Here in Africa, they say, “Hurry hurry gets you no blessing.”
They must have had the postal service in mind.
There are girls whose packages were sent as they were leaving on their six-month term and after they went home, still no mail. Of course, there are the people who get their package just in the knick of time to pack it up and take it home. Let me not forget those packages that had gotten sucked up into a black hole, never to be heard from again.
My packages did arrive, only two to three months after they were sent. Of course, those ugly little clashes didn’t expedite the delivery. But it was exciting to see the first manila envelope waiting for me. I had saved it because it was right before Christmas, so I didn’t open it until my house celebrated. I remembered being excited as I pulled out food of all sorts (since people love me and read my blog), especially chocolate. But I saw how some chocolate got on everything in the bag. I kept pulling more things out until my friend pointed out that the corner of the bag was ripped. Alas, it wasn’t ripped. Some rat had gnawed at the bag and ate some of the chocolate in it! We took pictures of the “evidence” so people would believe us. It was a real laugh!
So imagine how funny it was when the next package came in and had similar holes and teeth marks. But the next two?? I’m not sure if it was the Kenyan side or NJ side, but every package I got, a rat had eaten a corner off and helped itself to whatever rested there.
Welcome to missionary life.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Where?
SIM allows some days away from work where you can check out other ministries. So I used the opportunity to see another HIV/AIDS ministry across town. I was going to meet the missionary I would be staying with downtown at the Hilton Hotel. (Yes, they’re everywhere.) I knew that a couple buses went into town, but I wasn’t sure if it would pass the hotel. So I hailed a bus down, and as I was getting on, I asked the conductor in my Jersey accent, “Does this go to the Hilton?”
“What?” the man replied.
I remembered that we swallow our ‘t’s, so I said again, “Does this go to the Hilton?” this time stressing the ‘t’.
He still looked confused. “Where?”
Finally someone overhearing our conversation chimed in and said to the conductor, “The Heel-Ton.”
“Oh, the Heel-Ton. Yeah, this goes to the Heel-Ton.”
I would like to thank America for teaching me to not pronounce ‘t’s, and to Kenya for being completely phonetic and pronounce the ‘i’ as “ee”, even on an American word.
“What?” the man replied.
I remembered that we swallow our ‘t’s, so I said again, “Does this go to the Hilton?” this time stressing the ‘t’.
He still looked confused. “Where?”
Finally someone overhearing our conversation chimed in and said to the conductor, “The Heel-Ton.”
“Oh, the Heel-Ton. Yeah, this goes to the Heel-Ton.”
I would like to thank America for teaching me to not pronounce ‘t’s, and to Kenya for being completely phonetic and pronounce the ‘i’ as “ee”, even on an American word.
Keeping Their Seats
Upon arrival in Kenya, you are obviously noticed. You’re white, and everyone (for miles) sees it. Children run to get their friends to come look at the mzungu. You are invited to people’s houses on the basis of your skin, you are given the best of food, drink, transport. In fact, one time, my white friend and I were trying to leave work and it was getting late, so we were going to take transport home. A matatu (taxi van) came around the bend to stop to let a passenger out. The conductor saw us, called to the two passengers in the front, and they got out of the vehicle. The conductor told the two men to get out at the stop because we were white and he wanted to give us a ride.
I heard about the mzungu influence before I came to Africa, and the idea really bothered me. It bothered me even more once I got here, let me tell you! My first week of work clearly showed the influence. I was invited to the HIV support group where five or so people plus staff gathered in our tailoring room. Worktables and wooden benches cluttered the area. When I went in to the room, a woman got up from one of the few plastic chairs for me to sit there. A woman, who was a client, a woman, who was HIV positive, a woman, who was older, moved for me. The mzungu factor.
I told a couple long-term missionaries about this, and kept telling them, “I wish they wouldn’t move for me.” I was given hope that with time, the people I worked with and for would not see me as white, but as Melissa. Or at the very least, as white Melissa.
Some time passed, and by and by, chances occurred where people could have given me the best in sacrifice. The chances came and went. Eventually, people would make room for me not on the plastic chair, but on the wooden bench.
