Heading out... maybe.

This might be my last post for a while. We’re hopping a flight to Loki tomorrow, then driving into Sudan on Thursday, and I’m not sure what the email/internet situation will like from then on.

Keep sending the emails—I love getting them—and I’ll reply when I can!

Some prayer requests:
Safe travels for the handful of us at ABO and the rest of our team, who we’ll meet up with in Loki. We have a really long ride in the back of a lorry from Loki to get to our mission compound, I think, so pray for that.
For team unity, as the five of us here meet up with the others who have been scattered across Africa and German.
For our team leaders, as they prepare for us.
For our huts. They’re not quite done because the cholera outbreak from a while back really threw a wrench in the building plans.
For our language learning, which we will start perhaps next week.

And, since this blog is really grey right now, here are some pictures. These are the laundry ladies, who we've become good friends with. They took us to meet their father the other day, too. It's been awesome to talk with them.















This is Samuel, one of the ladies' sons. He is soooo adorable... and loves it when the silly white girls bring him candy.

A whole new ballgame...

Today I got an email about baseball. It was, I think, the most incredible thing that has happened to me in Africa so far. The latest news from the States: The Cubs are still terrible. And, as I told my other friend, it’s always good to get comforting news from the home front, and what could be more comforting and familiar than a wasted July for the Cubs? It doesn’t get much more familiar than that.

The other day, I tried to pull up the Cubs Web site. It didn’t come up all the way, but it did load the background—a blue field spotted with the Cubs “C” logo—and, really, that was enough for me. It made me so happy. (It’s not like the actual contents of the Web site—say, for example, the Cubs record—would be at all uplifting anyway.)

Truth be told, I’m going through a bit of culture shock. That’s hard for me to say, because the prideful part of me wants to believe I’ll be able to make the transition to an entirely different culture very smoothly and without extreme emotion or turmoil. But, here I am saying it—I’m going through culture shock. God is teaching me that denying it will just make it worse. Besides, a huge thrust of this training has been about adapting to our new culture. Surely, I should be a good steward of what I’m learning and put it into practice. As it turns out, everyone—even the strongest of the strong—goes through culture shock.

So I’ll humble myself to the reality, eat the weird food, handle the many stares, stumble through the broken conversations and cultural misunderstandings, cry the tears and get through it.

And this is only the beginning.

Being in such a new and different place is great, taking in all the strange sights, sounds, smells, practices, people. The only problem is finding a frame of reference.

You don’t realize how much your culture shapes how you think about everything until you’re taken from that culture. Then you’re jarred by these places and experiences that don’t fit the mold of your thinking, how you process life. You get here and you have only a few scraps of information, a few familiar images, to set against a darkness that is simply the blankness of your own experience.

But in time, praise God, the lights go up.

Debriefing...

“Human beings draw close to each other by their common nature, but habits and customs keep them apart.” — Confucius

I have learned so much here about myself and my culture as I’ve learned about Africa and its culture. There’s only so much you can learn from lectures and stories, I know. The real experiences of making huge cultural gaffes are going to be the real teachers here. Just pray I am intentional about being first a learner.

I’ve heard a lot of stories about how missionaries or the UN especially have completely screwed things up and would have done much better for themselves and the people they were trying to serve if they’d just taken the time to be students of the culture.

Take this example.

Some aid workers came into a village and, being the heroes they are, built pit latrines for every family in order to increase sanitation and reduce disease. They left so happy with themselves, so happy to report to their organization that they’ve helped these poor, poor Africans.

A group of missionaries comes through later and finds the situation of sanitation and disease to be worse. How can this be? They get in the culture and talk to the people about what’s going on. They ask them, what do they think they need, how can the situation be made better? (You wouldn’t believe how often organizations tell people what they need as opposed to asking them. But that’s a whole different issue.)

A man stands up and says, “Unlock the pit latrines.” What?

The aid workers who came in were good enough to explain to the villagers how the pit latrines worked and how to help keep them clean. Lock the doors was one of the tips.

So what’s the problem?

In that particular culture, no one talks about going to the bathroom. It’s not culturally appropriate. You’re just not supposed to know. So of course they weren’t going to ask someone for the key for the bathroom. It just doesn’t fit into their culture. So they simply went to the bathroom behind the pit latrines, leaving a more dire situation than they began with.

Had the aid workers only asked, only observed, they would have done so much more for the people there. Instead, they left them worse off. And I doubt they even know, to this day.

Or short-term missionaries who come in and give gospel presentations to whole churches and do altar calls and are amazed when dozens and dozens of people raise their hands to accept Jesus as their Savior. The short-term missionaries go home happy, sure the Lord has done an incredible work in these people. But what they don’t know, what they didn’t take the time to learn, is that in that particular culture, you always agree with a visitor. So of course they raised their hands when they were asked. And they’ll be there next time a group of visiting short-termers comes through, raising their hands.

Or when groups come in and use a village as a model, teaching them how to produce more rice than they can even imagine, more than enough rice to provide for the entire village. But then the organization leaves and someone comes back a couple years later to find the whole thing in shambles and the people back to what they were doing and struggling. But they had trained the villagers. They had left the project in capable hands. What happened?

