CCTV footage at their house provided visual proof of how the Kisii girl and Meru guard after finishing their chores, would place the infant child between them and watch TV as they sipped wine and spoon-fed each other, just like the couples in the soap operas they watch. Mama Glenny is especially pained that the Kisii girl even if she has problems, cannot come to Mama Glenny for help, since she abused her goodness and broke her bridges.

A new mobile phone
It’s not long before Njoki and Sharon return. Njeri was right. Njoki explained her story to the same KPLC guard, who walked with her to the cashier. By coincidence, the cashier’s supervisor is standing at the counter with the cashier, and makes him do a count of all the money he has, and sure enough, there is an extra two-hundred shillings. Njoki is lucky. Had she returned after the cashier’s lunch break, he would have already done his cash count, closed his accounts and happily pocketed the two-hundred shilling without anyone’s knowledge. Feeling triumphant, Njoki and Sharon head on to the phone shops.

Njoki’s return to the KPLC office at Sarit center also allows Sharon to buy the new mobile phone that her mother is gifting her after passing her exams with flying colors. Njeri has instructed her not to get a phone with facebook, she doesn’t want Sharon to be corrupted by the internet. Njeri saw the deal (phone advertisement) in the newspaper and explains that, unlike Mary, she doesn’t buy second hand phones which cost exactly the same as the new ones that even come with a warranty. Ignorance, Njeri says, often is the reason why people without money remain without money.

The Kept Woman
Just then another client walks in. She too, is a long-standing client of Njeri’s. She wants Njeri to wash and re-weave her hair, but Njeri is not quite done with my hair. This new entrant fits my image of the skinny-tall-kept girl, clothed to draw attention and never -to-be-seen without the high heels and long fake hair (forgive my prejudice). She has no bag but in her hand is a small purse and mobile phone. The phone’s earphones are permanently stuck to her ears, as if to block out the world. When she speaks she takes one earphone out.

Her first words are an apology to Njeri for not coming sooner. She goes on to explain that her Sonko (wealthy white boyfriend) has been around and she didn’t have time. After a few minutes, she asks Njeri, “Kwani watu wanaopatwa na stroke hawaponi?” (don’t people that get strokes recover?). Njeri responds that people do get well. With heart-felt emotion, the client explains that Sonko had to return home (somewhere abroad) urgently because his father had a stroke and shortly thereafter passed away. She seems to know the father personally and is quite sad at his passing. She explains that this probably means that Sonko will not come back to Kenya till around August, so she is going to be broke for awhile. As she awaits Njeri, she decides to have Njoki re-apply her toe-nail polish; she can’t afford to get her hands done as well.

Time Flies
And before i know it, four hours have swiftly passed by. I’ve spent three weeks in Nairobi, meeting friends and family, all familiar to me. Yet these last four hours, Nairobi has offered me something different – a genuine ‘joie de vivre’. I thank Njeri for a job well done, pay for her services and head out onto my next errands.

*Disclaimer – this post is written in Kenyan everyday English, highly influenced by Swahili and other local languages. It’s re-told as observed with only a few name changes to protect the privacy of the clients. Apologies for any toes that may have been stepped on, I have done my best to keep to the facts of what I saw and heard.

SONG OF THE WEEK – CAROLINE MALACHI – BEAUTIFUL DREAMER

Westlands Market
It all goes down at a hair stall in Nairobi’s Westlands Market. You find these little 4 by 4 foot stalls in most markets in Nairobi. They are occupied by highly-skilled women, who working at great speed produce the neatest, nicest-looking uniform braids. I call Njeri, the braiding lady, early that Monday morning to ensure she has no other clients booked. At 10.30am, after one more phone call to clarify directions, I arrive at her stall. Njeri is at the back of the stall repairing another client’s hair and informs me that she shall be done in a few minutes.

Braid repair is where you take out and re-braid the front of the head. It’s great when one does not have enough time or money to get the whole head re-done. It costs much less, actually about a quarter of the regular cost, and has you looking as good as new. Seeing as she still has a client, I offer to purchase my braids as she finishes the re-braid. We discuss the type, color and brand of braids and I proceed to a supermarket nearby.

When I return there’s another client getting her hair washed by Mary, Njeri’s colleague. Mary must be from western Kenya because though she understands the Kikuyu discussions, her interjections are in Swahili. The sink is located right beside the door leaving just enough room for me to squeeze through and get to where Njeri is finally almost done with her braid-repair client.

The Hair Stall Owner
Njeri is a cheerful, pleasant character. Right away I can tell she’s great with people; there’s constant chattering and playful banter all around her. Several people stop by with happy new year wishes and her phone rings every 15 minutes or so. Most of her callers are friends congratulating her on her daughter’s exam success. Sharon has passed her Standard 8 (primary school exit exams) so well that she is almost certain to be admitted to a National school. Some of Njeri’s friends don’t think it wise to trust the system and therefore are calling to encourage her to visit friendly head-teachers so that if anything goes wrong, Sharon will still have a plan B high-school.

