The Village Part One
Up at 5:30 I wiped the sleep from my eyes and hastily packed my bag for the overnight stay in Sammy’s hometown village – Giampondo. It was about a 6hour drive. I was a little concerned when I squeezed into the backseat that I would get carsick, but I was sleepy and that worked to my benefit. The tarmac was smooth most of the way. About an hour away we hit dirt road… now, this was Africa. Along the road walked mostly women and children. The children were minding the animals… cows and goats out to graze in the bush. The women walked in groups to the market with goats to be sold and bundles of freshly killed chickens to sell or trade for other goods. Some children walked home, perhaps from school or other places and stared to watch my white face go by in the backseat of the passing car. Who was this odd stranger – they must have wondered. With the hot wind in my face, I sang God’s praises until Sammy got tired of my voice and turned on the radio. Arriving at his brother’s home, it was a lot like I had imagined it.
There was a middle sized house straight ahead with a lean-to as a garage. On the right there was a thorn pasture for the goats and a pen for the cattle. On the left there was the kitchen (just an open stone fire) and the house-workers quarters. Behind that were the washhouse and the outhouse. The house was a nice size, with an addition added for guests who had a double bed and a single bed with very high ceilings, a few windows and a mosquito net. We dropped out luggage off and then were ushered into the family room where I perched on the edge of the couch cushion and observed my surroundings. The common site – photos of family and of course, a picture of Obama stared back at me. They had a large shelving unit that had a non-working TV, held all the dishes and was littered with a variety of odd objects… toothbrushes, toothpaste, photos, and such. Of course, my sharp eye searched for bugs. Oh yes, this is Africa! (TIA as we call it). Large spiders that looked long dead hung in the corners of the home - I wondered if these creatures really were spiders as Sammy said they were not. There were, however, spiders behind the Obama picture and that I was sure of. They were large, including the legs about the size of a large cell phone. I sat wide-eyed until Sammy came in and asked that we move outside where it was not so hot. I excitedly left the home and found a plastic chair under a large tree. Sammy and I cracked open a strawberry yogurt and enjoyed our treat with lots of conversation. We talked about many things… life, love, and told stories. We talked about church the next day where I was expected to give a sermon while we waited to attend the Women’s Fellowship meeting that very afternoon. Looking back now this was one of my favorite memories.
When it was time to go to church, Sammy, Betty and I packed a couple things and headed out into the bush. No driving, we walked there. I was able to think about Sammy as a child in this area… running around and getting into trouble. And it made my heart glad. I was also a little nervous to meet the ladies and Sammy’s dad who were supposed to be waiting at the church for us to arrive.
When we arrived, there were only a few ladies seated inside of a small concrete building. After sitting in the church for a few moments we moved outside. Now, sitting outside we were in an oval shape… the women on one side and the men on the other. Sammy was busy talking to the men – I am guessing about the local news in the village and such. I turned to Betty and got to know her a little better. We were supposed to start at 3 PM, but at 5 PM we finally started to speak. You know, Africa time. I had to begin with my testimony, which I did with ease. In fact, I usually don’t go into all the corny teenage details about it. But the ladies seemed to enjoy it and I made them laugh. Then Betty talked and after that, Sammy talked. It was a great time and we ended as the sun was going down. In typical African fashion, they had a box of sodas to share with the honored guest (I was HONORED! Hehe). I was trying to get the little boys in the village to come to me and shake my hand. Out of a group of 6 only about 3 of them were brave enough to approach me and live through the scorching white person’s touch. The brave ones were awarded with a bottle of Fanta, a prized gift if I say so myself.
The fundraiser tomorrow was for the Women’s Fellowship as they struggled to raise the money to build a kitchen for the church. The women had worked very hard and were able to earn $20 – enough to buy a couple sheets of tin. They were far from the amount needed for the kitchen. It is these moments I wish I had lots of money – that I can just hand them a couple thousand and say, build a kitchen AND a school. LOL. But life is not that simple and I knew I had the task of figuring out how to make enough money to donate to the village.
