Welcoming the Rain (and hello travels)

It's warm and humid this afternoon in Arusha. This morning we had a nice rain. Byron and I were still in bed with our morning tea when that wonderful, unbelievable smell announced the big event. It wasn't a huge rain but it was much welcomed and I blessed it as I enjoyed my tea. Now I sit here on our front porch, watching the clouds build, and hope that tonight will bring a heavy downpour.

Jesse was 22 on Friday. Twenty-two? I have a 22 year-old? Indeed, I do. One that I am ridiculously proud of, actually. And the days are quickly approaching his college graduation. He will soon complete his bachelor's degree in Environmental Science and we'll be there, smiling and clapping and snapping photos.

But in order to get there, I'm going to have to leave here.

On the way to California, we will travel through Portugal for 10 days. It's 2 years and 8 months since we left and it's the right time to go back. We really, really look forward to being with the folks we love there.

All this coming and going stirs stuff in me.

A wise friend of mine once said that we weren't made for the jet-age. We aren't actually well-suited to pop between cultures so quickly. It can be jarring. For me, it usually quiets and, to be honest, kind of confuses me. I need time to observe, absorb and figure it out.

So I feel this little tremble of temptation to have a mini-freak-out about leaving Africa and landing in LA. You know, there is often more money on a finger in LA than friends here might make in 10 years of full-time work. It's too bizarre to think about.

But this time around, I think I feel a little more settled about my unsettledness. I am more at peace with my particular peculiarities. So I'm not typical in my experiences... Is anyone, really? So I have some significantly different perspectives on a few things... Whatever.

I am me.

I love my friends and family in many locations far from the one that I call home. I begin the journey on Wednesday, fully expecting to be better for time with them.

And I expect that they will, once again, embrace this family that blows in every once in a while, bringing tales from far and away beyond their horizons.

Petty Theft and Sniffing Glue

So the side mirror was stolen off the car today.

I can't say for sure exactly when it happened. I was in and out of a couple of shops and back to the Land Cruiser in between. I even moved it up 50 meters when I saw a different parking spot open so that I'd be closer to the butchery and the car would be safer.

Here's the thing...

There are hundreds of street kids in Arusha. It's a very sad thing. And usually, one or two of them make a big show of helping you find a parking spot and then promising to guard you car. I don't really feel good about giving to them but I usually do. I do because I would like my car to be safe from little things like having the side mirror taken off. I don't give much. What I give would be about what you'd pay for a chapati. Or a bus fare. Some times I'm organized enough to give them a bunch of bananas instead.

But last week I was in the waiting room at Byron's physical therapy session and I saw a big poster discouraging the giving of money to street kids. Why? Because they spend the money to sniff glue. I know this. But I give to them anyway because I fear for the car if I don't. And I feel for them, too. I don't even want to think about how hard their lives are.

When the boys crowded around me, looking for a little hand-out, I thought about that poster and how I really shouldn't be giving them money. I was conflicted and I decided not to give them any coins.

When I told Byron about the missing mirror, he wasn't too amused. He considers the coins a worthwhile insurance plan. As he pointed out, if I had given 50 cents, we wouldn't now be spending $50 for a replacement mirror.

Point taken.

But I don't want to give money for glue any more. I'm going to have to start thinking a little more creatively on this one...

Dessert First (and Byron's back slowly improves)

Today I had dessert first, which is to say that I read my pleasure reading before my work reading. It felt sort of luxurious to just read for the joy of it. But it was Sunday and the pleasant verandah at Sidai was telling me that this is what a Sunday morning away is for.

Last week was a bit of a blur to me. Most of our emotional energy in that time went into managing this pain that was radiating down through Byron's sciatic nerve to his calf and foot. It was just no fun. In fact, it was quite hard.

Can I just qualify that by saying that both of us are acutely aware that debilitating pain in the leg is a very small problem compared to what most of sub-Saharan Africa deals with. So Byron and I are well convinced that his pain isn't too important in the scheme of things, but it sure was throwing a wringer into life for us. I was surprised by how much work we got done despite Byron's condition, but I was distracted from most everything, worried for Byron and discouraged by the ramifications that this much pain could apply to our up-coming time in Portugal and the States.

And so it was that, after a full Friday morning of therapy and doctors appointments and x-rays and amped up pain medication, we finally made it over to Ciska and Ian's house to leave for a weekend away at one of the camps under their care. This has been in the works for a long time. We wondered, in the days before, if Byron's pain would cancel the trip, but it didn't.

