Back to Joburg

Day 34-35, Monday and Tuesday, June 28-29, Joburg

We arrived back in Johannesburg Monday morning around 930 after another 17 hour ride. The movies were better this time (not saying a whole lot when you only have to improve upon "Madea Goes to Jail"), but dinner the night before, at Steers, what appears to be SA's favorite fast food restaurant, left something to be desired, so we were both starving. I can say with complete certainty that that meal was by far the most disgusting one we've had thus far. That restaurant, coupled with the incredible number of KFC's in this country, I'm pretty sure explains SA's struggle to rise to world dominance.

We got some lunch, watched the replays of the games From the night before that we'd missed by being on the bus (England-Germany and Argentina-Mexico). They do these great extended highlights of games on the main sports channel here where they show all the good scoring opportunities, defensive plays, and fouls, so you kinda feel like you watched the whole game in 20 minutes.

We weren't allowed to check into the hostel until 2, so we just kind of hung around playing pool and Foosball until the hour arrived.

We had tickets to the Chile-Brazil game, and it was a lot OD fun hearing the Chileans get ready by singing and dancing while grilling outside at the hostel. We're pros at the bus system to the stadium by now, so got down there really easily. We attempted to find our favorite little ladies who sell sausages outside Ellis Park (we'd had first and second dinner with them the last time we were at that stadium), but we got routed some strange way getting off the bus and had to settle for second-rate ones.

A combination of love of the underdog and a newfound  hatred of Kaka and Luis FabiMano after the last game led us to cheer for Chile. We were in the vast, vast minority. The stadium was a sea of the green and gold of Brazil and they were loud. Some Guy above us was even playing an accordion. Mad props dude.

The Chileans played courageously for most of the first half an probably had some of the better scoring opportunities. Unfortunately the Brazilian offense was too much for them and once the first goal was scored, it was like the floodgates were opened. To their credit, the Brazilians didn't flop nearly as much as they did in the past, but I did decide that Kalke runs like a disabled ostrich. Watch him next game; you'll see what I mean. Also, for all the complaining we've done about the refs this tournament, we thought the ones at this game were exceptional, and probably deserve much of the credit for the Brazilians good behavior.

On the downside, I'm very much over the vuvuzelas. They're not only really annoying but you can literally feel your eardrum vibrating. It's not a pleasant experience.

Another unpleasant experience was trying to get back on a bus after the game. They've developed this insane system wherein the load one bus at a time. It's not the most efficient way to move 50,000 people out.

We relished the chance to do laundry Tuesday morning and then were stymied when we realized the drier was broken...after we'd washed our clothes. The lovely scent of mildew will thus be traveling with us back to PE, where we return to tonight. We have tickets to the Brazil-Netherlands game there on Friday, but might try to sell those, move up ourbus to Cape Town by a day, and try to get tickets to the Argentina quarterfinal. An ambitious plan, to be sure, but it just might work. Stay tuned.

Flashback - Day 18

Day 18, June 12, Kampala

Brian felt much better the next day and I felt much worse, but we headed to morning Mass with the Brothers anyways (at the late late hour of 7am). I started to feel real not great at some point and went outside for some air, circa five minutes before Fr. Hayden called us forward for a blessing. And speeches. Unfortunately I missed Brian's, so I was just flying blind on what to say. It turned out okay though and we received a very nice blessing. After breakfast with the Brothers, we went back to Mama Flora's, made a hostel reservation for the night (we decided it would be in poor taste to party with my friend Stu till late at night then come back to the house).

I still felt fairly miserable the next day, so we didn't do a whole lot, but Hillary took us for a brief tour around the neighborhood and saw the cathedral and some nice views of the city.

Leaving Mama Flora's was pretty difficult for us and them...I really feel like we were kinda like family. Hillary looked like he was about to cry when he found out we were leaving - he'd heard my friend Stu wasn't getting back to KLA until that late night and so assumed we were staying another night. He insisted on coming in the taxi to the hostel with us, I think to postpone the inevitable. Which made it sadder.

The hostel we stayed at was nice and we watched the US-England game there. There were a bunch of Brits there too, so we talked a lot of smack and sang our national anthem really loudly. I must admit to be pretty happy with a tie and we headed out to meet Stu.

Partying with Stu, a good buddy of mine from college, is always an adventure, but especially so in this case. Stu had just gotten back from two months in Madagascar literally an hour before and we hadn't seen a white person or wealth of any kind in over a week. The two places we went out were really nice and filled with white people (to be fair, it was probably 50-50, but it felt like much more). We had a really great time and I forgot that I was sick, which was awesome.

Flashback to Days 16-17: Sick in the KLA

Day 16 and 17, June 10-11th, Kampala

I guess it's my fault for saying neither of us had gotten sick yet, but we both woke up Thursday morning feeling not too awesome. We decided to try to tough it out and I felt a lot better after breakfast, but Brian both looked and felt like death so he headed back to Mama Flora's to rest for the day.

I spent the day at the Apostolate with decidedly fewer stories since I spent the whole morning washing clothes and sheets. Lots and lots of clothes. Everything is done by hand, so the clothes are rinsed, scrubbed, rinsed, and rinsed again before being wrung out and hung to dry. I somehow was doing two rinsing and the wringing steps, which was pretty exhausting. The other women working and the Brothers chatted away and joked around in Lugandan all morning, switching to English only when it became obvious they were talking about me (people were always amazed we knew what muzungu meant....which was weird to me since that's got to be the first word every white person learns). So it was a pretty isolating morning.

Around lunchtime I got tasked by the Brothers to help wash dishes, but the frail old women there decided I'd worked hard enough (they were in awe earlier that machines washed everything in America) and so refused to let me help. They were always convinced I was very tired, but I think they just weren't used to seeing someone as pale as me. So I just had to sit there and do nothing.

Frustrated by that, I eventually got up and started serving food, just to have something to do. Afterwards we were in the girls dorm and were playing Celine Dion on loop, which just seemed incredibly surreal. Both Fiona and Diana wanted to change their clothes, which I finally acquiesced to, since it's hard to reason with any child who persists in taking their clothes off, much less a mentally disabled one who doesn't speak your language. Fiona luckily picked a dress that tied in the back, so I felt pretty confident she wouldn't be able to take it off.

Diana was distracted by dancing around with me to Celine, which was great fun after the rather downer of a morning that I'd had. I looked up to see Rachel sitting cross-legged on one of the big beds just be-bopping along to the music, which was both adorable and uplifting to see since she'd been in one of her moods earlier. A few days before, I'd taught her "Pattycake" and maybe made up the words to the second verse ("roll 'em up roll 'em up" sounded good enough to me. Hey, sometimes you have to improvise). It's unclear whether the "r" sound of "roll" or the actual rolling motion was more exciting, but one of those two was incredibly entertaining to her. Like I said before, sometimes little kids are just too easy (I guess to make up for the times when they're near impossible?)

Fiona soon decided she wanted to change clothes again, which would have been annoying if it wasn't so funny. I saw her in vain trying to take her dress off (that tricky tie in the back foiled her - aha!). When she tried to get me to take it off, I attempted to convey as nicely as possible that she'd already changed her clothes this afternoon and we couldn't do it again. She got a little angry with me and started waving her new proposed outfit around which I then realized....was the exact. same. dress. There were a good amount of clothes that were duplicates...either because 20 of the same T-shirts came as a donation, or, as in this case, the seamstress used the same fabric to make the exact same dress 5-10 times. It was simultaneously frustrating and so hilarious to be asked to change into the exact same dress. It felt mean to laugh at her, but it was really hard not to. I kept refusing to change her, but about 15 minutes later she managed to get dress number one off and I decided at that point it was worth it to let her have her way and put on dress number two. When we tried that, however, I realized that dress number two was slightly smaller and was not going to get on her body given the contorted state of her arms and their limited range of motion (that and they've taught these kids to put on shirts head first and then to pull their arms through. This seems idiotic to me because it a) stretches the clothes and b) makes dressing kids with upper body issues of any kind, which a lot of the girls have, unnecessarily more difficult than it need be). So now I had a completely naked child with two dresses in hand - one of which she didn't want to wear and one of which didn't fit. Through distraction techniques and some masterful sleight of hand, I managed to fool her into putting dress number one back on. The advantage of taking care of kids is that you're smarter than them. Usually.

I danced with Rachel, which was awesome (especially since we'd moved on to a new CD). I'd pulled out my camera since it was the last day (rafting the Nile the next) and Rachel and Semaya found looking at pictures of themselves endlessly entertaining. I had to cut our photo shoot short however since I was taking the van back with the morning shift of Brothers to insure that Brian was still alive.

