Kijabe AIDSRelief Project

I found this link for a video about AIDSRelief that I was involved in the last three months in Kenya. It's maybe 10 minutes...enjoy!
http://www.streamakaci.com/ondemand/msdidea/Kijabe_Hospital.asx
Beware, you need Windows Media Player. Okay, to tell you the truth, I didn't try another one. Just let me know if it doesn't work and I"ll email it to you if you want.

Home Again Home Again

I broke my toe about two hours before I left. My little pinky toe. Just hooked it on my suitcase and Voila! broken toe. So the trip home was interesting, though not as painful as I expected, praise the Lord. SIM treated me well as I stayed there for a day. And it was surprising for me when I remembered I don't need to grab toilet paper on my way out because here, they all have toilet paper in the bathrooms.
Since I arrived in NJ yesterday, it's been good to see my family again. I got to meet my huge nephew and see my two little nieces now so big! But the thing about these past two days is that outside of the changes in the kids, everything feels the same, normal. It's not some crazy shock, and I'm not slipping into life perfectly here yet, but still, in a way, it's like I've never been gone.
This has me nervous because I think that in the next month it will set in just how much has changed, and this "normalcy" will only accentuate that.
Until that time, I'm going to sip coffee, sing songs, play with kids, and enjoy everyone like not a day has passed.
Thanks for your prayers, everyone! Come back to see how my adjustment is going in returning home.
Ps 84:10 says, "A day in your courts [in your will, where you want me] is better than a thousand outside [going where I want, staying where I want]."

One Week

I have one week until departure.
I'm buying my souvenirs, I'm getting business finished, I'm saying goodbye.
Then next Monday I leave.
My itinerary is as follows.
Monday-- Depart Kenya, 11pm
Tuesday- Arrive NC, SIM-USA 10pm
Wed'day- SIM debrief, Depart NC 5pm, arrive Philly 11:30 pm
Thursday Arrive NJ around 1am.
I know, it's pretty late for a ticker tape parade, but maybe we can just have it on Sunday. See you there!

June

It's June, everyone. June 2008. Do you know what happens in June? I finish my term; I leave Africa; I come home.
June.
June...

Tiny

My best friend for the past year has been a Kenyan man who lives in the slum. He makes in a month what I spend on dinner out. He has scars on his body from pangas; I’ve never been in a fight. He speaks three languages, and interprets for me, Miss Monolingual. But he is my best friend. Despite the differences, we’re tighter than brothers. Our favorite verse that we tell each other is Proverbs 17:17, “A friend loves at all times, but a brother was born for adversity.” And most of the time, he is kind enough to let me believe that we are the same. I can easily forget that I’m white, that I’m rich, that I’m more educated. Though this is one of the parts I treasure most about our relationship, it’s a sham. I am different from him. Every now and then, I get a glimpse of it.
Due to careful handling, it’s only happened two or three times before. But the biggest kick was just a few weeks ago, and I stepped right into it.
We were talking about what it would be like if he came to visit me in America. I told him I’d set him up and take care of his room and board. I laughed as I remembered what my budget will be when I get back and said, “In my tiny apartment.” And then it happened. The veil lifted and we were divided.
He said, “You mean as small as mine?” It was an innocent question, I’m sure of it. Still, it hit me like a brick wall. His house is as big as most of your living rooms. It is probably as big as my “tiny” apartment’s living room will be. There’s no carpet, there’s no light, TV, or computer. He doesn’t have a separate room to sleep or cook in. He doesn’t even have a toilet to call his own.
And I said, “Tiny apartment.”
A big question for people going back to the States after an extensive stay in a third world country is whether their values will change. Will they still see the same things as “necessary?” I’m not even home yet and I’m saying things like this. What an eye-opener.
“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?” (Matthew 6:25)
“Ndiyo maana nawaamieni, msiwe na wasiwasi juu ya chakula na kinywaji mnavyohitaji ili kuishi, wala juu ya mavazi mnayohitaji kwa ajili ya miili yenu. Je, maisha ni chakula tu au zaidi? Na mwili, je, si zaidi ya mavazi?” (Mathayo 6:25)

