Thoughts on the African “Big Man Syndrome.”
June 1, 2013 My 57th birthday is today The Big Man Scroll down to read “A Big Man named Leo Parker.” Idi Amin was The Big Man. I was reminded of it while watching the movie, “Raid on Entebbe.” The Big Man. It’s a term used often in Africa. It describes a powerful person who rules autocratically. Many, like Amin in Uganda, have a military background.* The stereotype of the Big Man is a bully who leaves his people and country destitute while enriching themselves and their cronies. Mugabe in Zimbawae. Charles Taylor in Liberia. Mboto (and more) in Democratic Congo. The list could go on and on. I counter that there are exceptions to the oppressive African Big Man. Nelson Mandela is the biggest man in Africa and commands great respect from all. Recently fellow big man Desmond Tutu warned Africans to prepare “for Mandela’s approaching death.” It shocked the entire continent. Last month, while in Zambia, I spent a weekend in a rural village. It was a time of mourning and remembrance of the death of “A Big Man’s” wife. I was taken to see “The Big Man.” (I never heard his name, only this term.) He looked to be close to 90 and shuffled, head down, to a nearby chair. He was frail and evidently close to the end of his life also. He’d been a teacher, school leader, village leader, and sitting judge. It was very evident that he and his wife commanded great respect in this area. They showed me a school the Big Man’s wife had built in their backyard, ensuring the village children receiving schooling. There were boreholes (wells) throughout the village. Courtesy of his influence. Neat houses and a spirit of happiness you could sense. Here was a Big Man who was truly big. He used his influence for good and to enrich his people. May we all seek to be Big Men (and women) who serve others. In the words of the Big God-Man I serve, Jesus: “The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve and give his life as a ransom for many.” * A troubling fact: No African leader who ascended to the Presidency of his country through military means/coup has ever stepped down willingness and in peace. Paul Kugame (of Rwanda who led the Tutsi Army that overthrew the Hutu government after the Rwandan Genocide) plans to retire this coming year. He will be the first. Read more on The African Big Man Syndrome. I’ve been waiting to write the following story on a Big American Man I knew and loved. Enjoy! A Big Man named Leo He was one of the biggest men I’ve ever known. Leo Parker. Even in old age, he towered above others. He was the bulldozer man… and much more. He also had a big heart. Especially when Jesus came into his heart. Mr. Leo told me this story that happened before he met Jesus. I have a sneaking suspicion even Jesus enjoyed watching this story. Leo Parker was working in Kinder with his dozer. A stranger drove up to his home near Topsy and told Leo’s wife, “Your husband sent me to get six of those dozer batteries and bring them to Kinder.” The stranger loaded the heavy (and expensive batteries) into his battered “bondo bomb” truck and drove away. Mr. Leo arrived home from work and had this conversation. “Honey, I didn’t know you’d hired a man helping you in Kinder?” “I haven’t.” “Well, this fellow came and …” Leo Parker got in his truck and drove to Kinder. He told me, “I figured it was someone who saw me working there and used the opportunity to steal my batteries while I was gone. I also had a good description of the truck from my wife.” He settled in at the Kinder crossroads. In a few hours, the suspect drove by and Mr. Leo gave chase, running the offender off in the ditch on the Elton Highway. “I ran to the fellow’s truck and got aholt of him. He went to crying that his family didn’t have any money. I pulled him out the window and dragged him to my truck, getting in the cab with him beside me.”
