Truck, Bajaj, Foot

Driving by the beggar woman in my truck, I see her crumpled, crippled legs
dragging behind her on the concrete.
In a bajaj, the mud caking her feet is broken by flies landing on trying-to-heal scrapes
By foot, her yellowed eyes are shattered by a hundred red capillaries.
She answers my shikamoo with a dull marahaba as I drop coins into her hand.

When I drive my truck into town,
the ladies walking with tubs of mchicha on their heads seem very slow-moving.
From a bajaj, they look like they are enjoying their talking and walking.
When I walk, I greet them and learn they have been up for several hours already,
happy to be selling their bean leaves
and getting back to their children and dinner preparations.

By truck, I pass twelve bajajis in a row, waiting for customers at the Kawe roundabout.
From my bajaj, I see the drivers sitting on blocks behind the line of moneymakers
and behind them, two women preparing lunch at a stand near the corrugated wall.
On foot, the little boy sitting in the doorway behind the charcoal cooker becomes visible.
His mother smiles at his curiosity at the passing mzungu woman.

From the truck, the new duka near the roundabout seems interesting
By bajaj, I see chicken feeders
made from galvanized steel plates with an upside-down bucket on top.
Reminders of those my father made for our chickens when I was young.
On foot, I stop and touch homemade baskets and furniture from all over the city
and choose a sweet treat for my children.

In the truck, I see the babu, in his taqiyah, leaning against the wall.
By bajaj, I notice his left leg is missing.
On foot, I offer a meek shikamoo.
He doesn’t seem to notice me.

In my truck, the hijab of the woman walking along the road looks hot and uncomfortable.
From my bajaj, I see the fine embroidery and detail in the tailored overgarmet, and notice her perfect eye makeup and stylish sandals underneath.
By foot, we exchange warm greetings and she invites me to join her for lunch at her favorite local spot.

Celebrating Six Years of Ruby

2011 marks our initial departure from joint birthday parties for the kids. Ruby's birthday week started off with an introduction to Lego. The pink castle box was a hit:

Beatriz, our friend from Brazil who is an amazing missionary in Mozambique, came to stay with us for a few days. Her presence was a blessing to all of us! Henry is extra fond of Bea, and hasn't stopped talking about her since she left.

Then we had a great dinner evening with the Papa Deo family, whom we are honored to serve alongside here in Dar. Naomi (Mrs. Deo) just finished an advanced degree and we wanted to celebrate her hard work!

Saturday was Ruby's birthday with her school friends, and special friends Sarah and Meshack joined us in preparing the day and making sure everyone had fun. They are special to us, and amazing with children!

We used African kanga cloth to transform our banda in to Ruby's castle! Before kids...

...and after. Ruby is back there behind the cake. Her friends are a lot of fun!

Len got into the fun helping the kids with games.

They are trying to guess which princess or car is on their back.

The kids were encouraged to bling up from our dress-up chest, hence the shark and many fairies present.

Ruby-girl  had a great time all day!

Dancing with pals Kyra and Chi-Chi

Henry heroicaly manned the goodie bags with Ge-Gyung and her brother as guests left.

It's been an interesting month, and this week was a great way to celebrate God's grace to us! Being parents to these kids is an honor and joy way beyond what we deserve. Thanks for a great weekend!

Lazy Day

After working for what felt like the entire month of February, Len decided it was time for a day of rest. Being a submissive wife, I agreed.

We drove about an hour to a boat, which took us here:
 

We arrived in the late afternoon, just in time for a delicious dinner and this:

In the morning, we woke to this:

I don't have a good bird photo, but want to say that the birdwatching was crazy good.

These coral rock formations appear at low tide. You can walk on top of them and they don't break, yet the ocean sculpts them into the most amazing art:

I went for a little pre-kid nature walk to map out a route so the kids could see the best of whatever was on display.

I think this is some kind of jellyfish. Any insight is welcome.

