Saturday, December 30, 2006
Home Sweet Home
This is Mark, Kim’s language helper. He’s awesome. He called me over today and proudly showed me his shirt sleeve. That’s right, folks, Illinois Department of Natural Resources. Woot, woot. I know a couple of my supporters who will be especially thrilled with this. You can tell I’m equally excited. As is Mark. Anything from home is super exciting.
Christmas Play
My teammates Toriana (which means “flower” in Lopit—her real name is Catherine, from South Africa ) and Martin took on putting on a play for the communities between Christmas and New Years. They did a really wonderful job, organizing local church folks and kids. And they wove together the culture and Biblical history really well. They put it on in the fuera of the village Sohot today and will do it in another village tomorrow. The fuera is the village center where they host all their dances. It’s also the place of the mangott (shown in the picture) where the men sit and do nothing all day. I guess they also discuss things and make important decisions there. But all I see is the sitting. :)
Anyway, in the center of every fuera is a clump of thick sticks (more like small tree trunks) stuck in the ground. Each stick signifies a generation of the people of the village. That is, they add them as each generation comes and goes. It’s a very special thing for them, and the fellas have told me the men can point out their stick and tell you the stories of the generations of all the other sticks.
For the play, they built upon that idea. They surrounded the sticks with more sticks and, as the play began, pulled one out and told its story—creation. We changed the generational sticks of the village to the generational sticks of the whole world. So, the first stick was creation. As they pulled out sticks, they told the story of its generation—stories of Noah, Abraham, Moses, etc. Finally, they talked about how in Jesus all generations are redeemed, all people are welcome at the cross.
They did a really great job. People came and went. I’m not sure they had the concept of a “play;” people would walk right through the middle of it! But it certainly started some talking. In fact, these fellas came out afterward and started dancing. My heart fell. But, someone explained to me that they were dancing as a thank you, in appreciation of the story and what we’d done. If nothing else, it was awesome to see the local church folk active in the play. They were so excited about it.
Anyway, here’s some pictures from it. I somehow didn’t take any of the actual play. Sorry gang. The first is just a view of some of the crowd. That’s the fellas up on the mangott. Women and children can’t sit on it. You’ll notice those two guys with funny looking skin. Those are my teammates Heinrich and Daniel. I look at scenes like this and wonder how I can actually live here.
And here’s a guy, dancing away. I really dig his huge… head… thing… And those are ace bandages wrapped around his arms and legs. And some kind of pom-poms on his upperarms. And a skirt. And sweet boots. I love dancers.
Anyway, in the center of every fuera is a clump of thick sticks (more like small tree trunks) stuck in the ground. Each stick signifies a generation of the people of the village. That is, they add them as each generation comes and goes. It’s a very special thing for them, and the fellas have told me the men can point out their stick and tell you the stories of the generations of all the other sticks.
For the play, they built upon that idea. They surrounded the sticks with more sticks and, as the play began, pulled one out and told its story—creation. We changed the generational sticks of the village to the generational sticks of the whole world. So, the first stick was creation. As they pulled out sticks, they told the story of its generation—stories of Noah, Abraham, Moses, etc. Finally, they talked about how in Jesus all generations are redeemed, all people are welcome at the cross.
They did a really great job. People came and went. I’m not sure they had the concept of a “play;” people would walk right through the middle of it! But it certainly started some talking. In fact, these fellas came out afterward and started dancing. My heart fell. But, someone explained to me that they were dancing as a thank you, in appreciation of the story and what we’d done. If nothing else, it was awesome to see the local church folk active in the play. They were so excited about it.
Anyway, here’s some pictures from it. I somehow didn’t take any of the actual play. Sorry gang. The first is just a view of some of the crowd. That’s the fellas up on the mangott. Women and children can’t sit on it. You’ll notice those two guys with funny looking skin. Those are my teammates Heinrich and Daniel. I look at scenes like this and wonder how I can actually live here.
And here’s a guy, dancing away. I really dig his huge… head… thing… And those are ace bandages wrapped around his arms and legs. And some kind of pom-poms on his upperarms. And a skirt. And sweet boots. I love dancers.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Christmas in Lopit
We had a lovely Christmas here in Lopit. Unfortunately, I didn’t get many pictures from the church service—I was doing video instead. I think the most beautiful part was when they sang “Silent Night” in one of the languages close to their own. (There are some songs translated into a trade language, which is in some ways close to the dialect from here.) The service was supposed to start at 10—in fact, the day before the pastors urged everyone to be there at 9 so we could start on time—but it didn’t begin until after noon sometime. The pastors weren’t there until really late, either. Hilarious. Toward the end of the service, people from the village came down. They really just came for the free food—the church slaughters a cow every year. Sad. Really sad.
This is Steve, cooking some goat leg at our team Christmas party. I told him he looked really American, sitting in his lawn chair with the spatula (before he struck this lovely pose). I think I might give him a “Kiss the Cook” apron for Christmas next year.
This is Steve, cooking some goat leg at our team Christmas party. I told him he looked really American, sitting in his lawn chair with the spatula (before he struck this lovely pose). I think I might give him a “Kiss the Cook” apron for Christmas next year.
The boys had a lovely set up for our Christmas dinner with them. They even painted a Christmas tree on their wall with mud and had candles for decorations. It was actually really pretty once it got dark.
Prayer Request
Hey gang… a prayer request for you.