Back-to-school
As we are sitting there, Mama Glenny arrives. She’s one of Njeri’s loyal clients stopping by to have her braids taken out and hair washed. Mama Glenny is in the midst of ‘back-to-school’ errands and has just dropped off her children’s uniforms for labelling at a nearby stall. Its interesting how putting names on a child’s uniform has been professionalized and is now an actual business. Well, I guess it’s a small investment considering the cost of buying a whole new school uniform when it gets lost. Mama Glenny is also looking for places to buy socks for Glenn. She has tried all the usual uniform shops but they have run out of his size. She doesn’t want to go into town as it’s always difficult to find parking.

Nobody’s picking up
Mary has started taking out (unbraiding) Mama Glenny’s hair but Mama Glenny is in a hurry and needs more hands in order to go faster (speed up the process). Njeri calls her other stall-helper Njoki, who along with Njeri’s daughter Sharon had gone out to Sarit Center to pay their KPLC electricity bills. It’s been about an hour and Njeri is worried that something might be the matter. She dials Njoki’s number twice but it doesn’t go through. The third time she dials, a man picks up. Njeri cuts the call (disconnects) thinking she must have dialed the wrong number. But after confirming that it is indeed Njoki’s number, she dials again, this time requesting to speak to Njoki. The man on the other side asks her to identify herself and she gives him her name. The man cuts the call leaving Njeri concerned. Njeri then realizes that Njoki may have left her phone at home, in which case it might be Njoki’s husband who picked up. And her husband might now think that Njoki lied to him and didn’t come to work with/for Njeri every day. Realizing that she might have put Njoki into unnecessary trouble, Njeri tries to call back to clarify the situation. The phone rings severally, but no one picks up. Just as we are coming up with scenarios to explain why the phone is not being picked up (answered), Njoki and Sharon walk into the stall. With a sigh of relief they take up unbraiding Mama Glenny’s hair.

A momentarily lost phone
It turns out that as they were walking back from paying the bills at Sarit Center, Njoki realized that she didn’t have her phone and must have left it on the counter where she paid the bills. Njoki and Sharon walk back to find that the KPLC guard has kept the phone but will not give it back to them until Njoki can prove that she is the phone owner. He asks Njoki for the names of the last dialed and received numbers, which she duly provides, but he is not convinced. He keeps asking her different questions to prove that she is the actual phone owner, until finally Njeri calls asking for Njoki and thus confirming that indeed the phone does belong to Njoki. They are lucky, in Nairobi, once a phone is lost, it is lost forever. Njoki and Sharon thank him profusely before heading back to Westlands Market.

Missing Some Cash
As the hair braiding-undoing-washing continues, another issue comes up. Njoki asks Njeri how much money she had given her for the electricity bill. Njeri is surprised and first chides Njoki for being unsure of the amount of money in her possession. Njeri then explains that she had given her three two-hundred shilling notes totaling to six hundred. Njoki thinks she must have lost one of the two-hundred shilling notes along the way.

You see, after queuing for awhile Njoki arrived at the electricity bill counter and the cashier asked her to give him all the money so he could count it for her. It turned out that she only had two two-hundred shilling notes along with the three-hundred shilling in fifty-bob notes that was to pay her own bill. Njoki therefore only paid four-hundred of Njeri’s bill.

Njeri is convinced that it’s the cashier that has stolen the two-hundred shillings. She stops braiding me and with enthusiastic gestures explains what cashiers at banks and other establishments do to old people or clients that seem unsure of themselves. They offer to count the client’s money, to help things go faster (speed up the process), and in the process drop some of the money on the ground below them and declare the money to be short. Since the client was not sure what amount of money they had before handing it over to the cashier, the client is not confident enough to disagree with the cashier and thus searches for other means to meet the deficit.

Njoki is unwilling to confront the cashier. Njoki’s conversation goes back and forth between being pained at losing two-hundred shillings that she will have to re-pay and not having the courage to confront the cashier. After a half hour of this, Njeri tells Njoki to be courageous and go and ask for her money back. After all, what is the worst thing that can happen? It is likely that the cashier shall try to embarrass her, but Njeri tells Njoki to ensure she embarrasses him first by causing a scene and calling him a thief. That way he will be afraid to steal from another client.

…………………………………continued……………………………..

*Disclaimer – this post is written in Kenyan everyday English, highly influenced by Swahili and other local languages. It’s re-told as observed with only a few name changes to protect the privacy of the clients. Apologies for any toes that may have been stepped on, I have done my best to keep to the facts of what I saw and heard.

I’m enjoying the novelity of the first few days of the year, as much as I enjoy – new clothes, a new hairdo, visiting new places. It’s been a month since I last posted, I’ve been holidaying. It’s always surprising to me the copious amount of stuff that can happen in just four weeks. I have moved from fatigued and exhausted to centered and well-rested; from missing home to being home and ready to face another stint away; I’ve laughed till my chest ached and I’ve cried till my throat was sore; I’ve had quiet restful days and I’ve had long activity-full days; I’ve felt low and despondent and then I have felt renewed, restored and reassured. Yap, the kind of stuff that has seen me send out A LOT of thoughts and prayers.

Like, Lord save me from “envy”. For some reason the grass always seems greener on the other side. Myself and I are in constant conversation…assessing, comparing, grading….a horrible thinking pattern that I’ve just got to give up. Just the other day I realized just how many of my problems, personal failings, doubts come about when I compare myself to others. Lord, save me from the green-eyed monster and help me see the value of what you have created in me.