I found him alive but still struggling....later that evening a cousin who was a doctor came over to make sure he was okay. He got clearance to go rafting the next day and we both hoped we were well enough to be up for it.

We weren't. We made a valiant attempt to get up but Brian was still feeling not awesome and I was feeling worse, so we decided to just hang out on Friday. Since we were supposed to be on the Nile, no one was expecting us anywhere, so we had no obligations other than mentally preparing for the first game of the World Cup that night. We gathered enough courage to walk down to the Internet cafe and when we came back Br. Prem, the head brother at the Apostolate, had arrived with snacks and energy drinks for Brian. He also told us the Brothers were going to be allowed to watch at least the first World Cup match, so we were pleased on their behalf.

We got to watch the first game, South Africa - Mexico, with Hillary in the comfort of Mama Flora's home. Watching Tshabalala score the first goal of the Cup for the hosts the first time the tournament was held on African soil was pretty exciting. I don't think either of us made it through the second game, hoping some rest would cure our ills.

Flashback to Day 15: Busega

Day 15, Wednesday June 9th, KLA

After the morning routine (which I was almost getting used to), we headed out with Br. Larry to the construction site. It took us about an hour to get there with all the picking up and dropping off of workers and materials we did. We ended up in very isolated areas of Kampala and got more than our fair share of "muzungu!" cries. Little kids in Kampala must very rarely see white people because given any child under age 12, there was about a 95% chance he/she would cry out muzungu! and wave. Looking back, we realized the only other white people we saw that entire week were the three Germans working with the Brothers for the year, so I guess it was pretty understandable....? Muzungu isn't considered a derogatory term at all, but it was really weird to have it constantly yelled at you. Seriously, 95% of kids. At least.

We arrived at Busega and got the full tour from Dominic, one of the aforementioned Germans. A carpenter by profession, it was very interesting to hear him talk about the construction project and the differences between here and Germany.

In comparison to the Good Shepherd Home, Busega is HUGE. The dorms and grounds are much bigger and there is a chapel and dining room....neither of which are present in the old home. The quality of materials are also much nicer and more modern, which gives the place a much newer, cleaner feel.

Listening to Dominic talk about construction was an exercise in frustration. He said there was no blueprint when They began, or since, just a picture of what the finished product looks like
There are no building codes or governmental oversight of any kind in Uganda, so you can basically build whatever you want however you want. Apparently there was quite the argument between the Germans and Africans about whether a load-bearing pole was really necessary. Luckily the Germans and modern engineering eventually won out, but not before accusations of racism and elitism were thrown out. General frustration about how inexact their standards were abounded, and I started to worry this wad going to be an entirely negative tour.

Then, however, he began to explain how much he respected the Brothers because they viewed the construction project itself, and not just the product, as a mission within itself. Unlike other building projects in Uganda, the Brothers were equal opportunity - you needn't be the same religion or tribe as the construction manager to get a job. Workers also got paid regularly and fairly and received lunch, tea, and clean water every day, both of which were very unusual.

We were briefly introduced to a worker from a tribe (can't remember the name off the top of my head - a disadvantage to telling these stories via flashback) who believed that God granted them guardianship of all the cows in the world. As such, it was their divine mission to reclaim every last cow. In the world.

We spent the day hacking at the floor - When pouring the plaster walls, A LOT of plaster got all over the concrete floor....and needed to be chipped off. For hours and hours. It was good back-breaking work, which is always good for the soul, but got kind of monotonous and boring. It was loud and dusty, so conversation and breathing were kind of out of the question as well. It was nice to be able to contribute to the building project so specifically though.

We returned back to Mama Flora's to find Sophie gone. Never really figured out the story but apparently her grandmother came an took her under protest...and Sophie was sad not to be able to bid us farewell. We decided a day with neither Sophie nor Rachel was a very sad day indeed.

Flashback to Day 14: "I only got peed on a little bit"

Day 14, June 8th, Kampala

Tuesday after the daily morning ritual of Mass, meditation, breakfast, and prayers, we continued our work at the Apostolate. I employed the foolproof strategy of entertainment via catch with Rachel and Semaya, who were the most cognitively intact of the girls. It's hard to say how much so because they didn't really speak English (but did understand it?) and neither could walk on her own. They did have quite the friendship though, talked amongst themselves (and with the Brothers), and knew each others names and could recognize care takers. They were also prone to incredible mood swings and Semaya would refuse to get dressed and Rachel would refuse to do her exercises. Tuesday morning, as I dressed Rachel, she became extremely picky and refused my first three shirt selections (at the home, there's just a cabinet of clothes that all the girls get dressed from; they don't have their own clothes). Getting a little frustrated, I finally found the best shirt in the cabinet, a smart little black number with buttons and a collar. Her face lit right up and she hurried to put it on, intuiting that I should probably button faster. I told her she looked greeeeat, and she did, and she just beamed even more.

Despite their moments, however, I was impressed at how resilient and tolerant the two were in a place where the schizophrenic could scream for hours on end and other fellow residents regularly sat dumbfounded in pools of their own urine (Rachel and Semaya were the two capable of informing you of their need to use the bathroom).

While helping one of the workers strap a resident named Sharon in to her standing aid, I met a young resident named Vincent. Apparently Vincent loves going to the classroom used for songs and lessons in the afternoon and asks incessantly from the moment he wakes up if he can go there. While not a walker, he could be found at any given moment scooting away backwards on his butt off the porch and towards the classroom. Persistent efforts to go retrieve him and bring him back to the exercise area did not deter him. I liked his immediately. When the standing aid he was using later became painful and he started to cry, a game of catch easily distracted him. (I guess by necessity crying was largely ignored at the center - there were often children crying, for no discernable reason - but it broke my heart damn near every time.) Like Rachel, Vincent has some condition in which excess fluid collects in his head. Rachel had a operation in which a tube directs the fluid to her stomach (and also has some horrific scars covering her shoulder and upper arm...unclear if the two were related). Vincent hadn't had such an operation, and for all I know, might have an entirely unique condition, so while Rachel's head was many 50-70% bigger than "normal," Vincent's had to be at least twice its natural size. I almost worried he would topple over if he got thrown a little off balance, but he didn't seem to have any problems, so I cautiously tried to quit worrying.

By this time, Brian had become BFF's with Waswa, a little boy who was one of the few (and only one that I knew off) "day campers." His family dropped him off every morning and picked him up every afternoon. They played some catch and generally became bros.....especially when around lunchtime Waswa urinated all over Brian's leg, prompting him to remark that at least he "only got peed on a little bit" and that he and Waswa were about as close as two people could get. I myself was getting better at bathroom management and could clean and change a child (and the floor) at a level at least approaching proficient. There were still, by necessity, several moments of standing foot deep in urine, but at least I now knew what to do about it.

After another insane lunch with the schoolchildren (there really has to be a better way to orchestrate that), I took Rachel for a walk across the porch, which she abruptly decided she wanted to stop about halfway back. Since moving her elicited cries like I was poking her with hot coals, I left her where she sat and took Semaya for a walk with her walker. When we got to about where Rachel was, Semaya refused to go on any longer either. After a few minutes of cajoling, one of the Brothers came by and said "she will not go without her friend." So we made the last 15 yards or so by me walking Rachel about five feet, sitting her down, going back to Semaya and escorting her with her walker until we were even with Rachel, then picking Rachel up and repeating. It was a little frustrating, but mostly just adorable.

That night at Mama Flora's, Brian made some inroads with Augustine. Up until this point, the child would scream in terror whenever he saw one of us, let alone if we tried to touch or hold him. At first it was kind of comical, but it quickly became just plain depressing and we resolved to win him over. Brian was having the most initial success, so I let him work his charmer magic while I entertained Sophie by switching shoes with her. Little kids are just too easy sometimes. Before I knew it, I looked up to see Augustine sitting sitting in Brian's lap - success!

Our evenings at Mama Flora's were wonderfully relaxing - I think I could get used to the slow pace of Uganda. We had tea around 6 or so, chatted with Mama Flora about the day (she was forever terribly worried about anything there was to worry about - she experienced near physical anxiety if I so much as briefly stumbled during the morning walk in the dark), and hung out with any of the number if her children who might be around (still unclear who actually lives there...). We would sometimes watch the very popular soap that came on every night - it appeared to be Filipino in origin, dubbed into English, and then voiced over by one man who both translated into Lugandan and apparently offered commentary. Unclear if the whole show itself or everyone's intense interest in it (male, female, young, old....everyone) was more comical. Sophie had a specific spot on the rug she would situate herself and watch us talk, or have tea, or watch the soap. We decided it was a close competition between Sophie and Rachel for cutest kid in the entire world.

We were lucky enough that Robinha, one of the house girls, offered to do our laundry the next day, so we were able to give her our completely gross clothes.