I’m still feeling rather weak from being sick two weeks ago. Please pray that I’d get my strength back and would be able to get back on track with language learning, relationships and my studies. I’m beginning to feel rather defeated, since I have no energy! Also, pray for my eyes. I’ve had a lot of trouble with them lately and sometimes can hardly open them.
Thanks so much for your prayers!
I’m still feeling rather weak from being sick two weeks ago. Please pray that I’d get my strength back and would be able to get back on track with language learning, relationships and my studies. I’m beginning to feel rather defeated, since I have no energy! Also, pray for my eyes. I’ve had a lot of trouble with them lately and sometimes can hardly open them.
Thanks so much for your prayers!
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Cow-tipping: Moo-sic to our ears
Our village put up a new compound next to ours.
Our new neighbors are rowdy and loud.
And they even smell a little.
It’s a cow pin they’ve built next door, and those cows are downright annoying.
So please pray for our sanity as the cows moo day and night, and when they’re not mooing, they’re filling the air with noise from their cowbells. And I fear the smell as the weather grows hotter!
But there is one thing we’ve found—the one advantage of this cow pin within such a close proximity.
The joy of cow-tipping is so close at hand.
(Kidding.)
Our new neighbors are rowdy and loud.
And they even smell a little.
It’s a cow pin they’ve built next door, and those cows are downright annoying.
So please pray for our sanity as the cows moo day and night, and when they’re not mooing, they’re filling the air with noise from their cowbells. And I fear the smell as the weather grows hotter!
But there is one thing we’ve found—the one advantage of this cow pin within such a close proximity.
The joy of cow-tipping is so close at hand.
(Kidding.)
Merry Christmas Eve’s Eve!
We had our single girls’ Christmas party last night. It was so much fun. Kimpie’s mom sent napkins, napkin holders and a nice tablecloth for us to use. And we even broke out our (red!) emergency candles in empty tuna cans. It looked so beautiful, I nearly forgot I was in the bush of Africa .
We dressed up cute and laughed and danced and played Christmas music over the radio to the fellas in longija. We took requests. :) Steve called in from a “traffic jam” in his village. Somehow, that was hilarious to us. I’m so glad we have a good time together.
Then there was this obnoxiously loud knock at the door and a “HO HO HO!” Daniel came dressed up as the Weihnachtsmann (Christmas man) with a red blanket and cotton ball beard and gave us all cards and (melted—whoops!) chocolate bars. What a special surprise!
So, don’t worry, Mom, I’m going to have a fine Christmas here in the bush, even if I will be missing home. We have dinner tonight with the fellas, church and a cow slaughter tomorrow with the community and a team lunch on the 26th. There will be no shortage of Christmas joy. :)
This is KimmiePie, Jen, Annika, Cath and me. (Pattie is behind the camera!) Check out that beautiful table!
We dressed up cute and laughed and danced and played Christmas music over the radio to the fellas in longija. We took requests. :) Steve called in from a “traffic jam” in his village. Somehow, that was hilarious to us. I’m so glad we have a good time together.
Then there was this obnoxiously loud knock at the door and a “HO HO HO!” Daniel came dressed up as the Weihnachtsmann (Christmas man) with a red blanket and cotton ball beard and gave us all cards and (melted—whoops!) chocolate bars. What a special surprise!
So, don’t worry, Mom, I’m going to have a fine Christmas here in the bush, even if I will be missing home. We have dinner tonight with the fellas, church and a cow slaughter tomorrow with the community and a team lunch on the 26th. There will be no shortage of Christmas joy. :)
This is KimmiePie, Jen, Annika, Cath and me. (Pattie is behind the camera!) Check out that beautiful table!
Sometimes living in the bush affects your manners.
We had a bit of a dance party. That was good times. Maybe even better was cranking up the Christmas music on the speakers and putting it on the walkie-talkies for the fellas.
Here’s the Weihnachtsmann, in all his glory. Anyone who brings chocolate is tops with us.
Cooking up a Storm
The women always laugh when we get in on their cooking and cleaning. We’re so inadequate.
But at least we try, right?
But at least we try, right?
Sound the Alarm
Don’t worry, this has a funny ending.
Two days ago I was walking back from my teammates’, Heinrich and Doris , house when all of a sudden, a trickle of Munu Miji (the warrior ruling class) started to tear by. They were running full-force out into the Guum (“valley”), carrying their AK-47s and knifes and spears, looking all serious and hardcore. They wouldn’t even stop to greet me, even when I demanded it.
I asked the women what was going on, and they just said the Munu Miji were having a meeting. And they were going to shoot people with guns. Super! As I pried more about it and the men kept flying by, the women began to shut me out. I’d ask the men, “What are you doing?” And they’d say to the men, “Say, ‘Nothing.’ “
Tricky, tricky.
Last December, our group of villages go into a little spat with a neighboring village. The Governor ended up sending in some soldiers, taking away all the guns and threatening prison to anyone who was stirring up fighting. They also were made aware of the threat—if you fight, the missionary people leave. And they somehow don’t want that. So, yeah, we haven’t had any problems since then, but I this was on the back of my mind as I saw all these guys running like mad.
But, don’t worry, like I said, this has a funny ending.
They had sounded an alarm for a meeting, and none of the men knew what it was about, so they just went nuts and ran to the meeting place with their guns, sometimes shooting them off.
The actual purpose for the meeting, however, was because of a decree they’d received from the Governor—there was to be no shooting of guns.
The irony of that makes me laugh, certainly when I think of the stern faces tearing by, looking excited about getting into a fight.