Oh Lord save me, from “old habits” – from ways of being that entrap me. Like pushing to tomorrow what I would rather not do today. I cannot even begin to list the number of things that have fallen to this from thesis corrections, to delayed emails to grand writing projects…Oh that I would realize that if I do the difficult today, tomorrow I may very well do the impossible. Oh that I may learn to keep walking, keep working, keep trying, keep talking…remembering that the path I take is the one you have carefully selected for me.

Lord, save me from the “self-destruct” button. Which for me shows itself in anything from drowning myself in DVDs to wasting my time on what-I-already-know to be dodgy friendships. Sometimes it feels easier to be focusing on anything other than the fear, worry, sadness that grips me. Oh that ‘when the mountains seem so big, and my faith is just so small’, I would learn to run toward you, Lord.

Lord save me from “wanting what I want” even when you clearly have different plans for me. I can be quite stubborn; I don’t change dreams easily. Like, I don’t give up on friendships, even when the other party has clearly long moved on. Recently I had an interaction with a long-lost friend that made me give thanks for every day we have not been in contact. Sometimes God really is protecting and saving me from stuff that’s not good for me. Oh Lord, make me grateful for what you have given me.

Lord save me from the “me-first syndrome”, the overrated satisfaction of being fast or first. Oh what folly there is in being the first to discover something, the first to see or know about it, the first to experience it. Lord you who controls my seasons, cause me to live comfortably in your timing for me.

Lord save me from “pegging my happiness to one thing”. Like, I will be happy when I get that job, when I spend time with my friends and family, when I memorize all the psalms, when I lose 5 more kilos. No….no…help me choose to be happy today…to learn to joy in today’s great moments.

Lord save me from the lie that “I am all alone”….for I am never alone. You are always with me. Keep causing me to see you in the kindness of those around me, in answered prayers, in the ever-inspiring coastal scenery, in the extra mile I run, in the movies I enjoyed, in the work I have successfully completed. Lord, help me see you all around me and be confident in your unfailing love and provision for all of my needs.

As I pray these and many other prayers, I am reminded to be gracious with myself, for I am a work-in progress, His work – my progress . Keep sending up those prayers and thoughts to God. He is listening, willing and able to do something about them.

Song of the week – Deitrick Haddon – He’s able

God is able to do just what he said he would do,
He’s gonna fullfill every promise to you,
Don’t give up on God, cause he won’t give up on you,
He’s Able!!

There was free transport that picked and dropped the participants anywhere and everywhere. The shuttles and buses were organized like an underground metro system with several stops before they returned to the hub at the International conference center (ICC). Access into the center required a badge with facial verification, which I thought was uber-cool. On the inside there were hundreds of meetings happening all through each day.

Then there were the South African volunteers, as polite and as helpful as they come; well-trained, eager to facilitate and actually quite helpful. I was incredibly impressed. The volunteers were mostly college students of black and Indian origin. I guess white South Africans don’t do this kind of thing.

The conference participants were a beautiful kaleidoscope of faces coming from everywhere and I mean everywhere. I couldn’t help but feel like I was in the midst of something special; a unique movement of people valuing and revering the earth and its resources. I find it difficult to appreciate the complexity and wonder of the world we live in without being in awe of God, its creator. It’s truly awe-inspiring.

Anyway, there is way too much to say about the conference so I shall limit today’s post to a random commentary on the out-of-conference travel-related happenings. Mostly because I want to hear if any of you have ever experienced a body search like the one I describe in the final paragraph of this post.

From the moment I got into the airport in Dakar, this trip was full of anecdotal experiences. Like the hour-long delay caused by Namibia’s first lady’s checking-in of 42 pieces of luggage that included an Ironing board!!! Surely, wouldn’t it be easier and cheaper for her to just buy one in Dakar, or don’t Senegalese iron their clothes too? Nkt.

Hanging out with my ‘bestie’ was a personal highlight. She pointed out to me one of life’s ironies. When we met in Nairobi a couple of years ago, her laptop password was ‘Manatee’. (A manatee is an endangered sea-cow found along West Africa’s coast). I remember rolling my eyes at her as I said “Mana-what?” I could never remember the spelling leave alone its meaning; it could have been an alien for all I cared. Well, fast forward 3 years later and I am now working for an environmental organization in West Africa that works on….you guessed right…. ‘Manatees!’ Not only can I now name all the 4 Manatee species in my sleep, I am working with my colleagues on several manatee publications that include a children’s book!:-) Yap, life does come around:-).

One evening too impatient to wait for the official shuttles, my friend and I decided to join another white couple that was getting into a public taxi. South African public transport consists Nissan shuttles, just like in Kenya, that they call ‘taxis’. The one huge difference is that they don’t have a tout. I didn’t know that. So the white couple had to explain to us how it worked. You tap on the shoulder of the passenger seated in front of you and hand them the money and they do the same until the money gets to the driver who calculates the change and passes the money back in the same way it came. If you want to get off you just shout/yell-out your destination and the driver will stop. I found the whole process quite fascinating. And, so did the white couple. They turned to my friend and made a remark oh how strange it was to have to explain to a black woman how to use a taxi. NKT (that very African sound of annoyance) was my very loud reaction. Kwani because I am black I instantly know how to use public transport on all parts of the continent? NKTEST!!

