Welcome to the end.

The blog helped us to process our time here and made us feel closer to you all at home.  And it made us feel closer to you, too, people from www.apartmentsearch.com (we hope you found what you were looking for).

Darlene and I think we have experiences everyday that are worth blogging about, whether we are in DC, Kenya, or anywhere else. But this is the end because we are coming home and can tell you about our day-to-day experiences in person. And we can hear yours as well.

We leave you with another quote written high upon Mt. Kenya:

Go safely friend, for here is high.
Go daringly, where eagles go eternally
with Jesus nigh.

Thank you for reading along this summer. We love you, we've missed you. See you soon.

Love,

David and Darlene

We made it.  

All 4985 meters (16355 feet) up Point Lenana which can be seen on the far left in our photo below.  It was the hardest physical thing I have ever done in my life. That is not hyperbole. I literally cried when I got to the top.

This quote at the top put into words my sentiments exactly. 

One of the guides who took us up to the summit encouraged me on the way when I was feeling the altitude. He told me that you are on the way to making history in your life. I feel that I could not agree more.

Mt. Kenya, here we come!

We leave tomorrow morning early.  Please pray for safety, health, and as much warmth as possible!  We look forward to sharing pictures on the other side.  Next post on August 28th!

these last days...

So, the internet has been down at our apartment since Saturday--finally coming back up today--and so we've taken a mini-vacation from the blog.  We think the apartment management just unplugged and replugged the router to fix it finally.  We figured that would have fixed it from the start, but sometimes it's hard to communicate things like, "can we come into the office and unplug the router?"  When we went to a nearby Java House for their free internet, we were told that it was a holiday (Eid al-Fitr), so the internet company wasn't working.  Ah, this is Kenya.

In any case, things have been pretty busy with trying to get prepared/outfitted for our trip.  It's been quite a shock to compare in our minds the prices we pay for outdoor gear at REI and the exorbitant prices they try to charge here.  I know it's all imported, but seriously--$100 for a pair of mittens?

We also went to a very fun birthday party full of games, dancing, food, a clown, and music.  There were two other wzungu there.  What a blast!  I wish I had brought my camera so that David's dance moves could be caught on film.  And we're planning to teach everyone in DC and all our nieces and nephews the the Mr. Lion and antelope game.

This is a bit of mish-mash--probably because our brains are in a million places as we get ready and each have our last big day of work tomorrow.  Although Mt. Kenya will be challenging, in many ways, we'll be breathing a huge sigh of relief when we start our trek.  David will have turned in his final report, I can turn off the blackberry, and we can enjoy nature and the blessed quietness and peace of just being.  We're looking forward to it very much.

Guest Post: Night Terror

Darlene and I had considered going to the Masai Mara for our vacation.  But in the end we decided against it for a few reasons.  One, Darlene had been there in the past and we wanted each of us to have a new experience; two, the mara is extremely crowded this time of year and we were hoping to have a little bit of space to ourselves; three, we wanted to have a more active adventure than sitting in a safari car all day allows; and four, terrifying things can happen on a safari.

Our friend Deborah was here briefly for work and took a few days for a camping safari. She writes about a night visitor in this guest post. Our story starts here, a photo of her cabin that provides a sense of foreboding:

I spent 4 days on a camping safari trip to the Masai Mara, the most famous game reserve, in Kenya.  My camp was located right on the river that forms one of the boundaries of the game reserve.  I was pleased to have cabins to sleep in and not tents and even have hot showers.  In our orientation at camp, we were encouraged to keep our doors shut at all times  -- baboons it seems like to scatter clothes and such if the unsuspecting visitor leaver his door open. I make a note to comply and do so.

The first night when you go to bed you try to relax and not let you mind race.  Yes, I know that Masai guards are keeping watch to chase away any large game.  I still hear strange sounds. I manage to sleep.

On night two, I am alone in my cabin lying on one of the bunk beds.  The dim light bulb is still on while I read before I turn out the light to sleep.  Just me, my sleeping bag, some water bottles in a plastic bag on the floor, and my duffle bag with my other possessions.   I think that I hear plastic move. Ignore it I tell myself – don’t imagine things.  Later I think that I hear it again. Okay, this leads to me putting my book down and getting up looking through my bag, looking under the beds.  I see nothing outside the ordinary.  Soon it is time to turn off the light. 

Then my eyes meet his. Right by the door is a 2-3 inch long frog.