And I was happy to report to the missionaries that they kept their seats.
I heard about the mzungu influence before I came to Africa, and the idea really bothered me. It bothered me even more once I got here, let me tell you! My first week of work clearly showed the influence. I was invited to the HIV support group where five or so people plus staff gathered in our tailoring room. Worktables and wooden benches cluttered the area. When I went in to the room, a woman got up from one of the few plastic chairs for me to sit there. A woman, who was a client, a woman, who was HIV positive, a woman, who was older, moved for me. The mzungu factor.
I told a couple long-term missionaries about this, and kept telling them, “I wish they wouldn’t move for me.” I was given hope that with time, the people I worked with and for would not see me as white, but as Melissa. Or at the very least, as white Melissa.
Some time passed, and by and by, chances occurred where people could have given me the best in sacrifice. The chances came and went. Eventually, people would make room for me not on the plastic chair, but on the wooden bench.
And I was happy to report to the missionaries that they kept their seats.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Missing Kenya
In 8 weeks I’ll be home, and I am scared as anything to leave this place. I keep asking people who already have gone home what they miss most about Kenya. Why is it so special? It makes me think, too. So here’s my list of things I presume I’ll miss, certainly not exhaustive.
1) Prayer. Not like no one in America prays, but they pray different here. A leader will say, “Okay, now we’ll pray about our families,” and everyone prays at the same time, at normal level of talking, or singing, or shouting, and we’ll pray and pray and pray. Then the leader will say one culminating prayer, then say, “Let’s go to God in prayer about our country,” and it goes on from there. It doesn’t happen everywhere here, but when it does, it’s usually spontaneous leading out of singing. Oh, and I’ll just include singing here.
2) Women with head wraps and in skirts. Nothing says “Mama Africa” like a head wrap. These usually colorful cloths range from an old wrap to elegant and LARGE. Along in this category is women carrying huge loads on their heads or on their backs with a strap across their forehead.
3) Matatus. No, really, I’ll miss these public commercial vans that are pimped out. The fares can vary, the safety can vary, and the number of people it holds vary (what is supposed to be 14 people with seatbelts for all can go as high as 20). But they have a soft spot in my heart.
4) Shaking hands. So when I get home, if I shake your hand, don’t think I’m being proper. And if I continue to shake your hand for over a minute while I ask about your family, please don’t be creeped out.
5) Markets. Mostly fruit markets. It’s really a beautiful thing to see a shack with bananas, apples, avocados, and a myriad of fruit to create a rainbow of colors. Oh, and the fruit here is so much better. Something with it not being shot up with preservatives and packed on ice. Oh, and that goes for all food. Not many packaged foods here, so you actually get real nutrients from food. Imagine.
6) Keys. They have cool skeleton key looking keys here. I’ll miss them so.
7) Coke. It’s better here. Add also my favorite Kenyan food.
8) Being able to buy something under a dollar.
9) How everything is fluid. It’s not black-and-white here. You bargain for food, clothes, fare, anything. And there’s no spatial concept here, so you have no personal space, which means that neither do they. People come up with innovative solutions to problems like busted walls, hot pans on an open range, leaking roofs, and storing 10 lbs of stuff in a 5 lb bag. It’s cool to be around, unless you end up with someone practically sitting on top of you when all you want to do is breathe.
10) Compliments. It’s customary to say something nice about visitors, guests, or anyone who is in the light for a certain reason. It has given me a big ego that I expect my friends and family to maintain when I return.
11) Youth active in the church.
12) Looking out for monkeys, chameleons, geckos, antelope, and zebra.
13) Warm weather. Really. Us Bergs are allergic to the cold. I hate it with a passion.
14) Kenyan humor. They really enjoy plays on words here. Which makes me smile, and laugh genuinely.
15) How it’s perfectly normal and acceptable for people to hop in your vehicle just because you’re going in the same direction.
I’m not gone yet, so let me get on with enjoying Kenya while I can!