The black-white assumptions did get to us. I suppose it’s impossible to be in South Africa and not experience some post-apartheid culture. White South Africans automatically spoke to my friend in Afrikaans and black South Africans spoke to me in Zulu. I don’t know why we took offense but we did, it annoyed us. I kept saying that in Kenya we are better are recognizing foreigners and not burdening them with long awkward requests in Zulu. Ok, I admit our annoyance was mostly feigned.

Well all those small inconveniences pale when compared to the trauma of the South African airways security search. In all my traveling, I have never been hand-searched so thoroughly. The security lady stuck her fingers into every nook and cranny of my chest and nether regions, and I was in a skirt!! When she was done, my tears flowed freely. I was not alone. I don’t know how one can survive such public humiliation/violation without some emotional reaction. I know we are post-911 but there must be another more dignified way to ascertain security. Has this ever happened to you? If so, what did you do? Sigh. As my father says, travel is penance for the joys of new and wonderful places.

The song of the week is an all-time favorite testimony-song.
Rich Mullins – Hold me Jesus

1. Work that continues to challenge me in ways that I could never expect. Like right now it’s pretty late but this third world Internet won’t support my efforts to upload an embargoed press-something. Still, I am thankful that this does not happen every day and even more grateful for a super helpful intern.

2. A broken cup. I have 5 mugs in my house, 3 round-mouthed ones and 2 longish ones. I don’t plan on having more than 5 guests at once . This past weekend I felt sad about breaking one of the longish ones. Then I realized what a mighty long time it has been since I last had anything broken or needing fixing/replacement. Considering that I am a recovering klutz-oholic that is something to be incredibly thankful for

3. Unexpected expenses that make me grateful for all those months when the available rope equaled the number of days (I come from that culture where money talks are always in euphemisms. Lol.) A major unexpected expense right now is my super costly dermatological stuff that my health insurance apparently does not cover. So yeah, it has very nearly burst my budget, but it’s also made me quite grateful for the many months that I haven’t needed to take it. Instead of fretting or seeing the short end of the stick, I feel quite lucky to have seen God faithfully provide for unexpected needs, month after month.

4. Good working relationships, be it with the media, tailors, printers or my cleaning lady who is really God’s gift to me. I live alone but with the dust levels in Dakar, I couldn’t have made it without her. I don’t take for granted that she is also kind, reliable and goes out of her way to be a huge help.

5. Daily warm tropical weather. I am listening to Nairobians whine about unpredictable rain and cold weather and I smile because Dakar’s weather is as predictable as it gets. It rains only 3 months a year. In those 3 months, it’s unlikely that it shall rain more than 2 times a week. Though the rain is always a scary storm, bending trees and telephone poles, it hardly ever lasts more than 2 hours. The rain floods the streets, but clears up after a couple of hours and life gets back to normal.

Had an interesting experience when I first got here. I got up one rainy Saturday morning intending to visit my bank, a 15 minute walk away. I noticed it was raining, so I wore my closed shoes and took an umbrella with me, as any Nairobian would do. My neighbours chuckled as I walked past them but I paid them no attention. Shock on me, when I opened the front door and found a river flowing right outside my door. I kid you not. There was knee-high, brownish water mixed with sand and sewage rushing by. I quickly learned that when it rains, its best to stay put.

6. Experiencing Important family memories like my elder sister’s beautiful wedding. It was such a beautiful day and I am incredibly glad that I got to be there. Then of course there is the bonus -finally having a brother.

7. Facebook. I should write facebook a big-thank you note for I would never have survived Dakar without it. It has given me a wonderful community, kept me updated on Kenya’s happenings and even brought a few long-lost friends back into my life. Yani, from the deepest part of my heart, asante Facebook.

8.New Dreams. There is something about dreaming that adds a bounce to my step. Just the other day, a kenyan-senegalese couple invited us to their weekend country house about an hour’s drive out of Dakar. It’s the perfect get-away, a walking distance from the beach, with a small private pool and hammocks hanging between mature trees. We had such a lovely time, cooking-chatting-eating-swimming-playing. I am now praying that an out-of-town country-home becomes one of God’s wonderful plans for me.

9. Eating out. I honestly think foreigners get the best deals. Can’t even tell you how many wonderful meals and conversations I have shared with friends at restaurants with beautiful decor, yummy delicacies and superb ocean views. This is really one of my personal joys.

10.Christmas is here – I literally do a little jig every time I hear a Christmas song. This has got to be my absolutely favorite time of the year. It doesn’t hurt that it comes with spending two whole weeks in Nairobi. MERRY CHRISTMAS everyone!
。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */________/~＼˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門｜ •

11. Literacy. I love the world of words. Song-lyrics, speeches, TV-drama, books, blogs, online journals. As I have visited countries with literacy rates way south of 50%, I can’t help but be extremely grateful for the exciting world of ideas that simply knowing how to read and write has opened up to me.

