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           24 February 2006 6:45pm                                                   

Last night, over a burrito, we prayed for rain. Its been at least three months since it rained, the result being over four million Kenyans in the north part of the country in a state of hunger. I had a discussion with an aid worker who just came from Marsabit, and she said that when you get that far north all you see is dead cows and camels. Well, anyways, last night we prayed again for rain.

And today it came. I left my building at noon and the whole sky was dark and it was fertile for a downpour. I was seated with other students under an awning near the cafeteria, and the drops started to hit the ground, raising a small haze of dust. Then the heavens tore and it was on. The rain was so heavy I had to shout to talk to the person next to me. The wavy metal roof ran thick with muddy washoff, all in little streams between the ridges. You could feel how happy people here were to see this. People came out of the library across the field and stood underneath the concrete overhang in groups. Everybody stopped moving. Everybody waited. And the volumous water in the sky was flung onto the parched yellow horizon. The gutters overfilled and the ground soaked to its limit and large puddles were everywhere. The avacado tree to my left got slippery wet and sagged in the liquid. Three months of drought ended today. Three months of waiting for this agricultural society to grow food. I was happy, but they really knew happy and I didn't really know.

           23 February 2006 10:15pm                                                   

Matatus: They are the source of cheap transportation around Kenya. I sit in the middle seat surrounded by fellow passengers who usually throw curious glances my way. Similar to anywhere: the mode of travel is a symbol of status, so it is difficult for them to understand why a mzungu is slummin' it with the rest of them instead of driving a silver 4x4 like the rest of the NGOers. But, I pay the 20Ksh (about 30 cents) and ride into Nairobi. The driver infront of me has henna stains on his fingernails. He has a toothpick sticking out of his mouth and a dirty wrinkled green collared shirt on. Posters of venerated icons are taped to the walls: like Che Gueverra and Bob Marley, Shaggy and Suge Knight. Also taped in the Toyota 14-pass van are phrases like: "who god bless let no one curse" and "mo money mo problems". Large decals are pasted on the sides and rear window, like a picture of LL Cool J, or the phrase "Ultra Commando". I cannot begin to describe the variety throughout the matatu spectrum. But the most defining factor of a matatu is the music. Tiny speakers that only throw out high tinny music are arranged along the inside. The music, whether it be Reggae or Rap or Gospel, comes out in unbelievably deafening levels and frequencies. The other sixteen people in the van seem unfazed, but I'm always holding my ears.

So the driver bobs his head to the music, chews his toothpick, flashes his headlights to greet oncoming matatus, and weaves a micrometer around a donkey cart, and I sit in the middle seat. And its normal. This is all normal. Normal. Normal.

           21 February 2006 8:15pm                                                   

This Jesus is worth it because he wove galaxies and hummingbirds and RNA into existence yet he washed feet like these.

           20 February 2006 6:59pm                                                   

October 1999 a Norwegian named Jon Johansen, a high school dropout, broke the CSS encryption on DVDs. His discovery made it possible to copy a DVD and pirate movies that previously had to be store-bought. The result: A trillion dollar international pirated DVD industry & David. David sells these bootlegs outside of my grocery store. "Hello, my friend," he tells me. "Look at my movies." A glance in the bed of his pickup demonstrates why the bootleg industry is beginning to supercede the illegal drug market. He opens a large yellow plastic bag, and inside are over two-hundred DVDs. They are actually quite professional looking. They have nice colorful sleeves and the typical plastic black DVD case. Most have over five movies per disc, and many have entire seasons of popular TV shows like LOST or 24. Often the movies are themed, for example a 'Richard Gere DVD' or a 'Disney DVD'. All for 500 Ksh per disc. That complete series of the Band of Brothers looked tempting. "Special deal for my friend," David says. "Thanks but I don't have a TV," I tell him. He looks at me funny.

           17 February 2006 6:20pm                                                   

Beans and rice for dinner again. Wierd...

God: Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you that there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness.
Take away my sadness.
Ease my troubles - thats what you do.