Seriously, sometimes I think the Munu Miji are at their best lounging around the villages demanding their women to serve them and beating them if they don’t.
That looks a little like this.
Two days ago I was walking back from my teammates’, Heinrich and Doris , house when all of a sudden, a trickle of Munu Miji (the warrior ruling class) started to tear by. They were running full-force out into the Guum (“valley”), carrying their AK-47s and knifes and spears, looking all serious and hardcore. They wouldn’t even stop to greet me, even when I demanded it.
I asked the women what was going on, and they just said the Munu Miji were having a meeting. And they were going to shoot people with guns. Super! As I pried more about it and the men kept flying by, the women began to shut me out. I’d ask the men, “What are you doing?” And they’d say to the men, “Say, ‘Nothing.’ “
Tricky, tricky.
Last December, our group of villages go into a little spat with a neighboring village. The Governor ended up sending in some soldiers, taking away all the guns and threatening prison to anyone who was stirring up fighting. They also were made aware of the threat—if you fight, the missionary people leave. And they somehow don’t want that. So, yeah, we haven’t had any problems since then, but I this was on the back of my mind as I saw all these guys running like mad.
But, don’t worry, like I said, this has a funny ending.
They had sounded an alarm for a meeting, and none of the men knew what it was about, so they just went nuts and ran to the meeting place with their guns, sometimes shooting them off.
The actual purpose for the meeting, however, was because of a decree they’d received from the Governor—there was to be no shooting of guns.
The irony of that makes me laugh, certainly when I think of the stern faces tearing by, looking excited about getting into a fight.
Seriously, sometimes I think the Munu Miji are at their best lounging around the villages demanding their women to serve them and beating them if they don’t.
That looks a little like this.
Little KimmiePie…
For weeks, we’d been reminding our neighbor, Ebiong, to call us when she had her baby. And she didn’t. We had to find out 12 hours later when they stopped us on the way to church.
So, when it came time for the little one’s naming ceremony yesterday, she made sure we’d been called.
They named her Kim, after my roommate, which is always special. I found out yesterday about another kid named after me in the neighboring village. Hilarious how that works.
Anyway, this is little Kim and her mom Ebiong. In the naming ceremony, they smear mom with oil, then the baby with oil, then do all sorts of weird animism things to shoo away evil spirits and ask for the ancestors blessings.
Like any local custom, it also involves the local brew of “white beer.” This is little Monica, the new Kim’s older sister, tipping back with the help of her grandmother. Nothing quite like seeing a two-year-old totter around after drinking beer. I can’t wait until the power of the Gospel pushes the beer out of here.
So, when it came time for the little one’s naming ceremony yesterday, she made sure we’d been called.
They named her Kim, after my roommate, which is always special. I found out yesterday about another kid named after me in the neighboring village. Hilarious how that works.
Anyway, this is little Kim and her mom Ebiong. In the naming ceremony, they smear mom with oil, then the baby with oil, then do all sorts of weird animism things to shoo away evil spirits and ask for the ancestors blessings.
Like any local custom, it also involves the local brew of “white beer.” This is little Monica, the new Kim’s older sister, tipping back with the help of her grandmother. Nothing quite like seeing a two-year-old totter around after drinking beer. I can’t wait until the power of the Gospel pushes the beer out of here.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Prayer Request
A little prayer request for you.
We’re starting to think now about what our formal ministry will be in February. Please pray that God will show me what I should be doing, as I’ve got some ideas but nothing definite. I’ve talked with Steve about putting together some kind of Lopit newspaper—he says they’re wonderful ministry tools. Imagine, a Christian newspaper! The problem is, I’d have to be paired with someone else’s ministry. Kimmie might be working on translation stuff and nailing down how to spell things in Lopit and use a Lopit alphabet. And then not many people know how to read the Lopit that there already is. So someone will have to be teaching—maybe Pattie! We’ve also thought about putting a transmitter up on the mountain and doing a radio ministry. Someone came in at some point and gave out hand-crank radios, so the people listen to them in the villages. Unfortunately, they’re getting bad Islamic influence on them from the North. So a Christian replacement would be nice!
Anyway, please be praying! I would love to work with the children as well. I feel like I’m going in a million different directions!
We’re starting to think now about what our formal ministry will be in February. Please pray that God will show me what I should be doing, as I’ve got some ideas but nothing definite. I’ve talked with Steve about putting together some kind of Lopit newspaper—he says they’re wonderful ministry tools. Imagine, a Christian newspaper! The problem is, I’d have to be paired with someone else’s ministry. Kimmie might be working on translation stuff and nailing down how to spell things in Lopit and use a Lopit alphabet. And then not many people know how to read the Lopit that there already is. So someone will have to be teaching—maybe Pattie! We’ve also thought about putting a transmitter up on the mountain and doing a radio ministry. Someone came in at some point and gave out hand-crank radios, so the people listen to them in the villages. Unfortunately, they’re getting bad Islamic influence on them from the North. So a Christian replacement would be nice!
Anyway, please be praying! I would love to work with the children as well. I feel like I’m going in a million different directions!
You haven’t got mail.
We haven’t gotten post in a while, which is depressing. It being Christmas and all, it’s nearly unbearable. The pilot who was stationed in Loki and who took a special interest in getting our mail tucked into underloaded planes first from Nairobi to Loki, then from Loki to here has gone home on furlough. And with him, it seems, have gone the days of mail dropped by parachute when he was flying by or a special delivery of fresh vegetables from his wife. Oh, Jon and Ginny, we miss you.
