-July 13, Monday
Kisumu, Kenya-

This morning, I woke up with a verse spinning around in my head.

"The Spirit of the Soverign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor."

I thought that this was a fantastic verse, but I had no idea where it was from, and so I flipped around in my Bible until I found the verse in Isaiah 61, a chapter in which I had studied a few months earlier, but had forgotten about while studying Psalm 91 so much in preparation for this trip. Even though I had planned to talk about something completely different when I led the devotion this morning, I felt that God wanted me to simply read Isaiah 61 to our group. Now I know what professional speakers mean when they say that they are about to preach on something completely different than what they had originally planned. I do believe that Jon Acuff wrote about it once in his Stuff Christians Like blog. I can now testify that it has happened to me as well.

Amy was feeling better, so she came down for breakfast today. Thank God for a fairly quick recovery. It could have been much worse.

It is Milton's birthday today, and so we sang Happy Birthday to him this morning. I think that it would be awesome to spend my birthday in Africa. I would totally go for that.

I may be going to leave my guitar at Lakeside Orphanage today. I was going to have it sent back to Eldoret, but Milton said that since they already have one instrument- Connor Deal's keyboard- then I should consider giving it to someplace that doesn't have any instruments at all, such as Lakeside. He has a point, and so I will do what he suggested and find somewhere else to donate my acoustic guitar. The African people are all so musical; I know that anyone would be thrilled to have my guitar. I am excited to sacrifice it to these people who are so humble, so loving, and who are in such great need for even the smallest of things.

-Later-

I decided to not leave my guitar at Lakeside. I think I will leave it with John and Connie instead, and let them decide what to do with it.

We arrived at the orphanage, and eighty children rushed out to meet us, waving excitedly and chattering to each other- and us- in Swahili or Luo or both. The eager children ushered us into the assembly room and took turns performing songs and reciting poetry and Bible verses for our team. It was adorable.

We had a miniature Vacation Bible School for the nursery children and then for the older children. They all enjoyed making the crafts and singing the songs. We passed out fruit loops to make necklaces, but most of the children ate the cereal before they even finished their necklaces.

A seventeen year old boy named Michael latched onto me and pulled me outside into the courtyard to talk. He had a million and one questions about America. The cost of things, the education system, the food, the jobs, the landscape... he was fascinated with everything. Despite his clinginess, he was a sweet kid.

We visited the living quarters of the orphans. They were all so proud of their rooms... rooms that consisted of bare, white walls; concrete floors; beds without blankets; and torn mosquito nets hanging from the ceiling. They beamed with pride when we visited each room. I would exclaim, "Ooh, how nice," while my heart sank inside of me.

We left for lunch and went to a "swanky" hotel in Lakeside, outside of Kisumu. Along with the typical ugali and rice and meat, they served a lovely portion of... French fries! When sprinkled with salt and dipped in the pumpkin ketchup, I felt almost American again. It was lovely.

We returned to the orphanage, and finished out VBS. Bekah and Olivia and I went outside to teach songs to the nursery children. It was difficult because none of the children could speak any English whatsoever. We finally ended up singing by ourselves while the children cheerfully did the hand motions with us.

One girl named Sandra clung to me like I was her sister or her mother. She played with my fingers. She examined my pale skin. She stroked my hair. She laid her head in my lap whenever I sat down. She held my hand. She refused to let go of me the entire time I visited the orphanage. Every time I caught Sandra's eye, she would beam at me, giddy that I had given her the honor of a single glance. "Mzungu Emily," she would call me, proudly showing me the contents of her school bag. Sandra was the most precious little girl. "She has no sponsor," the teacher told me sadly. I looked down at Sandra, and she giggled and reached up to stroke my face, murmuring something in Swahili. I knew then that I must find Sandra a sponsor. No matter what, my family must sponsor sweet Sandra. She is God's precious little girl, only five years old.

One three year old named Brenda was the victim of terrible teasing. The children would chant in Luo or Swahili or both, "Look at Brenda, look at Brenda!" They would dance up to her and smack her in the face... or they would throw rocks at her and run away laughing while Brenda stood, silent as stone, refusing to say a word. Olivia lifted the small girl into her arms and cradled her against her chest. It was the saddest thing. I have no idea why the children mocked Brenda like they did. I asked a teacher, but he said, "They are children. What can you expect?" I wasn't too pleased with his answer.

We sadly left the orphanage, the children chasing after our matatu. I caught one last glimpse of Sandra grinning at me, waving and shouting out words in broken English. I remember the last thing she told me. "See you tomorrow, mzungu Emily." I wish I could.

We stopped by the equator marker to take pictures. It was weird knowing that not only was I straddling two hemispheres, I was literally standing on the center point of the earth, closest to the sun. This is why Kisumu is so much hotter than Eldoret.