We have all heard the critter stories about Africa.  Here I am to see the big five and other animals as well. I had thought about seeing snakes in Africa and the Big Five—frogs had not been on my mind.

The Amazon has frogs that are used to make deadly arrows.  As a child, I do not recall hearing about dangerous frogs in Africa.  Is he harmless?  My new bedtime mission is to get the frog out the door regardless.

I open the door.  The frog jumps into the corner and then freezes in fear.  How do I make a frog jump out the door that is wide open for him? Bring in the flip flop – I nudge the frog outside and shut the door.

Now it is bedtime and the light will go off.  No more critters in the cabin or so I hope.

Now you may be thinking, hey, it's just a frog.  But this was the frog:

Here is a video of the exact trek we are going to do on Mt. Kenya. This makes me excited, for the views, and because the guys who made this video, unbeknownst to them, walked onto the summit of Pt. Lenana on December 21, 2008. My birthday! Great job guys who made this video!

Final report to write, newsletter article to finish, on meds from the doctors visit...I cannot believe it's nearly midnight and I stayed up to watch a cheap, ripped, scene skipping, video taped in the theater, can hear audience laughing copy of Battleship.

Goodnight.

15 days to go...and we take this party back to the USA.

Please pray for David. He is going to a doctor appointment tomorrow to check into a recurrent bad cold that has lingered for over a month now. I think he will be okay, as he appears fine in the photo we just took.

David and I are getting excited about our Mt. Kenya trek.  There's a lot to do between now and then for both of us: wrap up things at work, have dinners with friends, exercise/train adequately, eat right, pack...the list goes on.  A week from tomorrow morning, we'll be beginning our journey.  But for now, we're still getting things set like the route we're taking and hiring our guides.

It's looking like we're settling on a longer trek to allow ourselves to enjoy the scenery and get acclimatized.  The Sirimon route toward the northwest is supposed to be very gradual, so that's our ascent route.  We'll be coming down the Chogoria, which is supposed to be the most scenic.  We are also hoping to do the orange route below, that allows you to circle all of the main peaks (including the one we're planning to summit as well as two others that require technical climbing).

Apparently, the Sirimon route is also known for its abundant wildlife. We're hoping to see monkeys, antelopes, and even elephants (from a distance) on the lower slopes.  One of the potential guides we've been talking with about the route says that "There is a high chance that we will be entertained by the rock hyrax."  We're looking forward to The hyraX Factor, in which he'll perform Johnny Cash's never-released A Hyrax Named Sue.

A hyrax performs "Vissi d'arte" from Puccini's opera Tosca on an early 2012 trek.

We hope that we get to see the original Hyrax, instead of some wannabe stand-in.

See you back in the States, good friend.  Nairobi won't be the same without you!

Sincerely,

David and Darlene

When Darlene and I go somewhere and meet other people, I always introduce her as my wife.  Pretty obvious thing to do. In Kenya, however, I have had other men point out to me that in Kenya men prefer  to not introduce themselves as married, and don't mention that they have a wife. This does not apply to all Kenyan relationships of course, but I have been surprised by the prevalence of such behavior in the circles I have run in.

For example, there seems to be a belief, particularly from women, that men are going to be fooling around and that is simply that. So when Darlene went to DRC for her nine day trip, I was asked by fellow staff members, so are you going to stay faithful? They asked this question with a mischievous look as if they were in on my little secret. Of course my answer was that I was going to stay faithful. I told them the only mango (the word our friends use meaning sweetheart) I was going to see while Darlene was away was Travis. They laughed and started a conversation about homosexuality.

When I tell people I am going to stay faithful there are followup questions, but do you ever wish you married someone else? Or are you comfortable with having just one wife? And my favorite, have you ever beaten your wife? To which I reply in the order they were asked, No, Yes, and She beats me.  I cannot claim to know the reason these questions are asked. I do wonder, though, about the state of romantic relationships in Kenya, and whether the people who have asked me these questions ask out of experience. Sociologists, please book the next flight to Nairobi.

I bring this topic up today because Darlene and I have decided to climb Mt. Kenya (to a summit of over 16,000 feet baby!) for our time off before we leave. I emailed a potential guide telling him my wife and I have been working in Nairobi for the last couple of months and are interested in trekking to Point Lenana. The man responded with what a fully booked tour would include saying (exact text from email), fully board is ,what you have do is just walking and take photo and enjoy buy your wife all your girl friend. I don't know if he means "buy your wife all your girlfriend", or "buy your wife or your girlfriend." It's probably something more along the lines of "what you have to do is just walk and enjoy being with your wife or girlfriend." 