Whatever the case, my mom has become a champ at sending packages. She’s amazing. The last one I got was quite impressive—a decorated shoebox that even had a typed-out inventory list inside. Eat that, corrupt Kenyan customs officers! Mwauhaha. Mom’s still working on the whole sending some kind of note or letter inside thing, but I know she’ll come around. I’ve got enough cute pictures and notes from the Canales to decorate my walls. (Lara is also mastering the postal system.) Mark has me stocked with blank camcorder tapes. And Joy blessed the Husa house with two very precious DVDs—my only two—which will be watched time and again on our trips out of the bush.
Oh, I love mail. It’s so painful, knowing my love-filled packages from the states are either stuck with customs or in the AIM AIR hangar in Nairobi , with no one to get excited about them. There are three planes flying somewhere in the area now (or so the kids tell me), which is torture for my heart! The kids run and tell us when they hear a plane—this is always well before we do. Then they just point emphatically at some tiny spec in the sky and yell, “The plane, the plane!” which always threatens to throw me into fits of laughter because of a certain, small television character. It’s too bad they don’t get that one—they’d realize how hilarious they are.
Nope, the planes aren’t coming here. *sigh* Another day!
Whatever the case, my mom has become a champ at sending packages. She’s amazing. The last one I got was quite impressive—a decorated shoebox that even had a typed-out inventory list inside. Eat that, corrupt Kenyan customs officers! Mwauhaha. Mom’s still working on the whole sending some kind of note or letter inside thing, but I know she’ll come around. I’ve got enough cute pictures and notes from the Canales to decorate my walls. (Lara is also mastering the postal system.) Mark has me stocked with blank camcorder tapes. And Joy blessed the Husa house with two very precious DVDs—my only two—which will be watched time and again on our trips out of the bush.
Oh, I love mail. It’s so painful, knowing my love-filled packages from the states are either stuck with customs or in the AIM AIR hangar in Nairobi , with no one to get excited about them. There are three planes flying somewhere in the area now (or so the kids tell me), which is torture for my heart! The kids run and tell us when they hear a plane—this is always well before we do. Then they just point emphatically at some tiny spec in the sky and yell, “The plane, the plane!” which always threatens to throw me into fits of laughter because of a certain, small television character. It’s too bad they don’t get that one—they’d realize how hilarious they are.
Nope, the planes aren’t coming here. *sigh* Another day!
Friday, December 15, 2006
Meet Little Big Pattie
This is the newest addition to our little circle of friends—baby Pattie, named after my teammate and housemate in Husa. Her Lopit name is “Big” (except, um, in Lopit), so we’ve taken to calling her Little Big Pattie, so we’re not constantly confused about who’s talking about whom. I’m slightly worried that the longer we live here and the more children that are named after us, communication is going to get that much harder! :)
This is Momma Davitica and Little Big Pattie. Then that’s me and the wee ‘un. She was only about 12 hours old here. Amazing.. We couldn’t believe how she was looking at me like this!
This is Momma Davitica and Little Big Pattie. Then that’s me and the wee ‘un. She was only about 12 hours old here. Amazing.. We couldn’t believe how she was looking at me like this!
Mean case of malaria (or something)
Well, after four days of headache, body ache and stomachache—including a 11-hour drive in a hot truck with a 103 or 104 fever—I’m finally feeling a bit better and starting to eat again. Wow. I don’t like getting sick in the bush.
Something is going around our team, something a little like malaria but a lot like misery. So please pray for us, as the weather gets hotter, the water runs out and our bodies run down!
I’m glad to be feeling better. Since I was gone in Loki for a few days (we got stuck there on a supply trip because no trucks could get into town to stock the shack stores) and then half-dead in bed for a couple days after that, the kids went nuts yesterday when I dragged myself to the door to greet them. Talk about funny. Little Francis’ eyes got all wide and his grin got wider, then they all stampeded toward me, greeting me and asking me how I was. I guess some of them thought I’d stayed in Loki because I was sick. The village rumor mill is out of control sometimes. ;)
Something is going around our team, something a little like malaria but a lot like misery. So please pray for us, as the weather gets hotter, the water runs out and our bodies run down!
I’m glad to be feeling better. Since I was gone in Loki for a few days (we got stuck there on a supply trip because no trucks could get into town to stock the shack stores) and then half-dead in bed for a couple days after that, the kids went nuts yesterday when I dragged myself to the door to greet them. Talk about funny. Little Francis’ eyes got all wide and his grin got wider, then they all stampeded toward me, greeting me and asking me how I was. I guess some of them thought I’d stayed in Loki because I was sick. The village rumor mill is out of control sometimes. ;)
Friday, December 08, 2006
PICTURES
Steve found a turtle on the road. It quickly became the newest family pet. (I assure you, the dik-dik was furious.) Christian and the turtle have a love-hate relationship. As you can see, he was definitely at a “hate” point here. Hilarious. I love this kid.
This is little Ellen, our neighbor Abooba’s kid. I think she actually made it in my last prayer letter, as well. She’s too adorable. But she has a terrible habit of peeing on Kim. (I think that’s funny. Kim probably doesn’t.)
Here’s the kids, washing away at the river. We have so much fun there.
Here’s our sweet new coal stove. Have I talked about this before? We get excited about things like this year. I can now make perfect bread. YUM. The kids love it, too.
