roller

Sharing tea under the Acacia tree with neighbor Grace.

A little Fashion Advice

"NO, no, no, no!" Nalamai exclaimed. Disapproving. Not O.K. This would never do! You must have "olokesena". I had just ventured into the complex world of Maasai fashion.

Previously, I never felt it quite the right time for me to try to assemble the components of the traditional Maasai dress and put them on myself. But, with the approach of our "Enkomonolesere", goodbye prayers, event, I am thinking it might be the right time. After three years, perhaps I've earned the community rapport, the "right" to wear the shukas together with my friends. I also happen to know it would tickle everyone pink.

Over the last few years, I've collected a few cloth wraps (lessos) that had patterns and colors that I liked. I've observed the combinations of colors and patterns worn by most of the women around me and I felt I was ready to call in the advisors.

After consulting my neighbors Nalamai and Helen and learning that I absolutely must have the "olokesena", the underskirt, I promised I would get one. So, on Monday, we went to the market and stopped by one of the shops I've been to a few times before.

Upon presenting my request, the lady began asking me what colors of lessos I had and I knew I was in for some more advice. "I have red, blue and yellow," I explained. Ok, well then you should probably get this color. To my horror, her hand grabbed my least favorite color from the stack of fabric- a bland full pink!

 Inside I started chuckling, howling, in fact. All my life, pink has been my least favorite of all colors. Before I could stop myself, I exclaimed, laughing, "But I hate pink!" Oh, she said, you hate pink. Well, let's see... And on went my fashion consult, till I convinced her that a dark blue would do me just fine!

Here's what I've learned about Maasai Fashion:

1. The more contrast, the better.

2. Each clan is partial to certain colors of certain pieces of the many layered outfit. Some tend to go with pink, others blue, for the skirt that is worn underneath showing only a band of 5 or 6 inches at the bottom of the entire get-up.

3. Substitution is not o.k. My homemade lesso skirt would not look good enough in place of the olokesena even though it would provide lots of contrast and only show a little at the bottom anyway!

Our Modern Maasai clothes, tailored and beaded.

4. For men, its best to wear certain type of tie shoes for a special event and socks a certain height. They need larger fabric pieces (not lessos) and generally blue and red are the "smartest" combination. Then you need a large piece of lighter fabric to swoosh about your neck and shoulders. Not the heavier one for colder evenings/mornings.

5. With men, anything goes a lot more than women. Combining the traditional wraps with the modern fancy tailored and beaded shirt or suit jacket is no problem. Beads of any sort are also a plus.

6. Groups of ladies and men, but especially ladies love to have matching lessos. "Uniforms" are a favorite.

7. The words shuka, olkarash, and lessos are all used variably to describe different fabric wraps or combination of wraps, aka outfits.

8. Despite all these wraps, clothes, and styles being called "traditional" Maasai dress, most of the current items are made in China- from beads to cheap fabric wraps, to plastic shoes and sandals and blue canvas shoes. Previously, they dug red ochre from the dirt to stain themselves and their wraps made of skin. And I'm sure with Kenya's trade port of Mombasa, and large Indian and Swahili population, beads may have been imported from eastern places for a long while.

**In another month, there should be some pictures to document my Traditional Maasai Fashion experiment. Stay tuned.

The Gift of Receiving

I suppressed an inner moan as I looked at the mass of food on my plate yet to eat. A horrible thought popped into my brain. What would happen if I need to rush out of the manyatta because my stomach might reject the pile of "endaa" (food) which I was pressing down into it...

We had arrived after a couple hour walk to the manyatta of Maria, a gentle lady with the sweetest smile. After a refreshment of 5 pieces of white bread served to each of us on metal plates and a cup of hot watered down cocoa, we rested and chatted, getting to know the friends of our friend who were there to keep us company while our hostess put finishing touches on lunch (Its kind of faux pax to let guests sitting by themselves even if it means you talk with strangers the most and hardly get to talk with your friend you came to visit).

The method of cooling your hot drink so you don't burn your mouth is pouring it back and forth between two cups.

I had promised Maria that I would visit her before I go back to "enkopai", my land. In these final weeks of our time in Kenya, we are trying to get in the last promised visits. A visit from us is a sought after thing and both of the other ladies who were attending us soon were asking if it weren't possible for us to come and visit their homes, too before we leave. "In fact, how about coming back and sleeping overnight in my house!" I wrapped my refusals in as much velvet as I could muster. "Ashe oleng oleng! Ashukunye teneyieu Enkai. Neaku kalo nanu abaiki iyie", I said. Thank you very very  much. I'll come back(to Kenya) if God wants and then I can come and visit you.