           16 February 2006 5:44pm                                                   

We had just finished hiking for two days on the base of Mt. Kenya and were tired and ready for home and our normal beds, but there were a couple of instances to occur before that could happen. The first happened when we stopped by Embu for a cold Coke before we hit the four hour drive back (coke is always safe to drink). Our driver turned down a road into Embu, as we were looking for a consession stand, we saw police officers. Or better put, perhaps it was the police who first spotted us. I was behind the driver in the back when I met the glossy stare of a blue-uniformed policeman. He immediately raised his hand and forced our car to a stop. I knew what they wanted. You see, in Kenya there is no such thing as probable cause for an arrest. To police here, a car full of white people is called an 'opportunity'. So basically, when our driver rolled his window down, two policemen walked up and told him to step outside. They told him to drive to the police station for processing because he had entered a 'do not enter' road. Now, it was obvious they were lying, considering the cars entering behind us and the lack of a street sign. Anyways, our driver argued in thick Swa that I could barely grasp, and got back into the car aggravated but relieved he convinced the police to not arrest him. It was a good thing. I don't think we had the $100 they would have wanted for a bribe. We got back on the road - after we had bought cokes.

I thought we were finally on our way, but halfway between Embu and Thika the highway traffic slowed to a standstill. A glance through the windshield revealed a crowd of rural Kenyans in the road, spreading their arms and stopping the flow of traffic. As our car got into the crowd, people were shouting if anyone could bring a man to the hospital who had just been sideswiped in a hit and run. Our car was thankfully full, so they let us through the line and we finished the drive home.

           15 February 2006 7:44pm                                                   

Old Moses lodge is a rough wooden building 1/3 the distance up Mount Kenya. This was our destination for the weekend. The goal was to get a decent workout, get further acclimated to the altitude, and have some good outdoor fun. Aside from the traumatic beginning, the trip went smoothly. As we approached the area, the mountain could be seen in the distance. We slowed down and took pictures of it, along with the baboons nearby. To get to the park entrance required us to drive through seven miles of rural settlement. Over and over the car was surrounded by mud-thatched huts and staring people. I look at their lives/environment/eyes and try to imagine a life where the boundaries of my reality are a circle of seven mud huts. Is life better? Worse? Why do I feel a need to see the world when the quality of life seems to remain unchanged? These thoughts spin and smash together as the eyes from the huts look my way and perhaps think along a similar line.

We reached the park entrance, unloaded, and the driver drove away. Quickly pausing for a picture, we shouldered our packs and made the six mile hike along a dirt road to Old Moses 11000ft above sea level. Other hikers were already there, many preparing their gear for the further three days of Mt. Kenya ascent. A group of three college guys next to us were reading Hemingway and Conrad. We ate Ramen noodles, sent text messages, watched a tremendous sunset, had our elder tell us stories, and crashed by 9pm on the wooden bunks. Sleep was instant.

The light through the glass slatted window woke me up at 7am. As the low morning sun threw our shadows long, we went outside and took tremendous pictures and videos of the camp's view. We did a small hike further up above the tree line, and met a chameleon on the road. By 3pm we had hiked back down while trying to see elephants from the path, evident by the nearby football-sized dung. I was disappointed - no elephant sightings. Unpeeling the shoes from the feet was a strong consolation.

It was a fantastic trip. It was so refreshing to be torn from the books and enter the national parks. The trees were large and mossy and foreign, and seem to be all old growth (no lumber era). We saw some weird quail, a chameleon, and lots of multicolored birds. A common sight was this black and yellow one that had drooping yellow tail feathers twice as long as the bird itself. It was an honest wonder to hike the nature of this great countryside. We might do it again, but this time it would be to the top.

Old Moses Hike photos added to 'Pictures' section on the left

           13 February 2006 6:00pm                                                   

The culture shock was felt a bit this past week, and it was decided that nothing would be more beneficial than getting off campus and doing an overnight hike around the base of Mount Kenya. I joined Preston, a third year Trinity student doing a section abroad, and Phil, a mid-seventy year old guy with a love for hiking. On our way through Nairobi our car was attacked by muslims. I had been forewarned through a US embassy email that Feb10 was the day of protest in Nairobi over the Danish cartoons. I forgot about the warning.

Our Toyota Pajero 4X4 was headed down a main stretch of road. As we neared a sharp turn, the a large crowd could be seen on our right. I don't remember well, because it was so terrifying, but I believe it was Preston who brought the body on the road to our attention. Our Kenyan driver, Matthew, slowed down and we took a moment to look and see what all the fuss was about. Then the driver side rear window exploded, glass fragments everywhere. Kenyans in long white Muslim attire shouted 'Mzungus!' (white people) and began hurling hunks of broken concrete at the car. Thankfully Matthew quickly hit the gas and we sped off with rocks thunking against the sides of the car. We stopped the car a mile away and got collected, making sure everybody was unhurt and examining the car. Matthew spit towards the broken window, "Muslims! That's how they are!" It took us hours to loosen up again. Their faces were some of the rawest malice I have ever seen.