The kids kept pulling apart the sticks of our fence and coming in early in the morning to stare in our windows. In a moment of brilliance, Kim had this ingenious idea to tie the sticks together. The kids didn’t know what to do with themselves. This is Franco, Francis and Paula (Ellen’s older siblings), looking through the fence in dismay. Hehehe.
Babiano (01 dec 06)
… is out of the hospital and doing well. He’s the one who came to us basically bleeding to death a while back. He actually came to our place first when he got home, which was nice. Then we walked up to his place and sat looking over everything for a while in silence. It was a nice moment. J It’s good to know he’s better and we’ve made a good friend.
Language!
My language learning is going well, though I still make dumb mistakes. I keep wanting to tell kids, “banga oyo!” (don’t cry!) but I mess up and say “banga oye!” (don’t die). While the latter is definitely something I desire (that is, that they wouldn’t die), it’s not exactly all that better.
We’re learning Bible verses in Lopit. “Nyo amuno Hollum hiyo dang ta fau bino,…” (For God so loved the world…)
Once my language teacher was drunk (not unusual) during our lesson and demanded that I say the “dang” part with a lot of umph. (That’s “dang,” like “DONG!” almost, but sort of swallow the “n.”) He says we English speakers have ways we annunciate certain words and he is doing that in Lopit now. (Everyone is out to revolutionize the language, it seems.) So we were going through the verse (I know John 3:16 and 1:12), yelling DANG! Whenever we got to it. My roommates in side the house couldn’t help but laugh, which made me laugh, which made Willie walk up to the window and reprimand them, shaking his finger.
Really, it might have been the best language lesson ever—bi DANG (in ALL)!
We’re learning Bible verses in Lopit. “Nyo amuno Hollum hiyo dang ta fau bino,…” (For God so loved the world…)
Once my language teacher was drunk (not unusual) during our lesson and demanded that I say the “dang” part with a lot of umph. (That’s “dang,” like “DONG!” almost, but sort of swallow the “n.”) He says we English speakers have ways we annunciate certain words and he is doing that in Lopit now. (Everyone is out to revolutionize the language, it seems.) So we were going through the verse (I know John 3:16 and 1:12), yelling DANG! Whenever we got to it. My roommates in side the house couldn’t help but laugh, which made me laugh, which made Willie walk up to the window and reprimand them, shaking his finger.
Really, it might have been the best language lesson ever—bi DANG (in ALL)!
Let there be light! (04 dec 06)
We ate dinner in the light last night.
It was so amazing.
Steve finally got up here and installed the solar panel we bought in Nairobi six weeks ago. (This man is busy.) Steve is like a celebrity in the villages, so his mere presence created quite the stir, let alone this weird thing he was fastening to our roof. Then the homemade Kenyan ladder he was using to climb up on the room collapsed and he took a hard fall, so I’m sure that was even more fodder for the village rumor mill. (I won’t lie—my heart stopped when I saw him go. But he was fine. He’s tough. Iris told me today that the way he told her he’d ran over a landmine in Western Equatoria a while back began with, “Guess what I did today?” just as casually as if it was as much of a nonevent as stepping on bubble gum. Weird.) Somehow, though, no one mentioned it yet. I don’t know how it would be possible though for them not to have seen—the men on the mangott (the manly meeting place where they do nothing all day) are constantly surveying our every move.
Anyway, after much such to-do, he got a light hooked up in our kitchen. We all sort of stared at it for a while, amazed. You wouldn’t believe how incredible the idea of flipping a switch and having light has become to us. I mean, WOW. It’s just THERE. We didn’t know what to think of being able to see our food well of the shadows dancing on the wall. The village was similarly impressed. We could hear them stand outside our window and talk about it. The kids would just say, “light” in this really strange, E.T.-phone-home way. That caught us off guard, too, because it was the straight English word. I think the school kids taught them. I can’t imagine there being a word for “light” (of the electric variety) in Lopit.
We had a stream of people come to visit just to see this single lightbulb. I can’t believe it—we might be even more popular than before!
Kim really wanted her parents to see this picture. She’s so hardcore—a bush electrician.
It was so amazing.
Steve finally got up here and installed the solar panel we bought in Nairobi six weeks ago. (This man is busy.) Steve is like a celebrity in the villages, so his mere presence created quite the stir, let alone this weird thing he was fastening to our roof. Then the homemade Kenyan ladder he was using to climb up on the room collapsed and he took a hard fall, so I’m sure that was even more fodder for the village rumor mill. (I won’t lie—my heart stopped when I saw him go. But he was fine. He’s tough. Iris told me today that the way he told her he’d ran over a landmine in Western Equatoria a while back began with, “Guess what I did today?” just as casually as if it was as much of a nonevent as stepping on bubble gum. Weird.) Somehow, though, no one mentioned it yet. I don’t know how it would be possible though for them not to have seen—the men on the mangott (the manly meeting place where they do nothing all day) are constantly surveying our every move.
Anyway, after much such to-do, he got a light hooked up in our kitchen. We all sort of stared at it for a while, amazed. You wouldn’t believe how incredible the idea of flipping a switch and having light has become to us. I mean, WOW. It’s just THERE. We didn’t know what to think of being able to see our food well of the shadows dancing on the wall. The village was similarly impressed. We could hear them stand outside our window and talk about it. The kids would just say, “light” in this really strange, E.T.-phone-home way. That caught us off guard, too, because it was the straight English word. I think the school kids taught them. I can’t imagine there being a word for “light” (of the electric variety) in Lopit.