It wasn't too long before the next course arrived; another metal plate full of stew: green peas and grated carrots, big potato halves, a few pieces of Maaai style chunks of goat. Ok, I thought, no problem. To my dismay, the rice arrived in another bowl and was spooned in two large  slabs onto the top of my already full plate. At my exclamation of how much food there was, the woman next to me said, "Inosa, inosa." Eat, eat.

I picked up the spoon  and remembered the tortoise who won the race, slowly by slowly. I can do this, I thought and pulled my cheeks into a smile. Just then, the chapati pan came round. When they saw the conservative stack of two wedges I took (I knew one would never fly), they said to each other in Maa, "Did she take only one?! She needs four!"

With my work before me, I plodded along spoon by spoon. It was half-way through the pile when I had that dire panicked thought, wondering just how far I could push my innerds.  Slowly I eased piece after piece into my mouth, though I was reprimanded by the lady next to me when I paused too long! Inosa!*

Thankfully, I was distracted with lots of conversation, where they grilled me gently and good naturedly to see just how much this white lady knew of local Maasai places, names, and language. Mostly I passed the tests but I have to admit, I chuckled to myself, wondering if they might just ask me to light a fire to see if I knew how (whenever I hold a baby or cut grass or walk long distance, there are always amazed remarks about my abilities).

Just as I was gratefully finishing the last spoonful, a sprite soda (a special treat out in the bush for a special occasion) was handed to me to wash it all down...

We stayed an appropriate length of time, chatting, reading scripture together, taking pictures. Then after the mandatory "kitejo ashe" (we say thank you) speeches by each party, we hoisted our over-satiated selves out of the chairs and headed back toward home along the dusty track.

 Sometimes receiving graciously and humbly can be pretty hard work, an exercise in selflessness and cross-cultural sensitivity.  Understanding the context in which your hosts live and out of which they are pouring their generosity and demonstration of love is important.(One of my good friends also explained it well here in her post about hospitality in Eastern Europe).

Visiting Maasai homes is our privilege, to be sure. Yet admitedly, its not always the most comfortable or easy experience. Sometimes being the object of people's attention (especially people we don't know so well) and desire for generosity can seem overbearing from our cultural perspective. However, we know how huge it is to community members to have us come and receive their hospitality, spending time in their home. So, off we go. And down we sit and eat we do!

Delight fills the faces around us as we attempt to speak their language and as we eat their sacrificially offered food. There is a big drought on. Anytime I'm offered milk or food, I know it is a big investment of my host.  As we accept the gifts of carefully crafted bead necklaces we know this is also a huge gift back to the givers. It is the gift of our receiving. Appreciating and engaging with their generosity, especially as foreigners, honors them and validates their experience and lives.

So, for a time, we set aside our finnicky stomachs, our personal food preferences, our "rich man's worry" about too much fat or too many carbs and we partake with a hearty "Ashe pi!". Thank you completely.

* We don't do this every day, thankfully. It always takes some time to recover.  In larger group meals we are able to employ some tricks to control our own intake without offending a particular host. These last weeks of our time here in Najile, the need is excentuated for enough  grace to extend the gift of receiving over and over.

Receiving Masaa.

All in attendance.

Maria, our hostess, giving Doug his gift of Masaa (jewelry).

Beading out under the shade of the tree.

Better Late than Never...Family Visitors, Christmas 2014

A highlight of our time here was the visit of my sister and brother-in-law and their family over the Christmas and New Year's break. Near the end of their wonderful two week visit with us, our computers were stolen, so many pictures from that time, though apparently backed up, have remained a bit difficult to access and doing much on the computer has been more difficult in general. For a while, I felt it was too dissappointing and discouraging to even post because I could not share the whole story in pictures. Finally, I've found just a few to represent to you, readers, some of the good times we had. This represents two days only and does not show the time spent engaging with our neighbors in Najile, or with the wildlfe around our home. But, better late, than never.

One of the days I found pictures from was our lunch on the shores of Lake Victoria. We ate fish, Luo style, accompanied by sukuma wiki (a combo of kale, tomatoes and onions) and ugali (corn maize) 

A fish head is too good to pass up, for a little drama and photos.

To end the day, we had a beautiful meal and fellowship on the patio of our MCC colleague and friends' home in Mamboleo.

Another good day was our last. We spent it in Nairobi. The whole visit was such a treat to spend with family and a niece and nephews.  They've grown so much while we've been gone, but hadn't forgotten us. Though, there was a little confusion about where our home was. "Mom, are Aunti Corinna and Uncle Doug, white Kenyans?"

As a parting connection to the soul of Kenya, we visited with many other tourists (the bread and butter of Kenya) rescued baby elephants, orphaned mostly by poachers killing their mothers for ivory.

Such a happy looking baby.

Tender hearted Anna at the pen of one of the baby elephants.

****Here are a few more great posts by my sister that tell more of the story. Enkarnai, Friends, Eyes, Kenya