After the event Sammy and I trekked back across the distance to his brother’s house. On the way, Sammy stopped to point out a little critter in the trees with big eyes. This little guy, as commonly knows to the locals as a “Bush Baby” watched me as still as a statue as we stopped to look at him, snap a photo and continue on our way. Down the river bed and up the hill, my flip-flops made their way over the terrain. Back at the house, Sammy pulled out a wooden chair and I had a seat out in the open area. Within the hour, the other men arrived, all gathering a good 20 feet away from me, and the women started cooking over the fire and coals. I was asked if I wanted to help cook, but due to my asthma, I was happy to escape the smoke and enjoy the sounds of the quiet Africa plains. As the sun dipped away, the stars all shone brightly and other animals came to life. A shrill but soothing bird chirp, crickets, other various bugs, and family animals all echoed their sounds to the African desert vastness. As I sat quietly in my chair, I observed my surroundings. The men talked in their native language, all in their group tucked in tightly. The women still hovered over the large cooking pot, full of rice and meat, chattering about the day’s events. The animals wandered around the yard, the kids drinking milk and the donkeys were braying their goodnight to the others. I leaned back, took a deep breath and stared at the stars glistening and twinkling like diamonds on black velvet. As I took all this in, I felt the peace of a land far away. My issues and problems seemed so far yet so close at the same time. As I prayed, reaching out for something, some answer, I got a lonely void of silence in my heart. But at least I was here in this place… this place where I could think, I could get to know another culture, and try to listen to my heart in the solitary sounds of the evening.
Sorry - I love getting carried away in the eloquent grammar paintings. Anyway, getting back to the reality of the moment, Betty came over and asked me to go and take a bath. NOW, this bath is not what most people would consider a bath. No running water, no tub, no bathroom. Instead, I had an outhouse and a washhouse. They had already lugged my basin of hot water to the washhouse and it was waiting for me. With the bugs. In the little tin structure about 50 feet away from my comfy wicker chair. No, I didn’t need a bath. I am an American – I brought – WETWIPES! Yay for me, right?! No such luck, you see, if I declined to wash up by their standards I would be considered dirty. Of course, I was dirty… but the Africans don’t know what wet wipes are, nor would they consider it an appropriate form of washing. Ok, so yes, I will take a bath. But wait – I don’t have another set of clean clothes. I have the dress I was in and a dress for tomorrow and pajamas for the night. Could I wear those pajamas? Uhh, technically yes, did I want to wear them in public? HECK NO! They were thin things, made of cotton and such. But I had to surrender. I would not be able to wash up with wet wipes and then change into my pajamas before bed. Yes, before I even had dinner I had to go wash up, change into my pajamas and return to the house for dinner.
Down to the washhouse I went, toting my packet of wet wipes a flashlight and my clean pajamas. Into the washhouse I went, set my flashlight on the ledge and stripped as fast as I could. Into the hot water I splashed, and it felt so good. I washed quickly, taking care not to brush the sides of the small tin building in fear of disturbing the local insects waiting to bathe in my water when I was finished. I had finished getting dressed, grabbed my flashlight and busted out as fast as I could.
Returning to the family, I was ushered inside, where I continued to make the sweat I had just so diligently washed away a couple minutes before. In the house there was one solitary light bulb which was lit using solar power. This light might as well be the beacon of life and hope for all the African bugs within a 10 mile radius. CALLING ALL BUGS!
I sat perched on the edge of the couch, looking at all the crawling critters migrating into the house. There was a healthy variety: golf ball sized beetles that hooked their little legs into the couch covers, curtains, and hit the wall sliding down the concrete wall and landing with a thud. There were spiders sized nicely around the length of a soda can waiting for their dinner, crickets, grasshoppers, and other various scary creepy-crawlies. In my thin cotton pajamas I fought the urge to jump up and run out of the room screaming and doing the bug dance.
Luckily, Sammy came in and sat with me, telling me more Africa tales of life long ago for him in the village and distracting me from the things creeping around the room. When Betty came in to tell Sammy to take a bath, he could see the fear on my face. Grabbing the one school book from the kiddo that lived there, he gave it to me with firm instructions to swat anything that tried to attack. He left the house and left me sitting alone with the hundreds of unwanted visitors. It was not long before Sara came in to keep my company, of course with a heaping plate of food. I picked at my plate, not hungry, and just wanting to return to the coolness of the night air and the beautiful stars. Once Sammy returned from his bath, he peeked his head in and asked me to join him outside. Hallelujah!
Our time before bed was brief, talking about life just as we had left off. Within 20 minutes, it was time for bed. Sammy and Betty retreated to their guest house while I plotted on how sleeping was going to work. In the large cement room there was no light, which meant there were less bugs. But in this darkness, there were different bugs. Dark creepy ones, like crickets and black beetles. My small bed was tucked by the wall, without a net, and hosted a mattress with lovely floral patterned sheets. I knew the longer my light stayed on, the more bugs would come wandering in. Betty had told me that since it was hot I didn’t need to wear the sheet, but as I jumped into bed, I checked for bugs under the covers, turned off the light, and tugged the sheet over my body and over my head. No teeth brushing, no hair brushing, just get to bed… that was my mission.