We had a stream of people come to visit just to see this single lightbulb. I can’t believe it—we might be even more popular than before!
Kim really wanted her parents to see this picture. She’s so hardcore—a bush electrician.
Likewise, Steve is also hardcore. This is him, up in our bamboo rafters. Good times.
Hello, hello! (02 dec 06)
Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?
My deepest apologies—I’ve been really busy. I know what you’re thinking. “Andi? Busy? In the bush? What could you possibly be doing that keeps you so terribly busy?”
Well, I’ll tell you, though I find myself just as amazed as you are. I’ll give you a rundown of a day last week.
4:07 a.m.: I struggle out of bed before even the rosters (my ingenious plan to avoid being waken up by them), make my bed, start the tea pot so my roomies will have hot water when they wake up later and then light my lamp and settle into my desk for Bible study and prayer.
5:47 a.m.: Our neighbors wake up and the men start their morning ritual of blowing their noses. It’s really sick and… involved. I hear laughter from the other side of my wall—it’s Kim, no longer able to focus on prayer with all the racket outside. We being to field the ‘Good mornings!” and “Give me tea!” requests from the trail, another morning formality. At some point, I take a break to sweep the yard. Yes, the DIRT YARD. Yet another morning formality. So weird. I do it so everyone in the village can see—I assure you they’re all watching—and we don’t get complaints that day about it.
7:30 ish: My roommates are up and around and our first visitors are yelling at the gate. I hold out as long as I can, clinging to my guarded time in the Word, but finally let myself out and begin serving and entertaining our guests. Pattie, Kimmie and I are chai-making machines.
8:30ish: I’m out the door and down the mountain to my team leader’s house, where I snatch the bike he so graciously lets me use. I spend an hour tearing down the dirt road, peppering the field-goers with hellos and answering the shotgun Lopit questions—“Ibeja, how are you? Where have you come from? Where are you going? Pick me up.” (I guess that last one isn’t so much a question, but that’s just how the language is. Give me this. Bring this. Take that.) I normally give them a fright when I come up behind them. Yesterday I nearly was clothes-lined three times by men carrying long tree trunks on one shoulder. They’d realize I was coming, freak out and wheel around, leaving that deadly trunk swinging across the path like a gate. Hilarious. Anymore, I’m ready for stuff like that—I’m used to dodging cows, goats and people. Though, I did manage to hit a cow the other day. But that’s a whole other story.
10ish: Up the mountain and showered, I start the long process of making bread. The children who invited themselves inside to help me stare in awe as I dust the sugar over my version of my mom’s amazing cinnamon rolls. They lick everything they can get their hands on. Sugar is gold around here. All the while, curious neighbors and friends stop by. You can’t do much without attracting a crowd around here.
11ish: Off to the river with a big bag of the clothes I’ve put of washing. Children see me leaving and run to their houses to grab their water jugs. Soon, I have a line of them in front and behind me. Everyday is a party. And I guess there is always a party-pooper—often, some loud angry woman at the river who demands my clothes and my soap. It’s never fun going ‘round with them (they can be holding a bar of their own soap, yet demand you give them yours), but I suppose it sharpens my patience. Sometimes humor wins the wars; sometimes our friends come and stand up for us; sometimes you go home frustrated. The kids are always great helps for me—for some reason, helping the silly white Ibeja with her clothes gives them great joy. And they teach me language while we’re washing.
1ish: We quell the flow of visitors long enough to eat lunch. I begin with the battle with the coal stove and, having eventually lowered myself to defeat by use of kerosene, put in the aforementioned bread. Between loaves, I read my books for the TIMO curriculum and talk with the kids on the rocks outside.
2:30 p.m.: Back down the mountain, this time to the school, where I meet ol’ William for my language lesson. This is tedious stuff. We finally finish a Lopit language version of the creation story to the tune of the other teachers beating the stray dogs that wander in and the high-pitched singing of the children, who are working on some English song for an assembly. I can recognize maybe three words of said song—“I love education!”—yet Kim (also at the school at that time) and I can’t shake it from our heads for days. We’re singing it even now.
4 p.m.: It’s time to start dinner at home, so I enlist the help of the children to sort and clean our 10kg bag of beans. They happily accept the challenge… especially with the hope of candy for payment. We sing and pick through beans. At one point, I watch in terror as a baby—under the care of her 6-year-old sister—leaves a pile of green poop in my yard, not far from the pack of children tending to my beans. Said older sister cleans it up with a leaf and quickly goes back to sorting beans. I make a mental note to wash the beans with extra care and vigor.
5 p.m.: Sweet Pattie lights up the giko (coal cooker). She, too, resorts to kerosene. My pride is restored and the beans are left to boil for two hours. Beans take a long time. Inside, I mix up some chapatti dough. It’s my night to cook and I’m making white chicken chili, thanks to some wonderful woman back in the States who sent the seasoning packet to me. (THANK YOU!) Not having any chicken or the proper beans didn’t matter. We have this strange soy stuff you can make taste like meat with a broth cube. The wonders of modern cooking. (I wonder if there are chocolate-flavored cubes?) between the spurts of cooking, I study language and talk to the children again.
7 p.m.: Dinner is finally served. We all eat too much. That’s what seasoning will do to a person. Supper time with my roommates is always the best. We laugh. A lot. Add to that “Singles’ Hour”—the endearing name we’ve given to the time we use the radios to tell Steve we’re all Oskee Kilo—and the nights can be a blast. We call it Singles Hour because it normally turns into hilarious exchanges between the two single women’s houses and the fellas up high on the mountain. The families have far better things to do with their time. Eventually we turn off the radios and do our nightly prayer time—for our villages, for our team, our families and our language learning.
