Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Waking up and Wondering Where on Earth I am

I just kept trying to work out where I was as I would half wake before the grey light filled our room this morning. Was I at Ian's? Were we in Nairobi? My poor mind was totally confused by travel and general exhaustion but I did finally recognize the bed as our own.

Home. So good.

It was a day of getting back into the routines of home school, team time, catching up, and getting organized for the next few days. I was dying to slip out with my baskets and do some fruit and veg shopping. Being out of Africa reminded me how much I enjoy fresh things here. Mango is out of season but there are watermelons and bananas and oranges and passion fruit to love.

I finally got to the ladies at the fruit stand at about 6:30pm. Women in this culture are called "Mama So 'n So" according to the name of your first-born. So this summer I turned up to shop with Jesse a few times and now they call me "Mama Rasta." Nice.

The young woman who sells me most of my produce said I came back from Europe "looking good." In Africa, that usually means I look heavier (healthier) than the last time we were together.

Yea, lookin' good, Lisa. Like I said, I've been missing fresh things.

Hopefully she'll think I'm looking worse next time we see each other :-)


Carrie said...

Mama Rasta! Love it! It was always a little devastating to come back from furlough to the, "You're so fat now!" Lovely. Asante sana. Glad you're home and I'm jealous of the fresh fruit you are enjoying! Blessings!

Sue said...

Lisa, Mama Rasta, Beautiful one!!! I love you! You, my friend, are on my mind, in my prayers, as my heart is always rejoicing for the chance to know you and to call you friend!! I love, love that you were in England with Prayer 24/7. Powerful!! I love, love that your Heather and Colin and all the fruit sellers have you back in Africa!! Hugs all around. :-)

Anonymous said...

I love learning about African culture from your posts. How nice that it is your role as a mother which identifies you, not your profession or wealth.

Love reading your blog.

Nelly said...

for the record my Italian Daddy used to say the same thing to me when I'd return from Europe, et al. he was most concerned that I was 'eating well.' oh dear.