The next day, we were planning to go to Busega, the site of the new Children's Home that is currently under construction, so we were excited about that.

Flashback to the KLA

Day 11 and 13, June 5 and 7, Uganda. From Sharon (being in PE stricken down by sickness while Brian goes to our game :( has given me some time to offer a flashback)

After our long and arduous bus trip, we arrived in Kampala where our dear host Mama Flora picked us up from the bus station and took us to the monastery to meet the Brothers. We had breakfast with Mama Flora and Br. Alfred, then went to Mama Flora's house to rest up from our journey. Mama Flora, as she is known to about everyone in Kampala, or so it seemed, raised eight children and a stepson, the youngest of whom is now 20 years old and at university. She also takes in just about anyone off the street who needs a place to stay, including many Sudanese refugees who fled to Kampala when the violence in Southern Sudan was at its height, asking for nothing in return. For a while after we arrived, it was pretty unclear who exactly lived in the simple ranch house - there were always a few of her "real" children around, plus two girls (both around 18) who kept the house and looked after the young children. The children while we were there consisted of Augustine, an 18 month old belly of a child whose mother was one of the residents at the brothers' home (I.e. was mentally or physically disabled and unable to care for him), and Sophie, the most adorable 3 year old you've ever seen, and whose story was never quite clear to me. The house had a simple family room (with a TV we would later watch the first games of the WC on) and dining table, a small kitchen, three bedrooms, and a single bathroom with a toilet, a faucet that hung from the wall that served as the shower, and no light. Cold showers in the dark at 515am became the new standard. On the plus side, after showering, you had to use those squeegy brooms like they have at swimming pools to push all the water from all over the room into the drain in the corner, which is every bit as exciting as it looked when you were five and jealously watched the lifeguards do so (or possibly that was just me? Regardless, the third world is so much more fun when you take joy in the little things).

After a rest, we hung out with Flora's fourth biological child, Paul (what a great name), who works for MTN, one of the major cell phone companies in Africa. It is one of the biggest sponsors of the World Cup and probably the biggest carrier in Uganda, by a long shot. He seemed a little embarrassed by his job, he "just" works for costumer service, but seemed relieved when we assured him that many recent US university grads get similar jobs in their 20's. Also luckily for him, he was hanging out with the two of us, who are huge nerds and genuinely interested in the comparative economics of cell phone service marketing. (A significant difference in Africa, is that everyone pays as you go....and that it's still cheaper than in the US.) We then went over to the monastery to meet our soon-to-be godchildren, and have evening prayer and dinner with the brothers. For you Catholics out there, they do the Liturgy of the Hours at 6am, noon, and 5pm every day (in addition to daily Mass at 620am). It was a really nice thing, especially as we started working at the Apostlate and you really needed some spiritual guidance. Plus the sound of 80 African men singing is a really soothing sound. I'm fairly certain that's the sound most effective for running off the devil, should you ever find yourself in such a situation.

Before dinner, we got a tour of the grounds from Br. Dominic, one of the Professed Brothers, which means he wears the blue sash with his habit and has finished his formal formation, a process that normally takes 5-6 years. Young men start as "junior aspirants," working on the missions, attending classes, and living the monastic life (apparently monks are not just cloistered orders, there are some, like the Missionaries of the Poor, who are "active" monks and have missions in the community). After 9 months, the aspirants have a three week "home stay," during which time they return to their families and await a letter from MOP that indicates whether or not they have been chosen to continue in formation. At that time, they decide for themselves whether or not they wish to return to Kampala (they are under no obligation to do so, and any Brother, at any point, can walk away from the order). Later in the week, Br. Alfred explained to us a little bit more what they were looking for in brothers and while strict and absolute in some ways (they don't take people who want to be priests, even though some brothers are eventually ordained, and they don't take those who want to continue advanced studies, for example), it makes complete sense when you understand that the mission is wholely and wholly dedication to the poor....and how taxing a calling that is. Once the aspirants return, they continue as before but now as "senior aspirants," who wear the habit, but with a tan sash to indicate their continuing formal formation. Each of these classes lives in large dorm bays with bunk beds housing 20-40 brothers per room. After some amount of time (1-2 years? I couldn't quite nail down the timeline), the brothers move to the Novitiate, a segregated living area next to the monastery with their own chapel, dining room, and living spaces. There they spend the final and most intense two years of their formal formation. We saw all these areas, as well as the animals kept - cows pigs, pigeons, chickens, monkeys. There were only two monkeys; a third had to be put down after it ferociously attempted to bite off a finger.

Dinner with the brothers was delicious (credit the Carribebean roots of the order for the plethora of spices used) and we got to hang out with From. Hayden, an absolutely delightful enthusiastic Trini of a man. We heard about his recent trip to Jamaica where many leaders of the Order met with a representative from the Vatican to explain their work in an attempt to get a relationship directly with the Vatican (the word is escaping me right now). The order currently must work through each local diocese, so this development would make them much like Opus Dei, but considerably less creepy. He also brought news of how impressed the Vatican was with the simple lifestyle of the Brothers - even Fr. Hayden (and, in fact, the head of the entire order, who lives in Janaica) lives in the dorm style rooms with no privacy and they travel in the beds of trucks that have been outfitted with benches.

You've already heard of our baptismal adventures from Sunday, so I'll skip straight to Monday, our first at the Apostolate. After Mass, meditation, breakfast, travel to the home, and morning prayers, it was probably 830 by the time we started "work," even though we'd been up since a little after 5. Since Brian had worked with the brothers on Jamaica before, he had a better idea of what was to come, but I really had no idea. What I did know was that MOP basically took in anyone that had been abandoned by their families and society. In the poor societies of the third world, this translates to the elderly, the orphaned, and the mentally and physically disabled of all ages. We were assigned to work with the girls and Brian pulled me aside before going in to let me know that there was no shame in stepping outside for a few minutes if it got overwhelming; he mentioned he'd do so a few times in Jamaica. I was thankful for the counsel, but egotistical as I am, doubted I would need it - I worked with amputees, I wanted to be a doctor, and I rode the Georgia Ave bus for goodness sake - as far as blood, bodily disfunction, dismemberment, and crazy people go, I figured there were few things I hadn't seen. Plus, I'm now a soldier in the greatest Army in the world. In the words of our dear friend Josh, I'll take a break when I'm done.

The reality was that I was a bit underprepared. This wasn't my initial reaction, but apparently a volunteer from Iran who stayed with Mama Flora and worked there for three months later confessed that on her first day she thought she had entered Hell. That wasn't my initial thought (although it might have occurred to me later), but if some good Christian volunteer reacted that way, you can maybe begin to imagine what it might have been like. The dorm was dark and crowded - the place was filled with bunk beds not more than about 18 inches apart. Those were mostly empty, as the able children had already left for school. On two large mattresses were our charges for the day - about 20-30 girls, ranging in age from infancy to about 12 or 13, but none looking older than about 8. They were extremely thin for the most part, many legs outrageously so, to the point where you wondered how such legs supported them. The answer was by and large that they did not - few of the girls were capable of walking under their own power, because of mental or physical impairments...or both. Only two were capable of telling you they had to go to the bathroom and then, as I found out the hard way later in the week, not in English. The rest of them simply urinated or defecated right where they were, which contributed a strong urine smell to the area (don't worry, you get used to that) and also resulted in a prodigious number of clothes being used every day (I would find out exactly how much a prodigious quantity was when I wad assigned to a morning of hand washing clothes later in the week). When we arrived in the dorm, the girls were a huddled naked mass of bodies on the two beds, as they'd just been "showered" ("rinsed" is probably a more appropriate word). After dressing, which consists of putting whatever combination of shirt/dress and shorts will fit on the girl and be pleasing to her sense of aesthetics (some were hilariously picky), you picked her up and moved her outside to the porch for play/physical therapy.

My first task of the day - take Charity for a walk with the walker around the porch - ended in collassal failure. Let it be known that Charity is NOT capable of informing you of her need to urinate and we both ended up standing dumbfounded in a puddle of her urine as I wondered why no one had instructed me what to do in this situation. A brother soon came to my rescue and whisked poor Charity off. I returned to the group on the porch feeling pretty useless and still uninformed as to proper a-resident-just-peed-all-over-herself-and-everything-else standard operating procedure.