Heading up North: 6 Ways you can Help and Pray
Scroll down to learn more about what a “Mzungu” is. “It is unthinkable that we would send thousands of people overseas without covering them with a blast furnace of prayer.” – Tom Elliff, IMB president Where I come from, we call it “plowing new ground.” But DeDe and I are 8500 miles from our Piney Woods home. We’re in the Red Dirt country of Uganda. We’ve finally arrived at our (present) home of Entebbe, Uganda. Beginning this week, we’ll be traveling throughout Uganda and South Sudan researching Unreached People Groups. Here are six (6) ways you can be praying with/for us: 1. For God’s direction on what villages/areas to visit. The needs are great and our Engagement Teams needs Holy Spirit guidance on every decision and priority. Ask the Lord to make us bold in sharing the life-changing Good News about Jesus Christ. 2. Pray for the new Chadan Cluster Team. This team will be going into South Sudan and southern Chad. Both areas contain numerous unreached groups, numerous difficulties, and tremendous opportunities. Pray for safety and wisdom for our entire team, especially our leadership. 3. Our home church, Dry Creek Baptist, will be sending a vision trip team in late July. Pray for Bro. Charlie, Todd, Bug, and Andrew as they prepare. Ask God for guidance as we select the right area/villages to take them. 4. Pray for peace and calm in South Sudan. After decades of war, things are improving but peace is always fragile in this part of Africa. 5. Pray for guidance on DeDe’s role in both local ministry as well as the Engaged Work 6. In visiting unreached areas, it’s essential to find a Man/Woman of Peace. This is an influential person in a village who can open doors and give legitimacy to outsiders. Pray that we’ll be led to these folks on every stage of our journey. Pray for us! It’s not the only thing you can do, but it’s definitely the most important! Our church is doing a “Mzungu* t-shirt” fundraiser for an upcoming Africa trip. They’re looking for a statement/verse/quote to put on the shirts as a conversation starter. Here are several starter ideas: 1. Fall in love with Africa. 2. It’s an African Thing. 3. Until every tribe has heard. * The correct spelling is “Mzungu.” It’s a Kiswahili (language of Swahili) word that means “One who wanders about.” This is what the Africans called the early white European explorers (Livingstone, Speke, and others. Mzungu. It is the term we hear dozens of times daily. When we see another white person (a rarity in village life) we laughingly call out, “Mzungu.” Tidbit: Swahili doesn’t use plurals as a suffix (s) but has a complicated series of noun classes and plural terms. Mzungu is one person, Wazungu is the plural.
No Woman/No Cry: Thoughts on African Life
It’s probably odd to read a blog from ” Someone on Mission” that quotes Bob Marley. But thanks to my African friend Eric, Marley’s “No Woman/No Cry” is stuck in my head. More importantly, the song is buried in my heart. I wonder if I’ll ever get it out. I’m not sure I want to lose it. What song(s) always take you back to a spot in your life journey? Why? I’ll be adding more to this post during the day. Blessings, Curt Curt and DeDe leave for village homestay with our hosts, Eric and Margaret. ** Our Mission: To connect the love and power of the Lord Jesus Christ to those who’ve never heard and not yet responded. No Woman . . . No Cry Village life in Zambia. It’s all about community. In the village, everyone’s a cousin, or an aunt, or brother. I’m sitting in our hosts, Eric and Margaret’s doorway watching people stroll by. A frail woman passing with a five-gallon bucket of water balanced on their head. I go back to the science classroom. I believe water weighs 8.3 pounds per gallon. She’s carrying nearly fifty pounds on water on her head. An elderly grandmother hunched over by a load of sticks for firewood. Eric’s radio (run by a solar panel on the roof) blasts out Bob Marley’s “No Woman/No Cry.” The words grip my heart. I balance the songs lyrics with the difficulty of life for village women. No woman, no cry No woman, no cry Oh my Little sister, don’t shed no tears No woman, no cry I