Jambo Again! Part III

Jambo means “Hello” in Swahili.

As we drove in every day – in addition to savoring the amazing beauty of the landscape – we encountered handsome people out in the bush – mostly shepherds (boys and men) tending and feeding their livestock. I’m guessing that three big buses full of white peeps rolling down the long dusty road isn’t a super common sight because the kids would start barreling towards the road, waving – many times with both hands. We would lean and wave and smile big toothy smiles and yell “Jambo!” in return. It was so fun…


On Monday, we split into our service groups. Some treated the feet and hands of those affected by jiggers (condition where a small black flea embeds itself in dusty, dry skin, lays eggs, and feeds on the flesh and blood of its host; this is a monumental issue because many of the kids don’t have shoes. at. all. Affliction with jiggers can lead to the loss of fingers and toes, paralysis, and social ostracism – a modern leprosy, so to speak). Another group worked to roof a water tank that is going to radically change how people live and feed their families once water is gravity-fed to many villages who currently walk great distances to the nearest water source. I was a part of the group who worked in the schools with the children. We were allowed to play with them, make crafts with them, shower them with affection and attention, and teach ’em straight Jesus, which was so fun…

When our big white bus pulled in to the school yard at Uasonyiro Primary School, all of the children were outside drinking their porridge (there is currently a government-subsidized feeding program in the schools because the area has been in drought for an extended length of time; enrollment is up because food is provided. The government plans to end the program soon, and the reality is that fewer kids will have the luxury of attending school when food is no longer distributed). There were around three hundred and fifty or so of them, and they quickly encircled the bus. We stayed put while James, one of our trip leaders, went to discuss plans with the teachers. The children stood around, looking up with interest and curiosity – giggling, laughing, and waving shyly. After a couple of minutes of us watching and smiling at them and them watching and smiling at us, a guy on our team yelled a hearty “JAMBO!” from the back of the bus, and the entire group of them yelled “JAMBO!” back in unison šŸ™‚ It was on after that…


We all began conversations from the bus with small groups of kids standing closest. “What’s your name? What’s in your bowl? How old are you? How are you?” Their striking faces and their British accents could melt butter. They would reply and question as well. “My name is Susan; what is your name? This is porridge. I am fine, thank you.”


James returned to share the plan for the morning, and then we prepared to join them on the ground below. When the first person from our bus descended the steps, they corporately and spontaneously erupted into a cheer of excitement and approval.

The older school – up the road a bit – walked over to join us all. Five hundred sweet African school children. My heart be still. It was definitely a bit overwhelming because they all wanted to see us, touch us, feel our hair, hear us speak, (lick one of our team members; she smelled tasty :-), etc… Eighteen of us to five hundred of them. Some of us had lotion and fingernail polish, and they went nuts. I know that I didn’t make it ten steps from the bus for a good hour. “Cutex!” they called as we painted (which you probably know is a brand of nail products – great commercial that would have been!). They would stand in line (boys and girls) to be polished; then they would go scratch off that color before it dried well and get in line again for a new color from a different nail technician. Very funny.

After painting just about everybody a few times, we put the polish away to play. The guys had taken out jump ropes and soccer and volleyballs, which were an ENORMOUS hit! I looked over the playyard to see a game of duck-duck-goose over here, singing practice/performance over there with teacher Helen, ballgames and races in different patches here and there. Again, I was pretty stationary as I was receiving an education in the discipline of partner hand clapping/slapping games to great fun songs that I couldn’t understand the words to. I loved it and would sing the sounds I heard but had no clue what I was saying. They were patient with my learning and would practice with me over and over and over and over again at my request. I was determined to master what they had to teach, even though they laughed at my goofy flubs…

How do you say Part II in Swahili?

So I got eight hours of zzzzz’s the first night in Africa (sleep meds were my friend), and it was a new day on the continent. I woke up on Sunday and fell in love. Hard. With. Segera. And. Its. People.

We stayed in a hotel in Nanyuki, a 45-minute bus ride from the community we served. We drove in and out every day in open-air buses and just feasted on the raw, unmanipulated beauty of Creation: zebras, camels, cattle, goats, impalas, gazelles, monkeys, and the daily lion sighting (which was usually not a lion at all – though we did see about five over the course of the whole trip) set in the never-ending bush with massive Mount Kenya monopolizing the horizon.

I am not outdoors girl, by any stretch, but I have peeked through the blinds a couple of mornings this week to check out His brushstrokes at dawn. And I’ve been hungry just to be outside, not wanting to miss His presence in what I would usually deem “ordinary.” He is crazy creative and imaginative.

We attended church services (at Faith Chapel and an open-air service in a small village).

During the open air event in the village of San Maria, I amassed a group of little people. They were quiet and respectful during the service, but as we made eye contact they would make their way over to stand with me, to hold my hand or arm. I so vividly remember the feel of having my arms around the five of them, their little bodies warm against my legs, as a cool wind blew and songs of praise were belted out. One of many fave memories.

After the service, I was swept into the mix of many of the tribal ladies of the village who did not speak English. They wanted their pictures taken (they all loved seeing themselves in the display screens of our digital cameras) and then they wanted me in the pictures. After a few photos, one of the ladies grabbed my hand and began to lead me away from the group – away from our group as well. Honestly, I was a little apprehensive, but I followed.