1) Prayer. Not like no one in America prays, but they pray different here. A leader will say, “Okay, now we’ll pray about our families,” and everyone prays at the same time, at normal level of talking, or singing, or shouting, and we’ll pray and pray and pray. Then the leader will say one culminating prayer, then say, “Let’s go to God in prayer about our country,” and it goes on from there. It doesn’t happen everywhere here, but when it does, it’s usually spontaneous leading out of singing. Oh, and I’ll just include singing here.
2) Women with head wraps and in skirts. Nothing says “Mama Africa” like a head wrap. These usually colorful cloths range from an old wrap to elegant and LARGE. Along in this category is women carrying huge loads on their heads or on their backs with a strap across their forehead.
3) Matatus. No, really, I’ll miss these public commercial vans that are pimped out. The fares can vary, the safety can vary, and the number of people it holds vary (what is supposed to be 14 people with seatbelts for all can go as high as 20). But they have a soft spot in my heart.
4) Shaking hands. So when I get home, if I shake your hand, don’t think I’m being proper. And if I continue to shake your hand for over a minute while I ask about your family, please don’t be creeped out.
5) Markets. Mostly fruit markets. It’s really a beautiful thing to see a shack with bananas, apples, avocados, and a myriad of fruit to create a rainbow of colors. Oh, and the fruit here is so much better. Something with it not being shot up with preservatives and packed on ice. Oh, and that goes for all food. Not many packaged foods here, so you actually get real nutrients from food. Imagine.
6) Keys. They have cool skeleton key looking keys here. I’ll miss them so.
7) Coke. It’s better here. Add also my favorite Kenyan food.
8) Being able to buy something under a dollar.
9) How everything is fluid. It’s not black-and-white here. You bargain for food, clothes, fare, anything. And there’s no spatial concept here, so you have no personal space, which means that neither do they. People come up with innovative solutions to problems like busted walls, hot pans on an open range, leaking roofs, and storing 10 lbs of stuff in a 5 lb bag. It’s cool to be around, unless you end up with someone practically sitting on top of you when all you want to do is breathe.
10) Compliments. It’s customary to say something nice about visitors, guests, or anyone who is in the light for a certain reason. It has given me a big ego that I expect my friends and family to maintain when I return.
11) Youth active in the church.
12) Looking out for monkeys, chameleons, geckos, antelope, and zebra.
13) Warm weather. Really. Us Bergs are allergic to the cold. I hate it with a passion.
14) Kenyan humor. They really enjoy plays on words here. Which makes me smile, and laugh genuinely.
15) How it’s perfectly normal and acceptable for people to hop in your vehicle just because you’re going in the same direction.
I’m not gone yet, so let me get on with enjoying Kenya while I can!
Grace
The Kiswahili word for “pray” also means “beg.”
I had a rough week. It was full of doubt in my work, feeling useless, and that I have once again let God down. And this past week especially, I have seen how I’ve fallen.
I believe it’s all Rob’s fault. While he was here, he prayed with every person, encouraged the clients, and even was about to lead a man he met at a market to Christ. Now, in his 11 days, he clearly explained the gospel to one person, and touched others’ lives. In my 9 months, was I so bold? Did I see the Gospel as the one thing that I needed to tell people? This is increasingly easy to feel, by the way, when you are a missionary.
I guess where Rob excels is where I fall short. I often shrink back from the opportunity to share with people, to pray with people, to read some Bible to people. It made me evaluate who I am, and where my passion has gone. I was reading over my prayers before I came to Kenya and the first months I was here, and they were filled with amazement of God’s grace, humility in every area of my life, and passion for my work here.
I began fighting myself. Why couldn’t I be as excited as Rob? I know all the cliché stuff to say. But they didn’t impassion me. And as my heart felt crushed under my new revelation of myself, I decided to write again in my prayer journal, wanting to know what I was missing. The page had the verse 2 Corinthians 9:8: “God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all you need, you will abound in every good work.”
I thought, “That’s it! My good work is out of, or because of, grace abounding in me.” So there was what I had lacked. I lacked humility, I lacked forgiveness (my own infliction, I’m sure), and I lacked grace.
I needed grace.