Sea Urchins. Note: they are very sharp, and if stepped on will make your foot bleed profusely for several minutes before the calming effect of the salt water kicks in.

Various jellyfish, anemones and corals visible just under water at low tide:

And my favorites, the starfish:

They were a big hit with the young'uns too!

Ruby wanted to 'rescue' the starfish, so she put them all back in the water.

Later, we held to-the-death crab fights. Can you guess who won?

Just kidding. Do you think I put my fingers anywhere near those pinchers??!

We've had an eventful couple of months, for better or worse, and our little 24-hour retreat was a great way to hit 'restart' for the week ahead.

We Have Power

It's probably a good thing that our first year in Dar is one of the worst years in recent history for power cuts. Had we moved a year earlier, when there were only eight or so weeks of power rationing, this year might seem more brutal. But we are in an adaptive mindset, and that mindset is being exercised liberally.

The schedule for power rationing was supposed to last about six weeks, beginning in late November. Power cut season started on time, although a little shaky at first. Len's parents arrived the week rationing started and we were embarassed to lose power randomly throughout the days and nights of their visit. They were gracious and handled it well.

Little did we imagine that over three months later, the power cuts would be daily and increasing. At first we had four rationing spells per week - two all days and two evenings. However, the schedule is mutating rapidly. For several weeks now we have been rotating one day (8 AM-6PM) off and one evening (6 PM-11 PM) off, every day. And they have thrown random other outages in, when the power goes out or comes on slightly off schedule. But it was predictable for the most part.

This week, the power company seems to be on some kind of hallucinogen. Power off until 3 AM, 12 hour outages, three days in a row of no power except in the wee hours of the morning. It's like Philip Glass set to electricity.

Did I mention it's 90+ degrees, very humid and dirty from the lack of rain? And there are also water issues. Without our 5000 liters of stored water around the yard, we would be carrying water in.

Note to friends: pray for rain.

We had considered a generator a couple of months ago but decided against it. We really are trying to embrace living here in every way possible, and having a stinky, noisy machine in the yard that demands to be fed $30+ of diesel fuel a day isn't really our style no matter where we live.

On the other hand, having to throw away food that spoiled in the freezer because we don't have electricity isn't our style either.

Enter the lastest addition to our household:

 Yes, those are batteries. Kind of like very large car batteries. Eight of them.

And their master. Say, "I am the keymaster" from Ghostbusters. Say it in the Keymaster voice.

The batteries charge when the power is on, and when the power goes off, we flip a switch and voila: 5kva is available to us to use as we wish. We have to choose between big power grabbers, like air conditioning (which we rarely use anyway), the oven, or electric kettle (which pulls a huge power load in that minute or so it's on!).

One thing I like about this is that we only use the power for whatever is on, versus a generator, which is burning the same amount of fuel/energy/money every minute it is running, no matter what is actually being powered by it.

So our little inverter system was purchased a few weeks ago, and we're quite happy with it. And this week has reminded me why my husband is The Man. I was pretty 'eh' about getting a backup power system and he got 'er done, just in time for what is likely going to be increasingly worse outages as the power crisis here drags on.

As I get ready for bed tonight with a light on, the security fence powered and a fan cooling me, I am extra thankful for each person who supports us and allows us to serve here, and for this stack of batteries you've allowed us that is being put to frequent use!

In Shock

Today began as cheery as any other.

Channeling some Anne of Green Gables, I had a very Miss Stacey attitude: Today is a new day, with no mistakes in it. And When one of Ruby-dooby's kindergarten friends was upset as I walked to the library at school, I was able to encourage him with that thought that he could start over fresh and try again.

At the library - well, time at the library is always energizing. The librarian is dear, I discovered new gems on the shelves and was able to accomplish a lot there today, leaving with a real feeling of having finished the job well.

Headed to a friend's house to go fabric shopping, I walked down the main road a little way until an empty bajaj (a three-wheeled vehicle like a moped with a backseat and canopy) came by to pick me up. With his help, I would be there early and he would be a quarter of his way to paying his boss for the day.