The village did have a lot of rice, more rice than any village around it. But they didn’t want that. They knew if they had too much food, the surrounding villages would get angry.

It’s the idea of limited good. The mindset that, if I have more good than I need, then I’m stealing that good from someone else. This is why projects like this fail all the time. Not because Africans are stupid, but because we’re not meeting them where they’re at in their culture.

Take the idea of limited good and apply it to African Christians. The idea of an infinitely good God is nearly impossible to understand. That’s sad.

Go ahead and think Africans are dumb. I think most people see them as ignorant and stupid.

But I’m learning that there’s right, there’s wrong, then there’s different.

We’re quick to categorize anything that isn’t familiar as wrong and what is like us as right.

Now, don’t pin me as a complete cultural relativist—that I think right and wrong are determined by the culture. Certainly, there are things that are biblically right and wrong. But more often than not, we take what is traditionally or culturally seen as right and wrong and assume those stances are mirrored in the Bible. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been forced to see a lot of my stances for what they are—based in culture and tradition. It’s been at the same time interesting and frustrating, exhilarating and humbling.

I have about a zillion more stories, a zillion more things I’ve learned and ways I can apply that to other experiences I’ve had. I even have a completely different perspective on the war in Iraq, an insight into the culture that makes me see the whole thing in a new light. (I’ll share it with you sometime if you’d like.)

Anyway, I could go on forever. But I’ll spare you. These last few posts have been more about me processing things than you reading anyway. (No offense.)

The Greatest Lie Ever Told

“A god begotten in the shadows of a fallen heart will quite naturally be no true likeness of the true God.” – A.W. Tozer

Tuesday, we had a guy come to our training to talk to us about Islam. It was really hard stuff, especially since my knowledge of Islam is limited and ministering to Muslims often involves intricate mind games that I’m equipped for.

But it was good, as he gave us a general overview of pre-Islamic Arabia and the life of Mohammad and tried to put us in the mind of someone who grew up in an Islamic culture. That’s a lot of what we’re learning here at ABO—to put ourselves in the minds of Africans, in the minds of Muslims, in the minds of the people we’re ministering to, in order to more effectively and clearly share the Good News.

Anyway, this guy, Eric, was so intelligent. He knew both the Bible and the Qur’an so well, it amazed me. Truly, God has given him a heart for the Muslims and has blessed his learning and his ministry.

We visited a mosque, too. It was really sad, to be a woman and not even be able to use the same door as the men. To be cut off from them, set aside in an upper balcony that was surrounded by lace curtains. Looking through those curtains down on the men sort of gave me a view of what life as a Muslim woman must be like, always looking out from behind head scarves and from under oppression.

It reminded me of one thing Eric said.

In pre-Islamic Arabia, there was a high instance of infanticide. Boys were valued much higher than girls, so when a woman was in labor, she was made to dig a hole. She gave birth near the hole and, if it were a girl, she was to kick the newborn into the whole, burying her alive.

Now, Muslims will try to paint pre-Islamic times as very dark, so that the tiny light that Mohammad brought seems very bright. If you bring up infanticide, they will say, no, no, no, that is so bad.

But then you ask them, do you not bury your baby girls even today? Sure, it is no longer a physical burial. But they bury them in graves of ignorance by not letting them go to school or marrying them off when they are only four or five years old. They set them aside at the mosques, hide them under head scarves. So, if you oppress them—bury them—in this way, you are surely no better than the people of the pre-Islamic times.

If you to get a Muslim’s attention, this is a great entry point.

But how true.

We went to the mosque simply as students, so the men there took the opportunity to try to convert us to Islam and earn some points in their book.

The point system is quite interesting. You get good points for intending to do good deeds and actually doing good deeds, and you get bad points if you do something bad. Interestingly, however, if you do a good deed, yet have bad intentions—say, you give a beggar alms, but inwardly curse him and his poorness—they don’t negate each other. You just get the good points. And it’s really a toss-up in the end if you get to Paradise or not.

I came out very thankful for my God, the one and only true God, who is at the same time just and gracious. Just in his dealings with his people—the wages of sin are death; all who sin deserve spiritual death, eternity in hell—and gracious in his giving of his Son, who paid the wages for our sins on the cross.

What simple, beautiful truth we have. What a beautiful gift, given freely, to those he calls to himself. What a security, knowing that if we’re in Jesus—if we accept this gift—his blood covers us and we will, on that day of judgment, be looked on by God as pure and blameless and welcomed into eternity, welcomed to behold his face and his glory. Praise God for the Lamb.

Pardon my waxing, but this day hit my heart pretty deeply. The Qur’an is the greatest lie ever told, and the devil catches more and more people in its snares each and every day.

But, praise God, Jesus is alive. Mohammed is utterly and hopelessly dead.

And, as Eric said…

Jesus Christ is winning.

Behind. Around. Before.

This morning’s devotion was pretty quality, so I thought I’d share it with you.

Always listen to the voice that is behind you.
“He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see y our Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it.’ ” (Isaiah 30: 19-21)
We can be sure of our call and of this voice behind us which prompts, urges and leads us.