12. Endorphin-releasing exercise. Jogging, Swimming, Walking and Aeorobic Dvds. Thankfully, my body has halted its sporadic uptake of more kilos, though it has not been so great at actually letting go of more than a few of its recent additions. Sigh. We win some, lose some and still working at it. I am grateful for every time I have won the battle towards wiser food-choices and a healthier lifestyle.

13. Hope. I am not where i want to be, but i am not where i used to be. I see the difference, I am growing, i am changing, i have lots of reasons to hope.

14. Things that make me feel alive. Like engaging conversations, beautiful scenery, a moment of inspiration that solves a challenging puzzle or music that lifts the soul.

15. Beginning to accept the things that I can change, the things I don’t wanna change and others that I cannot change. Like understanding that being lonely and away from home is temporary. I don’t know about other people’s experiences of living as foreigners but mine has pretty much been like the life of an only child. People come and go. Yes, there shall be play dates and conversations with older folk but much of the time, you shall be left to your own devices, alone with your toys and imaginary friends (read: the internet). Though I am still not comfortable with being alone (who is?), I have found that I am not desperately hating it either.

16. God’s relentless pursuit of me. I feel like God has been stripping me of all excuses and pretence till I can see myself for who I am, his beloved child who has so much more to learn and unlearn. I’ve been reading a book that quotes Watchman Nee. He talks of how God works to remove the debris in our lives that stop us from fully living in him. These obstacles may be things we didn’t know exist in us like pride, anger, security in one’s profession, etc. And resisting and arguing with every circumstance just makes the pruning process longer. So instead of whining and complaining, I am thanking God for the challenging work and environment, the loneliness, past hurts etc. I hold on to Job 23, “when he is done with me I will come out as pure gold.”

17.Embarrassing Moments. And boy have I had a few. Misunderstanding the French and responding to a totally different question in public. Or the huge faux-pas of stretching my hand out to shake the hand of a high-level Imam (they don’t touch women). Or once I mistakenly screened a shark rescue video involving bikini-clad women during Ramadan!!! Just remembering that makes me cringe. While of course I would prefer if those experiences were never repeated, it’s great to realize that they have no sting. Perhaps a lot of the discomfort I fear, is really not a big deal.

18. Saddening tragic happenings that remind me that this world is not my home. I am just passing through, so I better live each day as if it were my last, thanking God for this day that He has given to me.

19. My parents who continue to chart an incredibly consistent path of integrity and passionate Godly service. I am enjoying getting to know them as an adult, when things they have always said are finally beginning to make sense. And they hopefully get to come and visit me in Dakar very soon…. ma-excitos, can hardly wait.

20. New born babies. There are sooo many, it’s hard to remember their names or gender, but I am so looking forward to pinching and kissing the cheeks of Peanut, Waithera, Waithera-junior, Hakeem, Shiko…. What an incredible gift of joy they are and oh, what respect I have for their sleep-less parents.

21. This blog that has basically become my online journal that I thoroughly enjoy sharing with y’all. It’s a wonderful way to share life, really, everyone should have one.

22. Talk therapy. I am a talker, I don’t like to brood, I like to process externally. And what would I have done without the wonderful friends, in Dakar, Nairobi and other parts of the world that have listened to me and given me perspective when i have sorely needed it? A listening ear and a sharing heart have got to be some of God’s greatest gifts.

23. My gigantic king size bed that makes me look forward to coming home. I think it’s my favorite piece of furniture in this apartment. When one lives alone, it’s nice to have that one nice thing to look forward to. Oh the number of wonderful novels that have been read while laying on it, it will always hold some very wonderful memories.

24. Becoming an almost-morning person and for every day that I have not needed to force myself out of bed. For the longest time I have said that I am not a morning person. Nothing has changed though recently I begun to see how my reluctance to rise up early might be keeping me from the joys of singing birds, a spectacularly colorful dawn sky, rush-free living, peace that comes with presenting my day before God even before I start it etc. I am making more of an effort now.

25.My phat, fab and full of sunshine younger sister who is celebrating her birthday today. Well, she sort of kinda celebrates her birthday on the 25th of every month, but this one’s for real. As we grow older, we are actually becoming better friends. We talk everyday about everything. Isn’t it great to have someone who knows you since tene (forever) and still gets along with you like a house on fire? Can’t wait to get back to Nairobi and house-share (God-willing, someday soon). Ok, we shall likely fight and bicker a lot, but also have the most awesome fun times together. I wish her a super wonderful birthday today.

See how I am smiling now? What’s on your thanksgiving list this year?

I am speechless and no matter how much I tell myself that this is a freak accident (Dakar is pretty safe)…I still cannot sleep for more than 20 min without getting up in a panic. Thankfully, my friend is ok…as ok as one can be. She has gotten prophylaxis treatment and done the police thing. And she is strong, stronger that we all imagined. We are all loving on her and wishing that our efforts would provide an eternal cushion from further pain. Sadly, we know they are not nearly enough.