We drove down the main road, passing by cars that were stopped in traffic, and I was thinking that for once, I was the person in the bajaj getting there faster, instead of sitting in the truck burning fuel and getting nowhere. This made me even more cheerful as I sped toward a fun, carefree day.

That is where my optimism ended.

Turning left on Afrikana, we motored less than a kilometer when I saw a mass of motorcycles parked all around a small SUV. I knew right away this was the scene of an accident; we've seen plenty of them. Usually from the relative safety of our truck as we pass while the parties involved work out an agreement under the watchful eyes of witnesses.

This accident was different. There were over 20 motorcycles blocking the SUV, and they were also blocking the rest of the road. The SUV was in the oncoming lane, empty. A very large group of spectators was coming from every direction, and as my bajaj driver tried to navigate through the mess, some men stopped us and pulled my driver out. They were telling him they needed the bajaj to transport the injured to the hospital. I had not seen any victims to this point, but I looked to the concrete-lined ditch to my right and saw two men who had presumably been thrown from a motorcycle. All I will say here is that it was obvious they were not wearing helmets. They were still alive but were dying from blood loss and massive head and torso trauma. Some men were trying to help them as they moaned and slowly, blindly tried to get up, but even in America it would have been too late to save them. Here, there was nothing to do but watch. No major head trauma center.

I sat in the bajaj, crying and praying for the injured men. By this time there were well over 100 people crowded around, with me in the bajaj in the middle of the crowd. While I never feared for my safety, I felt it was a good idea to get out of the immediate area as people tend to react emotionally, not rationally, in such a situation. So I prayed for wisdom, climbed out and went to my left, finding a dirt path parallel to the road and walking toward my friend's house. I felt bad to stiff the bajaj driver, but hadn't seen him for several minutes and didn't want to go find him farther into the mob.

As I walked away, I saw several men lead the SUV driver to the side of the road and they began to beat him. Either they also stabbed him or he had injuries from the initial crash. Either way, I felt completely helpless to do anything remotely just.

The drivers who saw the mzungu woman crying as I walked down the road must have thought I was on something.

I am happy to say that the bajaj driver did pick me up a few minutes later, with a look of disgust and a stern admonishment for leaving him without payment. I was grateful for his commitment to getting me to my friend's house and was happy to pay him. He told me that the mob had killed the SUV driver; I don't know if that was accurate or not.

What I do know is that it has been a rough week in Dar. Last week's accidental explosions destroyed many homes and killed and injured many more. This weekend, Len and I had a strange incident involving the police, an automatic rifle and my husband's wise discernment of how to get out of the situation. And this morning's episode leaves me wondering, again, what is justice? What is ethical in this situation? What is wise? And I don't have easy answers.

But there is someone with answers. God and I have been through enough together that I have grown to trust him, even when I don't understand. And I know that he can handle everything I have to tell him about today, which, honestly, isn't as sanitized as what I have just told you. But I keep talking to him, the God who is there.

Friday Flashback

My mind is on fire about so many things this week (in a good way), but today let's give words a rest.

This is Young Life Africa: JOY!

If we arranged our kids' marriages, the boy on the right would be a contender. The other three are pretty amazing as well. :)

Henry's weekly playgroup/mom's sanity group.

A bit of heaven at the school's little (but very well-stocked) library each week.

This is a random mountain of plastic bottles I saw on the road to Kunduchi Hotel while looking for my friend's fishmonger.

Hundred of acres of families living in terrible conditions along the edge of a stone quarry - the breathtaking ocean is in the haze along the horizon.

Typical, beautiful African women doing the hard work of providing for their families

And finally, while stuck in traffic the other day, I saw this funny banana bajaj. There may have actually been a person under there.

Rapunzel and Zoolander Go To School

Ruby as Rapunzel and Henry on his second day at a great new preschool.

It is Book Week at Haven of Peace Academy, and all the primary age children

dressed up as a book character on Tuesday.

