Is the real question "why," or "why not"?

I have a couple of good friends, Dave and Curtis, who I know I can always look to if I'm in need of a good laugh, a zany adventure, or both. With these boys, I have participated in roll parties, random drives down to Payson just to see how far off the beaten track we could get before the people in the backseat noticed, intense country dancing (the only time I've ever been dancing that there were two boys and I was the only girl), Flight of the ConChords parties, ice cream consumption outside when it's 40 degrees, spur-of-the-moment trips to Seven Peaks, followed by watching any number of random YouTube videos, reading and discussing Steinbeck, poetry nights . . . My personal favorite was the dream contest we had at Curtis' house a couple of years ago. We all picked a couch, tried to nap for about twenty minutes, and then shared the dreams that we had to see whose was the best. My dream won. We were reading "A Man for all Seasons" in our book club just then (another Dave innovation), and I had a dream during my nap that Thomas More was bald and under trial for treason. However, during the course of his trial, he started growing hair, which was apparently a sign of divine approval, so he was let off the hook. For a prize, I was awarded two jars of jam that Curtis found by rummaging in his mother's kitchen.

Wait, I take it back. I think my real favorite was the time that Dave and I were having a G-chat conversation and he was logged in to the email account for our book club. I also had the password for this account, so out of curiosity, I tried logging in to it to see if I could while Dave was logged in at a different location. Lo and behold, it worked! I then proceeded to mess with his brain in a big, big way by typing things into his end of the conversation. Man, oh man, was that entertaining.

We have good times together. We even have special names for each other- Dave can explain where they come from, I just accept them. He's "Fate." Curtis is "Bust." And I'm "Marga." But no one besides Curtis and Dave are allowed to call me that.

However, in September, Fate and Bust embarked on a journey that I chose not to join. For about two years, Dave has been mentioning one of his great goals in life is to swim in a hot tub full of soda. I was given an invitation to join in- and I must admit that I was tempted until the dream became a reality and the type of soda they chose was orange soda. Somehow the idea of sitting in a pool of orange soda is much more disgusting to me than, say, sprite. I'm proud of them for fulfilling their dream, though. And although I did not join in, I did go and observe. And then I was reminded of it all when I found this YouTube video. By watching it, you can get a small glimpse into how these boys' mind work. Enjoy! Also, I'm interested- would you have joined in, or not? And why?

Home again

Having a cold and fever on the 28 hour plane ride . . . being weirded out by traffic going down the right side of the road . . . realizing just how close to the mountains I live . . . being disgusted with the commercialism that surrounds Christmas in the Western world even more than normal . . . wishing I was back in a little compound in a village surrounded by sweet, tough little kids. I wish very much that time and money (mostly money) had allowed me to stay for even a couple more weeks.

People ask me as a conversation starter, "How was Africa?" What do I respond? It was wonderful, terrible, frustrating, heartbreaking, maddening, faith-challenging, faith-enhancing, majestic, frightening, and amazing. It was full of experiences that I'm not sure I'm ready to share yet. It was full of others that I'll never be able to adequately explain. And it was full of others that I can explain, but they'll sound uncomfortably like bragging.

Maybe I'll give it a stab over the next little while- posting some vignettes of images and stories I glimpsed. I'll share the stories of some of my kids, and their pictures, and I may just do a little publicizing for my orphanage, which always needs funding and donations- and volunteers.

However, for tonight, I'll end on a light note before going to bed. Yesterday, I was pretty exhausted. I got in to Salt Lake Friday evening, with my cold, and spent the night at my family's house. Saturday evening found me at my own place, suffering from a lot of jet lag and poor health and I crashed into bed by 9 PM.

At around midnight, I think, my roommate Holly came in quietly to get ready for bed. I woke up just enough to be somewhat coherent, but apparently not coherent enough to realize where I was. I lay there for about ten minutes trying to decide if I was in Kenya, and if so, where in Kenya since I clearly wasn't in my bedroom there, or if I was in Orem, or someplace else. I was starting to get a little concerned when I finally recognized the shelf right in front of me and remembered that I was in my own bed in Provo! I fell asleep a happy woman after that.

Count your many blessings

I made it to the west coast of the Indian Ocean yesterday. It looked a lot like the east coast to me, although that may have more to do with the latitude than the ocean itself. Probably if I ever make it to the Atlantic or Pacific oceans near the equator, it will look fairly similar- white sand, clear, clear water, and oh, so warm. In fact, considering just how hot and sticky it is in Mombasa, it might have been nice to step into a cool ocean, not something the temperature of a warm bath.

I'm on the coast for the weekend with Jo and Emily, two other IVHQ volunteers. We took a sleeper train from Nairobi to Mombasa on Wednesday night and we'll take an overnight bus back on Saturday. I've been excited to see more of Kenya away from the Nairobi area, but I can't say that the trip has been unqualified fun so far.