recall the echo of the women wailing yesterday at the graveyard. It chilled my soul. I can’t get it out of my head. Once again, I don’t want to. Tasting, seeing, being part of grief is part of Africa. Africans know this well and if you’re going to share friendship with Africans, you must be willing to share their grief. No Woman, no cry. I’ve learned so much in my month of living outside in the beauty of Zambia. So much is different here But so much is also similar. At times even familiar. It reminds me of the stories told by great grandparents of Louisiana life at the turn of the century. Babies are born and we smile. Loved ones die and we smile. People fall in love. They have dreams. Many times those dreams are shattered against the hard rocks of life. There’s an acronym for it: AWA “Africa wins Again.” A young girl smiles shyly as she passes. She’s toting a baby brother half her size tied on her back. He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother. No woman, no cry. That young girl will see lots of heartbreak in her life. She’ll help bury—or be buried by—the people of this village. It may be malaria, HIV, or a road accident. Death is no respecter of age or youth in the African Bush. An average life span of about fifty years says it all. Good friends we have had, oh good friends we’ve lost along the way In this bright future you can’t forget your past So dry your tears I say No woman, no cry No woman, no cry No Woman, No Cry. Africans are resilient. They walk on, carrying their loads. Some loads are visible. Others hidden. No Woman No Cry My feet is my only carriage So I’ve got to push on through But while I’m gone… Everything’s gonna be alright As I prepare to leave this part of Africa, I’ve added things in my pack. The warm smiles that light up any room. The slower-Louisiana-bayou-flow of life. “Americans have the watches, but Africans have the time.” “It’s O.K. to be late as long as you show up.” Taking a nighttime bucket bath underneath the unbelievable nighttime sky. As I soap my dirty feet, I can see the Big Dipper and Southern Cross on separate ends of the broad horizon. I’ve been a recipient of the Kindness of Africa. I plan to remember that when I get mugged, robbed, or carjacked. The vast majority of Africans are honest, kind, and full of hospitality. They’ll go without to share what they have with a stranger. This very morning our host, Eric, sent a village boy 7 kilometers by bicycle to Covenant College Farm to buy a hen. Naomi, Eric’s preteen daughter, killed and dressed the hen. Margaret cut it into creative pieces and we enjoyed chicken for the next three meals. At least DeDe and I did. Eric and Margaret only ate chicken at the first meal. DeDe and I ate it for two more meals, while our hosts ate mshema (plain grits) outside. What do you say to kindness and sacrifice like this? No woman, no cry Said, said, said I remember when we used to sit In the government yard in Trenchtown And then Georgie would make the fire light Log wood burnin’ through the night Then we would cook corn meal porridge Of which I’ll share with you In the midst of their poverty, sharing what they have. Give us this day our daily bread. Village children, sent by their mothers, coming to buy 6 ounces of sunflower oil for the price of a single Kwacha. That’s about 12 cents. It’s all they afford at the moment. No woman, no cry. Give us this day our daily bread. I’ll always remember the joy of being in the bush during harvest time. Ox-pulled carts loaded with maize corn. Acrces of groundnuts (peanuts) being dug by hand. Sunflower seeds being sifted, beans being snapped. This joy mixed with the unspoken fear that this year’s harvest won’t be enough. “The rains started late and ended early.” The look of uncertainty I saw over and over as I inquired about the crops. My fear is my only courage So I’ve got to push on thru Oh, while I’m gone Everything ‘s gonna be alright, everything ‘s gonna be alright No
Latest from Zambia
DeDe and I love Zambia and all of our new friends. Internet connections and time are scarce. We’ll be introducing these friends in the coming days.
Sojourners walking together . . . We’re all on a journey.