She led me into her hut, and that was the most afraid I was during the whole trip. Because it was pitch black dark inside. I had to lean over to enter, and I could not see anything. I was alone and we could not understand each other. There were other people inside – which made me more uncomfortable but I quickly determined they were children. The smell was the thick, heavy smell of a fire, and I wondered if I might step in it. My hostess was so gracious and sweet and realized my fumbling. She rattled off something in her native tongue and a small child scampered to pull what looked like a feed sack out of a hole in the wall to allow sunshine to pour in. She wanted me to be her guest; she wanted to show me her home.

In their culture, the women construct the homes out of sticks, mud, and animal waste. They walk great distances to collect wood, and it takes about a month to build. A hut may last about a year and a half before it will begin to collapse in on itself. As you can imagine, when it rains outside; it also rains inside.

After some time with Jennifer (it tripped me out that many of them have such common English names – but Kenya was a British colony which is why most Kenyans speak English in addition to Swahili), another guy from our team and a local guy entered the hut. The local fella began to translate for us, and Jennifer wanted us to ask questions about her home, to take pictures of her home, and to show us different items in her home. Communication was quite awkward, but she was so proud to have us. In fact, she had us taking picture after picture with various household objects as we began to hear the team calling all back to the bus. Pictures with the milk gourd. Pictures with the beaded stick. Me with the milk gourd. Mike with the milk gourd. Jennifer and Mike with the milk gourd. You get the idea. It was way cute and funny and strange in the end.

A day of worship on the far side of the world. Definitely something to write home about… Thank you for indulging me, and Tuoanane kesho (See ya tomorrow in Swahili)…

I definitely needed Africa more than Africa needed me.

Okay, I stole that title from this blog, but it is right on the money for me.

Remember me? Hi! My name is Cookie, and I am an intermittent blogger. Sorry about that. I really am, but I have to submit to constant monitoring or I will allow my expectations of myself to grow large and woolly and mammoth with big, sharp teeth.

So, two really major things have happened in my life this fall, and I would love to catch you up in small doses, if that’s okay. Back in October I led a women’s study on Five Lies of the Devil, and it was soooo soooo fun to do my teachin’ thang again. AND now I am fresh off the plane from Kenya (and glad to have both feet planted firmly on the ground again, thank you very much!), and I can barely talk or think about anything else. I have exhausted all of the peeps in my fam and circle with my endless, “In Kenya…” comments; I have forced a slideshow and presentation on Carson’s second grade class, and I’ve worn down my Facebook friends with pics and video, so I turn to you as a new venue šŸ™‚

Obviously, we’ll tackle Kenya first and come back to Five Lies.

For those of you who aren’t NewSpringers, my church has partnered with The 410 Bridge (you should watch the video on their site) to invest in the people and community of Segera in Kenya – a partnership that will send teams and resources to the same area over at least a three year time frame. We have sent three teams already and have five trips planned for 2010.

My Chris went in June and came back insistent that I go. I wasn’t opposed to going, but it was never a matter of feeling like it was something I had to do. It became something I really, really, really wanted to do. And I knew it would require me to face a whole bunch of fears (not the least of which was flying) and get way far removed from the comforts of my cute lil’ life.
I didn’t go thinkin’ I was gonna be any great help to anybody while I was there. I certainly went to love, love, love some beautiful kiddos and mamas, to serve them in absolutely any way I could, and to share Jesus if I had the opportunity, but all along I knew that God planned to change me more than He planned to use me.
It took two days to fly there, and the instruction began immediately. After bad weather, a flat nose tire on an airplane, a missed flight to Paris, an unexpected 13-hour overnight flight to Dubai, a middle of the night flight to Nairobi, no shower or bed for two days, very limited access to Diet Pepsi, and then a four-hour bus ride, I had been beaten into submission upon arrival.
In my life, I am a planner, and I like to stick to the plan. I am pretty much in control of how my day goes. I generally do what I want to do and don’t do what I don’t want to do. I give a lot of thought to what is safe, what makes me feel secure, what I am comfortable with, and what allows me the greatest degree of control over my circumstances. I quickly got the message that this trip would happen on His terms, not mine. The first two days were a butt whoopin’ for sure, and I was allowed to see with supreme clarity the issues that comfort, security, safety, and control are in my life – golden calves gleaming brightly before me in the African sunrise on day two.
At that point I would’ve quit if I could have. I wanted to go into the airplane bathroom and cry my head off but I didn’t think I would be able to stop if I started. Ever feel that way?
Stay tuned…

PS – Thank you, Kristin, for the awesome pic!

A quickie

Whassup, blog buddies?

I have not forgotten you! A couple of you have asked for some scoop on the women’s study, and I sooooooooo want to fill you in. I am buried right now but have definite plans to post notes and highlights (WITHOUT video or audio :-); unfortunately, it may be after the study is done.

We have had thirty-five ladies both nights, and this group is tooo fun! Can’t wait to share more, so please be patient. Would so appreciate your prayers for our group! I don’t pretend to know His purposes for us; I am just praying that He accomplishes them and that we (especially me) stay out of His way!

“Come and listen, all you who fear God; let me tell you what he has done for me…” – Psalm 66:16

Five Lies of the Devil: Update on the Update

Location, location, location!


Five Lies of the Devil: For Women Only will be meeting at the Russell House (1502 West Palmetto Street) on the corner of Palmetto and Seneca (directly across the street from the Sundae House and Visible Changes salon).

We crank up this coming Tuesday evening, September 8, at 7:00, and I am over-the-moon excited about it!

At present, there are about twenty-five of us, with a few “maybes” hanging in the balance and new gals signing up every day. If you are still interested in joining us, just shoot me an email with your name, email address, and mailing address. For more of the details, you can check out this post and this post.

I cannot wait to dive in!

PS – Casual and comfy attire required. Don’t you dare get duded up to come…