Ruby and her kanga braid won first prize for her class!  :)

And Henry is channeling Derek Zoolander. I love that boy.

Dr. Henry, Dr. Ruby and Dad

Len is not feeling well today. :(

And don't worry, he isn't hung over from our fun Night with Scots last night. Not even close.

Whenever one of us has a fever, headache, and general aches, we do a blood test for malaria.

This is a simple test that is over 99% accurate for diagnosing malaria, and since malaria is very treatable with early diagnosis and treatment, we keep the tests on hand at home and have used a handful of them in the 9 months we've lived in Dar. Henry was our last test subject, and was more than happy to help with his Dad's test. The kids were especially interested in seeing Len get his finger pricked, as that is their least favorite thing in the world right now.

We spread out the testing materials on the table and Henry helped clean Len's finger for the jab. We needed a good drop of blood to go into the middle hole of the test strip. Daddy was very brave.

Five drops of a watery tincture into the hole on the end, and 15 minutes later, you have an answer!

Fifteen minutes is a long time to three and five year olds, so we mixed up a batch of gluten-free mini cupcakes from Taste of Home's Harlequin Cake recipe while we waited. Substituted maize flour for the wheat and DariFree for milk; it's our favorite chocolate cake right now! We didn't bother with the fancy whipped cream and jam topping, although it is delicious that way.

During this time, Henry looked right at Len, and said in a serious tone, "Daddy, if this test has two lines, then you have malaria in you."

"They shouldn't call it positive if  you have malaria, because positive means good, and having malaria is bad." added Ruby.

I love those kids.

Fifteen minutes later, we have good news: the cake bites are done, and Len does not have malaria.

However, he is still not feeling well, and we covet your prayers. He has a big work week coming up and we'll be praying and nursing him along as he will be home only late at night to sleep, then gone again each morning. But I know God has it planned out already!

Thank you for your partnership in prayer and providing for us to be able to be here. We are thankful daily for your sacrifices and we strive to be good stewards of what God has given.

Night of the Scots

We had a fun time last night at the Scottish Club ball, an annual affair that raises funds for various local charities. Sorry I didn't take photos. It was a very nice event, even by American standards. A typical table-driven fundraiser, where local businesses and individuals purchase a 10-top table and fill the seats. We went as guests of some dear English friends.

A lively, fun rivalry exists between the English and Scottish, and it was played up throughout the night. The Scot men were in kilts and full traditional garb, and everyone else was dressed up. The decorations were well done in Scotland flags: blue and white lights, and there must have been an army of generators somewhere making sure the lights and sound system didn't falter throughout the night.

The glorious music was mostly from a bagpiper and drummer who were flown in for the event. They rocked out on traditional and funky fare, and the drummer broke out of the sticks-on-rims sound and was jammin' on African djembe. These two were really athletic in their playing and the crowd thrilled at their every note. There was lots of all-inclusive Scottish dancing as well, with a chain-smoking older lady in a flowing white gown teaching us several dances, and harshly reprimanding those who erred.

This was a Burns supper, celebrating the life and poetry of Robert Burns, whose birthday is celebrated on January 25. I'm certain that if poets were celebrated like this in schools around America, students would care more. Sex, whisky and haggis (HAG-gas) were central themes of the Burns-inspired banter.

Haggis was a big topic of the dinner and conversation; I had no idea what this was. As it turns out, this is probably for the best, and it is also good that I couldn't understand most of the thickly accented speeches from the Scottish speakers. Our pastor, who is from northern England and is at times hard for me to understand due to his thick accent, will forever be easy for me to understand after hearing the Scot spin on English last night.

Haggis, it turns out, is a dish containing sheep's 'pluck' (heart, liver and lungs), minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally simmered in the animal's stomach for approximately three hours. It was actually quite tasty. Served with 'neeps and tatties' (this is not part of the sexual joking of the evening), which are mashed yellow turnips and very peppery mashed potatoes, with sides of nice green beans and carrots, a fine Scottish stew with tender meat, soft rolls and dark green salad. None of these foods are easily found here, so it was all an extra-special treat. Dessert was fresh pineapple, papaya and mango with real ice cream, also a treat.