We went to John and Connie's house, and there was a group of several Maasai warriors who were guarding the house. They were so thin and gangly and young, and it was hard to believe how dangerous these men were... but they are dangerous. The Maasai is the fiercest, most dangerous tribe in all of Kenya, if not Africa. Even their faces are distinctive from the other tribes. It is impossible for me to distinguish between Luo and Kalenjin, and so on. However, take one look at a Maasai, and you think with a kind of reverence, "That person is Maasai." They all had gaping holes in their earlobes, and they wrapped their earlobes around the tops of their ears, giving themselves an even odder look about them.

The warriors performed tribal dances for us, hopping around and making wild, unearthly sounds with their mouths. I have never heard such sounds come from humans before. The dance was fascinating, both to watch and to hear.

I managed to buy one of the elder's clubs for five hundred shillings. It is obviously dented and worn. Who knows who has been killed with that club? Milton said that it may have been used to kill a lion. I now own a genuine Maasai warrior's club, which is awesome. I think I'll give it to my little brother.

We went inside, and some of the church women had made a birthday cake for Milton. It said, "Happpy birthday, Milt." I suppose that spelling is not a major concern here in Kenya. Eating cake and ice cream was a major sugar rush. It was fantastic.

We went back to the hotel and ate rice, beef, chicken, onion rings, bread, and mashed potatoes. It wasn't too bad. I am stoked about eating real food again back in Texas.

I dread the long flight home. Twenty-two hours on a plane. Fantastic. Twenty-hours sitting on the plane, thinking, "I wish I was home already." I feel itchy and restless just thinking about it.

-July 12, Sunday
Kisumu, Kenya-

I am so tired. Church is in a couple of hours, and I don't know how I can stay awake through another eight hour service and community teaching. I am not sure how I am going to be able to teach the community's young women when I can hardly keep my eyes open for long enough to even read a page-long devotion before bed. I miss my bed.

Today is church, tomorrow is Lakeside, the next day is the Safari, and the last day is flying, and then I will be home. I am already envisioning a warm, soft bed... my own bedroom... unlimited computer access... meals that aren't exactly the same every day... my own car... driving on the right side of the road... These will all be luxuries after this. I think that we are all ready for these things and a little weary of roughing it in Africa.

It isn't that I don't love it here. Never think that. This place has changed my perspective on everything worth a thought and more. I only wish that at the end of an amazing day, I could return to my own home and my own bed, and then reappear in Africa the next morning. Maybe this is only my exhaustion speaking.

Today is my last day to see Lavin, which makes me very sad. I am going to give her a shirt, some stickers, a notepad, a pencil with a heart eraser, paper dolls, jewelry, and last of all, my tennis shoes. In the tiny zippered pouch on the sides of my shoes, I placed a two hundred shilling bill, which equals maybe three or four bucks in USD. It is almost a week's pay for Lavin's mother, however, who makes barely twenty dollars a month.

I don't want to leave Lavin alone here... here, where she is living in only sad and devastating conditions. When you live in slums like these, how can there truly be hope for a decent future? I plan to try my hardest to support Lavin so that she can go through college to become the teacher that she wants to be.

The hotel doctor visited last night and examined Amy. He said that she has a bad case of food poisoning, but not cholera, thank the Lord. He said for her not to take Finnergan, because she needs to relieve her body of the poison, and so Amy was probably sick through most of the night. I pray that God will heal her quickly and give her rest.

-Later-

We arrived at the church around 9:00 and greeted the elders before sitting in the second and third rows under a great big tent. We were sitting in our chairs, waiting for the service to begin, when Jared came up to us and said that they needed a teacher for the Sunday school. Nobody seemed to want to teach, and I enjoy teaching children, so I stood up and volunteered. Jared led me upstairs to stand before the children in a small, stuffy classroom. At least two hundred children were stuffed inside the tiny room, and many more lined the windows and the doorway all the way down the hall.

"What do you want me to teach?" I asked helplessly.

"Anything you like," Jared replied. He turned to the children and told them that they had a new teacher from the USA. "And who is the president of the USA?" he asked seriously.

"The honorable Barack Obama."

Jared sent up an interpreter to help me, because many of the children, especially the young ones, struggled with their English. I had never taught with a Swahili interpreter before. I taught the story of when Jesus healed Bartimaeus. I think that the story was a huge hit. I explained to the children that Jesus could heal their problems and their sadness as well, specifically with three things:

1. Hope
2. Joy
3. Peace

I read Hebrews 13:5 and 6 and then asked questions and gave out prizes to those who answered. I finally gave away rubber bracelets to all of the children, who ended up numbering at least three hundred by the end of my lesson.

After the lesson, we went out to the church, stuffing desk after desk after desk into the fairly small sanctuary. There had to have been more than five hundred children squeezed tightly into this room. It was astonishing... and very, very hot and stuffy. I was prepared to return to the main service, but the interpreter asked, "Teacher, please teach them until lunch. Tell them about your life in America, and about the Honorable Barack Obama."