There in the dark the sounds were of the bugs, and many animals outside that apparently had a lot to talk about. It was in the dark solitude of that room where I let my emotions wash over me like a flood. As I cried I could feel the sweat running down my legs and beading on my forehead. In fear of insects crawling my bare skin, sweat was a price I was willing to pay. I think anything and everything raced through my head, transforming into tears and pouring out onto my pillow. At that moment of time, it was just me, God, and the African dessert listening to my heart. Soon after I was pulling myself back together, a huge storm rolled in and it began to rain. The sound mixing with my emotions I was able to drift into sleep as the clanging on the tin roof seemed to drown out my sounds of sorrow (and the songs of the insects).
There was a middle sized house straight ahead with a lean-to as a garage. On the right there was a thorn pasture for the goats and a pen for the cattle. On the left there was the kitchen (just an open stone fire) and the house-workers quarters. Behind that were the washhouse and the outhouse. The house was a nice size, with an addition added for guests who had a double bed and a single bed with very high ceilings, a few windows and a mosquito net. We dropped out luggage off and then were ushered into the family room where I perched on the edge of the couch cushion and observed my surroundings. The common site – photos of family and of course, a picture of Obama stared back at me. They had a large shelving unit that had a non-working TV, held all the dishes and was littered with a variety of odd objects… toothbrushes, toothpaste, photos, and such. Of course, my sharp eye searched for bugs. Oh yes, this is Africa! (TIA as we call it). Large spiders that looked long dead hung in the corners of the home - I wondered if these creatures really were spiders as Sammy said they were not. There were, however, spiders behind the Obama picture and that I was sure of. They were large, including the legs about the size of a large cell phone. I sat wide-eyed until Sammy came in and asked that we move outside where it was not so hot. I excitedly left the home and found a plastic chair under a large tree. Sammy and I cracked open a strawberry yogurt and enjoyed our treat with lots of conversation. We talked about many things… life, love, and told stories. We talked about church the next day where I was expected to give a sermon while we waited to attend the Women’s Fellowship meeting that very afternoon. Looking back now this was one of my favorite memories.
When it was time to go to church, Sammy, Betty and I packed a couple things and headed out into the bush. No driving, we walked there. I was able to think about Sammy as a child in this area… running around and getting into trouble. And it made my heart glad. I was also a little nervous to meet the ladies and Sammy’s dad who were supposed to be waiting at the church for us to arrive.
When we arrived, there were only a few ladies seated inside of a small concrete building. After sitting in the church for a few moments we moved outside. Now, sitting outside we were in an oval shape… the women on one side and the men on the other. Sammy was busy talking to the men – I am guessing about the local news in the village and such. I turned to Betty and got to know her a little better. We were supposed to start at 3 PM, but at 5 PM we finally started to speak. You know, Africa time. I had to begin with my testimony, which I did with ease. In fact, I usually don’t go into all the corny teenage details about it. But the ladies seemed to enjoy it and I made them laugh. Then Betty talked and after that, Sammy talked. It was a great time and we ended as the sun was going down. In typical African fashion, they had a box of sodas to share with the honored guest (I was HONORED! Hehe). I was trying to get the little boys in the village to come to me and shake my hand. Out of a group of 6 only about 3 of them were brave enough to approach me and live through the scorching white person’s touch. The brave ones were awarded with a bottle of Fanta, a prized gift if I say so myself.
The fundraiser tomorrow was for the Women’s Fellowship as they struggled to raise the money to build a kitchen for the church. The women had worked very hard and were able to earn $20 – enough to buy a couple sheets of tin. They were far from the amount needed for the kitchen. It is these moments I wish I had lots of money – that I can just hand them a couple thousand and say, build a kitchen AND a school. LOL. But life is not that simple and I knew I had the task of figuring out how to make enough money to donate to the village.
After the event Sammy and I trekked back across the distance to his brother’s house. On the way, Sammy stopped to point out a little critter in the trees with big eyes. This little guy, as commonly knows to the locals as a “Bush Baby” watched me as still as a statue as we stopped to look at him, snap a photo and continue on our way. Down the river bed and up the hill, my flip-flops made their way over the terrain. Back at the house, Sammy pulled out a wooden chair and I had a seat out in the open area. Within the hour, the other men arrived, all gathering a good 20 feet away from me, and the women started cooking over the fire and coals. I was asked if I wanted to help cook, but due to my asthma, I was happy to escape the smoke and enjoy the sounds of the quiet Africa plains. As the sun dipped away, the stars all shone brightly and other animals came to life. A shrill but soothing bird chirp, crickets, other various bugs, and family animals all echoed their sounds to the African desert vastness. As I sat quietly in my chair, I observed my surroundings. The men talked in their native language, all in their group tucked in tightly. The women still hovered over the large cooking pot, full of rice and meat, chattering about the day’s events. The animals wandered around the yard, the kids drinking milk and the donkeys were braying their goodnight to the others. I leaned back, took a deep breath and stared at the stars glistening and twinkling like diamonds on black velvet. As I took all this in, I felt the peace of a land far away. My issues and problems seemed so far yet so close at the same time. As I prayed, reaching out for something, some answer, I got a lonely void of silence in my heart. But at least I was here in this place… this place where I could think, I could get to know another culture, and try to listen to my heart in the solitary sounds of the evening.