Here is a sample of a Burns poem about Haggis that was read. Please note that the Scottish version is in regular font, with an interpretation in italics:

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,                       
Nice seeing your honest, chubby face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race!                   
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Aboon them a' ye tak yer place,                     
 Above them all you take your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:                                    
Belly, tripe, or links:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace                          
Well are you worthy of a grace
As lang's my airm.                                          
As long as my arm.

There are several other stanzas, but you get the idea. The Scots take their stomach-baked entrails very seriously! In all fairness, haggis is a dear part of Scottish history, as it sustained many poor people in hard times.

As for whisky, I guess I knew it was Scottish, but had no idea what a central role it played in a meal. Or maybe just that meal of rowdy expats last night. I did try a small amount of a whisky-oatmeal-milk-honey concoction that reinforced my suspicion that I don't like whisky.

The company at our table was lovely, and at the request of my husband I did not engage the CDC epidemiologist in any sort of discussion about immunology or vaccines. Aren't I a good girl?

It's a Rat! It's a Crab! It's a...BIG, HAIRY SPIDER!

While watching a cartoon with the kids this morning, I saw what I thought was a small rat run past the door of the room we were in. Lizards, millipedes, and various other critters are known to live in our house, some more welcome than others. But we have yet to see a rat inside here, and I investigated.

The thing was nestled between the hinge side of the door and the frame, on the floor. It appeared to be a medium-sized crab, and I hopped out of the way as it scuttled around to the other side of the door.

Now it was in better light, and I saw it was not a crab. I tried to study it without alarming it. Not a crab...wide oblong body with a white disc underneath...counting legs...YESSIREEBOY that's a spider!

Mom will be proud to hear that I did try to catch it in a jar and put it outside unharmed. I really did. But even the big empty pickle jar in the pantry was going to cut Mrs. Spider's legs off if I tried to trap it outright. Mama taught me to do no unnecessary harm to creatures big or small. So I tried trapping it in a large plastic food storage container.

Mrs. Spider was way, way too fast for me. Two clumsy feet are no match for eight long legs. She was looking pretty creepy with that white thing on her belly. Which I suspected was a lot of baby spiders waiting to infiltrate my house. I really didn't want to kill all of them. Spiders eat bugs! They are good!

So I got the broom and tried sweeping her toward the door. But our broom has pretty soft bristles, and I was just irritating her and she started running all over the place, and the kids were getting curious at this point.

I am not proud to say my next decision was based somewhat on irrational fear. Retrieving the Hit poison spray, I found Mrs. Spider, and, apologizing, sprayed her down.

She immediately ran into the bathroom and disappeared.

Apparently, I just irritated her. Great.

We needed to leave, so I checked the bathroom, no spider...I decided to try and track her down when we returned.

An hour later, we were home and I decided to use my camera to look behind the pedestal sink rather than stick my head underneath it.

Not there.

No spider. I was pretty sure I Hit her (haha) and kept looking...sure enough, she had crawled out from wherever she was and was looking pretty dead.

If you know me, you know that spiders, snakes and other creepy-crawlies usually don't bother me. In fact, I find them more interesting than frightening. This one was definitely interesting to me. Big, round body and hairy, segmented legs.

She had cool markings on her posterior to resemble a larger animal:

And this one was breaking my heart, with her membranes all twisted out in the throes of a poisoned death. She was someone's mama!

She was this someone's mama. I stopped counting at 40 as I cleaned them up.

I'm not sure what it is about hairy spiders that makes me dislike them more than their sleeker cousins, but this girl had some serious bristle going on:

Henry supervised the collection of the spider, egg sac and babies into the pickle jar, and the kids have been studying it all day. We measured the leg segments and body, and at it's widest, it measures just under four and a half inches. Not bad for the day's catch.