I slept pretty well on the train until I woke up in a drenching sweat at about 4 AM. Then I couldn't get back to sleep because my ears kept feeling pressurized to the point where it was pretty painful. It persisted in the morning and Emily said she was having a little trouble with her ears, too. The only thing we could think of was the change in altitude- Nairobi is at 5,000 feet and Mombasa is, of course, sea level. But, having been a mountain dweller essentially my whole life, I've driven from mountains to coast a number of times and never had a problem like this. It's very frustrating. My right ear cleared up pretty quickly but my left ear still feels like it needs to pop, thirty-six hours later.

I'm tolerating it pretty well, in general. This morning, Jo, Emily and I caught a matatu to the Swahili ruins at Gedi.The ruins themselves were fascinating; I enjoyed wandering around and seeing the old walls overrun by plants (knowing me, it's just possible that I found some of the plants more interesting than the ruins). There was one massive baobab tree that had a series of steps and a platform at the top, a good fifty feet in the air. My imagination is just active enough to make me a little leery of heights, especially when climbing wooden ladders is involved, but it turned out to be quite steady and provided a great view from the top (anyone who's read "A Little Prince" ought to recognize the baobab tree by name at least).

In fact, it was so nice and quiet and peaceful at the top of the platform that I lay down and closed my eyes. Emily and Jo climbed back down and I could hear them talking below me. Then after a while I couldn't hear anything and I decided I should get up before I fell asleep. So I did. I couldn't see them anywhere. I climbed down and still couldn't see anyone. We were there pretty early in the morning and not very many people were there, and the ruins are set into a forest. I suppose it's impossible to really get lost because I knew where the gate was and everything, but I suddenly felt completely alone. I assumed that the other girls had thought I was asleep and just walked away to see more of the ruins while I dozed, but I didn't really want to sit there and wait for them.

So I started walking. And then the strap on my flip flop broke. I might have considered going barefoot if I hadn't seen several humongous dead millipedes on the road on our walk there (not that flip flops are such great foot protection, anyway). And then my poor clogged ear started shooting a sharp pain into my head. And I felt like I'd love to be curled up on the bed in my hotel room with my ipod and maybe some passion fruit juice or possibly some chocolate and some tylenol so I could wallow in my misery appropriately and not be lost in some Swahili ruins with a broken sandal and a nasty earache and slightly impaired hearing.

As I was wandering around feeling sorry for myself and simultaneously trying to pray to know what the best thing to do to met up with my friends again would be (as a note, it's pretty hard to get answers to prayers while feeling sorry for oneself), suddenly a song popped into my mind unbidden. It was so unexpected that I almost started laughing.

When upon life's billows you are tempest tossed,
When you are discouraged thinking all is lost,
Count your many blessings! Name them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord has done.

And I realized with a sharp jerk that my circumstances really weren't that bad at all. I decided to go back to the tree platform and wait there for half an hour before deciding what to do next. And I did so, and fifteen minutes later, Jo and Emily reappeared, having assumed I was asleep that whole time (I'm still just a little confused about why they didn't let me know they were going, but all's well that ends well, right?). And I was able to fix my sandal enough to walk for at least fifteen minutes at a time before it needed to be fixed, and Jo had some pain medication on her that she gave me that made my poor head feel much better, and we had a fascinating matatu ride back to our hotel, along some of the prettiest rural African scenery I have set my eyes on yet.

I don't know what I'd do without the gospel and the hymns of the church. They save me from doing so many foolish things and keep me from turning into a self pity-laden excuse of a person. One thing I've come to realize more than ever from this experience of being, as far as I know, the only LDS person for miles and miles around, is that the gospel really is for all aspects of our life. The Lord cares about everything we do and think and are, and His gospel affects every aspect of our lives, because every aspect of our lives affect our spirituality and our ability to return to Him.

Consequently, wearing my one-piece bathing suit to the beach affects my spirituality by showing the Lord and myself that I am grateful for and respect this gift of a body that He has given me. Keeping myself sexually clean does the same thing, only more so. Choosing not to swear shows respect for the Lord and also that I have enough intelligence to express myself without resorting to gutter language. Choosing to refrain from drinking alcohol shows the Lord that I appreciate my gift of agency and I'm not willing to give it up just to get a high off of ethanol. Reading my scriptures shows the Lord that I recognize the need to actively fill my mind with goodness, since I am passively absorbing so much junk from my surroundings constantly just by living in a fallen world.

It's taught me a lot. And I can say unequivocally that the biggest thing I've missed the last three weeks is the fellowship of the Church, the privilege of taking the sacrament, and feeling the strength that comes from congregating with others intent on worshiping the Lord. I can't wait to go home to that.