Again and Forever

Let's imagine (as I'm in the habit of doing) that Heaven is real. It's a real place, and one day it will really exist in the physical form and will never die away. All inhabitants of it will never die away, and they will be in perfect harmony together.
Imagine that everyone who loves God on earth will go to this place.
This is my solace and my hope while preparing to leave here. I have three weekends left on this continent and there are so many people that I want to spend all my time with. Since this is impossible, chances are, I'll see most people only a few more times before going. And chances are, they will be the last.
I really don't like relationships because they constantly need to come to an end. But if Heaven is real, if everyone who loves God on earth will love Him forever in a place, then it need not be the end. That means that I may say goodbye to Ebby here, but I'll be able to ask her about her baby one day when all is finished. That means that I'll see how many lives Hyda touched here on earth, or that I'll be able to talk to Genesis all day every day for 10,000 years. What is the biggest joy, which also will produce the biggest pain for now, is that I'll see Arthur again. I trusted my life to him (truly was that tested in January) and he has become closer than a brother to me. If we don't get the chance to see each other here again (something I will actively fight against) it's okay. Because Heaven is real. Eternity is real. And one day, I'll see my brethren there, gathered around the throne, and we will talk endlessly and there will be no more goodbyes.
Hallelujah.

One time I split my thumb

One time I split my thumb open. Right at the top, where it opens again every time you move it. I busted it while carrying a bucket of chai into the church and ran into the doorway. I cut it on the iron sheet. Clean cut, too.
No, I did not cry, despite what Hyda will tell you.

Hillary or Obama?

I’m not making an opinion on the guy or not, but every Kenyan asks me about Obama. Since June 25, I get asked all the time if I’m voting for Obama or Hillary. It’s big news over here, a half-Kenyan with a shot for the President’s seat. They think that if he takes office, suddenly Kenya will be taken care of and the US and Kenya will be tight like brothers. I try to tell them that Obama hasn’t mentioned anything about taking care of his father’s country but in vain. I don’t mention the fact that Obama probably doesn’t have particularly strong ties to anything related to the father who abandoned him, but I do tell them that I’m voting for Obama…the time when McCain ain’t running.
McCain 2008. ;-)

Friday Nights Out

What does a young missionary girl do on a Friday night? The hottest thing around: she does her food shopping.
Every Friday night, my housemates and I went food shopping at a nearby supermarket which had a plaza you could eat at, too. So this was our big plan. And remember, we looked forward to this.
Since curfew was at 6 at night the rule was that you couldn’t be out or on public transportation after 6. Being in a well known place like Prestige Plaza is okay because it’s a public place and you’re inside, so long as you don’t walk home but take a taxi instead. So we would time our walk to get us to Prestige precisely at six. Then we’d take our time and get dinner. It’s never good to go food shopping on an empty stomach, you know. After dinner, we’d go downstairs to the supermarket and do our shopping for the week. We’d get a taxi home for a small amount, and have our faces pressed to the window to see Nairobi in the dark, a sight seldom seen. Finally, we’d pull into our compound and relish the fact that we’ve been out late. Late being 8:00 pm.
Honestly, we considered this the highlight of our week. Take pity.

Cleaning the Building

One of my fondest memories in Kenya is when my project in Kibera cleaned up before we moved into our new building. It still had a lot of work to be done, but with all the dusty mess, the workers couldn’t see what needed to be repaired or filled in. So the project got its youth members to come and clean the building one Saturday. We rolled up our trousers and began sweeping out all the rooms. This created a cloud of dust from the whole place, I tell you. After minor asthmatic attacks, we resumed our work. The real fun (and what a sight) is when they began washing the floors. Their method was to shake detergent powder all over the floor of one room, then pour water from the jugs they kept retrieving on top, and take the local broom, which looks like bundles of twigs, and mix it all up. It made so many suds that you just had to take your shoes off because soap bubbles were everywhere. Then each room poured out into the hallways, and from the hallways, the soap streamed onto the porches and into the ditches outside used for water removal. It was pouring out of every cavity, wave after wave. All the houses were out, taking their first look at their new neighbors, pushing and playing in a massive amount of suds! It may not have given them the best first impression of us, but it gave me a great first impression of the building.