We didn't DO a lot this weekend and that was just right. We mostly enjoyed the beautiful setting, our kids and the friends we were there with.

For my part, I was thankful that no speeding lorries knocked me off the tarmac and that, once we got into camp, I had a very nice verandah and a selection of good books to enjoy. Byron was none-the-worse for the car ride (he was lying down for a lot of it) and he relaxed, too.

Reality sets back in tomorrow. We are entering our last full week here before the great journey to the other side and there is a TON to do.

Blech. I don't look forward to being away from home for so long. But... Joy! I look forward to the friends and family we will see :-) Hugging our older boys... coming soon!

By "Beautiful" I Mean BEAUTIFUL (and Byron's back hurts)

It's beautiful at the springs. We camped there Saturday night with Tait and Hunter and Tehur (and Colin and Heather.)

Byron's back has taken a nose dive after the last 3 weeks of too many long hours on bad roads and too much heavy work, but even he was happy to be there. Better to rest on a blanket under the trees than to lie on the rug in the living room and get tempted by all the work he thinks he should be doing. But the drive home was painful for him.

We saw the physical therapist today and she was very good. We travel on April the 1st and so the goal is to have Byron out of pain and able to handle the long hours of travel between here and LA. The therapist had Byron figured for sure...

"The problem with people who have a history of back trouble," she said, "Is that they are used to it and they expect it to get better if they push through and so they don't necessarily do what they should do to treat it."

Um, yes. That is the trouble. She held her tongue nicely and didn't come flat out and just call him a dork for not taking better care of his back. He's fifteen and half years post a very successful back surgery... and he should know a little better.

So, back to beautiful.

Tonight, I feel 2 things simultaneously. I feel deeply content after a 24 hour stay at the springs with people that I love. (Tait and Hunter made us all crepes with multiple delicious toppings for breakfast on Sunday.) But I also feel sad about Byron's back pain. He looked lively this evening for a while when he was excited about some very cool solar lights he was looking at that are designed to save Africa. But he soon faded again. I've tucked him in now with a hot pack.

Heat, rest, stretches, brisk walking, ibuprofen, cold packs if he wants them... these are his orders for the next few days. With prayer added, I think we've got the bases covered.

I'll put this photo up as his desktop to bring on the memories of a happy weekend. I'm certain those will be good toward the healing.

Musings for Women's Day

This past Sunday was International Women's Day. It's funny... I know women all over the world, yet the woman who stands out to me is Ngoto Milai.

I don't have a polished piece on this "traditional Maasai." I just have some rambling thoughts about this lady I love.

Ngoto Milai doesn't have huge aspirations. She lives a simple life in a simple place, void of pretense, focused mostly on getting through each day. She collects her firewood, carries her water, repairs her house.

I can't really say how old she is. Her ID card gives some estimated year of birth. We sat and tried to work it out once. She wanted to say that she was as old as my Mom, but I knew that wasn't right. I can say that she has a number of married children and a growing number of grandchildren. Her youngest is the same age as Trevor, my 2nd born, who is 19. I know this because Kanunga was 8 mos. old when we moved to Loita and so was Trevor. So... she's older than me, and younger than my Mom. That's helpful :-)

Ngoto Milai lives in a traditional bread loaf house. That's what our family calls the low, rounded houses of the Maasai. She wove her walls of sticks and then plastered the whole thing with mud and dung. Like many in Loita, she has improved the roof by pitching thatch over the "crust" top. It's dark inside, which helps keep the flies from buzzing around the whole time. The little calves and smallest goats stay inside with her at night.

I know how the nights go there. I've slept in her house before. It starts out warm, too warm, kind of hot. Lying on the stick platform bed that is covered with a cow skin, my thin plaid blanket isn't even really needed because the fire in the earthen hearth is cranked up to heat the house up. But round about 3am things can start to feel pretty cold. July and August are particularly cold during Loita nights. The fire has died by those early hours and it's pretty miserable, really. Yet it won't be long before Ngoto Milai (and every other Maasai woman) will get up and start it again. She'll be up before dawn to tend the fire and the herds, milk the cow (assuming she has one) and make some tea.