The Angel of the Lord is around you.
“The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them.” (Psalm 34:7)
We are protected on all sides.

The Good Shepherd goes before us.
“The sheep hears his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he had brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice.” (John 10: 3-4)
This is how oriental shepherds lead, by going ahead, not by goading them from behind.
No matter where you go, the good shepherd has gone before you. He’s already there.

Behind. Around. Before.

The Heart of the Matter

Sometimes, when I’m on a matatu or boda-boda or tuk-tuk, I think about my mom and how she would absolutely freak out if she were with me. It sort of makes me laugh. I can’t wait until she comes and I get make her jump into a matatu while it’s still moving and then cram into the really gross interior with a dozen staring Africans. Oh man, that’s going to be great. Really great.
Speaking of great things, Jen found a heart in her food at dinner tonight. Yes, a heart. You could even see the aorta and other tube thingies. It was in the stew stuff we were supposed to put on top of our spaghetti noodles. Talk about ruining an otherwise wonderful meal. Chalk that one up for ABO highlights.

So disgusting. (Lucky for you, I didn’t have my camera on me.)

In lighter, less gross, news, I got an email last night from Rachel, a woman who recently got back from a two-week trip. (I wrote about her a long time ago.) It was sweet to hear some about the area and the people, especially because she didn’t gloss over things and make it sound like a super rosy time with no challenges. I’m trying to prepare myself for being pushed to the limits—beyond rice and beans, beyond hearts in my food, beyond all that—and relying on God to go past those limits. I’m going to need sooo much prayer.

Here are some pictures Rachel sent.

People are crazy.

Hey gang.

A handful of ya'll have been asking how you can send money for my team and me here in Africa. That's really awesome. Don't feel like you have to, but if it's really your heart's desire, here's how to help us out...

If you don't mind not getting a tax deductible receipt thing...
You can just send it to my dad. He'll deposit it into my personal account and I can get at it quickly and without limitations. I think this might be the only way to get money for Craig without sending stuff off to Australia, which would probably be more of a pain than anything.

Jim C
116 Arbor St.
Oglesby, IL 61348

If you want the tax deductible thing...
Send it up to AIM with a note saying it's for my support account. I won't be able to get at this so readily, but I should be able to access the money by reimbursing some of my transportation/luggage/ministry costs.

Africa Inland Mission
PO Box 178
Pearl River, NY 10965

Alright, that should work. Let me know if you have questions. Or you can just send me an email for the heck of it. I like those. Anyway, it's aclinard@gmail.com.

Thanks!

The Big Game

So, get this.

Today, we played soccer against Scott College’s team.

And I was good!

Here’s the thing, whenever I’ve played in the last few years, I’d get all self-conscious because I’d be with fellas who were all hardcore. But tonight I was just like, eh, whatever, and it went swimmingly.

(I feel like there should be at least one boy in Chambana who is proud of me. Eh, McCabe?)

In short, God gave me the grace to play soccer, and it was awesome.

A ton of Scott students and almost all of our ABO folks came out to watch. It was quite the crowd. They really dig soccer here.

We even had school boys stopping by to watch.














Naza (a TIMO team member from Brazil who is serving on the Horn of Africa) led all the kids in these obnoxious cheers. For a while, they were my personal cheering section—I was the only girl playing—which almost made me laugh too hard to play.













(TOP: The ladies of ABO, cheering it up. BOTTOM: Later, they organized the kids. You can get a good luck here, too, at what the soccer field looked like. Full of tall grass and not flat at all. Naza is at the far right there in the second picture.)

The ladies from Scott made fun of the boys when I would (by the grace of God) dribble by them or take the ball. “Watch out for the white girl!” Once, I got through these three Kenyans and they girls just went nuts. They made fun of them the rest of the game. It was hilarious. I was voted player of the game. Haha.

I won’t talk anymore about it, ‘cause it sounds a lot like I’m tooting my own horn, but it was probably one of the coolest experiences I’ve had so far here in Africa.

Doctor Paul manned my camera, so he got some great pictures. I'll share some more with you here.













This is Jairo (on the left) shaking hands with the Scott captain. See how they have fancy uniforms and everything? They actually play against other schools... and are really good.














See that giant hill he's sitting on? That was in the middle of the field. I totally biffed on one, full speed, and fell on my face. The Kenyan players were very concerned. I laughed.














This is my teammate Cath on the sidelines playing with a couple of the boys who came out to watch. I think she had a lot of fun, too.

Alright, that's all. :)

Shalom

Today I really liked our sessions.

We talked about dealing with stress and grief.

It was awesome because Carla asked us what we were grieving, what losses have we experienced in coming over here?

We talked over some of the general things—losing familiarity, relationships, family, security—but it was great because I began to understand there are other things I’m grieving, and that’s OK.

(Now, you may be thinking, Andi, you’ve been there for two stupid weeks. What the heck are you grieving? But you try it and let me know how it goes.)

I’m grieving the loss of information and communication. I’m in a place I know nothing about and there’s no handbook; there’s no googling for telephone numbers or information; heck, there’s no telephone. Things that were so simple at home involve much orchestrating here. It’s tied a lot to independence—I’m grieving that some, too.