By this time, Brian was deftly walking Rachel, the most adorable child in the entire world, and soon to be our favorite, across the porch (sans walker!), and I resolved to stop feeling sorry for myself and my ineptitude as a volunteer (I perhaps have a bit of a competitive streak); I decided to stop sucking and start being awesome instead. My next task was simply to "spot" Rita as she strengthened her legs by standing while holding on to the side of the porch. Perhaps this was more fitted to my (in)abilities because I was much more successful at making sure a stationery child did not suddenly topple over than I was at walking one. I also graduated to Honors Spotting, which consisted of correcting her foot position and posture when she started slouching. My most advanced maneuver (AP Spotting?) was deploying the Weeks family patented "bird call" sound and hand motion when she started crying. Luckily my family is really funny (or perhaps just funny looking) because Rita found that move HILARIOUS and instantly cheered up and started laughing every time.

Monday was also our first introduction to snack time and lunch for the girls. They are each given a slice of bread around 930 or so and a bowl of whatever is for lunch around 11. While mostly a straightforward venture, some of the girls don't have enough motor skills to feed themselves and so have to be fed (those volunteers doing the feeding get to use a spoon....everyone else uses their hands. It's unclear to me how i would've eaten this meal with my hands, so i was pretty impressed). Additionally, there are a few out of control (or just really really hungry? Or both?) girls who would go around and steal food from the others. Two particularly bad offenders had to be tied by the ankle to a post on the porch with a t-shirt so that they didn't wreck complete havoc. And they still managed to wreck some. I was feeding one of the more difficult girls and had to take to tilting her head back so that she was forced to open her mouth. As long as it took to finish that meal and as frustrating as it was, it's an incredible special and satisfying feeling to be such a fundamental part of someone's nourishment. A bit difficult to really describe fully.

After lunch, the girls go to bed for a nap and five thousand schoolchildren invade  the home for lunch. Probably only like 100-150 kids, but it feels like much much more. They DEVOUR the food and also can be guilty of stealing from one another. Some of these kids live at the Apostolate and some don't...I guess just would not be getting a meal otherwise. I helped put out food for them and Brian was in a special area for what looked like the youngest children. When I ventured over there, I saw a boy, about 5 or 6, with arms that were cut off above his elbow, happily and amazingly eating his lunch with a long spoon (again, everyone else ate with their hands). I watched in amazement for a while and then Brian told me that apparently the boy cries if you offer/try to feed him, because he's so intent on doing it himself.

Sometime after lunch, around 2 or 230, the morning shift of Brothers returns to the monastery and the evening shift comes. We decided to leave then too, since we needed to buy our return bus tickets to Nairobi for the following week. We headed downtown on a bouda bouda, one of the most common forms of transport in Uganda, which is a motorcycle taxi. You hail a strange man in the streets on a motorcycle, haggle a price for your destintion, and then hop on behind him. Don't worry, they have extended back seats so can take two at a time. Crammed in between a Ugandan stranger in front and Brian behind, I wondered what the protocol for who or what to hold to was.....

After running a few errands downtown (including booking a whitewater rafting trip down the Nile for Friday - HOORAY!), we took a bouda bouda back to the monastery. At times it was exhilarating and exciting like a roller coaster, as we weaved in and out of traffic and around potholes, and spent about 50% of the time racing down the street on the WRONG side of the median, only correcting ourselves when on-coming traffic looked particularly menacing. Then, after a few seconds of europhia, I would remember that I was on a motorcycle of a stranger in Kampala and should probably be paying better attention to the scenes from my life flashing before my eyes. When we got fairly close to the monastery, there was absolute and total gridlock as a truck blasting music from its truck bed and selling CD's literally parked intself in the middle of a significant intersection, completely stopping traffic in four directions. Cars were so piled up on top of each other (figuratively, of course) that there wasn't even 18 inches for our motorcycle to squeeze by anyone. It was sheer madness (a phrase I've come to use often in Africa is "the height of insanity") and took some time, yelling, and cajoling to figure out.

That evening we went to prayers with the Brothers, then tea and dinner at Mama Flora's. After dinner, we hung out with Mama's third child, Hillary, who had just finished law school. Hillary is a male name in East Africa, which explains the confusion we witnessed in Jikaze over what former President Clinton's first name was (some kids kept telling Brian they loved Hillary Clinton. We were impressed they knew who the Secretary of State was, and then realized they meant Bill when they said something about him being the former President). Hillary was a really friendly outgoing guy and was very interested in the economic crisis in the US, healthcare reform (everyone in Africa has heard of it, but no one understands it, much like the vast majority of Americans. Including us.), and differences between the US and Uganda/Kenya. At first we couldn't come up with any that had really surprised us, but then we thought of a list - no need for prescriptions, police don't have guns or cars, there's regular electricity rationing that is unannounced, matatus, bouda boudas, the condition of the roads (horrible, by the way, potholes an entire lane of traffic wide even in Kampala, the nation's capital), how cheap fruit is (East Africans are comically amazed at how expensive fruit is in the US), the Ugandan president who has been in power for almost 25 years and just ignores the results of elections which vote him out, and on and on. It was a really interesting conversation and the beginning of our great friendship with Hillary.

We went to bed exhausted, but excited to work a full day at the Apostolate on Tuesday.

Days 30-33, Port Elizabeth

Day 30-33, Thurs-Sunday, June 24-27th, Port Elizabeth

On Thursday we watched some highlights and games during the day before taking off to go catch our bus to Port Elizabeth in the afternoon. People at the hostel keep telling us distances are un-walkable, like the trip from hostel to bus station, but we've basically decided they're in cahots with the cab companies, so we ignored their advice, loaded up our stuff, and hoofed it down to the station. The station was nice and we'd grabbed an early dinner (from the stands by the local bus station who hawk to spectators headed to the games in Soccer City or Ellis Park), so we ate that as discretely as possible while enjoying the afternoon games in one of the bars at the station.

The bus was fairly comfortable, much more so than those we took in East Africa, and was a double-decker Greyhound, which I'd never ridden before and was pretty excited for. What I wasn't excited for was the 15 hour bus ride ahead. The ride ended up taking 17.5 hours which was....not that awesome. We DID see a couple of ostriches coming in to PE though, so that was cool.

We found our hostel, run by a loveable Ghanaian named Bright (seriously, that's his name) and watched the uneventful Portugal-Brazil game with some Argentines at the hostel. Who loved that Brian spoken Argentinian Spanish. We decided to venture out to the official FIFA Fan Fest (we hadn't been to one in Joburg), which was held inside a gargantuan cricket stadium. This thing was huuuuge. We loaded up on the local eats, enjoyed free live entertainment from one of South Africa's biggest rock bands (who have toured with U2 and the Counting Crows, but weren't actually much to write home about), and then watched the Spain-Chile game on the big screen. It was a fun game to watch and the atmosphere was pretty cool.

Saturday we woke up with plans to go to the beach (Port Elizabeth is right on the water - beautiful - and the weather has been gorgeous), but apparently the local eats didn't agree with me, so that plan got nixed. I was basically a worthless excuse for a traveler all day and didn't do much of anything. Brian went to the game we had tickets to by himself (first knockout stage game of the tourney - Uruguay v. South Korea), so hopefully he'll tell you about that sometime. He was able to sell my ticket for about a third of its face value and was lucky to get that much; not quite the same ticket market we'd seen in Joburg where everything was going for at least face value. It sounds like he successfully made some friends in my absence and the game was pretty good, so all was not lost on that front.

I choked down enough South African powerade (Enermaxx) to rally enough energy to go to the hostel's TV (in another building, we're in "alternative housing," which sounds like we're recovering from an addiction of some sort) to watch the US-Ghana game. We brought our flag and loudly sang the US national anthem at the beginning of the match, much to the delight of our fellow hostel-goers, who took pictures for their scrapbooks. We also endured some good-natured ribbing from Bright, who is a Ghana native, and everyone else at the hostel, since every last one of them was cheering for Ghana. Jerks. Unfortunately for us, the US didn't have the strongest showing and Bocanegra again proved he's the worst player on the team. We were pretty disappointed with the result, since we'd thought advancing to the semis was a real possibility this year. We bitterly walked home to the sound of vuvuzelas and car horns celebrating an African victory and perhaps said some unkind things about South Africans' quick defection to another team from 3000 miles away.

Sunday I was still struggling from not having eaten and we didn't manage much besides getting lunch and waiting for our bus back to Joburg. Luckily we'll be back in PE on Wednesday for a few days, so we'll have another chance then to enjoy the boardwalk, beach, and what we assume counts as the Indian Ocean.

Double-header and FREEDOM

Wednesday June 23rd, Johannesburg/Pretoria. From Sharon:

Today was absolutely INSANE. We had tickets to both the US-Algeria game and the Ghana-Germany game, the first of which was in Pretoria (about 45 minutes away by car) and the second was at the Soccer City stadium in Joburg. We thought we'd have to sell our tickets to the second game in order to make the US one, but another guest at the hostel convinced them to run a van to Pretoria and back, meaning if traffic wasn't too bad, we'd probably make it to Ghana-Germany by game time. So that was the plan.