Another dear friend has also had a traumatizing incident. Her house-mate wasn’t really sick, just coughing which meant she needed to lie down on her side every couple of hours in order to breath easier. One morning she called for help when she had trouble breathing, they did CPR and rushed her to the hospital. It was too late. Her brain had stayed without oxygen for too long. She was declared brain dead. Her burial is this coming weekend and my heart bleeds for my dear friend who has had more than her share of trials this year. I would love to undo this incident and take away the pain of these next couple of weeks.

My mind just cannot resolve this. How does a loving God let bad things happen to good people?

I am like Job’s frenemies…I don’t get it. I am really struggling with a God who was there when this happened. I find it easier to accept a God who punishes sin. Thus suffering, tragedy, evil and violence can be attributed to bad choices.

But this, this I don’t understand. Nobody deserves this, especially not my two gentle, kind-hearted, peace-loving friends. So there is my quandary, a God who is… sovereign mighty all-sufficient…though seemingly sometimes unloving? Surely, could this be a loving God?

I don’t have answers so I am going to share part of a devotional a friend emailed me earlier today. It’s a funny story because i just found out that, its my mother’s weekly devotional. Lol. How life goes round and people start sending back to me useful resources from my own family. You can find the link to my mami’s weekly devotional on the home-page (on the blog-roll to the right)

Balancing Between Hope and Pain – The ‘Schizophrenic’ Worshipper

God sometimes permits what he hates, to accomplish what he loves (Joni Erickson Tada)

The problem of pain and suffering is not a theological one or a theology game of lining up all appropriate logical arguments and syllogisms. As Philip Yancey says, it is a problem of relationships. Unless we understand our situation from God’s perspective, we will suffer more than we need to. In addition, we also need to remind ourselves that as the day of Christ’s second coming is drawing near, we are going to witness more calamities and devastations. ‘When you hear of wars and revolutions, do not be frightened. These things must happen first, but the end will not come right away.”10 Then he said to them: “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. 11 There will be great earthquakes, famines and pestilences in various places, and fearful events and great signs from heaven’ (Luke 21:9-11).

‘Yet, O LORD, you are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand’ (Isaiah 64:8)

SONG OF THE WEEK – Praise you in the storm – Casting Crowns

I might have headed for the famous Timbuktu but I doubt my family could afford the ransom. Lol. Ok, not very funny.

The visits to the remote villages shall likely be the most exciting part. You see, the desert has no signage, no landmarks, nothing to follow. Even old tyre marks are quickly erased by the wind or rain. The last time I was here, it took us 4 hours to cover a distance of 80km as our driver kept trying to remember if he had seen that bush or tree before. The local inhabitants speak several different dialects so despite the fact that my co-passengers were locals, asking for directions didnt quite help. That trip gave me a whole new respect for this desert.

This area’s geography is absolutely fascinating. It’s all hot and dry except for the network of small rivers that run through it. Mali hosts the middle part of River Niger that rises in Guinea-Conakry’s mountainous regions and flows through 9 West African countries before ending up in the Atlantic. Bamako is situated upon a wider part of the river and a sunset drive across this city’s bridges is strikingly memorable.

Mopti, where I am, is situated on the part of the river called the Inner Niger Delta. The most amazing thing is that some of the year (Feb to July) it is a desert – arid and dusty with a few bushes here and there. The most common mode of transport is the motorbike, often seen crisscrossing across the desert. For the second half of the year, boats are the primary mode of transport. During their only rainy season that starts in July, the Niger River swells and bursts its banks thus flooding thousands of hectares of desert land surrounding it. Imagine that, a desert then a lake. How cool is that?

The Inner Niger Delta has three main economic activities – agriculture, pastoralism and fishing. During the flood, the herds are taken farther into the desert until the waters subside and they can return and enjoy the bourgou pasture that the flooding has left behind. The flood waters are also ideal for growing rice, a staple in the region. It still amazes me that 30mm rain, which is nothing compared to Kenya’s rainfall, can grow rice to feed an entire country!! The delta is also famous for a wide range of water-birds that come here during Europe’s winter. Increasing climate variability is threatening this unique biodiversity and making life even more difficult for Mopti’s inhabitants.

So next time the Touareg/Bambara people of Mali or the famous historic Timbuktu come up in your conversation, I hope you shall have a little more to tell them about this very unique corner of the world. Here are a few photos of the Inner Niger Delta, when its not so dry and desert-like.

Song of the Week – Loliwe by Zahara
She is a new southern African artist with a super rich voice and fresh sound.
uLoliwe wayidudula ["the train is pushing"]
Nang’esiza ["here it comes"]
Sul’ezonyembezi mntakwethu ["wipe those tears off, loved one'']
Phezulu, eNkosini ["in Heaven, in the Lord"]
Kuhlal ‘ingcwele zodwa ["lives only the holy"]
Mawufuna ukuya khona, thandaza ["if you want to go there, pray"]

2007 is also the year I purchased my first laptop (still in use to write this post). And with the laptop came more typing and less hand-journaling. I have never been fond of writing by hand, in fact I often joke that if handwriting was a determinant then I should certainly be a doctor – they of the illegible prescriptions fame. Believe me its bad, I can hardly read some of the thoughts I put down in the journal.