The village Ngoto Milai lives in has tried to cultivate maize and beans during the last 10-15 years. It's a constant battle. The baboons raid it brazenly in the day while every critter from bushbuck to porcupine pillages it at night. The most destructive visitors are the elephants. They aren't too bothered by the thorn fence and they have a healthy appreciation for fresh maize. Sometimes in the night, they pass so close to the house that Ngoto Milai can hear their stomachs rumblings as she lies on her bed.

Some time around 15 years ago, we bundled Ngoto Milai into our car early in the morning and drove a couple of hours to the village she grew up in. She hadn't seen her mother in years and years and years. They cried as they greeted each other. It was a pleasure for us to simply facilitate a little family re-union.

Ngoto Milai has the same hopes and dreams that I do. She would like her children to do well in life. She hopes that her grandchildren will get a decent education. She wants to grow into her quiet years with peace. But her desires are also much more immediate and basic than mine. When she came to visit me in camp a couple of weeks ago, she sat and chewed the news with me for a long time. Finally, before leaving, she made a very simple request. "I need some food because everyone at home is hungry." I knew that she was not exaggerating. For her to ask me straight out on the first day of our visit revealed the gravity of the situation. I guess "economic downturn" looks like hungry people in her world.

Ngoto Milai has always been skinny as a rail and stubbornly upbeat. She works harder than most people I know. She faces life with grace and she prays like there is a God who hears. She'll probably never see more of the world than Loita.

Random memories:

Many breakfasts at our table. How do you say "waffle" in Maasai?
Running a deep hot bath for her when she was sleeping over and explaining to her what to do. (She loved that bath!)
The day she saved Colin from a puff adder.
The time she found me lying on the bathroom floor, too weak from vomiting to move, and she stayed and cared for me and the kids till Byron came home late that night.
The red dress my friend, Heather, made for her. She still asks after Ngoto Grace (Mother of Grace is Heather's name in Maasai.)
The day she took a red hot poker and burned a hole in the top of Byron's ear so he could wear an earring up there.
Teaching her how to scramble eggs.
Making popcorn for her kids over the fire at her house.
Crying with her when I saw her for the first time in 5 years.

Ngoto Milai is the oldest of 3 wives and has long been neglected by her husband. She cannot read or write. When she chewed the news with my Dad last month during our visit, she told me this:

"Tell your father I have something from God's word for him. Proverbs 3:5&6 says, Trust in the Lord with all your heart and don't rely on your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight."

I love that lady. I pray safe paths for her. Happy International Women's Day, Yeyo-lai.



(Photos by Jesse Borden)

Photo Journal (Recently, in Loita...)

Byron and his tea


Colin and the pretty hills


Grandpa loves Loita


My foot in an elephant's print


Heather sits down in a deep elephant footprint


Hyena print


Ahhhhhhh :-) Colin and the sunset

Walking in Loita

We've been away for a week in the lovely Loita Hills.

There is something very magical to me about Loita. Maybe that's because our 10 years there mark the longest I have ever lived in one location. Or maybe it's just because it's so beautiful and hard to get to and far away and unspoiled. Alternately, it could be because I have very dear friends there who are now family or the fact that my boys grew up there. In reality, I know that it's a combination of all these things that makes Loita shimmer slightly in my mind.

Our trip was not uneventful. We stopped for lunch on the way up, climbing out into the dusty heat to stretch our cramped legs for a little while. When we climbed back in, the car said a simple no to starting. Happily, she push-started quite easily. Good thing because we continued to have to push start her after every stop for the next week. I didn't like the idea of being stuck out there, much as I love it, since we had to get my Dad to a plane on time upon our return.

Loita sings colors of blue of green
Her mist is soft and grey.
I like waking up to her mornings.

During our time there last week, we visited in homes and listened to the struggles of families who are dealing with a hungry season. These are difficult days for our friends.

We hiked for hours all up and down the slopes and in and out of thorny brush and under trees and beside streams. We were plotting some dens on the map with our Walking With Maasai friends who are studying the range of certain critters. We saw lovely forest secrets and sad forest casualties. I will be quiet, holding all those things in my memory.

It was good--so much more than good--to connect with friends there. We are encouraged and discouraged along with them as we share the realities of life there these 9 years after we've moved away.

So we are home in Arusha again, hearts quite full from a pleasurable week of working and walking in a prime showpiece of God's dear Creation. And while it's very nice to be home, I miss the depth of connection I feel with the Creator when I am there.