But why the part about a girlfriend since I already told him I had a wife? Hopefully, if we do book him as our guide, he won't also charge us for my fictional girlfriend.

Not to rub it in...(Olympics spoiler alert!)

...but we're pretty thankful for the Olympics coverage here.  Not only do we actually have a TV in this apartment as opposed to our DC home, but we also get to watch most of the best events live after work.  We have three channels showing the Olympics (called gold, silver, and bronze), so when one channel is showing something we're not super interested in, we can just switch to the next one.

We've been hearing some complaints about NBC's coverage back in the States, particularly about the announcers.  I think that's what we've been most impressed with--the announcers here are actually quite articulate and we learn a lot about the rules of various sports that we didn't know before.  And, in typical British fashion, they are quite droll, making comments about the competitors like "well, there is a man who is definitely here to get some experience" or "well, we know what will happen here..." or even, "he looks disappointed, and he should be!"

In terms of following the various athletes and teams, we're just looking for good competition and sportsmanship.  In addition to cheering for Team USA (spoiler alert: we just watched the USA women's 4x100 team break the world record!), we also have been cheering for teams in Africa, and particularly East Africa.  But not only is East Africa capturing our attention.  David particularly enjoyed seeing a North Korean weight lifter who (from his memory) broke a world record during his competition. But what touched David was that the North Korean seemed genuinely excited about competing for himself and full of desire to engage with the spectators who came to love him as well, cheering loudly during each of his lifts.  A few years ago, during the last World Cup, David felt bad for the North Korean soccer team who appeared to be uncomfortable on a world stage, desiring to get out of view as quickly as possible. But now, from a country kept in darkness for years, a country where you are taught that the supreme leader is the sole one to be praised and adored, now you have a North Korean weight lifter competing not just for his country, but also himself.  It didn't appear to be pompous pride on display, but the liberating excitement of one reveling in their goodness.  Long live the Olympics.

Here's a photo of our TV with live coverage of the 5000m women's event.  Go East Africa!

movie night

This is Darlene.  While I was in DRC, I wrote most of a blog post one sleepless night.  I'm finally coming back to it because it was something I want to remember.

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Today was Parent's Day in DRC, which meant an official holiday and a day off work.  I ended up working anyway, but at a slower pace involving a long, rambling meeting and working on my computer while watching the Olympics off and on.  Good thing my day was relatively relaxed, because I ended staying out late--and then staying up late pondering what I had just experienced.

My colleague arrived back in Kinshasa today and invited me to movie night with his kids, saying that he was certain that the kids would want him to have a movie night as soon as he returned.  I accepted the invitation heartily for the opportunity to get to know my colleague and his family better and to get out of the hotel.  He promised to steer the movie selection in my favor (i.e. away from Texas Chainsaw Massacre).  I was thankful, never ever really having cultivated a taste for horror flicks.

It is hard for me to sum up the feeling of being out-of-place, safe, happy, sad, and confused that mingled together during the evening.  You see, his "family" is a large collection of children and young adults with physical disabilities.  My limited French was enough to catch many of them calling him "ma pere" -- Dad.  They were extremely happy to see him back and in good health.  Several chided him for smoking a cigarette ("all of them are now doctors," he said).  

Nearly all of them (and there were at least 50) presented themselves to him and to me, a few carried, most using braces, crutches, or other aids to walk towards us, and shook our hands in greeting.  Some are resident in the house/office--undergoing rehabilitation, awaiting surgery, and/or learning to use their new equipment.  Others were formerly the recipients of such work and are now working to help others through designing braces or guiding the new ones in their walking.  We sat, talking and drinking sodas in an open-air courtyard while we waited for someone to fetch gas for the generator so that we could watch the movie.  We sat along one wall of the compound/courtyard, while most everyone else sat along the opposite wall.  One boy, deaf/mute, cried a good deal of the time, others paced back and forth practicing with their crutches, several of the young ones were sitting, watching us or keeping themselves occupied with each other or their mothers.  Without being able to speak much of a language any of them could understand, I felt a bit useless at times.  At one point I remember thinking to myself how silly it was for me to wear cropped pants for this venture; this I believe came to mind as dusk approached and the mosquitoes began swarming.  Useless or no, I'd smile, try to cheer on those pacing, intermittently talk with my colleague, and listen as he spoke in Lingala with the older fellows.  Lingala, as a matter of fact, as a Bantu language, has some similar words to Swahili, so there were some few words I could at least understand.  