Yet I still love to write in my journal. Reading through the writing brings me many wonderful memories as well as insight into how far I have come. It also offers a wonderful birds-eye perspective of life in general. With powerful reminders that God does work everything out for my good, that nothing in this world is permanent or repeatable, that I am much stronger than I think I am…it’s never the same on a computer. I have lost numerous intimate reflections to reformatting and bad organization (mostly because I cannot remember where I last saved them ).

Handwriting can say a lot about a person. During my short stint as a teaching assistant of 7 year olds, I remember being taught to pay attention to how they write…especially on the blackboard in front of the class. I learned that writing straight on a blackboard wall has a lot do with being truly centered. Centered here referring to that balanced peaceful place where one has a healthy image of themselves and the world. At the time I was going through a disillusioned phase and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep my writing horizontal. It would always slant, sometimes upwards but most times it dipped downwards. I know it’s not an exact science but isn’t it interesting how our unconscious actions can point to the state of our inner mind/heart?

My bowling experience last week was some-what like that, actually worse than that. I was a bowling group’s horror. My ball would start out in the center and about half-way make a contour toward the pit on the side of the aisle. It would have been a perfect curve-ball for a soft-ball or cricket game. And the ball was right, I was bowling exactly as I felt. Tired, frustrated and emotionally out of sync.

It’s hard to remain centered when things are happening that I would rather were not. Being centered here means taking in information without clouding it with expectations or fear; instead making creative, intuitive decisions whose axis is the knowledge of myself as God’s beloved. It’s even harder to feel centered when a full day has provided me no time to digest my feelings or give perspective to my fears. On such days ”faking it till I make it” is what I tend to do.

And this pretense feels dishonest and deceitful. Much like lying, pretense makes us conflicted and weak. Conversely, truth and honesty are associated with strength and peace. We see this in lie detector tests or even hand-wrestling. If you want to win an arm wrestling match, ask your opponent to repeat something personal that they also know to be untrue. It can be anything, just a statement…like “I have never lied to my partner.” Try it, they will not be able to push against you and lie at the same time! Again, not a science but in my limited experimentation, spot on.

Doesn’t that make you want to be more honest, more truthful, more fearless, more centered? It makes me want to find that place where I can hear God’s voice of truth most clearly; where I am in step with the world around me; where I can counter anxiety or frustration with God-centered belonging and love.

Any ideas on how I can do that? On a busy demanding day, how do you keep yourself centered?

Song Of The Week – I choose to be dancing – Donnie Mcclurkin

This week my thinking is disjointed and incomplete. It’s what happens when all my brain energy is taken up by work. The blog gets the left-over ramblings. I have three different thoughts that I’d love to get your feedback on. They emanate from recent interactions and really have no reason for being on the same blog post. Seriously, don’t bother looking for a missing link, there isn’t one. Also I have made plenty of foot-in-my-mouth generalisations, don’t take them too seriously. For instance, not all city women are privileged or rural women disadvantaged. Neither are all tailors in Dakar as ‘creative’ as the one I describe below.

Thought #1 –Dakar Tailors Rule the World

My Dakar tailor stories can fill a book. I recently gave something to a neighborhood tailor for repair, along with extra matching fabric to patch it up properly. He is on my street so I passed there 3 to 4 times a week, and always got the same story, “come tomorrow, come tomorrow.” So on Saturday as I am leaving my apartment building, I see the lady next door putting out her baby’s clothes to dry. Lo and behold, one of them looks exactly like my fabric!! I go to the tailor and after a few threats, he admits that he used ‘a little’ of my fabric to make a baby’s outfit!!!! SMH-Shaking my head, what else can I do, take the baby’s clothing away? You can see why Dakar never ceases to amaze me.

Thought #2 – The cute factor, womanly wiles or privilege of beauty

It’s referred to as the cute factor, womanly wiles or even the privilege of beauty. Whatever you call it, I am convinced that every professional woman has mastered it; when to bring it on and when to turn it off. Let me explain what i mean because they don’t teach us this in school.

I think I come across as pretty assertive. No, not abrasive or aggressive but confident and capable. And I think there’s lots of situations where being ‘compelling’ gets the job done. Other-times, assertion is a huge roadblock, and lowering my chin or giggling while smiling sweetly is way more effective.

I also think that people are more likely to help if you express interest in their lives…in a feminine way. (breaking lots of gender rules here). The way that you chat to a colleague – about their out of office life, children, interests – just expressing interest in them as a person as ‘caring, feminine women’ are supposed to works wonders. It never helps to act like ‘I want you to do what I want you to because I say so’. This is especially true of my west-african experience.

Or let’s say I have a tyre puncture and don’t really want to get myself dirty and sweaty changing it. Please note that I am born into a family of girls who can all change a wheel faster than you can blink. So anyway what do I do? Although I do not pose a picture of your typical damsel in distress, I will bow my shoulders, smile sweetly and look helplessly clueless. And without a doubt, some male passerby will stop and offer to help me change it.

I think being feminine is an advantage in almost any environment or situation. However, am I wrong for knowingly using my femininity to manipulate a situation, am I perpetuating the perception of women as fragile, or am I just taking advantage of the privileges that God gave me?