I’m grieving having a place to call my own—my home—and being settled.

I’m grieving baseball. Watching the Cubs play on Sunday afternoons after church. Having friends who know the game, know my team, know the status of our All-Rehab Team pitchers. Playing catch barefoot on the quad. I know that sounds silly, but it’s familiar, it’s comfortable for me and it’s tied to all sorts of memories and feelings. And no one knows or cares anything about it here.

Carla had us write down on stick-it notes all those things we were grieving and stick the notes up on the wall, sort of symbolizing giving them over to God.

What she didn’t plan for was that they were Kenyan stick-its, so they were a little ghetto and, as she continued to talk, we watched them fall from the wall, one by one.

It was the perfect thing, watching those things fall. They fell like leaves in the fall, which did a lot to remind me that this is a season—grief has a season—and it will eventually change.

(Not so) Alone In Missions

These past two weeks, I’ve taken on the responsibility of figuring out a lot of logistical things about getting to Sudan, all things we sort of thought would be taken care of before we got here. It’s been super stressful (but at the same time a joy—I really enjoy organizing/administration) and at times, I’ve gotten really frustrated with AIM. But the last few days I’ve been reminded why God brought me to AIM and just how great a fit it is for me.

We stayed at Mayfield, the AIM guesthouse, while we were in Nairobi, which is an awesome place because there are missionaries from all over Africa constantly coming through it. We were fortunate enough to meet a guy who built the original mission station. He told us all sorts of great stories about the Lopit people and his time there. We also hung out with the international director of AIM, Lanny Arensen, and his wife, Carla. Before missionaries were forced out the last time (over a dozen years ago, I think) Lanny and his first wife, Janice, actually lived in the mission house the first guy built—the same house my team leaders are living in now. And, we caught the Probsts heading back home. They work with TIMO and were just up at our place not long ago, working on our houses in the hills. And, we met a really awesome couple who served on a TIMO team in Lesotho. They’re back now, serving in Tanzania, but had a ton of great TIMO stories and were just super encouraging and helpful.

(I’m so eager to actually on the field.)

All this to say… AIM, though you sometimes feel it’s Alone In Missions, is a really tight-knit family of people who love Africa, some of whom who are second- and even third-generation missionaries.

Lanny and Carla are actually here in Machakos now, talking with us about dealing with stress and grief. Lanny actually lost his first wife, Janice, in am ambush while they were traveling from their mission station into town. (I won’t say where, because my mom reads this thing. And it was a very long time ago with a very different atmosphere.) But to sit here and eat lunch with the guy and hear him talk about Janice, it makes him a very real person. And I think that’s really awesome, knowing the international director in that way.

I really need that.

Wall of Jericho

This weekend, instead of just going to church, our group split up and went all over the place to contribute to area churches. Jen, Kim, Craig and I ended up at Africa Inland Church-Jericho in Nairobi, which turned out to be a good deal.

Can I first tell you, though—it was a very African day. Get this. Craig is supposed to preach at the young adult service, which begins at 7:30 a.m. What time does our rep from the church tell us to meet him? 7:45. At the Bomb Blast Site (what they call the memorial for the U.S. Embassy that was blown up in ’98), which is about 5 or 10 minutes from the church, he says. Weird, right? It gets better. What time does he actually show up? 8 o’clock. What time do we get to the church? 8:30. That’s right, an hour after the service began, and half an hour before the next one is scheduled to start. Remember, Craig is the sermon here. But Africans don’t rush. They played a few more songs, read a few more announcements (last week, announcements went on for 45 minutes) and then introduced all of us before Craig got the mic for the message. This was at 20 ‘til. He had to be done by 8:55.

No one was upset. Not even a little.

And, for the English service next, they were supposed to have a guest preacher… who never showed up. Our rep guy got the nod five minutes before he went up (this is after an hour or so of singing/announcements/scripture reading.) Was anyone mad? Nary a one. Just like for the Swahili service after that, when no one raised an eyebrow as, probably 45 minutes into the thing, a crowd of like-clothed folks shuffle in through the doors at the front of the church. It was the no-show preacher. He brought his own choir. HILARIOUS.

I just sit back and think of these things in the context of the American church and how people are up in arms if you have more than a sprinkling of announcements or infringe on their Sunday football game. I can’t even imagine what we would’ve done had we been faced with the more than 10 minutes of nothingness as Choir Part Two noisily yet unhurriedly set up its microphones. Mutiny the pastor?

Anyway, going back… Craig was preachin’ it up! Oh man it was great stuff. He’d prepared a half hour sermon, and he had about 13 minutes, but the guy was like a master up there. He talked about the power of praise—first, in a story from the OT (which I have… forgotten…), then in the story about Paul and Silas breakin’ free from jail, then, in the story of Jericho. (Duh, we’re at Jericho church.) At the end, he asked everyone to stand up ‘cause we were going to give a shout of praise to the Lord, sort of like Joshua & Co. did outside Jericho, praising the Lord for giving them the city. So we were shouting for the Lord’s victory in our lives, not only in the blood of Jesus, but over the sins that bind us (breaking free from chains, as Paul and Silas did). Anyway, it was awesome. I wish this little paragraph could do it justice. Just know there was some powerful praising going on.