After lunch, we met our crew of intrepid Americans and painted our faces like the true patriots we are. Brian's star-drawing abilities are vastly improving, I'm happy to report. The ride out felt pretty quick and as we approached Pretoria, we passed a car of Algerians also on their way to the game. They were waving two full sized flags out of the windows (an impressive feat of upper body stamina) and honking their horn all the way down the highway. Nonstop. We stayed with them all the way in to town and they never stopped honking or flag waving. In fact, they escalated to climbing outside the windows and flag waving, causing quite the ruckus on the streets of Pretoria. Not to be outdone, and not to lose the local fan support by a lukewarm pre-game performance, I dutifully handed over our US flag to one of the Americans willing to hang out the van window. Brian shed his jersey so that I could wave it at passerbys and the police, all of whom gave me a thumbs up. US 1, Algeria 0. We arrived close to the stadium and took a picture with our flaf waving adversaries. Other than being an hysterical photo, I thought our cross-cultural understanding was good karma.

We made our way to the stadium and once again planted ourselves on the first row, right by the tunnel so we could see thee players run out and warm up. They ended up running drills directly by the side we were closest to, so I'm pretty sure I made eye contact with Clint and Landon. Impressively, no one ever asked for our tickets or told us to move along.

A little before gametime, we headed back up to our seats and I convinced more policemen to cheer on the US. Patriotic duty performed.

The game was incredible. By which I mean it was agonizing for 90 minutes and then incredible. The europhia in the stadium was palpable after we scored - there were TONS of Americans in attendance and we went NUTS. The players even came over to each side of the field to thank the fans. (By this point, we were in our seats about 10 rows from th very top, so no more eye contact. But I'm pretty sure Landon expressed his disappointment at missing me in the post-game press conference.) We high-tailed it back to the van (there was actual running involved) and hurried back to Joburg.

We hustled to the bus once we were back at the hostel, downed some roti rolls and samosas, and headed off to the game. We got there with about 15 minutes to spare....so....SUCCESS…Brian slipped on his Bayern-Munich jersey, as he promised Mark he would, and it was game time. I was pulling for Ghana, because you gotta go African in this Cup, but Brian was thinking more strategtically and pulling for Germany so we wouldn't have to face them in the round of 16. C'mon now, pragmatism is overrated.

Germany pulled it out in a pretty underwhelming game, but Australia's simultaneous win over Serbia meant that Ghana also advances to the round of 16, the only African team to do so. I didn't realize there were so many Ghanaians at the game, but we quickly found ALL of them aswe tried to exit the stadium and were swept into the musical/dancing/yelling/cheering parade of Ghana fans out of the stadium. I'm pretty sure it was the best celebration yet - drums, whistles, songs, people who could dance really really well, a sign that said "God is a Ghanaian," and incredible energy. It took us about an hour after the game to get on a bus, but I think it was worth it.

We tried to figure out if we could get tickets to the US round of 16 game, but the combination of our upcoming PE-Joburg back-and-forths and the schedule games we already have tickets to, coupled with the fact the game is about 2 hours away from Joburg, kinda squashed those dreams. But still a good day for America and freedom.

Off to PE tomorrow for the first of our knock-out round games - Uruguay v. South Korea on Saturday.

Professionals

Day 27-28, Monday and Tuesday, June 21-22. From Sharon:

Monday and Tuesday we did a lot of professional sports watching. With three games on Monday and four on Tuesday, it really took our full attention. Today especially, there were two games being shown at a time in two time spots. Let me assure you, the talent needed to divide your attention between two soccer games simultaneously is not one to be laughed at. It is, indeed, a special skill. Most exciting was the first set of games today - South Africa needed to win and gain a total of five goals in goal differential between whoever lost the other game (Uruguay-Mexico) in order to avoid being the first host in World Cup history to fail to advance past the group stages. Unfortunately for SA, they haven't won a game yet and were playing France. While France has suffered an incredible public implosion over the last few days (some choice words about the coach's mother were yelled during halftime of the last game, that player was subsequently sent home, the rest of the team subsequently boycotted practice, the coach subsequently called all his players "stupid" at a press conference...really if you haven't been keeping up with all the drama, you're missing out on something fierce. Fiercely unbelieveable), they're still a top 15 team in the world (for perspective, SA is ranked like 80th...?). So chances were looking slim. Also, SA's star goalkeeper got a red card in the last match and so can't play. In short, it was not looking good for our heroes.

The match was an exciting one as SA scored two awesome goals in the first half (and had many more chances) and Uruguay went up 1-0. At each goal, the hostel went nuts, the best part being the little SA women who work in the kitchen who would scream and dance around after every goal. With a three goal difference already built up after only one half, it looked like the miracle that SA needed to advance (five goals) would actually come true. Sadly it did not, as no more goals were scored by SA or Uruguay and France got one back. Despite that disappointment, it was nice to see the hosts get a well-deserved win and end the tournament on a high note with a game they could really be proud of.

Last night, we ventured out into the city with two Americans we met at the hostel for our first night on the town (other than game nights). We saw the late game over dinner, had some delicious pizza and local brews for bargain prices (between us I think we had a pizza and seven drinks for $25), and finished the night playing pool with some 19 year old South Africans (the drinking age is 18 in SA and I felt really really old. 18 is yoooooung. They barely look old enough to feed themselves, nevermind imbibe an adult beverage or three. Surely I did not look that young at 18). Brian had a strong showing on the pool table and was unbeaten in a few games with the local star, so count another one for America. The guys we'd found from the hostel were absolutely hysterical and the three of us in the back of the cab were in stitches over the one's 20 minute conversation with the cab driver over whether or not you can turn left on red in South African (the long awaited answer? Sometimes).

We go to Pretoria (about an hour away) tomorrow to see the US-Algeria game, then rush back to Joburg to make the Germany-Ghana game. After the incredible experience that was seeing the last US game live, we're pretty excited to cheer them on to the second round. Just need to go find that face paint....

Brazil v. Cote d'Ivoire game

Day 26, Sunday June 20th, Johannesburg. From Sharon:

We arrived in Johannesburg last Wednesday, after our initial flight was cancelled and we had to spend the night in Addis Ababa. That entire experience, as well as our time in Uganda (which was amazing), and our first few days in Joburg will hopefully be covered at some later date. Or perhaps you'll just have to wait for the live retelling when we return. Hard to say.

Anyways, today we had a bunch of free time since our game wasn't until 830pm and we weren't terribly interested in the two earlier games. We tried to sleep in, since we've become the old people of the hostel, struggling to make it to the end of the late game every night. Since we were seeing the game in person today, we thought it might be best to still be awake by the end of it.

In the early afternoon, we made our way out to Campus Square, with the goal of buying me some more warm clothes since 1) it's freezing (apparently it's the coldest South African winter in 20 years) and 2) the hostel isn't really heated per se. The hostel folks suggested taking a cab, but we're both cheap and had time to burn, so we walked the probably 2.5 miles there and back. Down a highway. I promise it wasn't as dumb as that sounds. Some nice young guy also directed us in how to walk around the construction, ending our interaction with "no problem my bru," which is, we've learned, the SA equivalent of "bro."

The "mall" was nice, but we did come face to face with the fact that SA business hours are ridiculous. Most stores were closed by 2pm when we rolled in and some had been closed since 1. The ones that were open were closing at 3. Unclear to me how people live like this.

We got back, watched the Italy-New Zealand game at the hostel (tie?? No one saw that coming) and headed out to the game. Since we were leaving only two hours before game time (instead of our regular four), the bus and entrance gates getting down there were more crowded but still not that bad. The stadium was FULL of Brazilians. I've never seen so much yellow. The announced attrndance was over 84,000 people and you could definitely hear it - them Brazilians is LOUD. It was a pretty cool atmosphere and, like all the other games we've been to, we were able to go down close to the pitch and see the players run out for warm-up. (You would never be allowed in the good seats section in America that close to game time, which is a cultural/event difference that we've taken full advantage of at all our games)

Brian, for some reason known only to him and God, decided to wear his Argentina jersey to the match. I'm surprised we made it out alive. Besides being top South American rivals, Brazil and Argentina are also the top two teams performance-wise in the tournament thus far (and on the world stage in general), so there's not a lot of love lost between the two. And Brazilian fans were quite upset at Brian's blatant afront to their game. So we heard it quite a bit from them. An entire group of 10 young men spent about 10 minutes yelling and blowing their vuvuzelas at us. While we might have suffered permanent hearing damage as a result, at least we didn't get shivved, which I had thought could be a real possibility.

