Nomad's Pub

It's a long road home...

posted by Lada @ 7:29 AM 1 comments

Hello Again, Nairobi...

Yes, I’m back in the city again and it is a strange thing to have once more porcelain toilets, hot running water (even running water, really), lots of cars around, paved roads, silverware, electrical power… and the list goes on. I find myself continuing to eat with my fingers, not sleeping well with the city noises, waking up super early though I can finally sleep in, suffering chai withdrawal, and still checking myself for fleas.

I miss Marsabit a lot… the pace of life; the JeyJey Centre; the office I worked in and the staff there I had the privilege of working with; eating ugali and stew; wandering the dirt streets; greeting all the people I had come to know and being greeted in return with the name I was baptised with (as they term it) up there. I want to eat nyamachoma again; sing Galata hoo galata again; go back out to Karare for another week; barter in the market; get up to the Chalbi desert and stare at the sand and the millions of stars visible; and have my dress made to go with the shawls that I still wrap myself in even back here in the city.

I want people to know where I’ve been, and that it is a good place; a lovely place. A harsh place, but with wonderful people whom I miss very much.

But instead I am here in Nairobi, faced with a 20+ page paper, a 2-5 page paper, a 2 hour presentation to prepare and give over the weekend (after the 12 hour travel by bus back to Kampala), still more goodbyes to say… But on the positive side, I do have friends in the city now, so I had dinner out at a Chinese restaurant with a fellow MK in town ( I mean, in city), lunch out Sunday with my fellow students here and two other friends (French toast!!!), dinner out Sunday at the country director’s house for the NGO I worked with up in Marsabit, and yes. Many more contacts and other dinner appointments coming up in these next few days…

It’s hard to believe that in a week I will be flying back home to Europe. April is drawing to a close… the countdown has begun, and now that I have said what is for me perhaps the hardest goodbye, I almost wish everything else would just hurry up and be over with already.

But then again… I am by no means in a rush to leave, either. Especially not Kenya.

posted by Lada @ 9:06 AM 1 comments

Packing Up...

I hate packing up so much. Give me a box and I'll gladly unpack--but please, don't make me pack up!

But it's that time again and here I am, preparing to say goodbye to Marsabit. That's the problem with allowing yourself to fall in love with places; you always end up having to leave them. There is no staying when it comes to my life.

How can I possibly fit in everything that I want in these last few days? There is too much to do, too much to see; too much to be said and left unsaid.

Highlights of this time:
--spending the night in a remote desert village in a hut.
--recognising people in the middle of nowhere and having them recognise me.
--learning how to dress like they do here
--having a whole conversation in Swahili with a chief out in the desert
--spending all day eating and talking at the JeyJey Centre
--watching the elephants on a sunrise walk in the savana with a friend
--dancing
--running for shelter through the downpour in the middle of the desert
--taking someone out in a futbal game :)
--climbing trees & being a tourist attraction
--dinner out tonight (I'm anticipating it being great!)

posted by Lada @ 10:02 AM 1 comments

Please Pray!

Here are a couple posts I'm copying from one of my fellow students here who is still back in Uganda (where I will be returning in a week and a half).

April 12th, 2007 Chaos in Kampala For those of you who haven't heard the news, there were some big riots in Uganda today, all over the country in the bigger towns/cities, with the biggest being in Kampala, of course. They are rioting over a company that wants to destroy thousands of acres of natural forests to extend their sugarcane plantations, ruining several species of plants and wildlife. The debate has been going on for a long time, but today, what started out as a peaceful demonstration ended up with chaos and killings of at least three people. Here is an attached link for further reading on the story: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/6548107.stmI just wanted to assure you all that I am fine, and so is David Goodman, a fellow Go-ED student (and classmate from GC) who just returned to Kampala on Monday. We were both working in clinics in Mengo Hospital which is outside of the downtown area of Kampala, near our guest house, so we were quite removed from the downtown action. However, as I watched to footage on the news tonight, I was faced with how violent and out of control things can quickly become. Take heart, we are being cautious and staying away from any danger, but as you read, watch, and hear about these crazy events going on, I just ask that you would pray for peace in this country. There are so many bad things going on in the north with the LRA and rebels attacking innocent people, especially children, and now this political unrest in the south only stirs things up more. Pray for the people of Uganda, whether they are in a comfortable home, in a remote rural location away from the craziness, or in an IDP camp and right in the thick of the attacks. People here live in fear and unrest, and yet we are able to sleep peacefully every night, possibly only having to worry about which number to adjust our mattress tension to or whether or not to kick on the AC (or heat these days!).

