The Nairobi Struggle

You might wonder what it is that we do in Nairobi.

Well, first off, I should say, Nairobi isn’t all relaxation. In fact, it’s quite the opposite for me. There are a lot of great things about being here, sure, but there are also crashing waves of culture shock and a lot of stress.

You see, when we step into Nairobi, there is a sudden onslaught of resources that we can only dream about in Lopitland. There is endless power. Water. Supermarkets. Cell phones. Internet. Food.

And, with all these things right at my fingertips, there is an intense drive inside me to make the most of it. There are emails to catch up on. People who want me to call. Supplies that need to be bought. Things that need to be researched online. Baths that need to be taken and somehow enjoyed.

You shop at stores that never have what you want, and you still have to struggle to understand and use African English. It takes three minutes to ask if someone has a garbage can so we can throw a scrap of paper away. (Happened three times just yesterday.) Nothing in Africa is easy—it takes a whole day to get done what you could do in an hour in the States, with more success. And you can drain your whole bank account easily.

Quite honestly, I’m just exhausted. Purely and truly and completely, exhausted. The last three months in Lopit have been the hardest so far, and I really just want to relax. But it’s hardly possible here.

Our guesthouse is full of people who want to know all about TIMO and Sudan, so you try not to sound tired or rehearsed when you tell them about it. (And I want to tell them about it!) You hear from others about the tanks lining up on the North-South border or that it’s only a matter of time until there’s war again. And you have to deal with the reality that our friends were and possibly will again be the victims of the horrible crimes against humanity that we read about in the books. The first few days we were here, Kim and I quite literally hid in our room. We’d go out during the day to get things done, but then come back and just huddle in our little hole and avoid the family-style dinners where you’re forced to make small chat with new people each night. For exhausted introverts, that’s not always so fun.

People from home want to hear from you, and you’re forced to do that at odd hours in the night for outrageous prices with delays that are just taxing on your already-stretched patience. And no one from home will ever, EVER understand what you’re going through—what life is like when your neighbors’ kids are dying or your house is a 24-hour community stage and your white skin makes you a constant actor. There is no green room, and there’s no makeup to cover up when you’re tempted into frustration or impatience or anger or discouragement, or when you’re just plain tired. People raise eyebrows when you—a missionary!—take advantage of a $7 pedicure, but can’t understand that you’ve spent the last three months walking mountain trails full of human feces and other assorted poop. Knowing that people, even your friends, are questioning your needing/taking a break can, in all honesty, make it impossible to enjoy your days away from the village, because you wonder if you should feel guilty, and you just want people to understand.

This is a huge, huge struggle for me, so please pray that we get some real rest. You’ve got to fight for it! I guess this post sounds a bit whiny, but… I’m all about telling you how it is, and this is how it is. I know very few of you will ever understand, but here’s to trying.