I spent the English service over at children’s church, which was great because I got to work with the little 3-year-olds. The only problem was, said 3-year-olds didn’t speak English. At all. But the teacher lady had me introduce myself a few times, which eased the kids’ days a little bit, because they no longer had to crane their necks around to look at me in the back of the room. They didn’t really understand the Andrea/Andi thing, calling me “Handy.” Which is totally fine. Our whiny “aye” sound is hard for them. And they were far too cute to hold a grudge against. It was great times.

The only bad thing was that we called the pastor “Joseph” all day. His name was Joshua.

Whoops.

The Great Gorge

Saturday, I ate ice cream for breakfast. It was awesome.

We had the day off and Jen, Kim, Matt, Craig and I got on the road ridiculously early so we could spend as much time as possible in Nairobi. And in this case, time was translated in meals. Just how much could we EAT in Nairobi?

Hence my vanilla milkshake for breakfast. And intense omelet. (That was darn near good, not just “African good”—my term for things that are bad relative to the States, but good relative to rice and beans.) Pizza for lunch. Some awesome… egg thingie for dinner. And lots of chocolate.

Here’s my new mentality. The scales here are all metric. This is important, because I have no concept of the metric system. Saturday, I weighed 50 kilos. I don’t even know what that means. It’s probably up from my normal weight, so I’m going to ignore it. Fifty kilos sounds way better than any number of pounds, any day. It’s so much more manageable.

And so I’ll continue to eat.

Our weekend wasn’t all about eating, though, I swear. We were involved in some ministry Sunday morning; I’ll tell you about it later.

My address (try two)

I'm an idiot and gave you the wrong address. The other one will probably get to me, but this one is better. For now, anyway.

Andi
c/o AIM Serve
PO Box 21171
Nairobi, Kenya 00505

Sorry!

Prayer request.

Hey everybody... Just a quick prayer request for you.

My teammate Craig basically empty his bank accounts to get here and then was nailed with $600 in excess-baggage fees on the way over (and he was even spared said fees on one leg of his flight by a sweet airport lady!), so we'd really appreciate your prayers for financial provision, as he's down to about... 1000 Kenyan shillings.

Which is approximately... $13.

And we need $50 very soon so we can get our Sudan visas, plus a bunch more for transportation and other expenses.

So, yeah, please be lifting him up. We'd really like him to be able to stay with us and not have to worry about money stuff!

Also, just pray for God to work in the details with luggage and visas and all sorts of missing information. And for our teammate Cath; she's been sick.

Thanks!

Ain't no mountain high enough...

Today we climbed Mount Machakos -- actually, that's not what it's called. It's something else. I just have no idea what the real name is. (My friend is here and he's saying something about Mount Eveti. Perhaps that's what it is. Perhaps not. Does it matter?)

As we went along, we gathered more and more of a crowd. The little African children just came flowing out of the schoolyards and huts to see us strange white people. The first time someone showed them they could see their pictures on the backs of our strange camera things, they just went CRAZY. (This is Janna, showing them. This is actually a small throng of African children compared to what we had later.)















This is what I mean by CRAZY. They would do this whenever you'd take a picture or even have your camera out.















Later it was more like a little sea flowing along the mountain with us. They all wanted to hold our hands. All wanted to have their pictures taken. John and I had a disagreement about which picture I'd use here, so I put up both. I hope you're not sore about that.
















This lady was also pretty amazed by the camera thing, so we gave her a look, too. She was really pleased.














Juliana (MK, 5-years-old) was a trooper and came all the way to the top with us. She demanded not to be carried for as long as possible, but it ended up we had to take shifts at the end. I had the last mile. It was great. (I feel so sore.)















This is my favorite picture. You see tons of the little kids with these knit caps on, as if it's below zero outside. I suppose 60 or 70 degrees is cold to them.















I really can't get over how many kids there were up there, tucked away on that mountainside. You would never guess it from looking up at it from campus. As I was reflecting on it in a letter to a friend today, I can see how God used the experience to make me see the bigger picture. There are so many people out there that don't know Jesus--people we can't even see. And I'm just so thankful God brought me here, if for nothing else than to further realize the reality of the lost. There are so many. It's hard not to get overwhelmed.

My new pet.

Alright, so, today I got to play with a chameleon. Yeah, go ahead, be jealous. (I would be.) The little MKs found them and brought them over so we could see. (Did I mention I love missionary kids? I do.)


I wasn't really all that scared of it, but I hope you're enjoying my face here as much as I am. (Also, all you Faith Assembly people... that's definitely my Superchurch shirt I'm wearing.)

He was really cool.

It really liked my video camera.

That was probably the highlight of my day. That or seeing my teammates gorge themselves at this quasi-Western food place in town. They were so hungry for anything that wasn’t beans and rice—we’re all sort of on the brink of breakdowns here—that I think they were able to convince themselves they were at a regular Applebees or something. It was pretty great.

