Welcome all.

Other Blogs of goodness:

           20 October 2005 7:48pm                                                    

I went with Seg to the Village Market today. Its a elegant shopping mall and food court used often by UN and embassy employees. Its about as much of a 'village market' as Meadowbrook Dr. is a 'brook in a meadow'. But it was interesting to sit and talk with him about him and my father growing up in Lansing in the eighties. What an international community is contained in this city. Seg was describing to me the long list of NGOs that work within the city, from all countries. Looking around I saw such a variety of people. So many skin tones and accents. Women from the Middle East dressed in muslim attire and women from India wearing saris. I've seen such a variety of Tshirts worn by the kenyan people that also echo how multinationed the city is, like D.A.R.E shirts and Gonzaga Zag shirts. And looking at the NEGST student community you can see over thirty countries represented within these walls. I think that three years of such clamorous multicultural interaction will be such a benefit to understanding people's hearts; understanding their needs, desires, and contentment.

I also met a man named Joseph today. He has been pounding bent nails straight for over ten years.

           19 October 2005 8:28pm                                                    

Its around 8:30pm right now, and the temperature has dropped to the 60s like it does every night. I'm amazed at how sensitive Africans are to these temperature. No kidding, I just walked by a guard that had on a matching pink knit cap and scarf. I'm feeling good in a tshirt and jeans. During the class breaks (10 minutes of every class hour) I often have students eye my clothes and ask me, "Aren't you cold?" Yet, during the coming December summer when the mercury climbs to the 90s, I'll probably be sweating in class in a mesh T and biking shorts and eye their pants and long sleeves in similiar amazement. (December summer?!?)

These paper thin sugar cookies are beginning to take their toll. All the stores sell are these dainty european coffee things that just continue on the crunchy thin trend. I've been ok about remaining ethnonuetral and entering an African daily routine and diet, but I'd probably sell my sister for some homemade fudge brownies or chunky chocolate chip cookies right now. Sorry Emma. I've been exegizing Genesis and found that its okay to sell your siblings. I mean, Joseph was sold by his siblings and look where he went.

           18 October 2005 9:50pm                                                    

I woke up very early this morning in order to get a good couple of hours in on my 4th century monasticism research paper. It was still dark. As the light turned to dusk I had this intense flashback to when my father would rouse my grumpy booty out of bed when I was younger for goose hunting, and we would go into the garage and load up decoys and steel shot. He would drive me and my brother on these dark morning excursions through the rural roads. We would arrive at cornfields that had been pre-scouted for goose activity, and dig shallow graves with shovels. We would then lie in these graves, side by side, covered with corn stalks for camouflage. The morning would be spent just hanging out and usually would include some goose hunting. Often other friends were with us, like Larry or Travis. Goose hunting is some of my favorite memories with my dad.

This morning's memory was good, but a little mournful, since as I've gotten older I have attended less goose hunts... but no more. Yo Papa, I'll be home during September for the early season.

Naivasha Trip update in the 'Pictures' page on the left. Its a very large update, so enjoy.

           17 October 2005 8:04pm                                                    

As we sat around the fire, hippopotamus grunts and groans gave a continual reminder of our proximity to Lake Naivasha. It was important to avoid the lake front, as hippos kill more people each year than any other wild animal here in Kenya. David's uncle was mauled by one three years ago. I maintained distance from the beach, so as not to play 'Hungry Hungry Hippos' the real game.

We were sharing stories of our birth. Rafael began his story with the phrase, "before I was born the rainbow was still in black and white". David told about how he grew up in a village that had no clocks or calenders, so he has no birthday. He just picks whatever date he wants. The group laughed at my story about how my father fashioned a birthing chair for me and my brother Ethan, a two seater, with one seat for the mother birther and one seat for the father encourager. It was amazing to hear how close many of these student's births came to killing their mothers. It seems that cesarian sections are less common here. What a time it was, sitting around this fire in the rift valley and relating with this multinational body of friends. People whose stories, compared to mine, are so very different and yet so similiar. I guess, in the words of Seth Bernard, us humans may have a different set of experiences, but we're both made up of the same basic elements: carbon and water.