Have you ever been in a situation that is surreal--in which you wonder how you got to that place right there and how you could ever explain it to another person?  And I don't mean surreal in a bad way.  Just in a--I would have never expected or predicted that my life would bring me here to this moment--way.  That's how I felt when we gradually piled into the room were the movie was being set up.  Of course, as the guest of honor and the boss/dad, we had individual chairs in the back with a good view and a table for our beverages.  Several benches surrounded us, and then in front were dozens of smaller children on the floor, all eagerly awaiting the movie.  The room vaguely smelled of urine, but the odor didn't linger all that long.  I smiled at the young fellow next to me and wished him a good evening au Francais.  A giant smile and "bon soir" was returned to me. 

I never expected to watch a South African-adapted opera with 50+ kids, 3 and up.  I never expected that Carmen, an opera written in the mid-1800s, would be so translatable to a current-day township.  I never thought so many of the kids would pay such close attention throughout the opera, not stirring, not losing attention or making noise, most of them not sleeping.  (And I've never been more nervous that I would get bitten by mosquitoes.)

We watched another movie with Sean Connery in it before his James Bond days (something about leprechauns--look it up; it's a classic).  Another stranger than fiction moment.  I am very thankful to have been a welcomed intruder on this family movie night.

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I have a lot of thoughts about that night.  It was capped off by a flat tire and a brief walk home through the streets of Kinshasa to my hotel (accompanied to the lobby, of course).  But I think my overarching emotion, with the entire swirl that I experienced that night, was thankfulness.  One of the "kids" that walked with me from the flat tire incident toward the hotel stood outside the lobby when we arrived.  I had to coax the young fellow into the lobby while my colleague and I talked about logistics for the next day.  I wanted to tell him that I had done nothing to deserve the privileges in which I live and breathe every day.  And at the same time, that he should hold his head high, even in (and especially in) that crazy, high society place.  Accomplishments are not all measured in dollars and fancy clothes, but in fact in many cases, in putting one foot in front of the other.  

The following article comes from a recent JRS newsletter. Fr. Smith was saying goodbye to his time with JRS and I found it to be the thoughts of a man trying to understand the last 12 years of his life. Specifically, see what you think about the "moments" section and the "struggles" section.

Kenya: Late-night thoughts on leaving JRS

By Fr. Gary Smith SJ, Former Pastoral Coordinator, JRS Kakuma

Fr. Gary Smith SJ has dedicated 12 years of service to JRS. Here he shares some of the thoughts he wrote down in late June as he prepared to leave his most recent assignment with JRS.

“One never reaches home”, she said. “But where paths that have affinity for each other intersect, the whole world looks like home for a time”. (From Demian, by Herman Hesse)

On loss and blessing

We stood there, the three of us, on a dusty road in the Kakuma Refugee Camp in northern Kenya. I was with two Sudanese refugees, tall young men, Peter and Zachariah, leaders in one of the Catholic chapels in which I served. I told them that I would be leaving Kakuma and Africa soon – probably for good. As best as I could, I told them why. They absorbed the news thoughtfully. In their lives the notion of loss and blessing often come together. They told me that they knew I loved their people and that their people loved me, but they understood that this movement in my heart was strong and that my reasons for leaving were sound. In their eyes, all of this was of God. They felt my presence with them had been a blessing from God even as my absence will be a loss. It was one of those unforgettable conversations one has in life; an inner icon to which the heart must return periodically and contemplate.

Arrupe’s vision

In the late 1990s, while living in Portland, Oregon, I decided to move from ministry in the streets of the USA to the streets of the world. I pondered once again the vision of Fr. Pedro Arrupe SJ, Superior General of the Society of Jesus, the Jesuits. In the 1980s he decided to take the Jesuits in a new direction. It was this: that the Jesuits, in a vast, universal, full-speed-ahead move towards the poor, should embrace the cause of the refugees of the world. He wanted the Society of Jesus to commit itself to accompanying them in whatever way possible. The scope and implications of this proposal were breathtaking. But would Jesuits do it? Would it be possible to summon from the heart of the Society of Jesus, the skills and faith which could be systematically hurled into the breaches of human suffering synonymous with the flight and plight of refugees?  