Sketches

There's a woman who lives with my host family, a cousin of Lucy's, who's staying with them while she sorts some things out (I stepped into a regular soap opera here, let me tell you). Her name is Ruth and she does some cooking and cleaning for her room and board. She loves tea and thinks everyone else should, too.

Of course, being Mormon, I don't drink tea. I didn't see the need to go into details the first time Ruth offered me tea, so I just declined and told her I don't drink tea. But she kept offering it to me, so on the second day, I explained to her that I don't drink tea for religious purposes.

I think I'm pretty lucky that Ruth is a religious woman and respected my reason. Earlier this week, Cynthia, the other volunteer here, was feeling really tired and went to bed early, right after dinner. Of course, dinner wasn't until 9 PM. After dinner, Ruth always brews a pot of tea (except they keep it in thermoses here- not very aesthetically pleasing, but very practical. It keeps the tea hot for ages). It takes quite a while to make it, and Cynthia didn't want to wait up for it. So she told Ruth so and got ready for bed and got in bed. I was in our room reading. About half an hour later, when Cynthia was out cold, someone knocked on our door. When I opened it, Ruth pushed her way in with a mug full of tea. Before I could open my mouth to protest, she had started shaking Cynthia, who groggily sat up. Ruth pushed the mug into her hands and firmly said, "Drink. You will feel better."

Cynthia stared at her in unbelief, but she knew Ruth would persist until she drank it. So, she downed the mug of steaming hot tea and went back to sleep. I tried not to laugh out loud. You see what I would have been up against if "I don't drink tea because of my religion" had not been acceptable to Ruth?

Also, Kenyans eat massive, massive amounts of food. And it's all starch. We'll have bread and rice and potatoes all for one meal, with some greens on the side. We've made some headway here, but when I first arrived, they would dish us huge piles of food and expect us to eat it all, turning a deaf ear to our protests that our stomachs couldn't handle that much. Cynthia once tried to tell Ruth that she was Canadian and couldn't eat that much, to which Ruth replied, "here you are Kenyan. You eat like a Kenyan. When you go home, you can eat like a Canadian."

However, between the two of us (and with Kate's help, when she was here), we've slowly been able to convince them that we really just can't handle that much food. My personal nemesis is a very thick maize porridge that is one of the main staples in Kenya, called Ugali. It's super thick and pretty flavorless. It's also very cheap, so the orphans eat it almost every day and we eat it at the orphanage, too. If I eat too much, my throat starts constricting and I get a stomachache. In small quantities it's just fine, but the problem is convincing the Kenyans that a small quantity is big enough. Lucy overheard me once talking to Kate about how unpleasant it was to eat a lot of ugali and I guess my description of what it does made her concerned enough that she actually let me serve my own amount of ugali next time, although she looked at the amount on my plate with narrowed eyes after.

A final note- Obama continues to be a huge, huge deal here. In the internet cafe where I'm currently sitting, there's a calendar on the wall, the tearaway kind, that says "The Obama Year" and has huge picture of the president elect. Whenever people find out I'm American, they want to discuss Obama for the next ten minutes, which is starting to get really annoying, especially since I'm definitely not an unqualified fan. So the other day, when Cynthia and I went in to town to go to the market, I temporarily adopted Canada as my home country so people wouldn't preach to me about Obama's virtues on top of trying to sell me trinkets I didn't want at an exorbitant rate. Never fear though, I'm definitely not becoming an expat. I love America and the more I travel, the more I appreciate it.

I lied. I have one more note to add. Except for certain touristy areas, Kenya is very homogenously black in population. Even in downtown Nairobi, I can walk for a few blocks before seeing another white person, or mzungu. In fact, I saw one white guy this morning who was staring at me funny- I assume because I was white.

Anyway, political correctness has yet to be really born here. The kids especially have a tendency to treat white people like a novelty to be stared at and petted. I think their parents have a lot of work to do in teaching them that regardless of the color of people's skin, they're still people. And it's given me an appreciation I've never had before for how frustrating it can be to be classified by the color of your skin and not who you are inside. I still think that lots of people go overboard and tend to be extra sensitive and silly in America, but after being referred to as "the mzungu" enough times, it gets really old and I want to remind people that I have a name and a personality. Of course, almost all of the people that I have personal interaction with are great. My host family, the staff at the orphanage, and the workers at Fahihili Helpers in Nairobi all treat me quite personably. But I will definitely take a new appreciation home with me.

Obama Day

And you thought the election results were a big deal in America! Here in Kenya, today has been declared Obama Day, a public holiday, and kids are out of school and shops are closed. We purchased our cow for the orphanage this morning and her name apparently is Emi Obama. Someone should notify the president-elect that a cow in Gathiga village has been named in his honor- a very pregnant cow, I might add, who ought to calf within a month. Maybe I'll be here to see it.