The game ended up 3-1, but I thought was played much closer than that sounds. At least until the last 20 minutes or so, Cote d'Ivoire had at least as many scoring opportunities as Brazil. And Brazil certainly wasn't dominating possession as I'm sure many thought they would. What they were doing is a lot of flopping and complaining about calls. I've always faulted the Brazilians for being foul drama queens, staying on the ground way too long after a foul or non-foul, and generally talking a little too much. I went into the game with an open mind, but they quickly proved to have not changed. Watching the re-play of the Kaka foul at the end looks like the ref overreacted to that particular incident, but they, and he in particular, were being so annoying and dive-y all game that I kinda believe that's soccer karma coming back to get you. Probably a unique opinion to be sure, but I stand by it (with apologies to my favorite Brazilians back home in Chapel Hill).

I think the Brazilians get the prize for being the loudest and most ferverent fans, so it was fun and exciting to be at the game. I'm glad Cote d'Ivoire got one back at the end, because they played a far better match than a lot of teams who have escaped in group play with a draw or even a win to show for their efforts. Unfortunately for them, they're in the group of death, so two really well-played games gets them only one point (a draw and a win).

We'vee got no games for the nex two days, so I'm not sure what we'll be up to. Possibly just mentally preparing for our two game day on Wednesday - we've got both US-Algeria and Germany-Ghana tickets, with plans to go to both. Should be an interesting day.

Brian at the Brazil v. Cote d'Ivoire game!

Sent from the Droid.

World Cup!

We'll be at the Brazil-Cote d'Ivoire game tomorrow, and the US-Algeria and Germany-Ghana games on Wednesday (yes, two games in one day), so look for us on TV! (We will be the people in the upper stands who you can't see)

 

More to come! Including a recap of the US-Slovenia and Argentina-S. Korea games.

Arriving in Joburg!

Uganda!

At some point, we'll fill you in on this incredible experience...

The KLA!

Some last minute thoughts on Nairobi:
-My friends Sharon and Sarafin in Jikaze told me not to eat avocados or eggs while pregnant. Otherwise, the baby will be very big and the "arrival" will be quite painful. I wonder if they understand how big American babies are in general....
-Eric's housekeeper, Flora, did our laundry on Friday. Glorious glorious clean clothes. She is a saint among women.
-My shoes are still wet from Thursday's onslaught of water (four days later). I think there are things growing on the outside. I'd throw them away but I feel bad asking where the garbage is for my shoes from people who usually don't wear any...
-Did we mention you don't need prescriptions for most drugs? And that police don't have cars? Or guns?

We left Nairobi Friday night (June 4th) -- the bus was late, we were early, it started raining. Again. Needless to say, we were pretty excited to get on board. The trip is about 13 hours and the conditions were nice enough, but a little cramped (they allow you to  put your chair way too far back for the comfort of the person in front of you). What wasn't awesome was going to the bathroom at one of the rest stops. A wooden shack with a hole in the ground. It took me about 3 or 4 minutes to figure out the best way to approach it. Without going into too many details, I'm not sure I settled on the ideal way. But I'm pretty sure I used some muscles I haven't used in some time. Just so you know.

When we got to the Kenya-Uganda border, we had to get off the bus, physically walk across the border, and then stand in line at immigration for our visas. Luckily we had American money (the currency demanded), because there were money changers offering some absurd rates. Some poor small American had to acquiesce and she was pretty upset about it. Standing out in the cold at 5am, in the dark, waiting in a really long line wasn't the greatest thing in the world, but it wasn't the worst. What was the worst was when the Muslim call to prayer came on over a loudspeaker and the bus starting pull away. Now standing in no man's land in the third world and watching your bus pull away -- that wasn't so awesome. Luckily it was just relocating and we made it to Kampala (KLA) without any other problems. Although some man (a passenger? a guy we picked up off the streets?) gave long impassioned speeches about the pimple cream and antacids that he was selling in a loud voice from the front of the bus for the last 45 minutes of the ride.

A woman we have come to know as Mama Flora came and picked us up from the bus station and took us to meet the brothers, and then to her home, where we are staying. She is incredible, and quite possibly the nicest woman either of us have met. She takes in refugees and abandoned children and treats them as her own (see Augustine, age 18 months, son of a mentally retarded woman) even though all her biological children are grown and either at university or on their own.

The Brothers are also incredible. And incredibly nice and welcoming. We got the chance to witness over 100 baptisms on Sunday (at the second of two Masses we attended). Also....we're both now godparents to small Ugandan children who used to be Muslims (when you have over 100 baptisms -- and another few hundrend coming next month, you get so desperate that even such lowlifes like Brian and I are acceptable). Also, either because of the language barrier, or because we are like zoo exhibits as white people around here, they got baptized as "Sharon" and "Brian B-----" [avoiding last names, because the internets can be weird places, but yeah, the little boy got Brian's first and last name]. Seriously, I couldn't make this up. We're also in about 5829052139 pictures after the baptism with the families of our kids, the kids themselves, their extended families, random people, more random people, and other random people. Everyone wanted a picture with the mzungu. What made it more interesting is that there was only one guy with a camera. There's also a great picture of just me, Brian, and baby Sharon. It looks like we the two of us somehow created a small black baby (but a beautiful baby, and with a great name to boot). Unfortunately that's not on my camera -- I can only hope that the Brothers get a hold of it and can send it to us.

There's much more to tell, but that might have to wait until next weekend! Which might be the next time we have internet.

-Sharon

Limuru

June 1st-3rd, Limuru, Kenya and Jikaze, Kenya, Days 7-9. From Brian:

We spent the past 3 days in the towns of Limuru and Jikaze, north of Nairobi. Eric put us in touch with his friend Joe who lives in Limuru and he was kind enough to allow us to stay with him for a couple of days. Joe lives in a beautiful house in Limuru and is currently hosting a group of 11 college students, most from UNC, so it was a great atmosphere for us - lots of people to talk to and share experiences with. I'll give a play-by-play and some commentary of the trip:

We left Nairobi around 4:00 on a matatu headed for Limuru. The night before, we had talked to Edison, who lives near Limuru when he isn't at Eric's house, and he told us which route to take. This was by far the easiest matatu trip we have taken - we got on the express route, which takes the highway to Limuru where you're not allowed to stop and pick up more passengers. Edison thought it would be about a 1 hour trip, but it only took us 40 minutes. Once we got to town, we called Joe (having a cell phone here makes everything so much easier) and he came and picked us up. Joe works for a group called Global Connections and he basically lives in Limuru and takes on development projects as they come up near him. He does work in a children's center, in Jikaze, where his group is building houses for those displaced by the violence in Kenya after the 2007 elections, and various other projects, as well as hosting groups of university students who want to volunteer with the projects he works on. We were supposed to hear a talk on the post election violence from a Kenyan who lived through some of the worst of it, but his car broke down in Nairobi and he wasn't able to make it (for those of you who have seen Blood Diamond, TIA - This is Africa), so Joe gave us an overview of the situation. You can read more about it here, but here are the basics: there was a disputed presidential election in 2007, and the two candidates incited some young men in their tribes to go kill members of the other tribe. There were about 1,300 people killed, and most of them were friends and neighbors of those who murdered them. Many people who were not killed were forcibly removed from their homes by these gangs. The gangs would then occupy or burn down the family's home. These victims are called Internally Displaced People (IDP's) and they moved to various refugee camps around the country. In an effort to get rid of the problem of having so many refugees in their country, the government decided to give each person 10,000 Shillings (~USD125) and then told them to go back to their homes and move in next to the people who had forced them out of their homes at gunpoint. There was a small group of 150 people who decided that they could not move back, and decided to pool their money to purchase a new plot of land in the Great Rift Valley and make a fresh start as a community. This is now the resettlement village of Jikaze. When Joe first came upon the village, it was 5 acres of people living in tents - structures that were overcrowded, not rainproof, and hastily put together. Global Connections then began a project to build them homes. Joe and other volunteers build 50 homes for the people of Jikaze, made of a wood frame, mud walls and a tin roof. I know that doesn't sound great, but these houses are structurally sound, keep the rain out, and give the people of Jikaze something to own and care about.

We went with Joe and his group of volunteers to Jikaze to rebuild 2 homes that had been demolished last November when a trucker fell asleep at the wheel and plowed them over. No one was hurt, but the houses were leveled. We started the day by meeting with the elders of the community and taking tea (chai - which is tea with milk. I thought it was ok until I tried it with sugar. Then I thought it was delicious.). We listened to Mine (MEE-nay) talk about the story of Jikaze and about how much Joe had done to help them. Then Kristina took the floor and told everyone that despite all the hardship this community has faced, they now have hope in the Lord because of what Joe had done to help them. "You're country may abandon you; your family may even abandon you; but God will never abandon you." She also said that God uses people to do His will, and that Joe was a person God had used to do His will in Jikaze. Joe was in tears. It was one of the most powerful things I have ever seen.