April 14th, 2007
Crazy Incident with the Mengo Boys
Well, I wrote about the chaos in Kampala a couple of days ago. Little did I know how close to home that incident was. Granted, some might call me an outgoing girl, and I have made a number of connections here, but I had no idea that some of the few people I know in this gigantic city were actually in the thick of the excitement! Check out this story:Okay, so the Mengo Boys are these boys who have become dear friends to our entire group. They are a bunch of boys who are primarily orphans whose parents have died of AIDS. I will tell the story of them later, and how they came to be, what they do, who they are, etc. Just know that they are wonderful kids, very talented, and they have a brass band that performs all over to raise money for school fees for these boys. Well, they were invited to perform at what was supposed to be a "peaceful demonstration"--the one on Thursday that I wrote about. They were performing, and allegedly an Asian driver (Asians and Indians are referred to here as "Mwindi") was driving down the middle of the road. He refused to get over, and ended up hitting several of the boys, injuring two of them badly enough to send them to the hospital. The car continued and was headed straight for another little boy in the band, but a woman jumped out in front of the boy, pushed him to safety, and ended up being torn apart by the car and killed on the spot. The passenger of the car, another Mwindi, was pulled from the vehicle and stoned to death. The driver escaped from the car and took off running. It didn't take long before eye-witness boda boda drivers (the motorcycle taxi guys) chased him down, blocked him off, and also drew a mob which stoned him to death as well. This chaos was exactly what I had written about two days ago, but I had no idea at that time that my little buddies were involved so closely with it all. As they told me the story tonight, I could tell they were all so shaken and scared by the entire thing. Don't worry, they were only victims, they had nothing to do with the killings. It was only the next day, Friday morning, on my way to work at the Mengo Hospital Dental Clinic that I happened to see Robert, a little boy about 9 years old walking toward me. When I asked him what he was up to, he told me he was going to the hospital to visit the boys. Lawrence (fondly referred to as "Mzungu"), age 14, and Tony, age 12, were the two boys who were hit. Tony has a broken clavicle and Mzungu is bandaged with cuts and abrasions all over. His right arm, right ear, left hip, back, and both knees are the major injuries. It was so scary to see those boys lying in those hospital beds, lacking the sparkle and excitement I had always seen in their eyes. I couldn't stay long that time, but I have been back to visit about 3 or 4 times since, and will continue to go daily. I take them sodas (their favorite treat) and today David and I brought them balloons and bubbles from another missionary who is my surrogate mother at the guesthouse. Lynda and her husband Roger are from the US and are here to do children's ministry so she was eager to share some simple joys with these boys. It really did brighten their night when we came in with our gifts. I am happy to say that they are recovering well. Tony should be released from the hospital soon, with only a sling (they originally thought he was going to have to undergo surgery, and he was so scared this morning!). Mzungu could be in the hospital for anywhere from another week up to one month, depending on how the healing progresses. Things looked better today, though, and he actually got out of bed and walked a little! I know it wasn't my doing, and it really wasn't much, but I prayed with the boys both yesterday and today. I just prayed that the Lord would heal them and be their strength in the midst of their weakness, and also that He would take away their pain. Like I said, I know it wasn't me, but God is really working in those boys and bringing them back to "normal" much quicker than expected. Still, if you could lift up these boys in prayer, as well as the many others who were injured or killed in these incidents, I would truly appreciate it. It is so crazy to think that my good friends were involved in the middle of that crazy chaos Thursday. It is also scary to think that life can be snatched away so instantly. I am sure this experience will not ever be forgotten by these boys, but I also challenge you to remember them in thoughts and prayers, etc. Also, if there is any way you would like to help them out with hospital fees or replacing many lost and damaged instruments, let me know. I know Mzungu (the 14-year-old) will be missing exams that start on Monday. Exams here are a much bigger deal than they are in the States, and not easy to make up. He has to take them and perform well on them to continue with school, so this is not a good situation for him. Just pray for quick recovery and ability to focus.

posted by Lada @ 2:28 AM 1 comments

Marsabit Living

I suppose there may be some of you out there wondering… what exactly is that girl up to these days, anyways? It must be either quite a lot or quite dull (or both!) since she has barely written a thing!

Well, the former is true—there has been quite a bit going for me since my arrival here, and it has been an amazing experience I would not trade for anything. Finding a way to put it into words seems rather daunting just now, but I will try here to share some of this experience with you.

Marsabit town is perhaps one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen, and for all the time I have spent in Uganda these last few months, I feel most at home here. Built into a mountainside about halfway up, the town consists of two main streets made of dirt (or mud depending on the weather) and an “Old Town” and “New Town”—the latter having been built up in the last 70 years. Here Christians and Muslims live side by side, but not always in good peace.

There is a prayer war going on right now here; always the Imam of the Muslims calls out the prayers from the mosque by loudspeaker. Now, however, a converted Muslim has set up his own loudspeaker system and at the same times as the Imam, prays loud and long and follows this up with at least a good hour of blaring music. This, when awaking you at 5:30 in the morning, is not particularly appreciated. Not only is the whole town disturbed by the racket, but the Christians are divided among themselves over it. Formerly, they could tell their Islamic neighbors that the reason they do not call out their prayers in the same way is because they don’t need to shout for their God to hear them. Now, however…one of their own is doing just that—shouting. When other Christians have approached him to ask to turn it down a little, he wants to know who can tie down the Spirit? And when the police were called in… well, the entire set up is on his property, and so because the law for freedom of speech, they say they cannot do anything about it, either.