DeDe and I fly out in the morning (18 April) for Zambia. We’ll spend the next month at the fabled “40/40 Bush Camp.” The first two weeks we’ll be in the captial city of Lusaka. The last two weeks will be split between tent-living in a remote area (Curt is pumped, DeDe less so.) and staying in a Zambian home. We’re not sure how much we’ll be able to be in touch through the internet. We covet your prayers during this next part of our journey. We’ll return from Zambia on May 18 and head to our home in Entebbe, Uganda. View our latest prayer needs. 16April Today, we leave the beautiful tea fields, flower farms, and kind people of the Kenyan Highlands. DeDe and I are sojourners once again. Bound for Nairobi, then a month in Zambia. It’ll be our eighth place to live since leaving Dry Creek. That’s ironic due to the fact that we resided in the same house there for 28 years. A sojourner is a person who travels from place to place. Every stay is temporary. The length of the stay may be days, weeks, or months. But the sojourner knows it is for a while. It’s an apt word for the Christian journey. Followers of Jesus recognize that we are not of this world. It is only our temporal home. We’re here for a while but there’s more to come. Sojourners. That’s what we all are. Enjoy your journey. We’re enjoying ours. Curt There are so many traditions and habits I love about Africa. Just like my home in America, there are things I’d change, but there are many more good things than bad. Definitely, many more good people than bad. African hospitality is probably my favorite. There’s a built-in attention to kindness and politeness. For every car-jacking in Nairobi, there are thousands of small daily doses of hospitality shown to others. Especially to strangers like me. When you visit the home of an African, they greet you warmly at the door. Every “hodi” (hello/anyone home?) is met with a hearty “karibu” of welcome. It’s heartfelt. Then when you leave, your host(s) will escort you part of the way home. Because Africa is a walking continent, it’s side by side often all the way to your home. They would never consider releasing you at the door or porch. It would be considered rude. They even have a (long) word for it: nitakusendekisha. “I will walk a ways with you.” In other words, I will walk beside you in friendship and companionship.
“Push the week . . . Polk Salad Annie and Our Daily Bread
Juxtaposition. Compare and Contrast. It’s what I love about being Deeply Southern Fried American and a Pilgrim in East Africa. Both places have red dirt, rural hospitality, “tribal problems”, and soul food. The story below is my latest attempt to explain, connect, and understand two cultures. Sukuma Wiki, Ugali, Polk Salad Annie, and other culinary thoughts And give us this day, our daily bread A special thanks to two new Kenyan friends at Elite Computers: Thanks Silas for repairing my computer so this story could be finished. Asante sana, Faith for serving as my Kiswahili editor! Down in Louisiana Where the alligators grow so mean There lived a girl I’d swear to the world Made the alligators look tame. -“Polk Salad Annie” Tony Joe White’s song from the 70’s came to mind last week in Africa. The spark that brought it back was the Swahili term, Sukuma Wiki. It’s what they call greens here. And it means “Pushing the Week.” Like when you’ve got several days to eat, and little or no money, you resort to eating “Sukuma Wiki.” Wild greens or even grasses boiled over an outside fire. Tony Joe White’s** Louisiana song of a poor neighbor girl who picked “Polk Salad” for the family’s meals was a classic among my generation. *Question for our readers: Is it Poke Salad or Polk Salad?
Dada Stella’s Big Ripple
A word that is changing my life It’s a simple word but it’s become my favorite. The word is “Privilege.” It’s become one of my “6 words to live by.”* I’m simply using this word to remind myself of how privileged I am to: Be alive Serving Bwana (Lord) Jesus in Africa. Having a wonderful family. Good health. Learning a new language at age 56 Privilege. I’m placing it in my “word chest” next to Gratitude. I’m learning that it’s all in how we look at it. I’m privileged to have the gift and responsibility of writing. Sharing about words. Especially good words like privilege. My current 6 words to live by are: GratefulPrayer/Walk/Connect/Prayer/Encouragement/LifeLongLearning I’ll add privilege but don’t know which one to drop. Dada* Stella and DeDe Iles “Dada” is a Swahili term of endearment that translates “Sister.” DaDa Stella’s Ripple Effect Only Heaven will reveal the lives that have been changed by the lives that have been changed by the lives that have been changed by God at . . . She doesn’t own a car. In fact, she doesn’t want one. She prefers to walk everywhere. You probably wouldn’t pick her out of a crowd. She prefers it that way. Putting on a front or show isn’t Dada Stella’s way. As far as I know, she has never traveled far from her home area of Kenya’s Kiambu State. However, I’m not sure I’ve known many people with a larger ripple effect than this simple