So like Jacob wrestled God for his blessing and would not let go until he received it, so also I decided to wrestle God until I received my grace. I decided to be in prayer when I should have been eating, and to mourn over my pride, strength, and everything else that had been keeping me from God and from doing His work. I told God my plan to not let go until He gave me grace.
I prayed that He would do it for His name. I told God that He would be glorified through working through me. I said that He should bring me down, and make me humble, and that He should through that lift me up. It would be in His interest to do it for me, I told Him. Still, nothing.
Then, as I prayed to God, I felt that I exhausted new words to tell Him. I still was quite adamant about holding onto God until He gave me grace. I meant it, too. I would not falter. It made me think more about why I wanted His grace. Why was it so important to me? While I could explain to God why it would be to His benefit, I had yet to consider why it would be mine. It seems like a simple “duh” moment, but I tell you, I cried to God about how His grace is my life, about how if I didn’t have His grace, I wouldn’t be able to work, I wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed. His grace was my bread. He had to give it to me for my sake. At that point, I was begging for my life in a very real sense (those who ever dealt with depression or true remorse know what I mean). It was a feeling I haven’t had for a while, to not see God as a Master I needed to please, but to see Him again as my Savior.
An hour later, we were gathered for dinner over a friend’s house, and the father of the house read a devotion about grace. I received my grace. And now I stand in it, feeling the weight off my shoulders and ready for work with a renewed strength.
I had a rough week. It was full of doubt in my work, feeling useless, and that I have once again let God down. And this past week especially, I have seen how I’ve fallen.
I believe it’s all Rob’s fault. While he was here, he prayed with every person, encouraged the clients, and even was about to lead a man he met at a market to Christ. Now, in his 11 days, he clearly explained the gospel to one person, and touched others’ lives. In my 9 months, was I so bold? Did I see the Gospel as the one thing that I needed to tell people? This is increasingly easy to feel, by the way, when you are a missionary.
I guess where Rob excels is where I fall short. I often shrink back from the opportunity to share with people, to pray with people, to read some Bible to people. It made me evaluate who I am, and where my passion has gone. I was reading over my prayers before I came to Kenya and the first months I was here, and they were filled with amazement of God’s grace, humility in every area of my life, and passion for my work here.
I began fighting myself. Why couldn’t I be as excited as Rob? I know all the cliché stuff to say. But they didn’t impassion me. And as my heart felt crushed under my new revelation of myself, I decided to write again in my prayer journal, wanting to know what I was missing. The page had the verse 2 Corinthians 9:8: “God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all you need, you will abound in every good work.”
I thought, “That’s it! My good work is out of, or because of, grace abounding in me.” So there was what I had lacked. I lacked humility, I lacked forgiveness (my own infliction, I’m sure), and I lacked grace.
I needed grace.
So like Jacob wrestled God for his blessing and would not let go until he received it, so also I decided to wrestle God until I received my grace. I decided to be in prayer when I should have been eating, and to mourn over my pride, strength, and everything else that had been keeping me from God and from doing His work. I told God my plan to not let go until He gave me grace.
I prayed that He would do it for His name. I told God that He would be glorified through working through me. I said that He should bring me down, and make me humble, and that He should through that lift me up. It would be in His interest to do it for me, I told Him. Still, nothing.
Then, as I prayed to God, I felt that I exhausted new words to tell Him. I still was quite adamant about holding onto God until He gave me grace. I meant it, too. I would not falter. It made me think more about why I wanted His grace. Why was it so important to me? While I could explain to God why it would be to His benefit, I had yet to consider why it would be mine. It seems like a simple “duh” moment, but I tell you, I cried to God about how His grace is my life, about how if I didn’t have His grace, I wouldn’t be able to work, I wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed. His grace was my bread. He had to give it to me for my sake. At that point, I was begging for my life in a very real sense (those who ever dealt with depression or true remorse know what I mean). It was a feeling I haven’t had for a while, to not see God as a Master I needed to please, but to see Him again as my Savior.
An hour later, we were gathered for dinner over a friend’s house, and the father of the house read a devotion about grace. I received my grace. And now I stand in it, feeling the weight off my shoulders and ready for work with a renewed strength.