After the meeting, we went to work putting walls on the houses. There were balloon frames in place already, and we were there that day to take some branches and nail them to the frame to make walls. Picture the 4 posts of the corners of the house, and we attached the branches between them, kind of like ribs attach to the backbone. Mud would then be filled in to create a solid wall. Sharon and I worked with Apollo, an older man of about 50, who looked much younger than his age. He attributed this to staying on the Lord's path and not chasing booze and women. Apollo showed us proper hammering technique with his hammer, whose handle had split and whose head had lost the face that is used to strike the nail. Sounds like a handicap, but I actually preferred it to the brand new hammers we had bought that morning. He also showed us how to cut the branches with a Panga (machete). I had never used a machete before, and they are officially awesome. After lunch, we went back to work, but Apollo had gone off because his goats had wandered into the forest and he had to go get them. We started cutting wood and hammering by ourselves, and asking "Hey, where's Apollo's hammer? Where's Apollo's machete?" Then we decided those sounded like mythical objects that we had to go on a quest to find. "Jikaze - The Quest for Apollo's Hammer." We packed our lunches, but some women cooked for us anyway and brought out a huge bowl of Mokimo - a potato and corn dish that was delicious.

We took tea again that afternoon and then headed back to Limuru. The view of the Great Rift Valley from the road was amazing and we stopped at an overlook to get a coke on the way back. the elevation was between 6,500 and 8,000 feet depending on who you asked. We went back and had a delicious taco dinner with awesome guacamole because avocados are about USD 0.07 here. Kenyans are blown away with how expensive they are in America. We planned on leaving the next day, but decided that we had such an amazing time the first day that we really wanted to go back to Jikaze.

The second day, we found out that the truck that would deliver more wood to Jikaze (we worked until we ran out the day before) would not arrive until around noon, so we decided to stop over at the children's center and hang out with the kids for a while. The center serves kids who are pre-school age, and when we came in, they were doing math problems that I'm pretty sure we don't do until 1st or 2nd grade in the states. Stuff like 9+6-4=? The craziest thing was that when we walked in, the kids were all sitting quietly at their places doing their work. With no teacher in the room! We helped the kids with the problems and graded papers, but I'm pretty sure they would have done better on their assignments if we hadn't shown up at all. The kids were really cute though, and it was so cool to be able to spend time there. Except I did feel a little bad because I made Thomas do his problems over again a few times and he didn't like me very much after a while.

Then we went to Jikaze and decided to go ahead and work on the mud walls of the houses while we waited for the truck to deliver the wood. We dug pits and mixed water in with the dirt, and then stacked mud in between the ribs that we had put up the day before. I think there was a little too much water in the mud, so we started making fun of each other for "not learnin' proper muddin' technique." I'll admit it's a little disheartening to watch the wall you just build come sliding down after 5 minutes while you scramble to try and save it. Picture your favorite sandcastle at high tide. We also saw Apollo again, and he said he wasn't feeling well, and then described his symptoms, which sounded like those of malaria. Hope he feels better soon.

The women made us delicious rice and beans for lunch while we waited out a rainstorm (tough to do proper muddin' in the rain) and then Sharon and I took a walk through town after. We picked up a heard of about 12 kids who all wanted to hold our hands and play. We ran them around for a little bit and took some pictures, and then hauled them back to the worksite. Sharon went back to muddin' and I went to the truck to unload the shipment of wood. I decided I preferred to carry heavy stuff than to lose the war with the mud. I spent the rest of the day hammering away and finishing up some walls that we couldn't finish yesterday. We then took a quick tea and headed back to Limuru. Joe dropped us off in town so we could catch the matatu back to Nairobi, and we said goodbye to everyone.

Expert matatu riders that we were, we hopped right on the 116 route back to Nairobi, only to be informed that this one didn't go all the way there. So we got off and hopped on another . . . which didn't go past Eric's place like they said they would. Sharon decided we were being slapped in the face because we were getting cocky. So we got off downtown and walked until we hit a road we knew, and then tried to hail one that was going towards Eric's place . . . except they were all full going that direction. Then it got dark. Then it started raining. We walked back towards downtown to the main matatu center and looked for our route back to Westlands, by Eric's place . . . and the line was 30 people deep. We finally squeezed our way onto one and headed for Westlands . . .and then turned back onto the road that we took into Nairobi from Limuru. Then it started raining hard. Like, monsoon season hard. Like, later in the trip, we had to cross a road on a speed bump because we were afraid of getting pulled downstream by the river that now occupied the road. I tried to talk to the driver, and finally found out that we had already passed Westlands, and would have to get out and catch a matatu going the other way. Just then, Sharon saw the sign for the road Eric lives on! We got out right there and ran back to the shopping center on the same road to dry off and let our anger subside a little, bought some chicken for dinner and headed home. So, the trip that took us 40 minutes on the way there took 2 1/2 hours on the way back. We'll be less arrogant in the future about transportation in Africa, I promise.

Apollo's Hammer

Days 7-9: June 1st-3rd, Limuru and Jikaze, Kenya. From Sharon (this was such an incredible experience and I feel like we both have things we want to say about it, so we're both posting about these days. Apologies for the overlap in giving the background and agenda, but hopefully it will still be worth reading!)

Tuesday we woke up late, decided we didn't have time to get see the elephant orphanage before leaving and settled into a big breakfast and early afternoon of reading and relaxing before we needed to head down to the matatu to go to Eric's friend's Joe's place, where we'll be spending the next couple of days (yes, so we basically did nothing until 2pm. Hey, we're in Africa, we do what we want). It turned out to be a great decision because we saw 1) monkeys in Eric's backyard. In the trees. Real, live, wild monkeys. 9-10 of them. Just hanging out, eating leaves, urinating. You know, the things monkeys do. and 2) what we gathered was a wedding procession starting from Eric's compound. Which apparently in Kenya consists of dressing up, getting in your car with all your friends, and honking as you roll through the compound. (Nice Kenyan lady as we walked out of the house:"oh hello, sorry for the disturbance." NB: Kenyans like the word disturb and all variations of it). We successfully got downtown on matatu number 1 and caught the Limuru express matatu without any real problems. I got to sit in the front, which was awesome because it feels less crowded and I got some good views of the countryside we passed through. Lots of fields, more Kenyans walking along the highways (people seriously walk everywhere here -- for miles and miles and miles), donkeys pulling carts, little boys herding cattle and goats, getting stopped by the police, you know, a normal day in the life.

When we arrived in Limuru, we called Joe to come pick us up. Joe is a friend of Eric's who works with a small non-profit called Global Connections. They fully fund the Limuru Children's Center, which is part orphanage/children's home part nursery/primary school. Joe specifically has also been doing a lot of work with Jikaze, which is a small community located in the Rift Valley (mindblowingly beautiful and expansive...runs all the way to Jordan). Jikaze was founded by a group of IDP's -- internally displaced persons, who lost or had to flee their homes during the violence following the presidential election at the end of 2007. It's an interesting (and by interesting, I mean, sad) story that I encourage everyone to read up on, but the basic gist of it is: the presidential candidate (and incumbent) from the majority tribe, the Kikuyu, appeared to be losing in the polls and it was widely believed that he would lose the election to his opponent from the Luo tribe. At the last minute however, he somehow won. There were rumors and accusations of voting fraud and outright theft of the election, but the aftermath was that members of Parliament paid young men to kill, harass, attack, and run out of villages members of the opposing tribe. Since Kenyan identification cards carry your tribal affiliation, identifying the "enemy" was relatively easy. Houses were burned and looted, people were murdered (official count around 1,300 or so, Joe guessed that it was actually much much more than that) and threatened. Many were forced to flee, sometimes without family members or children, and settled in refugee camps. The Kenyan government, under international pressure to do something about the problem, gave all the IDP's 10,000 Ksh (roughly $125) and told them to return to their homes and start their lives again.

Needless to say, that wasn't really a tenable solution. These people had had their homes burned or looted by their neighbors....and $125 isn't really enough to start again. An enterprising group of 145 Kikuyu who met in an IDP camp decided to pool their money together to buy land and start a community...and thus Jikaze was born. They found land for cheap in the Rift Valley, about two hours northwest of Nairobi (about an hour from Limuru). They started off in tents, but eventually started building houses. Joe's group came in about a year ago and offered to help. The community insisted that the rest of the community be housed before any money be devoted to developing business and other interests. Joe calls them "a happy little Socialist commune" and it's a fairly apt description. Unfortunately, a few months ago, a truck ran through two of the houses, destroying them. And just left. Luckily no one was hurt, but the community was now two houses short. The task for college students hosted by Joe this week (and Brian and I, by association)? Rebuild the houses.