wonderful African woman. Dada (“Sister” in Swahili) has been a teacher all of her life. She jokingly says she backed into teaching Swahili by accident. I don’t believe it’s an accident at all. I believe it was (and is) part of God’s plan to use her to reach thousands with the Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. And Dada Stella’s ripple effect has gone out over East Africa, the entire continent, and beyond. This born teacher has taught hundreds of missionaries to speak Kiswahili (The language of Swahili.) She taught two of my supervisors, Bob and David, over twenty years ago. She’s still going strong. Trying to teach a tongue-tied Southerner who cannot make the subtle n, ng, and ng’ sounds that easily roll off her tongue. I asked Dada Stella one day, “Have you ever thought what it’s going to be like when you get to Heaven?” She smiled quizzically at me, so I continued. “Have you ever considered the long line of people who’ll be in Heaven because someone you taught at Shade Swahili School* told them about the Savior Jesus?” “Well, someone did ask me that same question a few years ago.” I firmly believe that when Dada Stella enters Heaven (in her trademark Kanga wrap and wool cap) there will be a receiving line waiting. Generations of Masaii families who came to Jesus because of the work of Bob Calvert and David Crane. Bob and Nancy Calvert (with Curt and DeDe) at Lake Victoria/Entebbe, Uganda. A Tanzanian housewife who heard the Good News in her heart language, accepted Jesus, and led her neighborhood to faith. Mombasa street boys redeemed by the Blood. Refugees from every war zone in Africa who heard the story of Jesus in a stifling refugee camp, took it to heart, and traveled back home to share it with their unreached village. Violence-hardened Congolese soldiers who responded to the Gospel when an African pastor (mentored by one of Stella’s students) bravely went into an Army camp and preached Jesus in Kiswahili. A shepherd boy along the Kenyan/Ugandan border who connected with The Good Shepherd when he heard Jesus-Stories in his heart language of Swahili. The list could go on and on. Just like the receiving line will go on and on in Heaven. You see, Dada Stella has found what matters in life: Living a life for Someone bigger than ourselves. That Someone is Jesus. And then using her life for maximum impact and influence. I call them the twin I-beams that are unbreakable. Influence. Impact. Here’s how I try to describe them and their connection: Influence is how wide your ripple effect can reach. Like throwing a rock in a lake, the resulting wave can travel far beyond the point of impact. Our actions in our own “life space” can touch thousands we’ll never meet. Impact is how deep your influence can go into someone’s life. It’s a connection that takes time but bears great fruit. It’s what discipleship and mentoring are all about. Dada Stella has had both influence and impact directly in hundreds of lives. That influence touches thousands more. Her story is one that should be told. we don’t have to be rich, well-known, or super-educated to have a huge ripple effect. We just have to be faithful, using the talents and gifts God has given us. Doing our best day after day. Keeping our eyes on the prize and hands on the plow. It’s a good lesson for me. A good lesson for all of us. Stella is one of the co-owners of Shade Swahili School. Its name comes from how African villages had a special tree (mti) that served as the community meeting place, school, and worship center. Africans would gather there “under the comfort of the shade.” The Muna “Shade” Tree at Brackenhurst Conf. Center. Tigoni, Kenya. This is my favorite African tree. If you enjoyed this story, I’d love to pass on your comments/words of affirmation to Dada Stella. You can do this on Facebook, our Creekbank blog, Twitter, or email me at creekbank.stories@gmail.com I have a lifetime fascination with the subjects of influence and impact. One of my earlier stories, “The Ripple Effect” is always popular with readers. I invite you to enjoy it here. Curt Iles currently
Swahili Stage Fright #3
I’ve always loved the song, “Stage Fright” by The Band. Enjoy a You Tube Video of The Band’s last performance of “Stage Fright” at “The Last Waltz” concert. It’s a song written by band member Robbie Robertson about his struggles with stage fright as a musician. (The band even hired a hypnotist to work with Robertson on his nervousness.) But I never fully understood stage fright until I learned Swahili. Most of you know I’ve made a living from speaking to groups. I’ve faced audiences of all sizes, shapes, and attitudes. From prisons, churches, Lion’s Club’s members sighing and looking at their watches, to skeptical school classes. The tougher the audience, the more adrenaline flowed to reach them with the right story, inflection, and eye contact. But I’ve met my match with this new language. When I open my mouth to speak, my brain turns to Uji. (That’s the oatmeal-like gruel Africans enjoy for breakfast.) I simply cannot fit the words right and often have a brain freeze.