Everything Went Wrong
This is the official update of the “Rob Time”.
It was absolutely great to have him here. I felt like a school girl when I first saw him in the airport before he saw me. Imagine, the first time I see him in 9 months. I found myself saying, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh.” That night, instead of conking out in an hour, we stayed up until 1 am, a full 3 hours after being in the house, the longest that I have known anyone to stay up after that flight.
While in Nairobi, he stayed in the townhouse next to me, and when we were in Kijabe I booked him a room in the motel a few doors from me. We were at Kijabe for four days, and worked three of those days. The rest of the time, I took him around Nairobi, including visiting Kibera twice.
He was fantastic! He jumped right in with everyone, whether it was my friends in Nairobi, or my work at Kijabe. He loved my surrogate brother Nathan who lives on the Nairobi compound, and loved Arthur, Rob’s self-appointed brother and my best friend in Kenya. Everyone liked him and he liked everyone, much to my pleasure.
But he didn’t like everything I wanted to show him. Well, he didn’t not like it, but he wasn’t impressed with it. He didn’t like the running course I told him to run and tried his own. An hour later, I got a call from him after he borrowed someone’s phone, and had to track him down with the vague descriptions I received. I ended up running with him, which I’m sure was always his dream, when it started downpouring on the walk home. (Thanks, Bwana, for the shoes.) I tried taking him to the Arboretum, which is a fancy park with monkeys all around. So I said, great, I’ll take him there! But apparently, if you want to actually see the monkeys, they hide. Not one monkey. I even tried to take him (and 7 other people) to the Nairobi Game Park for a one-day safari. The park has every big animal except the elephant. So I thought, great! But because of some confusion with the taxi, we ended up going nowhere at 6:15 am. Praise the Lord, even this he took in stride. Me, however, I was a wreck. So, all my plans turned up bad or messed up half the time. But that’s life, especially mine.
All in all, I was inspired by him here. I can’t wait to actually marry him when I get back. He’s an easy man to love. It even took some of the sting out when he said, “I’ll see you in 9 weeks!”
1 week down, Darling.
It was absolutely great to have him here. I felt like a school girl when I first saw him in the airport before he saw me. Imagine, the first time I see him in 9 months. I found myself saying, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh.” That night, instead of conking out in an hour, we stayed up until 1 am, a full 3 hours after being in the house, the longest that I have known anyone to stay up after that flight.
While in Nairobi, he stayed in the townhouse next to me, and when we were in Kijabe I booked him a room in the motel a few doors from me. We were at Kijabe for four days, and worked three of those days. The rest of the time, I took him around Nairobi, including visiting Kibera twice.
He was fantastic! He jumped right in with everyone, whether it was my friends in Nairobi, or my work at Kijabe. He loved my surrogate brother Nathan who lives on the Nairobi compound, and loved Arthur, Rob’s self-appointed brother and my best friend in Kenya. Everyone liked him and he liked everyone, much to my pleasure.
But he didn’t like everything I wanted to show him. Well, he didn’t not like it, but he wasn’t impressed with it. He didn’t like the running course I told him to run and tried his own. An hour later, I got a call from him after he borrowed someone’s phone, and had to track him down with the vague descriptions I received. I ended up running with him, which I’m sure was always his dream, when it started downpouring on the walk home. (Thanks, Bwana, for the shoes.) I tried taking him to the Arboretum, which is a fancy park with monkeys all around. So I said, great, I’ll take him there! But apparently, if you want to actually see the monkeys, they hide. Not one monkey. I even tried to take him (and 7 other people) to the Nairobi Game Park for a one-day safari. The park has every big animal except the elephant. So I thought, great! But because of some confusion with the taxi, we ended up going nowhere at 6:15 am. Praise the Lord, even this he took in stride. Me, however, I was a wreck. So, all my plans turned up bad or messed up half the time. But that’s life, especially mine.
All in all, I was inspired by him here. I can’t wait to actually marry him when I get back. He’s an easy man to love. It even took some of the sting out when he said, “I’ll see you in 9 weeks!”
1 week down, Darling.
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