Josh sent me a link that ought to show you haw excited the people here are about Obama. I don't know if the actual musical is real or not, but it wouldn't surprise me at all. These people are nuts about Obama. The village where his family lives held a fake election on November 4th and they held parades carrying anything with his image on it after the election results were in. ON the news, which we watch a surprising amount, it's nothing but "Obama, Obama, Obama." This was the same tribe that was responsible for all the violence at the beginning of the year- I honestly think there would have been more violence if Obama had lost. They are known for being very clannish and not taking defeat well. If anyone from their tribe receives an honor, they all receive it. If anyone from their tribe is shamed or defeated, they all are.

Obama's face is everywhere, too. As one announcer put it in his broken English last night, "Any Obama paraphernalia is selling like hot dogs" (we think he meant hot cakes. But I like hot dogs better. Maybe I'll start incorporating that expression into my speech.)

Hakuna Matata

Now that the stress of the thesis is (almost) done, it's time to head out on the next adventure. The big adventure of choosing a job or a PhD program is still up in the air, but the immediate future is pretty much looming with adventure. It's looming so much that I can't believe how calm I am at present.

I'm going to Kenya on Thursday.

I'll be there for one month, more or less. I'll work in an orphanage for three weeks and the take a few days to travel by myself, probably a safari. I'll let you know if I meet up with Simba or any of his crew.

I have a travel bug, it's true.

Cim, I'm blaming you for the travel bug and also for making me confident (cocky?) enough to travel by myself. I don't think I could have done this before our Thailand adventure.

I'm not 100% sure how often I'll be able to get to a computer, although you can bet my camera will be going non-stop. I'm planning on emailing my family fairly often and updating my blog will be a little lower on the list of priorities. I'm not sure if I'll be able to upload pictures there or if I'll have to wait until I get back. If anyone's interested in getting email updates from me during the next month, send me a comment or an email and let me know. I hate mass emails, I actually much prefer personalized correspondence to the blog even, but I'm thinking that emails might be the most practical at first at least. I'll see how it goes after that.

Man, when on earth are the nerves going to kick in? I've been so calm about this for so long- I thought that once the thesis defense was past, I'd start getting worked up over going to Sub-Saharan Africa, but I guess not yet. It's just as well. The less time spent worrying, the better, right?

Duck, Duck, Goose

This was a family weekend, and I loved it. Matt, Tricia, Michael and I headed to Idaho Falls to spend time with my mom's family, many of whom live in that general region. Any time I head to Idaho, a few things are assured:
1- There will be lots of good food
2- There will be lots of people
3- There will be lots of entertainment
4- There will be lots of laughter
5- There will be lots of stories told and made
6- No errors or embarrassments in your past are safe from being teased and joked about (which, 98% of the time, doesn't bother me at all. The other 2% of the time, I'm usually already in a bad mood).

The food comes from lots of sources, but our favorite chef is always Uncle Curtis, who had fresh tomato soup, hot bread, and homemade honey butter waiting for us upon our arrival.

The primary form of entertainment this time around was a game called Blokus, which we discovered on our last trip to Idaho (Matt documented this one). We played it many times and were surprised at how strongly we all became emotionally attached to the game.

On our first round, Grandma's napkin holder, which is wicker, and looks like a duck, was sitting on the table. I have no recollection of exactly how it started, but somehow I wound up with the duck and it henceforth became my mascot for the trip.

The next morning, we went to the Idaho Falls Riverwalk with Grandma and walked along a portion of the Snake River. Imagine my delight when we were met by hordes of ducks and geese! Upon closer examination of these live, organic specimens, I concluded that I had made a wise choice of mascot.



Ducks are very endearing birds. I especially like them for the following reasons:
1- Their quacking noises are quite pleasant
2- When they quack a certain way, it sounds like they're laughing, and I then laugh along.
3- Mallards often have tail feathers that curl into nice little curliques
4- They have very flexible necks. Can you imagine sticking your head on your back to sleep?
5- I have to admit it- I'm a sucker for when they shake their little behinds





After walking along half the Riverwalk, we came across a grassy knoll where the ducks and geese hung out. They were apparently used to being fed, because as soon as they saw us coming towards them, they all began marching towards us. If I thought there was any truth to the plot of The Birds, it would probably have been a slightly frightening moment.


However, we were able to peacefully coexist on the grassy knoll with the ducks and geese; they actually all turned and started walking around once they decided we weren't going to feed them. I like ducks, though. Maybe I'll have one someday.





These last pictures document the beauty of the Riverwalk with the Idaho Falls Temple in the background. I think that Matt, Tricia, Michael, and Grandma make a very colorful group. Also, Tricia is trying out her new magical abilities in that last shot. She got quite good at some spells while we were up in Idaho.