Thoughts on “The Good Shepherd”
Listen to short clip from Tigoni Baptist Church Kenya Easter 2013 (Above) Don’t miss Dada Stella’s famous Shrill Swahili Spiritual Squeal. It’s one of my favorite parts of African worship! The clip below is an acapella Easter song from the Tigoni Adult Choir. Enjoy and Worship: TigoniEaster2 On the clip above, listen to each choir member humming their part. Also, choir director Lucas uses claps and snaps to keep the time. Simply wonderful! It’s Pasaka. Easter in Kenya. A day I’ll always remember. This is a long uncut audio from today’s Easter Service at Tigoni, Kenya2013 A Mchungaji named Petero “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” John 10:11 It’s a sound my tongue may never get right. The mmm sound that many Swahili words begin with. You say it in the back of your throat with your mouth closed. As in Mchungaji. It’s become one of my favorite words in this new language. Mchungajii. It’s used interchangeably for two English words. Shepherd. Pastor Pastor-Shepherd. M-chun-ga-ji. It’s what I call my teacher Petero. Mchungaji Petero. He is a pastor/shepherd as well as one of our Swahili teachers. From the Turkana tribe of NW Kenya. We could call him Peter, but all Swahiii names end in an vowel, so he’s Petero. Petero. The Rock. Recently we visited Petero’s church. Had a wonderful service. He is a strong preacher. Strong in the Word and strong in the Lord. You would like him. You’d like for him to be your mchungajii. You’d agree that any sheep in his care would be safe. A strong Kenyan with a shy smile. Every morning as we dodge the potholes on the 3 km drive to school, we pass another mchungaji. He’s a real shepherd named Joshua. He’s young and only speaks Swahili. He faithfully stands over his roadside flock of sheep and goats. He leans on a shepherd’s stick and waves through the dust. He’ll be there in the afternoon as we pass again. Caked in the red dust of Kenya Keeping his flock safe. They’re not exactly a pretty flock and are grazing in a patch with more weeds than grass. But they’re safe because of Mchungaji named Joshua. Two Kenyan shepherds. Each faithfully watching over their flocks.
A New Heart
A New Heart I will give you a new heart and mind. I will take away your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. Ezekiel 36:26 It’s become a favorite word of mine in Kenya. Moyo. It means heart in Swahili. As in Moyo ya Moyo . . . Heart to Heart. It’s odd that thinking about moyo would make me think of my friends, L.J. and Jack. Jack and L.J. are two of my American friends, but they didn’t know each other until last August. It was my privilege to introduce them to each other. The place was a favorite of mine: Dry Creek Baptist Camp. It was the annual Dry Creek Men’s Fishfry. I was talking to Jack when I saw L.J. coming across the campgrounds. I knew I had to connect them. The three of us stood under the porch of the Tabernacle as I introduced them to each other. I love connecting friends to each other. But this was different, because they were different. “You two fellows have something in common. Both of you have a new heart.” They locked eyes on each other. Jack said, “When did you get yours?” L.J. smiled. “I was at this same Fish Fry when they called me to New Orleans. Said they had a heart waiting on me.” “You went to New Orleans?”