8 or 9ish: We each take to our rooms for the night. Depending on how exhausted I am, I’ll try to read more or white letters. Sometimes the teens will come by and rouse us out of our beds to go “play” with them—that is, going from house to house to get a little food and tell stories. Kim is much better at going than I am. I’m always pretty wiped by then. Sometimes women will stop by to visit. Sometimes I simply prepare my to-do list for the next day and crash, often to the sounds of drums, dancing and yelling.
So, there you have it—my life here. Every day brings something new, some kind of kink in your “plans.” It’s best not to have plans in Africa , I’ve learned! Some days aren’t as full. Sometimes all you “get done” is managing the flood of people who come—boiling water, making chai and doing dishes. Other times you’ll find yourself at a friend’s house, simply sitting and enjoying the ridiculous view over the valley. And some times, quite honestly, you have to sit in your room and recuperate!
My deepest apologies—I’ve been really busy. I know what you’re thinking. “Andi? Busy? In the bush? What could you possibly be doing that keeps you so terribly busy?”
Well, I’ll tell you, though I find myself just as amazed as you are. I’ll give you a rundown of a day last week.
4:07 a.m.: I struggle out of bed before even the rosters (my ingenious plan to avoid being waken up by them), make my bed, start the tea pot so my roomies will have hot water when they wake up later and then light my lamp and settle into my desk for Bible study and prayer.
5:47 a.m.: Our neighbors wake up and the men start their morning ritual of blowing their noses. It’s really sick and… involved. I hear laughter from the other side of my wall—it’s Kim, no longer able to focus on prayer with all the racket outside. We being to field the ‘Good mornings!” and “Give me tea!” requests from the trail, another morning formality. At some point, I take a break to sweep the yard. Yes, the DIRT YARD. Yet another morning formality. So weird. I do it so everyone in the village can see—I assure you they’re all watching—and we don’t get complaints that day about it.
7:30 ish: My roommates are up and around and our first visitors are yelling at the gate. I hold out as long as I can, clinging to my guarded time in the Word, but finally let myself out and begin serving and entertaining our guests. Pattie, Kimmie and I are chai-making machines.
8:30ish: I’m out the door and down the mountain to my team leader’s house, where I snatch the bike he so graciously lets me use. I spend an hour tearing down the dirt road, peppering the field-goers with hellos and answering the shotgun Lopit questions—“Ibeja, how are you? Where have you come from? Where are you going? Pick me up.” (I guess that last one isn’t so much a question, but that’s just how the language is. Give me this. Bring this. Take that.) I normally give them a fright when I come up behind them. Yesterday I nearly was clothes-lined three times by men carrying long tree trunks on one shoulder. They’d realize I was coming, freak out and wheel around, leaving that deadly trunk swinging across the path like a gate. Hilarious. Anymore, I’m ready for stuff like that—I’m used to dodging cows, goats and people. Though, I did manage to hit a cow the other day. But that’s a whole other story.
10ish: Up the mountain and showered, I start the long process of making bread. The children who invited themselves inside to help me stare in awe as I dust the sugar over my version of my mom’s amazing cinnamon rolls. They lick everything they can get their hands on. Sugar is gold around here. All the while, curious neighbors and friends stop by. You can’t do much without attracting a crowd around here.
11ish: Off to the river with a big bag of the clothes I’ve put of washing. Children see me leaving and run to their houses to grab their water jugs. Soon, I have a line of them in front and behind me. Everyday is a party. And I guess there is always a party-pooper—often, some loud angry woman at the river who demands my clothes and my soap. It’s never fun going ‘round with them (they can be holding a bar of their own soap, yet demand you give them yours), but I suppose it sharpens my patience. Sometimes humor wins the wars; sometimes our friends come and stand up for us; sometimes you go home frustrated. The kids are always great helps for me—for some reason, helping the silly white Ibeja with her clothes gives them great joy. And they teach me language while we’re washing.
1ish: We quell the flow of visitors long enough to eat lunch. I begin with the battle with the coal stove and, having eventually lowered myself to defeat by use of kerosene, put in the aforementioned bread. Between loaves, I read my books for the TIMO curriculum and talk with the kids on the rocks outside.
2:30 p.m.: Back down the mountain, this time to the school, where I meet ol’ William for my language lesson. This is tedious stuff. We finally finish a Lopit language version of the creation story to the tune of the other teachers beating the stray dogs that wander in and the high-pitched singing of the children, who are working on some English song for an assembly. I can recognize maybe three words of said song—“I love education!”—yet Kim (also at the school at that time) and I can’t shake it from our heads for days. We’re singing it even now.
4 p.m.: It’s time to start dinner at home, so I enlist the help of the children to sort and clean our 10kg bag of beans. They happily accept the challenge… especially with the hope of candy for payment. We sing and pick through beans. At one point, I watch in terror as a baby—under the care of her 6-year-old sister—leaves a pile of green poop in my yard, not far from the pack of children tending to my beans. Said older sister cleans it up with a leaf and quickly goes back to sorting beans. I make a mental note to wash the beans with extra care and vigor.
