hello dolly

I am {finally} home after 2.5 days of traveling. I spent an awesome evening in Amsterdam with my brilliant cousin Andrew sipping margaritas and eating authentic Mexican food...and then my plane was decommissioned after it was discovered that the pressurization system was not working. Four hours later and after four more trips through security, I left the Netherlands behind!

On a happier note, I have {finally} posted my favorite photographs of the past two months. For some reason, they are not posting to the top-- scroll down a bit. Aren't these beautiful people? This is my life. I love it and I love them.

It's good to be home. God bless America, real Diet Coke, Cheerios, and high-speed Internet. More very cool things to come soon...

tnick

honey, I'm {almost} home

I leave for home in five days: holy cow.

I fully intend to create an entry describing our April team’s phenomenal work, current Kenyan events, and my 2.5 days in Mombasa. However, I am still finding it difficult to relive the loss of Baby Nikon. We’ll hope for an improved outlook and attitude after I meet with my booking agent today. I am expecting a refund!

As my departure date has crept closer this week, I have subconsciously and intimately recorded and replayed the details of this place and my life here. It’s just a few mental notes of the little {important} things. Here are 15 lessons that without fail bring a smile to my face, often progressing to releases of laughter…which then leads to more people staring. : )

Greens are only good when you mix them with something else.

Tiffany is not a good name for this town unless you want to be called Ms. Stephen by everyone…even by Mr. Robi. I like the way he says it though {Stiff-fun}…so endearing it is almost like your dad calling you “pumpkin.”

It is impossible to maintain clean feet, even when you are wearing socks.

It is incredibly humbling to hand wash your own socks and undergarments. Let’s just say nothing comes out looking like it has been through the gentle cycle…and nothing comes out feeling Downy soft.

Africa is the solution for nail biters. I have quite a set of hands these days. Otherwise, you never know what dirt is under there while you are munching.

Large flying and humming beetles make a big splat.

You can cook potatoes in 1,624 ways.

You can feed a Diet Coke addition anywhere…even in the middle of nowhere in Kenya.

I am an expert in peanut butter varieties. I can probably give you a salt-peanut-sugar ratio for at least five brands.

Dolly Parton is making a comeback here…somehow.

Kikuyu women make me look like a wimp. You try to carry 20 liters of water, an industrial size sack of maize, or several kilos of coal on your head…and walk a few kilometers…and talk on a cell phone! Game on!

I still wonder how an outhouse actually works. Is there toilet paper hanging in there somewhere? Leaves? Wet wipes? It’s just puzzling.

I am a mzungu {random white person} and proud of it. I even have a t-shirt that says so. However, I do tell everyone in the market I am Kenyan. It’s the one Swahili phrase I know by heart. It makes shopping and bargaining a bit easier.

Beer is 120 shillings. That is $1.54. No worries—I have not partaken in drinking festivities here, but the price is impressive. It’s a bargain compared to my $9 per bottle beverage of choice at home.

I cannot get a tan, except for on my feet. I’m hoping crisscrossing Chaco sandal tans are the new look for spring?

See you all very soon. I am in debt to you for your support and encouragement during my first eight weeks…

tnick

photographs of the {almost} two months...

insert {this is africa} explanation here.

I send many warm, belated Easter greetings to those of you at home. Yes, I have been very quiet lately—I am behind in all facets of my computer life! Last week was packed with Hope Camp action and Gideon’s visit, followed by my exit for a holiday in Mombasa. Unfortunately, that vacation was cut several days short as Susan and I were robbed of belongings and cash from our locked room as we ate downstairs in the hotel restaurant {recommended by Lonely Planet by the way}. The manager proceeded to explain that he “did not believe there was a thief.” He even searched our refrigerator, because that is the first place I would hide my own camera in the event I was filing a false report with the worthless Kenyan tourist police {yes, tourist police}. Spending the afternoon in the Mombasa central police station being insulted by unintelligent men was not exactly how Susan and I had hoped to pass our vacation on the Indian Ocean or my last week in Kenya before I return briefly to the States. Sadly, there are no surviving photos of me riding Jack the camel…and I have painfully lost an appendage {my smaller Nikon}. This is Africa…