Otherwise, today has been hard, hard, hard. We’re doing this training right now, which boils down to hours upon hours of lecture time every day. I was looking at a picture today of me and my parents from graduation. Of course, I was missing them a bit, but I couldn’t get over how ridiculously happy I was to be done with school, done with going to class, done with hours upon hours of lectures. But here I am. UGH.

I had sort of a meltdown today. I was just done. Done listening to this guy go on and on. Done being patient with African time—that is, nothing running on time ever, always starting late, going even later (MUCH LATER). Done sitting in uncomfortable chairs, wearing uncomfortable skirts. Done eating beans and rice for every stinkin’ meal…

So I went on a run for lunch, just tore off out of campus and into the villages. Of course, running as a stress reliever is always a tricky thing for me, as God really took running away from me awhile ago as a way to break me, and my legs still kill from old stress fractures and injuries. But it turned out to be a nice escape, even though I'm limping around and sore.

Well, I guess it wasn’t much of an escape from Africa, though. School had just let out of something, so the dirt back roads I’ve been taking were full of school children in their adorable little sweaters. Kim and I went for a run the other morning and we were quite a sight for the people, but seeing this white girl running all alone with strange white cords running from her ears to a box (iPod) attached to her arm… that was just way too much for them to handle. Seriously, whole groups of teenagers (or even adults) would stop and stare at me as I went by. The little kids would chirp, “How are you?” – that’s about the only English they know. I did my best to throw out waves and “Harbari zenu!”s between gasping breaths (in some areas, if you don’t greet people, they think you’re a witch).

Anyway, it was nice. I’m still struggling to be positive, but most people here are in the same boat. I was able to go to town with my team later, like I said, and we had a good time together. And we ended the night with a hardcore prayer session, so that was even better. But, yeah, we need your prayers for team unity and working out some details of getting our things and ourselves into Sudan. And please pray against frustration during our training—this is only day two and we’re all ready to be done. (We have more than two weeks left!)

You’re prayers are coveted.

Sudan TIMO

I thought it might be nice to introduce you to my team. That's Jen (Massachusetts) on the back left, then Craig (Adelaide, Australia) and Cath (South Africa). Kim (Minnesota) is with me (new hair do') on the swings.

Calling home.

I just had to post these. Hilarious.
















This is me, trying to call my parents from a Safaricom phone on the streets of Machakos. They sure were getting a kick out of my inability to communicate with them.
















Craig took a photo, which freaked these ladies out. They kept asking if they could have a copy of the "snap."

In other news, I think I have little patches of ringworm all over my body. In fact, a lady I'm sharing the computer room with right now keeps reading off great facts about ringworm. Yay!

Planes, trains and (African) automobiles...

Today we went into town, which might be one of my best adventures yet. It’s about 2 kilos away*, so I really wanted to ride a boda-boda. (I’m guessing on that spelling.) A boda-boda (“bow-duh bow-duh”) is a bicycle with a glorified bookrack on the back—that is, there’s a sort of padded seat above the wheel.

So, yeah, I was all about the boda-bodas, but as we got walking, we didn’t see any of them milling about. We did happen upon a poor guy driving a three-wheeled taxi… thing. I really can’t describe it adequately. No words can do it justice. I think it’s probably a scooter-type thing with a seat built on the back and covered in a rickety frame with canvas strapped over it. Whatever, just know it was an incredible experience. We were bouncing all around in the thing, sticking our heads out of the canvas window cover things and howling as our poor bottoms were jolted with every bump. I’ll send the video home sometime soon, if I can. It’s great. Perhaps then you can appreciate more fully the greatness of this ride into town. I think the driver got annoyed with us, but I’m sure that was neither the first nor last time that will happen. (Whoops.)
















I did get my boda-boda experience on the way back from town. It was so cool, just riding along and looking at the countryside. Sure, there was some squealing as the guys nonchalantly took us through the busiest roundabout in town or as giant buses full of African’s screaming “wzungu!!!!!!” roared past, just inches from my elbows. But, still… so great.


















You can probably tell I’m still in the very “romantic” stage of my cultural transition here, so I look at everything with eyes of wonder and am still very open to trying (and yea even eating) new things.

I’m sure I’ll soon hit the next stage of adjustment, as I’ll probably cocoon back into any little Western thing I can find. We did some of that today, actually, as we raided the Naivasha (grocery/stuff store) for chocolate and biscuits (aka: cookies). I got so excited at seeing a KitKat, I bought three. And that was on top of four Cadbury bars. Yeah, I won’t lie: It was a bit of a buying frenzy. It was Craig, Kim and I—there was no calming force, just two hungry Americans and an impressionable (and equally famished) Aussie.

It’s a little strange, being a minority. It’s more of an issue here in Machakos, as it’s very rare to see one of us wzungus on the street. There are times when I’m more aware of my skin color than I’ve ever been! I wish I could say I understand some of the discrimination people go through here in the States, but, really, being white in Africa sets you apart in a different way. More than anything, it means you have money—money you can give them. (Apparently they didn’t get the memo on my being broke.)

Welcome to Machakos...

Just so you're all jealous, this is the view out my dorm room window at Scott Theological College in Machakos, Kenya.