A Weekend in Africa
It’s been a fine weekend in Kenya. Yesterday we spent the day hiking and climbing in the Great Rift Valley. More on that below. Today was Palm Sunday and its significance was burned into my heart like never before. It’s due to donkeys and palm fronds. As we drove to church this morning, we passed crowds of worshipers carrying palm branches and singing as they neared their kanisa (church). Many vehicles were adorned with palms, even the ever present Matutus (mini-buses) had palm branches tied to their grill. Several churches were meeting along the roadside, waving their branches and singing in the fresh simple way that we’ve come to love. It just opened the door for new insight on Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem on the Sunday before his death. A full week before his resurrection. Palm Sunday. That’s what it’s called to this day. “So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, shouting, “Praise God! God bless him who comes in the name of the Lord!”* We know the rest of the week’s story, but that doesn’t take away from this triumphant moment. Then, there are the donkeys. I’ve seen more donkeys in my two months in Africa than my cumulative life. They pull every type of cart and contraption known to man. It bothers me how savagely the Kenyans beat their donkeys, but they are a stubborn breed the world over. They’re a humble animal. Short and low to the ground, a face only a mother donkey could love. It’s more than ironic that the King of Kings I worship, Jesus Christ, chose a donkey to ride into town on. Listen closely to John 12:14: Jesus found a donkey and rode on it, just as the scripture says, “Do not be afraid, city of Zion! Here comes your king, riding a young donkey.” It seemed more appropriate for Jesus to ride in on a white steed, or a chariot, or anything . . . but a half-grown donkey. I mean no disrespect when I wonder if his feet were dragging the ground. But that donkey was symbolic that this was not your normal king. This was (and is) a King who stands strong in power but not in a worldly way. A king riding on a donkey. A donkey similar to the Wild Donkeys of Limuru Town. Limuru is the local market town about 5 km from our home. On the near side of town, near the train depot and dairy co-op, there’s a herd of what I call wild donkeys. Last week I was waiting for a matatu ride at the edge of town when one of the donkeys came charging down the street, braying and kicking wildly. (This was just before three sheep walked through the honking traffic.) As Mr. Donkey trotted off down a side road, traffic resumed. I glanced around for anyone following the donkey. There was no one. Evidently, he was making his rounds about town. I asked a Kenyan, “Whose donkey is that?” He shrugged, “No one’s.” Another man said, “It’s everyone’s. Whoever needs one, gets it.” On every trip to Limuru, I look for the wild donkeys. They’re often grazing on the roadside, sometimes daring a lorry (truck) or motorcycle to run over them. It won’t happen. The donkeys are street-wise and the drivers don’t want to pay for a dead donkey. Because someone (or maybe someones) would claim ownership in the event of any accident. I have a suspicion that this is just the type of donkey that Jesus rode into Jerusalem on. On a Palm Sunday so long ago.
The Honeymoon is Over
My wife DeDe is a wonderful writer. She’s also cleaning my clock on Swahili. What she wrote about a rat problem we had is worth sharing. Enjoy! Actually Curt and I have never been better. However we live in what is affectionately called the “Honeymoon Cottage” at the retreat center where we stay. While we were in Uganda the rainy season began. This encouraged a very large rat to move into our home. You know the saying, “When the paka (cat) is away the panya (mice) will play.” Well, this is not a mouse, but a large rat. The type that like to live in barns. I am wondering if Ken remembers the rat we stoned up at the barn one time when we were feeding.
Two H-Bombs
Sometimes having a bomb dropped on you is good. Especially if it teaches you Humility. And if it reminds you to keep (and use) your sense of Humor. Learning a new language has been tough. But it’s also been wonderful. I’ve always felt undereducated by being monolingual. I’m a long way from being fluent (that will not happen) but I’ve learned a lot of Swahili and the East African culture. It has humbled me. And that’s never a bad thing. It has allowed me (maybe the word is “forced”) me to use my sense of humor. Africans love to laugh. They will laugh with me, but not at me. One of my American friends who has been on this journey much longer said, “I’ve never had an African laugh derisively at my Swahili.”
Together . . . on TheJourney
This week’s African proverb:
“If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together. “