Aside from the distinction between Muslims and Christians here in this town, there are also many different tribes which make up the people living in town and the entire district of Marsabit, which is actually quite large. There are the Rendille, the Samburu (accidentally called the Meru before), the Borana, the Gabara, the Turkana, and more. These whom I have listed are all ones I have personally interacted with already. I have visited their homes; played with their children; danced with them; cooked and eaten with them; seen their workplaces; recorded some of their stories and songs and proverbs; witnessed a marriage; observed a death; taken holy communion with them; and so much more.

But these tribes do not always get along with each other, either. Here there are also ancient rivalries and new rivalries. Security is a question and it changes the way that things are done here. Instead of celebrating a wedding until midnight; all the guests leave early in order to arrive home before nightfall. When we hear shooting in the night, we are told not to fear—it is only a revenge killing somewhere and should not affect us directly.

And what of Marsabit’s appearance? I have already commented now on the rough dirt roads—all of which are strewn with garbage and plastic bags drifting about—but Marsabit is so much more than dirt and garbage. Even that dirt, though… in the town and on the whole of the mountainside it is a deep, rich red which stains your feet and sticks to your clothes and body. Once you go down into the lowlands, however, the ground is rough and rocky—an arid, volcanic terrain where death is not uncommon to those traveling about there.

Here the colours are vivid and everything is extreme. Textures and colours both run together which you would not expect—here a satin skirt combined with a worn woolen jumper; there yellow painted on a backdrop of turquoise. Women in town dress in scarves and long flowing dresses, and those women who wear modern business suits still wear a head covering as well as a scarf draped around their shoulders. Outside of town, they wear beautiful beaded necklaces and, if married, headpieces, and all wear colourful skirts. Men; they may wear a modern business suit or wear a long tunic and Turkish hat or wear a man-skirt and have ochre in their hair. Those wearing a suit may even still walk around with a spear; those in a man-skirt may ride in a truck.

Goats, sheep, and children with huge eyes and quick smiles rule the streets. Often a herd of cattle will be moved slowly along with whips, or donkeys trod past you weighted down by large jugs of water their owner spent all day at the well to collect. As they say here, Marsabit has everything—everything except water. That is a constant shortage, and the people work to make themselves hard to thirst, as it lurks about as a constant companion.

Flamboyant, hibiscus, bougainvillea, papaya, mango, lemon, and so many other trees shade the town; as you go further down the mountainside they thin out and you come to see only cheebi cheebi trees and further still when you see only bleached dirt and black rock all the way to the horizon.

I love this place and these people with every day and moment I come to know them more.

There is something here which lacks in so many other places, something about community and fellowship. Here no one has ever conceived the idea of not knowing your neighbor; the thought remains unfathomable to them. I love walking down the streets and greeting everyone along the way. Habari! I might say in general greeting, shaking hands, raising eyebrows, tilting my chin or smiling from afar. At the death of the wife of a community member, the entire town comes to sit with the bereaved family for three days. Muslim or Christian—it does not matter which; you have a responsibility to one another, whether you be neighbors, friends, or the most distant of relatives.

Here I have acquired several names and titles. Where in most areas we have traveled thus far, our title has been “Mzungu! Mzungu,” here we are called “How Are You!” by the children of the town. They do not know it is actually a greeting; to them, it just means “white person.” As we traipse about the streets, the children take up a chant of “how are you! How are you! How are you!” and carry it the entire time we are within eyesight, with children on down the way picking it up like the Olympic torch and carrying it along. Please note, though, that “how are you” is pronounced like “How Aaaaa Yew!” and shrieked out at a very high pitch as an exclamation and not at all like a question.

Living here does, of course, have its negative aspects, such as my personal collection of fleas which I now carry about with me… or the fact that we eat so much here our gut simply hurts though the food itself tastes delicious… or the fact that we are not clean and begin already to wonder just what that must feel like?

But those things are nothing, really, to the overall experience of this place. Sure, I would not trade any of this for anything. Well, maybe the fleas, but… In all seriousness, I find myself so completely at home and content among these people and within this community. Not only that, but I love the family that I am staying with so much. Mama Stevens is such a vivacious, caring woman who never stops bustling around and fussing over you, and Baba is such a gentlemanly man—something of a king with his great wisdom and his great love for his family and his people and even strangers such as myself. He prayed over us and blessed us and adopted us into his family as his children; Mama introduces us as her daughters whenever we go about and meet new people. They have seven children of their own, most of whom are also married and some of whom have their own children, and they have already become like brothers and sisters to me.

Just the other day as the four of us “how are you’s” were walking back home, this one man about our own age fell into pace along side us. “Eeey!” He exclaimed. “Aaaa yew in de rong place? (are you in the wrong place) We just laughed and said no, not at all! And it is true. We are indeed not at all in the wrong place—in fact, I know for myself I couldn’t be in a more perfect place than where I am today; living, working, and learning in Marsabit.

posted by Lada @ 3:11 AM 2 comments

I Danced with the Meru...

posted by Lada @ 3:47 PM 1 comments