Thought #3 – Affirmative Action
A friend recently declared that she is sick and tired of all this affirmative action mambo-jambo. Tired of always feeling like the ‘token 30%‘, only selected for gender balance, to keep the numbers equal rather than for her superior knowledge and skills. I get where she is coming from. We’ve gone to school and worked hard to get where we are. It’s dis-affirming to be informed that it is our skirt and not our intelligence that got us here.

On the other hand, we are city girls. Privileged to have gone to good schools and been exposed to the same opportunities that our brothers did. Many rural women don’t get the same chances. If they do go to school, they are strapped with domestic responsibilities and social expectations that obstruct their access to benefits that come with an education. No matter how deserving we are, majority of the world’s women still don’t have the advantages that men do. Affirmative action must persist if we are to tilt the balance in the opposite direction. I was going to define affirmative action, but if you are reading this you probably also know how to use google .

So there are my three thoughts. Do weigh in and tell me what you think. If you hit the comment button, I promise to respond.

Song of the Week
The song of the week is a ramble in itself. Kenya is at war. I don’t know that it’s a religious war, at least on the Kenyan government side, it definitely is for the Alshabaab. So here is Anthony David’s controversial song, “Don’t put the blame on me, I’m just doing what God said”. For those that want some background, you can see Anthony David’s comments here.

Downhill
The newness and excitement soon faded away as life in the house quickly spiraled into messy chaos. It’s difficult to accurately pin-point everything that was wrong. Dysfunctional is a good word. A tonne of pent-up emotion – wrapped up in frustration, sadness, anger, bitterness – at the world, the absentee father, other functional people, God, everyone – for dealing them that ‘set of poker cards’.

The children couldn’t understand why my black skin wouldn’t get ‘clean’. I remember them making fun of how I walked; they said that my behind moved and swayed with me. I wondered what the little girl with the African genes would do when she realized she had inherited a black-person ‘derrière’.

I prayed that I would handle them all with love and kindness. Things only grew worse. If it wasn’t the children using me as a punching bag, it was the grandmother yelling at me for being too quiet, too talkative, too happy, too social, too anything and everything. Whatever I did and didn’t do was a reason for one more insult, one more verbal attack.

I didn’t know what to do. In just a few weeks, my European adventure had turned into a nightmare. Too embarrassed to call my parents and tell them the truth of what was happening, I tried to get away from the house as much as I could. It took me a while to accept that the situation was not going to change. I felt like the young, foolish man who had used up his inheritance; eating with the pigs yet having a place at my father’s table.

After one particularly tough tongue-lashing from the grandmother and endless hours of crying alone in my attic-room, I decided that I had had enough. I remember gliding down the stairs, stopping at the front door to wear my winter gear before running out of the house. There was a snow storm outside but I didn’t care. I wanted to get away…far away from the house and from the voices racing through my mind calling me a coward and a failure.

What was I going to say to people back home? Should I stay just to prove that I was tough, would leaving be giving up? I still had two months of the language course left. If I stayed in the country, where would I live, how would I eat? I was at the end of my rope. I needed a solution ‘pronto’. God just had to come through for me.

What do you do when your hopes come tumbling down, when what you thought was your dream turns into a nightmare? What do you do when your perfect world is shattering around you?

My Good Samaritan
I had met Mrs. B at the Episcopalian church the first week I arrived. She was a retiree, an older jovial Christian lady. She had sought me out at the end of the service and offered to help me find a congregation nearer my own age. Sure enough she telephoned later that week with directions to another church that I much preferred. We made plans to have tea together.

So imagine my surprise and relief when I came up to Mrs. B that day. She was standing right outside her house bidding farewell to a guest when she turned and saw me walking towards her. I was sobbing heavily and my tear stained face must have clued her in on the state of affairs. Mrs B didn’t ask many questions, just invited me into her house for some tea. She let me cry.

It took a couple of minutes and several sips of chamomile tea before my sobs quietened down into coherent speech. I told her about what had been happening at the house, how I was feeling and that I was ready to go back home. She listened to me and assured me that I had come to the right place; everything was going to be ok. There is something about sharing your troubles with someone else that lightens the load. I was so glad to hear that I was not crazy; that there really was something out of whack; that it was ok for me to cry.

Eventually, Mrs. B (my very own good Samaritan) helped me find a students hostel and paid my rent for the remainder of my time in Germany. As the warm spring replaced the cold winter months, she gave me odd jobs around her house in exchange for pocket money. Her family took me in as one of their own. What followed were – innumerable lunches and dinners – treasure hunting and playing in the park with the grandkids – beautiful plays and music recitals – numerous visits to museums, botanical gardens, lakes and other awe-inspiring places – endless trips in and around Southern Germany – my social calendar was full. They even sent me back-packing to Paris – one of the most amazing experiences of my life!! (A post for another day).

“Our heavenly Father never takes anything from his children unless he means to give them something better.” – George Muller

In the end, God turned my tears into dancing, my sorrow into joy. Now, when I think of that time in Germany I know that God was there with me. I can see him in the tears and sadness as clearly as in the incredible love and kindness of Mrs. B and her family. I will never thank them enough for truly being Jesus to me. I just love how the story turned out, an incredible God-incidence.

Song of the week – Never Once – Matt Redman