Arrupe never doubted it could be done.  A way of proceeding was created: the organisation that was born would eventually be called the Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS). And then there is this: Arrupe knew that the Society of Jesus is healthiest, at its best, when it is with the poor, with the marginalised. JRS would take the Jesuits and its lay collaborators into the thick of poverty in the battle for the dignity and rights of refugees. With the poor, the Society of Jesus would discover once again what it longs to be, would uncover again its deepest desire: taking the risky march into the unknown to be with those who have – at least by the world’s standards – no power, no money and no beauty. In that tentative world, the Society of Jesus would follow, imitate and bet its life on the poor Christ.

Beginnings

By 1999, nearly 20 years after the Jesuits established JRS, the worldwide refugee numbers had not diminished, but increased by millions. I approached JRS. “Can you use me?”  “We can; we need someone in East Africa”. I talked it over with my Provincial. “Go with my blessing” he said.  I was in. 

I started working with Sudanese refugees in the Rhino Refugee Camp, northern Uganda, on the West Nile, later moving to Adjumani and Palorinya Refugee Settlements, Uganda, again with Sudanese. From there I went to Makhado, South Africa, on the border of Zimbabwe, attending and serving Zimbabwean refugees. My most recent assignment has been with the JRS project at Kakuma Refugee Camp, Kenya, a camp containing refugees from several Eastern African and Horn of Africa countries: Sudan, South Sudan, Ethiopia, Somalia, Eritrea, Congo, Rwanda, Burundi, and Uganda among others. More than 90,000 people.

Twelve years have passed. Growth and life. Wear and tear. Success. Failure. I’ve entered unimaginable worlds of learning and love. In it all, I have discovered more deeply the heart of God working in me, in those around me and in the JRS mission. Seems like a wonderful discovery. It is.

Moments

In Uganda, in South Africa, in Kenya, in Sudan I’ve experienced things hard to believe. 

I’ve seen destroyed huts and lifeless bodies in Pakelle, murdered by the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA). Held the reassuring hand of 11-year-old Sudanese refugee, Regina, escorting me through the labyrinthine earthen streets of Kakuma. Wept at the humility of Zimbabwean refugees, offering their morning prayers of thanksgiving. Their sole possession: the clothes on their back.

I’ve watched Chameleons creeping among the burnt out buildings of Barituku. Shared with Somali students in Kakuma, of their Islamic faith and their flight from Somalia. Felt the fear of Nimule southern Sudanese as we heard the approaching drone of Antonov bombers.

I have known Jesuits – simply the best – who backed me, laughed with me, cried with me, believed in me. Seen thousands of armed Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA) troops moving outside of Moyo. Witnessed babies born on the beds of pick-up trucks and beneath the gigantic leaves of Teak trees.

I’ve taught refugee catechists and rejoiced as they unlocked the mysteries of Faith to their people. Grasped the fingerless hands of begging lepers in the market place of Arua. Seen terror on the remembering faces of Rwandan, Burundian and Congolese women. 

I’ve witnessed the spectacular dance of celebration by the ululating Dinka women of Miriye. 

Gazed at the elephantine Baobab trees, guarding the road from Makhado to Zimbabwe. I remember the laughter of Atibuni and Asega in Rhino Camp, of Peninah in Kakuma, of Frido and Atimango in Adjumani, and of Thandi and the entire irrepressible JRS team in Makhado.

From dusk to dawn I’ve listened to inconsolable refugee mothers of Yoro mourning their lost children. Experienced the first malaria attack, an unyielding tsunami breaching my shores.

I’ve been consoled by the sunsets of Kakuma, the early morning mist rising off the Nile and the Southern Cross glittering in the Johannesburg nights. I’ve smelled the roses in a Nairobi morning and the earth after a South African rain. Turned my face into the warm winds of Kampala blowing off Lake Victoria. Listened to the night breezes moving through the Neem trees of Rhino Camp.

Deep in the bush, I’ve held malarial babies in my arms – hours away from death – and kissed them. Grasped the faith-filled hands of blind and crippled Yayo in Magburu as she said goodbye to me. Comforted Makhado refugee, Mandinyenya, weeping over news of his mother’s death in Zimbabwe.

I’ve celebrated Mass beneath trees in countless villages, in chapels and in small rooms; occasions filled with the transparent faith and passion that inhabits and powers the African Church.

From Johannesburg to Juba I’ve been captured by refugee children, whose happy greetings surely could be heard in the Kingdom of the Deaf and whose smiles could light up my dark night.