Burning Boat

Of course there’s a burning boat in the middle of the road.
Of course the reason why we can’t get our bus back to Nairobi is because it can’t even get out of Busia because of the FLAMING BOAT the size of a small van.
It’s January 1, 2008, and I am in Busia, tired and hopeless, looking at this boat barrier, and waiting to hear the verdict on how much more I’ll have to pay for a taxi to take me out of here.
It’s here when Adam takes out his camera for a picture. I tell him to be careful, and he slyly takes it out, keeps the camera at his side, and snaps a photo. He doesn’t pause to check if the picture is good, but quickly returns it to his backpack. Within 20 minutes, it’s gone from his bag and our last chance at bringing home any tangible memories is gone with it.
So instead of uploading a picture of this, you’ll just have to close your eyes and imagine the flames.

Packages and Teeth

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

The Eagle Has Landed

Operation Fiance is in effect.
Rob arrived last night, and by the time we got back to the compound it was 10 pm. But he came intact, still with energy (surely from seeing me), and with his luggage. He just spent one whole day in Nairobi, and is now asleep again.
And me, I'm just about to be the same way.
Lala salama. Good night.

So I went to Maasai land

On my community work, I went out to "Maasai Land." I have to tell you, it's a good thing I don't get paid for this or I'd feel guilty. The Maasai are the warriors who kill lions for their initiation. They have the big beaded jewelry, own lots of land, and have claim on one of the game parks for safaris. So we're in a double cab truck and I look outside my window to see the goats running out of our way, when alas, they aren't goats running--they're antelope. So I get happy as can be and cry out, "Antelope!" They (all being Kenyan) laugh and one says, "And you see there--giraffes." So I lunge to the other side of the car, squint as much as possible, and verily there are giraffes jutting out of the horizon. Five, maybe six of them. And I am in awe.
I love my work.

1 Week, 26 Emails, and 11 Days

I have been at Kijabe (kee-jo-bee) for 1 week. I unpacked, taken a self-guided tour of the area and the hospital, ate at 3 people's homes, and became productive in the clinic here. It's hard for me to dive into something. I'm generally outgoing unless I don't feel comfortable. This is definately a case where I don't feel comfortable! I don't know where I am, where I fit, who I can talk to. But I made up my mind to be more outgoing right at the bat. I think that the approach, although out of my comfort zone, has helped me, along with the invaluable help of the Letchfords and Jane at work. They have taught me the workings of the area and the clinic, respectively. God is good, and after one week, I feel comfortable here. Of course, the next two weeks will be more testing while I begin going out into the community. So don't let the prayers stop now!
I told you that I wasn't sure about my internet access. Finally, on Sunday night, I get on. Waiting in my inbox is 26 messages!! I don't know whether to be overwhelmed or encouraged! Please, keep them coming, though I'm not sure how much energy I'll have to get on after my field work starts.
It's funny how I'll still be in training when Rob comes to work with me here. It will be my first week of being outside the clinics and in people's homes. So we'll learn together, which is not how I imagined it would be when he comes out, but God in His infinite humor, made it this way. Imagine, just 11 days until his arrival, and I still have to find him a bed to stay in at Kijabe...
Thanks for all your prayers, and I will try to keep you posted as I learn what my role will be here. No doubt, it will hold new challenges than my work in Kibera. I want to stay strong and persevere in them because I am sure this is where I'm supposed to be.
"Whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul."