The Social Network

It's not a gripping box-office-busting movie about people using technology to waste time make innovative connections (much like blogging...).

It's a Mode of Survival. I can't believe I haven't mentioned it before now.

It is the second most important reason that you are always nice and smiley with your neighbors, colleagues, and acquaintances. (The first most important being that, despite being scattered literally from wherever you are to Timbuktu, the foreign service community is eensy weensy and it's just nicer if everyone is nice).

Here is an excerpt from the classified section of this week's school newsletter:

Anisa Flowers, under the green umbrella, (next to the clay pots and garden chimneys), on the side of the Limuru Road, between Redhill Rd and the Shell petrol station before Village Market, is one of the most reliable, and reasonable suppliers of excellent quality flowers in Kenya!

Yes, that is how you find a run-of the-mill business. Without The Social Network, how would you know the lady under the green umbrella is so much better than the guy with the wooden awning on the corner of Redhill and Thigiri at the sign for the turn to New Muthaiga? Just try looking it up on the yellow pages.

Yet another benefit of sending your kid to the missionary school: Missionaries actually spend time living here, and in addition to providing hilarious or horrifying tales of the crazy things they have endured because "the government" does not see to their comfort, the Missionary School Social Network has a memory that is easily 10 or even 20 years old.

From barber to ballet instructors, if you ask around you will find someone who knows someone who can give you a phone number, and soon enough you and your family are set. Just be prepared for the phone calls, because word gets around. Soon enough someone will give your number to someone else so they can find that ballet instructor too.

The "stay bag"

Everyone in Kenya is joyous this week because of the post-election peace. In the wee hours of Saturday morning, the final votes were tallied, revealing a Kenyatta victory by a margin of 0.07%.

A little later in the wee hours, we became aware that a victor had been declared.

Here's how we found out. Imagine it's 4AM, and our sleeping household is, well, sleeping.

Then, some kind of noise starts niggling on our subconscious. Now I have the mom-radar, so it doesn't take much for me to wake in the night, but the noise that resolved into masses of people yelling, shouting, singing, and honking in the street.... that even got Andrew's attention. Experience has taught me that when there are even a few people yelling passionately, it is not good, and if it's masses of people, it has potential to be Really Not Good. However, coming out of the grogginess, I realized that these voices sounded happy. Who is happy when they are awake at 4AM?

     Me (looking outside to make sure people aren't in our yard): They must've decided on a president.
     Andrew (face in pillow): Unh.
     Child (yelling much louder than necessary from her room across the hall): Mama! Can you close the window? I can't sleep with all that noise out there.

In the jittery pre-election period we were strongly advised to keep a "go bag". This would be the bag you can grab so that you can run out of the house in your curlers and robe and go catch a plane in the case of a Really Bad Event. It should contain travel essentials like passports and money, important documents, a change of clothes, and your great grandmother's lace tablecloth or whatever other small but vital items you would absolutely want. (Which is funny, because people in the foreign service don't keep anything...).

Since the weekend passed without a violent hitch, the only jitters really left this week are the early afternoon caffeine jitters. So I guess it's time to unpack the go bag (which we never finished packing in the first place).

However, now we actually have approved dates for departure from Kenya this summer. The go-bag still seems like a good spot to keep those important documents and great grandma's lace. So maybe we will just keep it there, under the chair. It can be the "stay bag".... or at least a "get ready" bag. A constant reminder that, while my kid is homesick but can't really tell me where she's homesick for, we are going to go on a really rockin' vacation soon.

Waiting

Two days ago, Kenyans exercised their right to vote in overwhelming numbers. Over 14 million voters (+70%) cast ballots in national and provincial elections on Monday. The patriotism involved in standing up in such masses is moving. With the violence of the last election fresh and traumatizing in everyone's minds, poll lines were quiet, and long. Our housekeeper waited in line 11 hours to vote and, like many others, arrived to queue hours before the sun even rose. Now... everyone is waiting.

Waiting to see what will happen with more than 300,000 "invalid" votes.
Waiting for the official result to be called.
Waiting to see if schools will reopen.
Waiting to go back to work, just in case.
Waiting for their neighbors, colleagues, and fellow citizens to nod acceptance.
Waiting in case the result can't be accepted.

Extra guards patrol the grounds of most places that can afford them. Extra soldiers patrol the streets. Public transportation moves quickly but infrequently through quiet streets. "How are things there?" people keep asking me over email and Facebook. They seem calm - for Nairobi - but I just can't tell.

The whole country is holding its breath.

Reflections of a first tour

A couple weeks ago marked 18 months of living in Kenya. Since we are here for one (2-year) tour, we are now beginning the practicalities of getting to the next post, including figuring out the best school options without having visited, scheduling home leave, and closely related to both of these, putting through curtailment paperwork such that we may get home leave completed before the new school year starts. In addition, we need to get through medical clearance; figure out how much and which stuff here to give away, sell, burn or otherwise get rid of; identify what is in storage that should be sent on to next post; and start mentally detaching ourselves from Kenya.

This detachment is perhaps the most complicated; and is also irritatingly predicted in books on third culture kids or global nomads. In some ways, we cannot wait to leave. The robberies, hijacking, and police hijinx are commonplace and it is only by grace that we personally have not had more problems. Larger safety concerns about terrorism and national elections loom over all our activities, such that there is a travel lockdown enacted and school is already canceled during most of election week. On the other hand, we have an idyllic situation. We have friendly neighborhood cookouts; the kids chase each other on the playground and set up secret forts in each others' yards; I know all the kids in my daughter's class personally and chat with their parents on the playground after school.

Between going to the States over Christmas and a recent spate of visitors that included both friends and a visiting prison ministry team, I feel we have done an excess of putting either a rosy blush on things or emphasizing a dour outlook, depending on the situation. I suppose there is no true objective view of one's personal and situational circumstances, and, as I was telling a vendor at the Masai Market last week, the truth is that no matter where you are there is good and there is bad. Being in the foreign service, the question you always come back to is, "Is this a better life for our family than we could provide if we had stayed in America?" That is the true rubbing point.

In deference to my dear friend who recently told me, "I just don't want to mess up my kids!" I have been thinking about the "Kenya impact" on our daughter, who has now officially lived longer in our government housing in Nairobi than in any other location in her life.

• In the US, I would have walked her to the bus stop or driven her to the neighborhood school. Here, I walk her to school. Our school district in Virginia was a good one, but by its very nature and size would not have been as nurturing, individually-oriented, or parent-involved as our nearby Christian school here.

• In the US, Andrew's commute would have meant that our daughter almost didn't see him during the week, and here he is usually home at least 2 hours before her bedtime.

• In the US, having guards and soldiers would not be so commonplace that my daughter would express uncertainty if there wasn't one around.

• In the US, we would not have to rearrange our route home from lunch because students were protesting and burning tires in the middle of the main road, nor explain away why we are showing obvious concern at the number of people on foot rushing toward that site while we are trying to rush away in a locked car.

• In the US, our daughter would not have developed an ingrained sense of the need to visit and help orphans.

School  near Rift Valley / Western province borders so
rural the kids hadn't seen white people before.

• In the US, our daughter would not realize that the vast majority of people in rural areas of Kenya live in mud and dung huts, where they grow their food, herd cows and goats for a living, and collect water from puddles or muddy streams in jerry cans.  

• In the US, I would not feel the wrenching mama-bear need to protect my daughter from viewing the culture and non-urban attitude against women and girls that I have seen here with my own eyes and mourned in my own heart.

• In the US, I would not have looked into the faces of desperation, defeat, and hope which I have seen far more of in prisons here than I ever intended, and realized but for the grace of God it would be my husband in this place, the father of my child, and realize how much greater is the faith of others who can survive the intermittently applied justice in this country.

Prisoners in Migori, near Tanzanian border, enjoying our
ministry (and enjoying being photographed).

Honestly? If I'm really, truly honest: I'm tired of it. I'm tired of seeing how much need there is. In a country with bountiful natural resources, a thriving tourist trade, a huge port, and a populace that possesses ingenuity and understands hard work, why isn't it better here? (Reasons too numerous to count, we know). How are concerned Westerners supposed to deal with this? More specifically, how is our family supposed to deal with it? To our daughter, we are very matter-of-fact: it's just the way it is. Even for a 6-year-old, it's not a satisfactory explanation. On the one hand is my kid strapped into her safety seat in the diplomatic-plated vehicle with her coloring book in hand, and on the other is the dirty, barefoot kid on the side of the road carrying water on her head and her baby sister on her back. The difference between them comes down to which continent their DNA happened to be formed on. I am a woman of faith, and at some point I can hear my God saying to me, it's just the way it is.

I appreciate what we have been able to experience and learn in beautiful Kenya, but I think we'll be ready for a change of scenery.

The joys of the season

What a lovely escapade we had traveling to the US for Christmas. Aside from the 30 to 35 hour gruel of the journey --during which I learned that Kenyans are much kinder to a mother traveling alone with a kid than Europeans or, especially, Americans-- it was fun delving back into the land of smooth, wide roads, shopping galore, and wide blue cloudless New Mexico skies.

Well, yes, the skies are like that in Nairobi too. The difference being: when you are looking at the sky in New Mexico in December you are bundled from nose to toes and still shivering. Or at least you are when you've gotten used to thinking that 60 degrees F is cold.

Highlights of the trip (excluding the food factor, because those are too many to list) include:

• Seeing my mom direct the children's choir at church with my daughter timidly singing in it
• Working at home, and overhearing:
• My daughter: Grandpa, would you like me to do your hair first or buff your nails?
• My father: Let's to my nails first, I haven't had them buffed in much too long.
• Watching my daughter play in the snow with her friends, her dad, and my dad (I enjoyed this much more than when I played in the snow with her myself)
• Having my daughter and her two visiting friends, whom were a highlight all on their own, tromp inside with red noses and bright eyes, gushing about the fort they made out where I used to play 
• Going out to a new movie, at night, with my husband, while grandparents babysat
• Visiting with "my people" - friends whom I have known for way, way longer than 18 months, by this time we have affirmed that we can pick right back up from when we last met
• Visiting with my aunt, whom I haven't seen except on Skype in a few years, and now that she is, ah, up there in age, seeing how much her spirit and manner remind me of my grandmother

Then, there was the coming home to Kenya. What really blew me away was that I really felt I was coming home after a month way. This thought is quickly followed by, "Oh crap! We're moving in 6 months!"

C'est la vive.

Impressions of home

Eight days ago, my daughter and I arrived in the States for an extended Christmas holiday. (Hubby will be following shortly for a less extended vacation.) Immediately we notice a few sublime differences, unabashedly pointed out by my 6 year old in that way that kids have.


1. Thee road is so smooth! There are no potholes, no speed bumps.

2. It's COLD! (Followed quickly by, "SNOW!" and much running around inside and out)

3. You can drink water from the tap??

4. While watching the Grinch on TV, with real actual commercial breaks..."Why do they keep saying, 'buy this' and 'you need that' all the time?"

5. At the store: Can we get cherries? (yes.) Can we get strawberries? (yes.) Can we get toaster waffles? (yes.) Can we get fruit bars? (yes.)..... et cetera.

6. (2 hours after sundown in a parking lot) It is not dark out here! It can't be night time!

I for one, am enjoying the sedate style of driving and am getting over my shock at being able to safely and easily go out at night to run errands and do Christmas shopping.

And the winner is.....!

Ah, December. I love this time of year. It's not the roasted er, eh, goat?, or the spindly pine-like tree delivered by bicycle, or even the shockingly out of place "Feliz Navidad" at the local shopping center. It's the time of year when we finally have an answer to the oft-asked and casually tossed-out question, "So where are you going next?"

How well do you
know your flags?

How is it that every other agency seems to know ages ahead of us? No matter. By this point in our move-everywhere life, it doesn't bother us to say that we don't know. Except, now we DO know. "The List" came out two days early (and in the middle of the night for us). Andrew is sitting in an office with a different email account at the moment and didn't see the announcement. He was surprised when he walked the halls of work Wednesday morning and people started congratulating him.

We had a little fun with it, a wee contest among Facebook friends.

So, 2nd runner-up goes to PK's vote of Philippines and Juli/Mom's Malaysia, on account of the fact that their guesses took the first forays out of the African continent.

1st runner-up goes to AmyJo, who guessed India.

And the winner is...Laura who landed on Nepal!

We are excited!