Each day I have been nourished by the faith and wisdom and hope and love of refugees. Each African morning – thousands of them – I awoke knowing that God waited for me. And desired me.

Many moments expressed; many beyond words: all way stations on the road towards what is true and good, and toward the One who authors the miracle of my life and whose mystery is beyond expression.

Struggles

I‘ve learned that JRS is not made up of a bunch of saints.  It is an organisation that can bleed; it has its flaws and imperfections; its leaders struggle with the implementation of its principles and goals. It must gently listen to the impelling Spirit of God, and embrace change, and not fear mid-course adjustments. Its staff must regularly evaluate why they do what they do; JRS must help them nourish their spirituality; calling them more deeply to understanding the foundations of their accompaniment and service of and advocacy for refugees. Instinctively, JRS must always – always – be on the hunt for its roots and for Arrupe’s epiphany, driven by his sense of indignation. Something like this: There are people who are suffering and hurting and they are alone. This is wrong. They have the dignity of God’s children. We must be in solidarity with them. We must act.

Finding home

There is a rising, wrenching sadness in me, though it is clear, for personal reasons, that it is time to go. Leaving refugees is a difficult chalice to drink. But countering the sadness there is –as Peter and Zachariah would say – a blessing from God. I am like the person who ascends the mountain and looks back, with love, down at the country that has been traversed. From the top of the mountain the world looks so different; a person’s perspective changes in 12 years of daily, personal encounters with goodness. There is loss, but it walks hand in hand with blessing.

One never reaches home, but for a time, while living among the refugees, my heart always found a home.  

The most recent selection of flowers I purchased in honor of Darlene's return included this sunflower. Flowers have grabbed my interest this summer. More on this in another post.

In other news, Darlene and I are likely going to have at least 6 days to explore before we fly home. If anyone has any suggestions of where to go and what to do we are open to suggestions.

Saint Ignatius of Loyola is the founder of the Jesuits.  Up to a couple weeks ago this was unknown to me. I knew that Jesuits were some version of Catholic and that was all.  But a JRS staff retreat led by a Jesuit priest changed all that. The priest, who has spent decades of his life in Kenya (so many of them seem to do this, see previous post) led us through a form of prayer developed by Saint Ignatius. I found myself diving deeper into how one has joy in the darkest of circumstances.

Here is a brief synopsis of Ignatius provided by my memory of the retreat and newadvent.org. A Spaniard who spent a good deal of his life in the military, Ignatius was wounded in a battle and while recovering read the lives of Christ and the saints. I guess this is a book. Anyway, he converts to Christianity realizing that what was giving him joy during his recuperation was the idea of moving in step with the saints and not the idea of military glory. He converts to Christianity and eventually spends months in a cave, praying multiple hours each day. Out of this experience comes his work The Spiritual Exercises, and out of this work came a new form of prayer, the one the Jesuit priest led us through.

Essentially, rather than simply talking to God (which is a completely valid way to pray), you pick a verse, read it, and then imagine and picture yourself in that very scene.  For example, if the passage is of Jesus declaring at the time of his death that he is going to make all things new, then you imagine that you are in the crowd, you imagine the yelling, the smells, the surroundings, the buildings, the weather. It does not matter if you are accurate or if you even put yourself into a Middle Eastern setting. Put yourself in Jamaica, what matters is that you feel that you are there.

This takes awhile. First, the priest invited us to be calm. Pay attention to your breathing he said. Notice how many breaths you are taking each minute. As you do this be cognizant of the things that are stressing you out and making you uncomfortable or worried. Put them down. Let yourself rest. As I said this takes awhile, but after what might have literally been ten minutes of silence, where I was thinking through my anxiety, I found that I was calm.  And I found it was not hard to have my eyes closed anymore. The priest goes on and begins to set the scene. Now imagine that you are walking along a road. Picture the road. Is it paved? Full of potholes? Or maybe it is smooth, or a dirt path or a rocky one. Walk along it and notice what is around you. Is there a forest, an ocean, a city? Notice it. Smell it, sense it, see it. Then more silence.

The priest went on like this for some time, it could have been thirty minutes or more.  He spent time leading us through the scene, bringing us into the story. We knew that the story we were entering was Luke 4:14-21, where Jesus announces why he came. We knew this because the priest had read the passage to us before the prayer even began. Eventually, during the prayer we arrived at that point where we were going to imagine that we were in the crowd when Jesus spoke these words. Imagine that you see a man get up and open a scroll in the presence of the crowd. It's Jesus. He opens the scroll to Isaiah and reads these words:

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

The priest continued. You see Jesus slowly roll up the scroll, saying nothing.  He looks around, saying nothing. Everything is silence. He sits down and adds these words:

"Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."

