Kenya, Africa
17 students left Capernwray at 2:30AM, Sunday morning, April 1, 2012. If you have ever been on a Missions Trip with me, you may know what tends happens at the beginning of the journey. I usually get pretty excited about what is happening, rightly so, and for some reason my body thinks excitement is a foreign disease trying to invade. As a result, my body’s goal is to get that out of there! So I am liable to get one of the side effects of my Malaria pills…use common sense and I’m sure you know what side effect I am talking about. With all that said, the history was needed so I could tell you, YAY, no side effect this time! The trip started off great and no bathroom stops needed. We arrived at the Nairobi Airport around 9:00PM, Monday night, April 2, 2012. We queued at customs, got our passports stamped, photos taken, and we were good to go for two weeks in Kenya. We had another 1.5 hour drive to our beds at our base, Word Of Life.
Before bed, our leader Andy Thomas, told us we needed to pack up five-days worth of clothing. Because, in the morning, we are heading to the middle of the Magadi Desert to camp for one week and work with the Masai people. So we tried to sleep the best we could, trying to contain our excitement about this awesome experience ahead of us. We woke to our first meal in Kenya, “Peanut Butter and Honey Sandwich”. We took our last showers and used our last toilet for the final time in one week. That afternoon we took off for the Magadi Desert.
We rented our very own Safari Truck called Lazarus. We needed a vehicle that could transport all of us at once and could accommodate to our need of off-roading in the desert. He was massive, blue, loud, slow, and bumpy: we loved him. We all piled in the back on benches and mattresses. The sides were open with an optional tarp to tie over the top. The only thing keeping the people on the edges inside the truck, were two wood panels…one of which was removable to get in and out. Easily escapable if need be, and easily push-someone-annoying-outable if need be. Oh dear, jokes, jokes, of course that never happend! Now, you need to know something about Africa: smooth, paved roads are abnormal. Roads of dirt, potholes, and speed bumps every mile are the norm. This was our first ride in Lazarus…I quickly discovered every ride was a workout, for my muscles and for my stoutly areas jiggling all about...Hello embarrassing, “Do NOT look at my cheeks! YES, they are vibrating!” I learned to hang on for dear life to whatever I could grab. It was that one moment I decided to relax, when we’d hit a pothole that would send me flying to the opposite side of the truck or to the ceiling. Either you’d slam against the truck or have that awkward occurrence of landing on another person…when that happens, you are sensibly trying to break your fall with your hands, so when you land on someone with your hands flailing, chances are hands are going to land where hands aren’t supposed to land. Do you understand what I am saying? And then you’re laughing so hard at what just happened and the truck is still jerking everybody in all directions, you can’t muster the energy or strength to get up. This production happened more than once every ride we took. By the end of the week it was expected…some people never did learn to hang on.
It was a two to three hour drive from where we were in Nairobi. After stopping to buy supplies (specifically water and toilet paper) and picking up three extra Kenyans, we arrived at our campsite that evening. Now when I say campsite, I do not mean an actual, designated, campsite. Let me just repeat…we were in the middle of the African Desert, at least one hour from civilization…surrounding us were mountains, thorny trees and bushes, rocks, sand, Wild African Ass, and Hyenas. It wasn’t Elephant season and Lions didn’t typically live in our part of the desert. Doesn’t mean they weren’t there, but none were spotted. Our Camp Site was actually located at Pastor Isaac’s Boma. A Boma looks like a little family village. The male’s whole family: from Grandpa and Grandma, to brothers and sisters, and cousins, etc. all lived in the same spot in the desert. The all have their own houses (mud/stick-huts), but all live in the same area.
We camped next to Pastor Isaac’s hut inside his Hyena barrier of thorny trees and bushes. The only water we had was our bottled water. No such thing as a shower in the desert. Our daily showers were baby wipes. It took at least two baby wipes per arm (to do your best) to get all the dirt out of the rolls and creases you didn’t even know existed on your body. We lived in a constant sticky feeling that the baby wipes left us with, plus heat, sweat, and sunscreen, caked on everyday, without ever getting 100% clean every night.
Our campsite included two tents (one with four girls, another with five) and the rest were outside under a tarp on the thin mattresses we were given to use. We had maybe seven sleeping bags to share amongst 17 of us. We would wake up to a beautiful sunrise poking through the mountains and a personal, unavoidable, goat alarm.