After staying at Joe's (a huge house for the staff of Global Connections that could also fit us and the 15 or so college students there), we took a bus out to Jikaze. It's a small, tight little village of 40-45 mud huts with tin roofs in perfect little rows, with crops and animals nearby. We first met with the elders of the village, so they could tell us their story in their own words. (We'd picked up a high school student, Ester, from Limuru to translate from Kikuyu). Mene, who, as far as I could tell was the matriarchal head of Jikaze, gave us the story much as Joe had told it the night before. She was very thankful for the help that Joe had given Jikaze, as he has done much in terms of providing water filters (the water pumped to their village is contaminated), helping provide materials and labor for the huts, getting loans for Jikaze residents from the local bank, and so on.

After she finished, Christine, a larger more passionate woman, said she had something to say. She explained that she had been separated from her husband, but had joined the group that eventually founded Jikaze. She noted that they were a blessed, very blessed community and that God had done great things for them. Her sincerity was such that even though we were sitting in a one-room mud hut, with no clean running water, a hole in the ground infested with every insect imaginable for a toilet, after being run from their homes by their neighbors (who had been paid by the government to do so), and losing family members to violence or the fog of violence (one man got hit in the head, and woke up in a hospital with no idea where any of his family was and without any way to contact them), I honestly believed her. She told us that what she had learned from their experience was that "your family can desert you, your country can desert you, but God can never desert you." She said that God had blessed them with Joe and, in describing what he had done for them, gave the most beautiful and powerful praise of an individual that I've ever heard in my entire life. I won't lie and say I wasn't about to start bawling like a baby. She said that even when he returns to America, God will continue to bless Joe, because He sees the love and goodness in a person's heart. She finished with "although we cannot give Joe anything in thanks, our God, who sees and knows all, will surely bless him." Joe's humble tears were the most heartbreakingly beautiful thing I've ever seen.

We started work on the houses, which when we arrived, were only wooden skeletons. The goal of the first day was to nail wooden branches horizontally to these skeletons to create the walls, which would later be filled in with mud. Brian and I had the good fortune to be sent to the second house, where few people were working. All morning we worked with Apollo, who was a wonder of a man and great to talk to without the distraction of the rest of the group being around. Also, Apollo's hammer sounds like some mythical object that confers great strength on its bearer. As soft Americans, we weren't too great at driving nails into wood with three fell swoops and found that Apollo, old thin man that he was, would frequently take the hammer from our hands and finish the nail himself. When we did well though (got lucky on a soft piece of wood, or found the head of the nail easily), he would smile and exclaim "Ah! Now you are used!" Which probably means...used to doing this now. He was very curious about how houses were built in America, how good his English was (pretty good actually), what we thought of Kenya, what we called peanuts (they call them ground nuts) and so on. He was quite the conversationalist and it was nice to have that kind of interaction. We also got to use a machete, or panga in Kikuyu. Yes, we used a machete in Africa. He also asked us our names again, even though we'd introduced ourselves at tea time. He realized his mistake and explained that "all you white people resemble." As we finished up before lunch, he asked how old we were (24) and said "oh, I could be your grandfather!" He is 54, but has the cleanest, smoothest face that you would guess much younger. He said he would tell us the secret to staying young: "Living a good Christian life. And walking the way of Jesus. Jesus will keep the wrinkles away." Duly noted, Apollo, duly noted.

We'd packed a lunch from Joe's house, but were also given mokimo from the village women. It's a potato mash that has corn kernels in it and something else to give it the color and consistency of pistachio ice cream. It was pretty good, but I was near full. Brian ate his fair share though, which was good since they gave us mounds and mounds and mounds of it.

After lunch, Brian and I finished up our wall (Apollo was nowhere to be found -- he told us the next day he had been "correcting his sheep and goats who had scattered in the wilderness"). Some local boys came and helped us with the next wall before we ran out of wood and had to quit for the day. I'm not sure where these boys came from and I"m pretty sure it wasn't going to be there house, but it was just another part of the "happy little commune" of Jikaze. We also discovered that little kids looooooooove my sunglasses -- "googles!!" -- and liked to wear them. They also played with my camera, which was pretty adorable. We tried to teach them to take pictures, but it wasn't quite as easy a lesson as I might have imagined. We took tea -- again, then boarded the bus to return to Joe's and a delicious dinner that had been prepared for us.

We were supposed to leave Thursday morning to come back to Nairobi, but had such a fantastic time in Jikaze, that we arranged to work another day and come back Thursday night. Stay tuned for how THAT voyage turns out.

Thursday morning we got up and headed onto the bus again. Before we'd really gotten out of Limuru, we got word that the wood would not yet be delivered when we got to Jikaze ("TIA -- this is Africa") so we decided to stop at the Children's Center on the way out. There we got to help little (4-5 year olds) with their arithmetic (Brian was especially loved by two little boys and I wished my camera wasn't out of batteries) while we passed some time. I got talking to the camp director, who proudly pointed out some of his best pupils. One could read all by himself. Another was excellent at handwriting (actually this kid's handwriting was really really nice) and math. Three little girls were "excellent, excellent" students. Then he pointed out another little boy to me and told me he struggled. That his mother had abandoned him when he was 6 months old. And that his father kept trying to commit suicide. And kill the boy along with him. That neighbors broke down the door one day to find the father passed out and the boy sipping on farming chemicals like he'd been told to do. TIA?

When we left and got to Jikaze, we had more tea (of course) and commenced mudding the houses -- mixing dirt and water (shocking) and then slapping it on to the walls. This was actually kind of difficult, because if the mud was too wet, it wouldn't hold...and just fell down. A little frustrating. After lunch, Brian returned to hammering wood on the second house and I think he was glad to do so. During lunch, we got delicious beans and rice to supplement our packed lunches (We don't have shoes, but we're going to make you lots and lots of food. Incredible). Brian and I took a walk down through the village to see the sunflowers and gained a horde of young children. They all wanted to hold our hands. And dance. Incredibly adorable. Don't worry, we have pictures. They also laugh just at the sight of us and yell out "mzungo!" (white person) to get your attention. And then they giggle nervously some more.

During mudding after lunch, I got to working and talking with two young women about my age -- Sharon (what a great name!) and Sarafin. They asked me to explain the difference between the words "lying" and "cheating," which is actually pretty difficult to do with only basic English vocabulary and no common social references. Sharon is 18 and has a nine-month old child. She is unmarried. Sarafin is 24 and has three children. She is married but apparently her husband works in a far-off city. ("to earn money to send back?" "To earn money, yes, but he does not send it back.") They learned I had no children and was unmarried and then were AMAZED, AMAZED that I was 24. Quite past my prime apparently. I was told that if I was Kenyan, I probably would never get married because Kenyan men like 17-18 year olds. I am apparently SOOOO OLD. They were amazed to hear that no one thinks that 24 is too old to be unmarried and childless in America. They spoke of how they wish they had more education, but lacked the resources to get it -- "we are too young for our minds to be idle." They asked me if I'd ever seen a mud hut before (no), if houses were like that in America (no), if I'd ever built a house before (no). Basically I was like a child to them. But they really liked me. They told me they were quite sad to see me go and that they really liked talking to me. They were quite the characters themselves, so I'm pretty sure I got the better end of the deal. (my favorite thing to tell Kenyans is how expensive avocados are in America. Here they're like 5/80 of a dollar, however much that is). I got a picture from the two of them (and digits from Sharon! boom!), which is hysterical because Kenyans don't believe in smiling in pictures. ("We don't look good when we smile." Really? Because it looks like your dog just died. Yeah, that definitely looked better). I had little helpers throughout the day (no older than 4 or 5) who would bring me clumps of mud from the mud pit so that I could put them on the house. I worked out a (nonverbal) deal with one of them that he could wear my sunglasses while he worked, as long as he worked hard. Yes, I just coerced a four year old.

When we finished for the day, we had tea (again), thanked our friends and headed out. Brian and I somehow took three matatus and 2.5 hours to get back home, and ended up running half a mile or so in the pouring rain of Biblical proportions. It was pretty awful, so let's not talk about that anymore.

Basically those two days were the best days yet. It was an incredible experience to see this community and I was blown away by them and their awesome (in the most literal sense of the word) hospitality. I know it's completely and utterly cliche to say "oh I came to Africa, saw poverty, and thus, saw God," but the actual experience was more along the lines of coming to Africa and seeing God in the faith and hope amidst the poverty. I know I had more profound things to say, but now that I've reached the end of this novel of a blog post, I figure that about sums it up.

NB: Tonight we take the bus to Kampala and will be working with the Christian Brothers of Missionaries of the Poor for the next week, so probably won't have internet access.