On a positive note, there is no place in the world as stunning as the Kenyan countryside from noon to dusk to midnight: monstrous baobab trees growing only below 2,000 feet on the coastal plain, spectacular lightning shows, the green oasis of Voi, the barely visible north slope of Kilimanjaro hiding in the clouds, hundreds zebra and impala crowding the highway in the dead of night, and Julius’s compassion and commentary.

“That man deserves a toot.”

I really do love this place. It feels so much like home now and I am going to miss it for a month.

Love to you with a promise of updates and details about happier things very soon,

tnick

insight of the day

I think it is beautiful when you discover profound ideas and thoughts in the most unexpected places. I find great joy in that. My sighting of the day: “Development has no end” scribbled in the dust on the back window of a matatu {a public transport van crammed with up to fourteen people in ninety-degree heat—please Google for fine photographic examples} on my way into town.

it's shamba time!

Every time I say or hear that the word shamba the music to the electric slide begins to play in my head. Doesn’t it just sound like a wicked line dance?

Anyhow, it is officially shamba time here in Nakuru. The rains have arrived, albeit half a month late, and it is in the first five days of heavy rain that the community diligently labors to seed the fields. Get that corn in the ground, I say! I am stoked at the possibility of eating ears roasted in their husks soon—the crispy kernels are far superior to popcorn. Wednesday we held the meeting and award ceremony for first term’s closing day, notably also the first day after a true rain. It was not as well-attended as we had hoped. Reuben and the headmaster concluded that it was due to the necessary planting activities; I concluded that no one in their right mind wanted to listen to Reuben and the headmaster combine for over two hours of lecture in a building that is not well-ventilated. It was painful, folks. It probably did not help either that it was entirely in Swahili. : ) Regardless, it was thrilling to see our brightest students recognized, particularly the tiny ones who looked more bewildered than happy—most three-year-olds care very little about their class rank and total marks out of 500. I am even more thrilled, however, to share that our orphans were among many of the award recipients: Reinhardt and Brian ranked #1 and #3 in Class 2, Lillian ranked #3 in Class 5, and Sheila ranked #2 in Class 7. I felt like a proud mama…

Returning again to the theme of shamba, the heavy afternoon downpours have put a serious kink in my running routine. I am deeply searching for the motivation to wake with the sun to jog. It has become very difficult to do so, as after a month I finally am sleeping well {i.e. I have learned to ignore the crickets, geese, dogs and roosters—the beautifully loud cacophony of farm noises that waft to my location atop the hill from within the five kilometer radius}. Furthermore, I am convinced that there must be a native proverb to describe more eloquently my belief that the rain is doing something to me. I have unlearned so many habits and lost substantial, poignant pieces of common sense within the past week. One: it is dangerous to try to pull a broken adapter out of the socket when there is still a current flowing. Trust me. I got the shock and scare of my life. Luckily, when I tried to pry it loose earlier with a kitchen knife, the current was off. Yeah, I know, they teach you not to stick a fork in the outlet in pre-school. Two: it is also dangerous to attempt to attempt to change the water temperature while in the shower. That involves touching live, ungrounded wires while wet. Three: it is a gamble to go for a jog during a break in the showers. Mud is slick. It ruins sneakers and socks. And you are never really sure once you finish if it is mud or something less kosher that it is caked to your soles and smeared on your ankles…

That is a lovely olfactory thought to end with, right?

Our second team is landing right about now and will head to meet me in the morning. My jar of Jif is in transit! Stay tuned for an exciting week {thanks to Hope Camp} and the beginning of my adventures in Mombasa…

Love to you,

tnick

P.S. I am determined to find Internet with sufficient speed to post a photo in this town—fingers crossed that I will be sharing something beyond my written musings next week!