           15 October 2005 8:20pm                                                    

We had hiked ten miles away from the roads, out of Hells Gate national park, and into the canyons and gorges of the rift valley. Throughout the camping trip we saw giraffes, hippos, zebras, kudu, gazelles, multicolored birds, warthogs, but nothing could prepare me for this. Just as our group of students began our return, somebody high in the canyon began to sing. It was a child's voice, thin and delicate. The song pierced the air, beginning to waver and bend. The syllables rolled over each other, completely incomprehensible to me. It was unlike any melody or scale I have ever heard. I kept the hike up, but remained searching for the origin of these incredible notes.

The thick foliage broke, and I saw the Masai girl standing 200 feet away on a large rock cliff overlooking the magnificent canyon. An older male Masai, with his red blanket and thin stick, goaded some goats nearby. And the little girl was dancing! She banged a drum, high up above the trail, and skipped while she sang. Another girl joined her on her boulder stage and began to dance as well, rocking back and forth at the waist to the first ones dance of running in place. It was paralyzing to the mind. Even through the distance I could feel her happiness and interpret her simple joyful song, the way child songs are usually sung.

As the skipping and dancing and warbled music continued, she waved. I looked around and realized that my group had moved far ahead, resulting in the wave being meant for me. Alone in the gorge I stuttered the return, my hand halfway raised in front of me, too stunned to accomplish such a task. She waved again. Encouraged, I clumsily waved back. She resumed her song and I continued the hike, much deeper in the heart of Africa than previously realized.

           13 October 2005 7:02pm                                                    

Today has been annointed, for no apparent reason, and it just feels good to be alive. Simple existence, the possessing of this human skin, the moving of these muscles, and the breathing of this air, has become worship. It is as if each individual nerve synapse is being understood, unlike the normal glob of info that has to be drearily picked apart. Purchasing fruit from the local vendors is done through a thousand comprehended individual coordinated processes, and the smile and 'asante' in return is delivered in symphony. Even walking on the mottled maroon roads, surrounded by the 1970 era automobiles and their black almost-dripping diesel exhaust, gives one the impression that there is some sort of joyous soundtrack emanating in forte from everywhere and nowhere. The textures of the day (metal, wood, stone, skin, cloth) are paraded into the concious in crystal-clear IMAX quality. Relational communication between friends, shared laughter-prayer-desires, becomes like honey for the soul. The entire day continues with my spirit in maniacal prostratation before the Source. I beg Him for a continuance of this condition, cmon please just a while longer, because ordinary living has taken the form of a slum compared to this sea shore.

           12 October 2005 7:20pm                                                    

Above is the view out of my window. Every day I see these women work the garden in their colorful clothes. I leave for class in the morning, and they are there. I come back from basketball, at dusk, and they are still gardening. They are part of a group of some of the poorer families at NEGST who grow vegetables to reduce their food costs.

I also see the hedge behind them. This hedge is more than a property boundery, it is economic division. In the upper right of the picture is a 'fallen' tree used by the neighbors for their equestrian jumping. They don their smooth khaki breeches and velvet riding helmets, and with crop in hand they leisure throughout their property on the back of a mare while their miniture dogs scurry behind.

Its totally possible that the horse lady is a servant to the poor for the time I do not see her. Maybe she administers retroviral HIV meds through UNICEF or the local Red Cross. Yet I know, as I watch her gracefully glide her steed on sunny days, that her walk after God is made more difficult by this luxery. For the colorful gardeners, God is one who gives hope for a time of no more sweat, no more exhaustion, and no more hungry mouths that resets the whole process. For the horse lady, if she is a follower of Christ, heaven is difficult to attain, because it is understood more in the head than the bones (Matt 19:23).