The goats at this place made the weirdest, human noises I’ve ever heard from an animal before. The baby goats would scream like a human child…made you stop what you were doing and jump to start running to this awful scream and then you’re just running around like a chicken with his head cut off trying to find this child, when it’s actually a child disguised as a baby goat. I never got used to it, constantly felt the need to drop everything and run for the kid. But do not sympathize for us just yet…because we got those goats back. For their 5:00AM wake up calls and child screams…we killed and ate one for Tea (supper) the last night we were there. It was absolutely comical…it was early in the morning, we were just waking up, sitting around our tents, reading our Bibles, baby wiping, and brushing our teeth when Pastor Isaac walks right up to our tents with a big smirk on his face, *full of beans, and carrying in his hands (in his dress clothes) goat intestines, freshly dissected, wet and pink and steamy. Hilarious. We had no idea we were going to eat one of their personal goats, we would have never thought, it is so rare that they eat a goat just for a normal meal…they are for special occasions. And this just shows you how giving these people are…with not much, but they give a lot, to accommodate us and show their love for us. Well, about ten minutes later Pastor Isaac returns with the actually chopped off goat head…looking all dead and such, with it’s floppy ears, tongue hanging out, and eyes wide open. We decided not to name the goat for obvious reasons…some people have attachment issues.
Now if you recall from a previous paragraph, I said we picked up toilet paper as a supply. We call it T.P. for obvious reasons...because it stands for toilet paper, and because we had to ask for it so often, it’s just easier to *abbrev. Now why would we need to pick up T.P. you ask? Well, a little thing called, an Outhouse. Also a little fact: Kenyans do not use T.P. They do not use leaves, a cloth, or T.P…nothing. This is the truth because I witnessed it many-uh-times [no details necessary]. But for the cleanly *Mzungos, it is an essential! We bought loads of it and had a stash in the truck at all times. Come to think of it, I do not even know why they sell T.P. in Kenya, for the fact that no one uses it! Sure explains why the quality of it is the way it is, but nonetheless.
Now, can I please take a moment to bring to life (for your insight) some of the sensory responses I involuntarily utilized while using an outhouse? Thank you, even if you did not consent to that question, I know you’re curious, so I will proceed. Please do not be afraid to read, it’s okay, we are all curious creatures. I will try not to make this the longest paragraph in my post. Alrighty then, first I would like to be specific…about which outhouse I’m describing. I am telling you about the outhouse we were required to use while living in the desert. My first choice would have been to just go behind a tree or a bush somewhere, but we were not allowed for safety reasons, due to the chance of attracting unwanted animals. Most ‘toilets’ in Africa are actually not toilets at all. Every outhouse I occupied was just a simple hole in the ground. Every once in a while we would come across an outhouse with fancy cement floor, with provided cement blocks to mark out where your feet should be placed. Pretty much I’m a hole-in-the-ground-outhouse specialist. I’ve seen all kinds and know which designs work the best. But here’s the cool thing…the outhouse we lived with at our Boma for the week actually had a toilet. But to be honest, I wish it wouldn’t have. I would have been plenty happy with the squat, due to the fact that this toilet was made out of wood. And spiders and suck-your-face-off worms the size of my fingers made their homes on, under, and around where you sit. Not once did I ever sit all the way down and I always made sure someone went before me in the morning, to clear away all the spider webs, etc. Now for the smells: I will be kind and make this the least descriptive as possible while still giving you an idea of the experience. So we had to walk a good ways to get to the outhouse…it doesn’t look too threatening on the outside, sheet metal on the exterior and an old blanket covering the doorway. But when you’re about 100 feet away, you hit a wall…of stench. It’s really something that I’ve never smelled before. It didn’t smell like human feces alone. Imagine the smell of feces (sorry) and then imagine that melting away in 115-degree heat and then throw some rotting food and burning flesh on top, and that’s almost what it was like. I’m sorry that was maybe a little too graphic, but that is how it was. I always held my pee as long as I could praying that the Lord would take away the urge…needless to say He never did. I have a few funny outhouse stories, but those can be saved for another day. When those actually interested ask me for details.
Seeing as this current blog post is already far too long, I am making you a promise. I will continue writing Kenya updates until I’ve covered the two weeks. I think I could do it in two to three more blog posts. It’s always hard to recap an experience like this when there are so many stories and I have to choose what to write about.
I do hope this post has given you a little insight as to what I was a part of. I will, of course, be going into more detail of the actual Mission work we did as well…I just had to catch you up on the first two days first.
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Facebook where I am slowly, but surely uploading photos!
*Abbrev – pronounced “uh-breeve”…an abbreviation for the word ‘abbreviate’
*Mzungos – white person
*Full of Beans – British phrase meaning: Really happy, please, and excited
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| Lazarus in all his glory |
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| My desert home |
Stay alert for the next post!
Ever, AJ
