Hello friends, I haven’t posted in awhile. It has been a real treat having my sister, Mike, and
Mikaela here for the past couple of weeks. We enjoyed as much as we could of Africa together.
For the last few days we went to a luxury safari resort in Kenya called,
‘Kichwa Tembo’. It is located in the
Masai Mara which is an hour’s plane ride from Nairobi, which we took in a small and remarkably well used
aircraft. I've never been in a plane that leaked before but on the way out when rainwater started coming through the seal above us and drip down the back of the neck of the man in front of me I think most of us had concerns about the integrity of the aircraft. There's seems to be a general understanding that an airplane starts it's career in the west, goes to Russia, then China, and spends it's retirement in Africa.
At the camp one night, after supper, we witnessed the most triumphant dancing guitar strumming band emerge from the kitchen. They were celebrating the anniversary of a missionary couple who were also staying here. When we asked one of the waiters who was in the singing troop what they were singing he stated proudly that it was a song from his tribe the ‘Lou’ people. We asked again what the song was about and he said it is a very famous song which says, 'the world is not good'. Not sure if it ties into the anniversary theme but otherwise, enough said.
To call this a 'camp' is to stretch the word beyond its range but I think we're inclined to use it because it gives us the feeling that in some way we are enduring hardship in order to have access to this remote paradise. It preserves our need to feel that in some way we have worked for this vista and earned the distinguished status of being adventurers. I have not stayed in a nicer bed or tasted better food in all of my days.
The life of Africans has an eclipsing effect on the status of my own problems. I often feel like I am made of same stuff as toys from China in comparison to the cast iron reinforced concrete that is the African people. I have a Masai warrior with a flashlight and a bow and arrow who suddenly appears out of the darkness to walk me back to my 'tent' each night lest I twist my ankle on the beautifully crafted walkway or encounter a monkey along the way. He finds words unnecessary, his sense of purpose is focused and zoomed, he has probably been eyeball to eyeball with a lion. He must protect the vulnerable mzungus at all costs. The staff here are mostly Masai people. They have a tremendous ability to anticipate our every need. Even thinking about something seems to bring it to life around here. Last night after being chaperoned back to my luxury tent I was slipping into my high thread count Egyptian cotton sheeted bed when my bare foot touched something warm and body-like. I shrieked and jerked my leg out from under the covers with such force I pulled a muscle in my neck, this after a day of nothing but the warm sun and quiet wind on the open expanse of the Masai Mara. Instantly I realized it was a hot water bottle inserted into my bed by my tent staff, Stanley, to help create a womblike state for sleeping. The first thought that crystallized was the most earnest hope that the Masai warrior didn't clue in that I was another mzungu barely able to cope amidst extreme comfort. In my own defense, our safari guide led us to lions, giraffes, mongeese, hyenas, elephants, hippos, zebras, a rhino, monkeys, baboons, and a crocodile that day and a wort hog resided just outside the tent so perhaps I was a little more on edge than I realized.
I am now back at my home away from home, the guesthouse,
here in Jinja. It is resoundingly clear that
I am no longer staying in a five star safari resort. For instance, when the water heater is on and
you turn on the water in the shower the steel knob conducts electricity so that
you get enough shock to awaken you at a very deep level. Actually today my right middle finger is still
twitching from last night’s skirmish with the electrical current. Today I’m changing rooms and I’ve signaled a
safety alert.
This morning I’m eating my breakfast to the familiar sound
of roosters and a very loud, and terribly acted, African soap opera showing on the TV. Much to Gerrard’s (kitchen staff) dismay, in
order to concentrate and wake up in some semblance of calmness, I turned the
volume down on the soap opera. Every
once in a while I’d catch him watching the show longing for some volume. Eventually, I moved outside to help put
Gerrard out of his torment. It is great
to be back amidst the rich dramatic life of the guesthouse staff. The loathed ‘morning meetings’, the analysis
of management style, the disputes over workloads, I’ve missed so much. I pick up what I can but keep in mind I’m trying
to piece together shards of lugandan mixed with English not to mention I’ve got
to strain to catch the hushed tones as I quietly eat my scrambled eggs.
Lastly, being back and eating at local restaurants here in
Jinja I am once again reminded of the sudden need to be in proximity to a
functioning toilet. If possible I am
looking for a one that has flushing water, toilet paper, and a door that
latches but I’ve learned to forgo all of these…except one.
For all intents and purposes for this trip I am self
employed and need to be self driven. With
so many areas in which to learn and help and develop and having been given so
much to work with it feels like I’ve been put in for the catch of the
season. With the clock ticking and having crossed into the end zone
the chance is still in my hands but it's bumbling. I have
an internal pressure to get more done, produce more results from the money that
has been entrusted to me, and generate some kind of lasting positive change
here. My dream has been to develop some
kind of business that could find a market here, offer local people employment,
make a profit which then can go back into supporting the programs that I’ve
come to love. I continue to talk to
people, ask questions, and look for a niche in which this can happen. I might be bumbling the catch but the play
isn’t over.