The priest takes us deeper into the story and invites us to imagine the crowds reaction, our own reaction. What are people saying? What are they doing? Are they upset? Are they leaving? Are they stunned? Are they weeping? What am I doing? How do I feel about Jesus' words? More silence. Again, perhaps even ten minutes of silence which is a very long time to be silent in our current world. But it provides time to reflect on what my feelings would be. Eventually, the priest concludes:

Now imagine that everyone has left and you are still there. You notice that Jesus is watching you, he is looking right at you. Sense the place where you are. Wherever you have imagined yourself at this event, ocean, city, subway, castle, cathedral, stadium, wherever, it's just you and Jesus. He slowly walks up to you. You have just heard him proclaim the year of the Lord's favor. What would you say to him?

And this is why it is prayer. What I said to him is not long, but it's complicated, which I am more than happy to share upon our return. (Preferably over a quiet evening with chapati, chai, and beef stew, so perhaps in the winter). It has to do with my fear in the presence of Christ's anointing to bring good news to the poor, recovery of sight, liberty, and the year of the Lord's favor. It has to do with my desire to respond with joy in the presence of darkness and the presence of evil.

I'm going to leave a lot out now, but I was deeply moved, had tears, and realized that I had not had that intense of a time of prayer for years. We were then sent out on a time of 45 minutes of meditation, to reflect on what we had prayed and said to Christ. We were also given a reading with words that flowed well with the verse from Luke and Isaiah, and which fit wonderfully with what I had said to Jesus in my prayer. This is a loose take-away with one of my favorite quotes from the reading:

Jesus' declaration of the year of the Lord's favor has not ended. He calls us to receive his freedom to fully love this fundamentally broken world in a way that does not tie us to it, making us need it when we really don't. His announcement that he is here to give sight, good news, and liberty to those that need it most invites us into his plan to bring all creation to completion. But to become free to fully love the world in a way that shows people a way out from sin, selfishness, evil, corruptness, etc, we must realize that serving God is what makes us happy. Serving God and not ourselves, putting God first rather than our ambitions, our desires, and our wants. Thus, we should live in such a way that we not seek health rather than sickness, riches rather than poverty, honor rather than dishonor, a long life rather than a short one, and so on in all other matters, wanting and choosing only that which leads more to the end for which we are created.

That end being serving God, which is what makes us truly happy. The reading noted that we should be indifferent to our desires, but pointed out that it is not in the way some Eastern religions advocate. Rather, indifference here means undetermined to one thing or option rather than another; impartial; unbiased; with decision suspended until the reason for a wise choice are learned; still undecided. In no way does it mean unconcerned or unimportant...It is not so much detachment from things as "detachability." It means being like a good dancer, ready to move in any direction as the dance demands.

I have not achieved this ability to seek neither a long life or a short one, neither safety nor danger, neither health nor sickness. But I have felt recently that during the prayer, in what I said to Christ and contemplated afterward, that within was the answer to how to be in the valley of the shadow of death (no matter what form it takes over the course of a life) and yet still know that "I will fear no evil, for you are with me, your rod and your staff they comfort me, you prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies, you anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows, surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life."

And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

church in kiswahili

Today we rode just a few kilometers to an area of Nairobi called Kangemi, where one of the Jesuit priests David met in the course of his time at JRS was going to be preaching.  I don't know much about the Jesuits, but it seems they are a rambling bunch, and always very busy.

This particular Jesuit priest, of Irish descent, had spent several years in Tanzania before becoming the parish priest in a parish in Kangemi called St. Joseph's in 1991.  He was returning for a near yearly visit to the parish to meet with the current church leaders and marvel how the church has grown and thrived under the leadership of his former students.

Kangemi is very expansive and is one of the euphemistically called "unplanned communities" within Nairobi.  We only saw a small portion of it, but we were thankful to be able to walk with the current parish priest and see all of the work the parish is doing in the community, from providing a pharmaceutical dispensary for those in need, housing and caring for people living with HIV/AIDS, income generating activities for women, vocational and IT training, and remedial schooling for young, particularly vulnerable children whose families could not pay for school fees and are behind in school (and socialization).

This is not our picture (but we did walk down this street).

We learned on our walk that many of the informal settlements in the past housed people who provided casual labor on a large coffee plantation in the area of the neighborhood.  When the owner of the plantation closed it and sold the land, only people with lots of money could afford the plots.  So, right abutting the "village" is an area of Kangemi, now called Mountain View, that has gated homes and security barriers to keep some people from passing.  (Notice in the map below how Kangemi is rusted out and Mountain View in the upper left is more organized, with homes containing yards and green space.)


View Larger Map

We have a lot of thoughts about the morning in Kangemi -- we felt very blessed to be welcomed into their community and have a great deal of respect both for the Kenyans now living their faith in action in this neighborhood and for this Irish fellow, near perfect Swahili speaker, who connected with the congregation in his sermon (which was in Kiswahili) and shared his joy and a sense of peace with us.

The church was very alive and very full--at least 150 people, if not many more--and we went to the second of three services!  We kept up as much as we could and were thankful that the few words of Kiswahili that we do know featured prominently in the Father's sermon -- chakula (food), chapati (a form of bread taken straight from the subcontinent), and Mungu (God).  He was talking about the part in the gospels where Jesus is explaining that he is the bread of life.

As is a matter of course in these kinds of situations, we were asked to stand up in front of the congregation and introduce ourselves.  I (Darlene) always find that--especially in settings connected in some way to JRS or the Jesuits--it is easier to introduce myself after David is introduced, since I can say something basic like, "I'm here with David and also working here in Nairobi but not at JRS."  Since the priest had a very gallant ladies first mentality, I didn't have that easy out, so I ended up introducing myself first.  Looking out at the 150+ people and getting a bit nervous, I introduced myself saying, "I am Darlene, and I'm with this one" -- pointing at David.  Everyone laughed and clapped.  I went on to continue a bit about what I'm doing here and how thankful we were to worship with them--but it was the perfect set up for David's introduction, so he went next.  I handed him the microphone, and he said, after a Kiswahili greeting, "Nimeitwa this one." (or "My name is this one") The congregation roared with laughter.  We were glad to have been able to make a Kiswahili joke together.  All in all, it was a very blessed day.

This is an image on a fountain in Uhuru Park, downtown Nairobi. "Uhuru" means freedom in Swahili, which makes me wonder why the father is shaking his daughter. It is hard to tell in this photo, but close up it really did look that way.

The time grows short in Kenya. We come home in just a little over three weeks. But there is more to be done here, so to bed with us now.

Enjoy a taste of Kenyan poetry that rings true this evening. You can read about the deceased poet here.

Cactus

Sand

Water-less, and
Dry, drrry
Dust
That's the environ

But even then, green
Albeit the sandy dirty green,
Thorny and brutal
Because of the brutal surround
Yet
Fleshy and juicy
Amidst the brutal dry dust

What will!
What power!
What strength!

That will to be
against non- existence
The power to live
amidst death
The strength to grow
against all odds
To strength
amidst all weakness

The cactus
Defies
The social laws. 

Bantu Mwaura

Well this is not what I was hoping to see in the news. Supposedly, Uganda has had outbreaks in the past which, thankfully, health officials in the region have been able to get under control. It seems it is a matter of finding everyone who came in contact with an infected person and then waiting until the incubation stage is over. Those with medical backgrounds, feel free to chime in.

But wow, when you read about this virus it humbles you. They don't even know where it comes from. Pray for protection for the region when it comes to mind. Here is another news clip about the issue.

Last weekend I went to the University of Nairobi campus to listen to one of Paul's choirs rehearse. He is not the director in this one, but rather sings tenor. They practice in an upstairs room of an arts building. After greeting his fellow choir mates, Paul got me a chair and put it behind the choir. I asked if I could sit in front to watch people sing but Paul said, I would prefer if you sit behind the choir. We both laughed because we both knew I would be watching him intensely as he sang. Paul is kind of quirky, he is very quiet but when he sings he takes on a more intense persona. What can I say, it's fun to watch!

So I sat in the back which allowed me to snap some photos on my phone. Paul is in the black shirt, second from the right.

The practice was like many rehearsals, with stops and starts, then only the tenors, then only the sopranos, followed by the director scolding people for forgetting music, and other bits and pieces. But they also sang some full tunes. Here is what I heard. Forgive the sound quality, it's a phone in a room with poor acoustics. Don't blame the choir!



And one more...