5 p.m.: Sweet Pattie lights up the giko (coal cooker). She, too, resorts to kerosene. My pride is restored and the beans are left to boil for two hours. Beans take a long time. Inside, I mix up some chapatti dough. It’s my night to cook and I’m making white chicken chili, thanks to some wonderful woman back in the States who sent the seasoning packet to me. (THANK YOU!) Not having any chicken or the proper beans didn’t matter. We have this strange soy stuff you can make taste like meat with a broth cube. The wonders of modern cooking. (I wonder if there are chocolate-flavored cubes?) between the spurts of cooking, I study language and talk to the children again.
7 p.m.: Dinner is finally served. We all eat too much. That’s what seasoning will do to a person. Supper time with my roommates is always the best. We laugh. A lot. Add to that “Singles’ Hour”—the endearing name we’ve given to the time we use the radios to tell Steve we’re all Oskee Kilo—and the nights can be a blast. We call it Singles Hour because it normally turns into hilarious exchanges between the two single women’s houses and the fellas up high on the mountain. The families have far better things to do with their time. Eventually we turn off the radios and do our nightly prayer time—for our villages, for our team, our families and our language learning.
8 or 9ish: We each take to our rooms for the night. Depending on how exhausted I am, I’ll try to read more or white letters. Sometimes the teens will come by and rouse us out of our beds to go “play” with them—that is, going from house to house to get a little food and tell stories. Kim is much better at going than I am. I’m always pretty wiped by then. Sometimes women will stop by to visit. Sometimes I simply prepare my to-do list for the next day and crash, often to the sounds of drums, dancing and yelling.
So, there you have it—my life here. Every day brings something new, some kind of kink in your “plans.” It’s best not to have plans in Africa , I’ve learned! Some days aren’t as full. Sometimes all you “get done” is managing the flood of people who come—boiling water, making chai and doing dishes. Other times you’ll find yourself at a friend’s house, simply sitting and enjoying the ridiculous view over the valley. And some times, quite honestly, you have to sit in your room and recuperate!
Friday, November 24, 2006
Happy Thanksgiving!
I celebrated my first major holiday in the bush today! Happy Thanksgiving!
Since there are only four of us Americans, I was a little worried we’d forget Thanksgiving and it’d pass by without notice, sort of like July 4th did. But Jen wouldn’t let that happen. She’s been planning a HUGE Thanksgiving meal for months now. It was wonderful! Hopefully, I’ll get a picture up here of the spread she laid out. It was so amazing.
The funny part was trying to explain to the other teammates just what Thanksgiving was. Jen said it was about food. I said it was about football. But they think to Jen, everything is about food, and to me, everything is about football or some other sport. So that got them absolutely no where.
Don’t worry—we explained the whole thing. And, in the end, we were all thanking God for the blessings he’d given us—here in Lopit and back home. J
I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I’m so thankful for you!
Since there are only four of us Americans, I was a little worried we’d forget Thanksgiving and it’d pass by without notice, sort of like July 4th did. But Jen wouldn’t let that happen. She’s been planning a HUGE Thanksgiving meal for months now. It was wonderful! Hopefully, I’ll get a picture up here of the spread she laid out. It was so amazing.
The funny part was trying to explain to the other teammates just what Thanksgiving was. Jen said it was about food. I said it was about football. But they think to Jen, everything is about food, and to me, everything is about football or some other sport. So that got them absolutely no where.
Don’t worry—we explained the whole thing. And, in the end, we were all thanking God for the blessings he’d given us—here in Lopit and back home. J
I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I’m so thankful for you!
Peanut Butter
Not too long ago, I wrote Lara about how great and wonderful peanut butter was and how I got a jar in the mail and was ecstatic and was finding all sorts of fun uses for it.
That’s been kind of ruined lately, as the people are harvesting their peanut fields and we suddenly have two HUGE bags of them on our kitchen floor. There are peanuts, peanuts everywhere. It’s worse than a major league baseball game.
But, here’s a cool thing. I now know how to make peanut butter—from the very beginning to the very end. When we first got here, they were tending their ground nut fields. We helped. Then they had to pick the stuff. We helped. I spent a couple afternoons under a shade tree in the fields, plucking the nuts off the plants. Then I helped shell them at home. Then you roast them. Then you “atusa” them. (I’m not sure of the English equivalent there.) Then you grind them. My arms were really sore! And then, WHAMO, you’ve got peanut butter. And it’s darn good.
Anyway, it’s become part of life here, these peanuts. And I’ve seen it open doors for relationships. After I spent those days in the fields, everyone in the villages was talking about it. And everyone felt the need to bring us MORE peanuts. (Good… times…)
Funny how peanuts are part of my ministry.
That’s been kind of ruined lately, as the people are harvesting their peanut fields and we suddenly have two HUGE bags of them on our kitchen floor. There are peanuts, peanuts everywhere. It’s worse than a major league baseball game.
But, here’s a cool thing. I now know how to make peanut butter—from the very beginning to the very end. When we first got here, they were tending their ground nut fields. We helped. Then they had to pick the stuff. We helped. I spent a couple afternoons under a shade tree in the fields, plucking the nuts off the plants. Then I helped shell them at home. Then you roast them. Then you “atusa” them. (I’m not sure of the English equivalent there.) Then you grind them. My arms were really sore! And then, WHAMO, you’ve got peanut butter. And it’s darn good.
Anyway, it’s become part of life here, these peanuts. And I’ve seen it open doors for relationships. After I spent those days in the fields, everyone in the villages was talking about it. And everyone felt the need to bring us MORE peanuts. (Good… times…)
Funny how peanuts are part of my ministry.
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