We started our training today. Pray for me, as I hate, hate, hate long days of meetings. I have a hard time sitting still that long. :) But praise God, I'm sure he'll give me the grace to live through this. I know everything I'll learn here is super valuable.

Ok, I don't really have much time. I'll try to update this later in the week -- I won't have much access here.

Greetings again from Nairobi! This might be my last post before we take off to Machakos, but I wanted to tell you about a really sweet place we went to today called The Carnivore.

A disclaimer: It's totally a touristy, nzungu place. Totally. But that doesn't mean it's not great.

True to the name, it's all about meat. You just sit there as these men with giant sword things come by and offer you the strange meat they have on the swords. (Hopefully you'll get an idea of what I'm talking about from these pictures.)



It was so incredibly awesome. I ate ostrich and camel and crocodile and lamb and beef and chicken and... chicken gizzard. Oh my goodness, that's SO DISGUSTING. But I was going all out. Reason didn't kick in. Anyway, the camel and ostrich were incredible. And the crocodile wasn't half bad when you added some of the many wonderful sauces they offered.





This is Craig (the Aussie) and I, eating like it's our job. We took some really sweet video. I wish I could share it with you.

This is all the meat cooking on the coals. It was a meat-eaters dream. YUM.

Alright, I don't have much time. Have to run.

The luggage arrives!

We got a lot more of our luggage today!

It was all torn open and gone through, haha. Our box had a gaping hole in it; sort of like it'd be chewed up by some giant rat.

They stole all the conditioner we'd just bought in New York. (Conditioner and other white people things here are VERY EXPENSIVE and often watered down and bad. I just paid more than $10 for hair gel.)

We just have to laugh because we're left to wonder what some bald African man will do with a handful of bottles of conditioner... Haha.

Take me out to the ballgame...

Today all my baseball dreams came true. I taught my first African to play catch. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I finally rustled up Craig (the Aussie) to play toss with me outside. I've been going through withdrawal. Mark and I played all the time back at home.

It was all dark and stuff, but we caught the attention of the security guards. (This may leave you to wonder who was doing the security. Good question.) They eventually crowded around a passed ball and were studying it quite intently when I came up.

They looked at me and my mitt and asked how I caught the ball in my “hat.” (Hehehe.) So I tried to show them how the glove worked.

They were super entertained. I finally got one of them, Sumbi, to give it a go himself. He didn’t really understand the right-handed person putting the glove on the left hand thing. He kept trying to switch it.

It was amazing to see how foreign the idea was to him. He looked pretty goofy and awkward. Haha. Anyway, they were pleased with themselves and I promised I’d teach them more tomorrow, when the sun is out. (Teaching someone baseball in the dark seems like a horrible idea.)

Naturally, I’m pretty giddy. First, Sumbi. Next… the whole of Africa. :)

Camels and caves and matatus... oh my!

So, wow, I think this has been the longest week of my life! I can’t believe it’s only been seven days since I left Illinois—and only five since I left the States.

Yesterday was a very long, full day…

My Sudan TIMO teammate Kim and I decided Monday that we wanted to ride an ostrich. This may sound a little weird to you, but Kim’s friend did it while she was here, and riding atop a very strange bird seemed like an experience too random to pass up. So we set out to do just that.

We ended up outside of Nairobi in a little town called Kiambu. The ride there was terrifying. I’ll probably hit on that some other time, as transportation in Africa deserves a post of its own! Anyway, we went to a place called Paradise Lost, rumored to have said ostrich riding available.

Sadly, you could only FEED the ostriches—a far cry from saddling up on one, I must say!—but we happened upon a lot of other fun stuff to keep us entertained.

We hiked back to a beautiful water fall and explored some caves the Kenyan Freedom Fighters used during the war. We went back as far as a big cavern, from which there were shoot-offs that would take you all the way to Mount Kenya. That’s about a month-long journey! I can’t even imagine that. Anyway, here’s Kim in the caves.

And that’s Matt and I under the really sweet waterfall. Matt is here with this parents, Dave and Mary, who are going on from training to be dorm parents at Rift Valley Academy, AIM’s super-awesome school in northern Kenya. He’ll be a junior there. He, Kim and I have adopted each other as stand-in siblings. He’s a pretty cool little brother.

This is all of us, looking too cool for words at the bottom of the waterfall. This was Kim’s idea. I blame her for me looking so ridiculous.

Then we rode horses… and a camel. It’s an interesting thing, being on the back of a camel when it gets up from being on its knees. (That’s what’s going on in that picture, hence the weird looks on our faces.)

We did hang out with the ostrich for a while. I’ve decided ostriches are really scary animals. I was holding this leaf thing and it just went nuts on me. They get pretty good range with those crazy-looking necks of theirs, let me tell you. Anyway, it was strange. But don’t think for a second we’re going to stop in our quest to find a place to take one on, bareback style.

I can’t confirm that camels spit, but I can confirm that they make really weird noses and have a lot of saliva action going on inside their mouths. Disgusting.

Pray for our team...

Another one of our teammates, Craig, got here yesterday. He’s from Australia—the first Aussie to be on a TIMO team, no less. He’s a pretty cool guy. We’ll meet Cath—another teammate, from South Africa—on Friday or Saturday, but it will be nearly a month before we are united with the rest of our team.