I didn't talk about Obama, but I did tell about my life in America. My father, Jeffery; my mother, Pam; my sister of thirteen years, Amy; my brother of nine years, Luke; and my two dogs- one that looks like a big pile of cotton, and one that looks like a black and white cat with a flat nose. I told them about my school and the classes that I take. They were fascinated about the fact that I took Spanish for my second language credit, so I taught them how to say hello- hola- and goodbye- adios- and count to one through five- uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco. After this, the children taught me how to count to five in Luo. I will try to quote this, but I have no idea if I am spelling any of this right:

Achiel
Ario
Adek
Anwan
Abich

Again, I have no clue of how to spell these words. I spelled them how they sound. The children all laughed and laughed at my clumsy accent. I proudly quoted one through ten in Swahili without any help at all:

Moja
Mbili
Tatu
Nne
Tano
Sita
Saba
Nane
Tisa
Kumi

The children were so excited when I counted for them. I taught them how to sing The Lord's Army, and then the children joyfully sang the song I had taught them earlier in the week- Yesu ni Bwana. The interpreter had them all tell me what they thought of me, picking children out of the crowd to say, "God bless you," "Thank you, madam," "Please come again," and etc. It was precious to hear.

I went to sit through the last five or ten minutes of the service, and then we broke up into the community teaching groups. Before the sessions began, I pulled Lavin aside and gave her the gift bag I brought and my shoes. She beamed at me and hugged me shyly. Lavin is the sweetest little girl. I later saw her showing the colorful new sneakers to her envy-stricken friends as they congratulated her while glancing down at their own worn shoes.

We returned to the stuffy church room. Connie, Olivia, and I were in charge of the women. We taught about Esther again, and we broke up into small groups at the end. It was an enjoyable experience. Jared brought in crates of Coca-Cola and Fanta, and we all sang songs together.

We left the hot church feeling sweaty and hot, and I saw a woman with the most precious five month old baby girl named Sarah. The woman, Lynette, must have noticed my adoration for all things small, for while I was sitting on a bench rather forlornly, eying her baby, she came up to me, plopped Sarah onto my lap, and said, "Hold her while I eat." What joy this gave me.

I examined this adorable baby from head to toe, tickling her round, chocolate-colored belly, listening to her chatter, touching her toes, watching her sweet smile. If you did not know this, and I have no intention of being racist in any way, the hair of black babies, at least African ones, is very soft and fine, almost like cotton. I loved to pet Sarah's soft hair, and she was fascinated by my long curls, pulling them with a kind of awe, so we were even. By the time that Lynette returned to take her baby back, my heart was stolen.

Lunch was chicken stew, greens, chicken, and ugali- all without any silverware. My hands were a mess by the time I was finished. Chicken stew without silverware...

Because this was our last day at Ring Road, we all gathered together with the Ring Road staff in one of the classrooms to sing and pray for the last time. Then we put on our new tee-shirts and went to take a group picture. "Mingle, mingle!" Jared insisted. "We are a zebra- black, white, black, white. Make a zebra. Anything else is dangerous." We took our photos and then got in a circle and held hands, now thoroughly mingled. We sang a resounding chorus of He Has Done So Much for Me, and then it was time to go.

I hugged Lavin tightly and promised to come visit her again one day, and until then, write her often. She held me close for a moment and then let go, retreating behind a corner, from where she watched me silently until I left Ring Road School for the last time.

We visited the Kisumu market, which is a huge, limitless space of land where people simply put all of their merchandise into messy piles on the ground, and eight billion people ruffle through it in the same space of land under a burning hot sun. There are thieves and pickpockets lurking around every corner. Everywhere I went, I heard shouts of, "Mzungu, mzungu!" I did not like that market at all.

From Kenya, Africa

Recently, my team has been taking precautions that we had not thought to take before. This is because a rapist with AIDS has been seen around the slums, following us. Milton even hired someone to follow us when we walked to the school. The rapist was hanging around even then, although I did not know it at the time. I am not that concerned for my own safety; I know that I will be fine. It is Lavin I worry about. She lives in the slums with only her mother and her uncle, and she often walks to and from school alone.

We are now at our hotel, exhausted. Supper should be at any time now. Tomorrow is our last day in Kisumu, and then we will spend a day in the capitol city of Nairobi before returning home.

-Later-

After dinner, Christian and Micah and Milton and I sat at the table for a couple of hours, talking through the nighttime darkness. After awhile, Chase and Cheryl joined us, bringing cokes for us to drink. I swear that I drink more cokes in a day here than I have anywhere else, but when a cold coke is the only sanitary drink available, you take it.

Towards the end of the conversation, Audie walked up to our group, explaining that a man who was also staying at our hotel had asked for help on becoming a Christian. Milton left to help counsel the man, and sure enough, the man became a follower of Jesus. It was awesome to hear about.

I truly love it here- the people and the places and the faces- but I still cannot wait to be home.