Sorry - I love getting carried away in the eloquent grammar paintings. Anyway, getting back to the reality of the moment, Betty came over and asked me to go and take a bath. NOW, this bath is not what most people would consider a bath. No running water, no tub, no bathroom. Instead, I had an outhouse and a washhouse. They had already lugged my basin of hot water to the washhouse and it was waiting for me. With the bugs. In the little tin structure about 50 feet away from my comfy wicker chair. No, I didn’t need a bath. I am an American – I brought – WETWIPES! Yay for me, right?! No such luck, you see, if I declined to wash up by their standards I would be considered dirty. Of course, I was dirty… but the Africans don’t know what wet wipes are, nor would they consider it an appropriate form of washing. Ok, so yes, I will take a bath. But wait – I don’t have another set of clean clothes. I have the dress I was in and a dress for tomorrow and pajamas for the night. Could I wear those pajamas? Uhh, technically yes, did I want to wear them in public? HECK NO! They were thin things, made of cotton and such. But I had to surrender. I would not be able to wash up with wet wipes and then change into my pajamas before bed. Yes, before I even had dinner I had to go wash up, change into my pajamas and return to the house for dinner.
Down to the washhouse I went, toting my packet of wet wipes a flashlight and my clean pajamas. Into the washhouse I went, set my flashlight on the ledge and stripped as fast as I could. Into the hot water I splashed, and it felt so good. I washed quickly, taking care not to brush the sides of the small tin building in fear of disturbing the local insects waiting to bathe in my water when I was finished. I had finished getting dressed, grabbed my flashlight and busted out as fast as I could.
Returning to the family, I was ushered inside, where I continued to make the sweat I had just so diligently washed away a couple minutes before. In the house there was one solitary light bulb which was lit using solar power. This light might as well be the beacon of life and hope for all the African bugs within a 10 mile radius. CALLING ALL BUGS!
I sat perched on the edge of the couch, looking at all the crawling critters migrating into the house. There was a healthy variety: golf ball sized beetles that hooked their little legs into the couch covers, curtains, and hit the wall sliding down the concrete wall and landing with a thud. There were spiders sized nicely around the length of a soda can waiting for their dinner, crickets, grasshoppers, and other various scary creepy-crawlies. In my thin cotton pajamas I fought the urge to jump up and run out of the room screaming and doing the bug dance.
Luckily, Sammy came in and sat with me, telling me more Africa tales of life long ago for him in the village and distracting me from the things creeping around the room. When Betty came in to tell Sammy to take a bath, he could see the fear on my face. Grabbing the one school book from the kiddo that lived there, he gave it to me with firm instructions to swat anything that tried to attack. He left the house and left me sitting alone with the hundreds of unwanted visitors. It was not long before Sara came in to keep my company, of course with a heaping plate of food. I picked at my plate, not hungry, and just wanting to return to the coolness of the night air and the beautiful stars. Once Sammy returned from his bath, he peeked his head in and asked me to join him outside. Hallelujah!
Our time before bed was brief, talking about life just as we had left off. Within 20 minutes, it was time for bed. Sammy and Betty retreated to their guest house while I plotted on how sleeping was going to work. In the large cement room there was no light, which meant there were less bugs. But in this darkness, there were different bugs. Dark creepy ones, like crickets and black beetles. My small bed was tucked by the wall, without a net, and hosted a mattress with lovely floral patterned sheets. I knew the longer my light stayed on, the more bugs would come wandering in. Betty had told me that since it was hot I didn’t need to wear the sheet, but as I jumped into bed, I checked for bugs under the covers, turned off the light, and tugged the sheet over my body and over my head. No teeth brushing, no hair brushing, just get to bed… that was my mission.
There in the dark the sounds were of the bugs, and many animals outside that apparently had a lot to talk about. It was in the dark solitude of that room where I let my emotions wash over me like a flood. As I cried I could feel the sweat running down my legs and beading on my forehead. In fear of insects crawling my bare skin, sweat was a price I was willing to pay. I think anything and everything raced through my head, transforming into tears and pouring out onto my pillow. At that moment of time, it was just me, God, and the African dessert listening to my heart. Soon after I was pulling myself back together, a huge storm rolled in and it began to rain. The sound mixing with my emotions I was able to drift into sleep as the clanging on the tin roof seemed to drown out my sounds of sorrow (and the songs of the insects).
posted by Nic at 3:29 PM
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