We might not know each other, but the devil certainly has each one of us marked. From the very onset, he’s been working to gain a foothold among the three (and now four) of us who are here. I can feel myself being unusually easily annoyed or frustrated, focusing on the differences between us, especially with one of our teammates in particular. Kim and I talked about this today, because she really had a rough go of things with a teammate before.

Did you know that the number one reason missionaries leave the mission field is other missionaries? Yeah. Crazy, isn’t it? But it’s a very easy way for the devil to work. He’s not a dumb guy. (I hate when Christians—especially me—forget that the devil is very real, just as real as Christ, and we share this world with him. He lurks; let us not be ready!)

And so we’re not going to take this thing lightly. God has really but a heavy burden on my heart to pray for all of our teammates and for our time together. I’d appreciate your prayers to, as team unity is so critical to having an effective ministry. And bad relationships are not God-honoring!

The long and short of it.

Well, gang, I did it. The hair has been chopped. It's really, REALLY short.




Kim supervised the whole thing, keeping careful watch over the African hairdresser as she chopped away. Even Matt and Joe were there for moral support. It was quite the sight, this crazy foursome of wzungus (white people) making a ruckus about one of them getting a haircut. I’m sure we confused them even more by wanting to keep the hair. (I’m sending it home to Locks of Love.)

There was a lot of pointing, laughing and talking in Swahili. I’m sure they’re still talking about it today.

I'm in Kenya...

Hey gang! My gang and I finally arrived in Nairobi, Kenya, this morning, after a long two days of traveling and a lot of funny happenings. (Did I tell you I almost got hit by a car in London? Yeah, they drive on the other side of the road there. Duh Andi.)

Unfortunately, not all of our luggage got here. I'm missing one of my two bags, which is sad, but I got away lucky -- an AIM family with two little kids only found one of their 11 bags at baggage claim! It seems that half of the plane's stuff was left at London. Or at least that's what we're thinking. Everyone is missing *at least* one bag. So be praying for all that to come through -- we're hoping they will get here either tonight or tomorrow. Luckily, I have my essentials (toothbrush, Bible, baseball glove), so I could survive at least another week without my luggage.

I'm writing now from an internet cafe at a Nakumatt -- basically, the Kenyan version of Walmart. It's definitely a strange feeling, being a minority. Luckily, many people here speak English and they seem to be used to foreigners, as I haven't gotten many stares yet. (I remember being in China and being treated like a celebrity for my white skin and blonde hair.)

We haven't got to see much of the city yet -- just the area between the airport and our guest house -- but I can't wait to get out there and see what life is like. I haven't dared to experiment with food yet -- my first meal in Africa was... pizza... so pathetic, I know-- but, in my defense, there isn't much African eatin' here at Nakumatt.

I'm praying for some time to just relax and reload. It seems I've been going nonstop since -- gosh -- October, first with moving home, then support raising and, finally, making all the last-minute preparations for Africa. I keep saying things to myself like, "I'm in Africa" or "Here I am, moving to Africa," but nothing has really sunk in yet. It seems fatigue is clouding my sense of reality! Or maybe this is normal...

I hope to spend a lot of time with the Lord tonight and another good chunk of time sleeping. (Praise God for sleep. And beds parallel to the ground.) I'm sure I'll also try to enjoy some time with the other people who are here preparing for ABO (Africa-based orientation). It's awesome to talk and share with people who have the same heart you do, not only for the Lord, but for Africa.

London bridges falling down...

So, today I got to watch the England and Portugal's World Cup game in London!


Unfortunately, England lost on penalty kicks, which really made me sad.

My teammate Kim pretended to be sad with me. Actually, she and Jen (my other TIMO teammate) were super gracious to me in sitting beside me (and a large contingency of Brits) while I hung on every kick. It was great fun. Smashing, even.

Earlier, we had the chance to go into the city -- we have a 14-hour layover! -- and we saw Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, the London Eye, Buckingham Palace and a whole spattering of adorable English telephone booths. (That's Kim on the left and Jen on the right -- both Sudan TIMO teammates.)

We decided that everything in London looks like it came straight out of a toy village -- from the bobbys on horseback to the giant brick buildings, guards with huge fuzzy black hats to those silly telephone booths.

While this all might have the appearance of a vaction, trust me, it's far from that. I feel like 16 hours on a plane, coupled with a couple dozen more in various airports, has earned us a bit of touristy time. We've had a lot of funny hangups, too. When we were trying to check our luggage into storage in London, the fire alarm went off. So we had to stand there forever waiting for them to put out a fire. And then in the city, while I was buying my mad-style, 70%-off England soccer jersey, this GINORMOUS gay pride parade went by. It was definitely a nice reminder of the depravity of man and how much work there is to be done -- Romans 1, right here in London.

Alright, I've got two adorable MK toddlers wanting my attention, so I'm off. Pray for our travel into Kenya -- we leave tonight (London time) and get to Kenya early in the morning (Kenya time). Then we'll be there for a few days before taking off to Kenya. Pray especially for team unity and for sleep on the plane!