Invitation to Dinner

I forgot to mention that at church, I made friends with a woman named Miriam. She was so kind and said she lives not far from the church. She invited us to come to her home afterward. I accepted the invitation, and we walked with her

(not that short of a walk after all--it felt like a mile in my uncomfortable shoes, but probably less) to her home. She said, "My home, very small, but 'caribu, caribu' you are welcome any day, any time." Her entire home is smaller than our kitchen. Her "front room" was BARELY big enough for an old love seat, armchair and small coffee table. Like imagine you're packing those items in a walk-in closet and have only enough room to walk in between. They had sleeping rooms in the back. I didn't realize it, but we had passed through the "kitchen" on our way into the living room. It was just a tiny space where she cooks over her fire stove on the floor, and she had a few shelves of pots and dishes.

Anyway, I was SO PROUD of the boys. We had had a conversation with them before we ever left the comfort of our Lehi home, and I told them, "Kids, one day we're going to be invited to eat with a person from Kenya, and they're going to be very poor and it will be a big sacrifice for them to give us their food, and I want you to be brave and eat the food, even if you don't like it." I didn't expect that we'd be doing just that only a few days after arriving, but she prepared this lovely dish of ugali, which is made from corn meal, and it's like a loaf or cake--think of the outside of a tamale. And she also made this other dish--I can't remember the name, but it's basically like a savory cooked kale dish.

Anyway, it was very flavorful and good, and my sweet boys--after I discreetly reminded them of our earlier conversation--ate until they were full. Miriam and her husband, Fred, were so kind and soft spoken. There was a strong, good spirit in their home.

It was an amazing experience. I'd like to have them over in return. I feel a little sheepish having such a huge home in comparison, but oh well.

Mombasa Branch

This Sunday was an adventure. It took quite a bit of time walking in the city to find the place where the Mombasa branch meets for church. We'd ask people along the way, but no one seems to know the Mormons here, or at least they didn't know where they met for church. Turns out they have an office space on the second floor of a city building. We overlooked the "Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints" sign among the hundreds of signs hanging over the "side walk" [in most areas it is broken up concrete/dirt] and litter everywhere.

We would have missed it altogether if it hadn't been for a family that was heading to church late. I'm so glad that family was late for church!

The missionaries were there. One of them, Elder Lyons, is from Pleasant Grove of all places! He's in his 19th month, and speaks Swahili wonderfully. He had an accent when he spoke English to us. For once, I could understand why missionaries come home "weird" (I used to say) with accents and stuff. When you're living/breathing/speaking/completely immersed in such a foreign culture everyday for two years, OF COURSE you're gonna come home with an accent. It made me love that elder. I could tell he was a hard worker. Anyway, the church here, I think, is exemplary and very organized. I think I counted about 45 adults in Sunday school that week. They all participate in class, and they all come prepared with manuals. They all welcomed us and were discussing how to improve on home/visiting teaching, and member missionary work. I was very impressed. We're also lucky to have a fan at the front of the "chapel" so the heat is bearable.

During Sunday school, I was watching the teacher, Brother Karani,

(who is awesome btw), and looking at the ragged-edged chalkboard leaning against the backs of the chairs

and I thought to myself, "We're doing it! We're really doing it!" Let me explain.

We decided to move forward with this international experience for a few reasons (in no particular order). 1) We wanted the kids to see a different lifestyle and begin to be more appreciative of their easy and blessed life. 2) We had it on our family bucket list. 3) We wanted to learn to be more resourceful and less wasteful, and 4) Hunter and I have always wanted to serve a mission together one day. But we decided, we didn't want to wait the thirty or so years until retirement and HOPEFULLY we'll be financially ready, and HOPEFULLY, our health will be good enough, and HOPEFULLY we'll be called internationally. So we decided to MAKE IT HAPPEN! And we decided to just find a job opportunity that would take us international, and be really good "member missionaries". So as I was pondering during Sunday school, I was happy that we were taking our goals and desires and actually making them happen!

Nyali Beach

Our second day in Nyali, we visited Nyali Beach. As we approached the beach, we saw fishermen on the right, dragging their nets out to a boat made of wood ready to get to work, and on the left we saw a man walking with a camel. He wanted us to pay him to ride the camel. We didn't, but we got a picture of the camel when he wasn't looking.

Everyone's selling something. Everyone needs money. Anyway, it was cute; Paulo collected all kinds of coconut shells and kept taking pictures of everything he saw.

On our way back from Nyali beach, we stopped at a little structure along the side of the road so we could buy some chapati and beans to eat.

Chapati is like a thick tortilla or like a naan bread. It was good. Very cheap. Only 10 kenyan shillings, which is like a 12 cents, for one plate of beans and two chapati. We met a man there, Reverend Nixon, who walked us up the road to the place we could catch a matatu. On the way, we saw wild monkeys just running up the road and into the trees, like squirrels.

Andre was so excited! We told him he'd see monkeys in Kenya, but I didn't think they just roamed around like that! Reverend Nixon said the monkeys are afraid of black people because they throw rocks at them, but they like white people because they always try to feed them. Haha! He was so nice and helpful.

Pet Peeves

I have two major pet peeves. 1. Ants. And 2. Dirty smelling towels. (Well…maybe three pet peeves. The third is when I'm talking to someone, and they don't respond or even acknowledge that they heard me…moving on…) It's only day 5 or so, and I think I'm going to have to come to terms with 1 and 2 because I have to deal with them EVERY DAY!

The ants here in this house, thankfully, are teeny tiny, but they are extremely fast, and if you so much as drop a crumb, the ants will go marching in no time. I hope I don't become certifiably obsessive compulsive after this year. I will say though, that I did actually help out some ants my first night in this house. I noticed a crowd of ants on the floor in our bathroom. At first I couldn't tell what they were so excited about. Later that day, I discovered that they were dragging what looked like a little lizard corpse which they had picked dry until it was just a skeleton, just an inch and a half long. And they tugged that thing from the floor up the wall like five feet, across the wall, and then out the window to someplace. I removed an obstacle from their path so they could get that thing out of there. Aren't I helpful? 

The dirty smelling towels are inevitable as a result of the humidity here. The towels don't easily dry. I've let myself air dry the last two times I've showered, because when I tried to dry myself with a stinky towel, I was so annoyed that I showered all over again. The truth is, this just means I have to do more laundry, which you all know I hate, and which I have more to speak of later. Uuuggghhh! Why did I ever complain when I had it so easy before?

Our Landlord

Our home is gorgeous. It's old, and there are MANY inconveniences, but it's this beautiful two story home with Swahili architecture--white walls with dark wood beams. In front of every window are dark latticed window panes and decorative iron works. Each room is large, already equipped with the furniture and the housewares we need, including mosquito nets.

Our landlord, Ma Suma, is a kind lady. She's from Tanzania. I don't know if she's Muslim. The doors have Arabic prayers written above them, but she doesn't wear any special Muslim clothes. Hunter said something interesting about her the other day.

Ma Suma has three servants--it's quite common here. A man, Lenik, who let's us in and out of the gate;

 a woman, Elise, who handles laundry; and a gardener whose name I don't know. Well, one day, Hunter witnessed Ma scolding Lenik for something, and he said it made him feel angry inside when he saw the embarrassment in Lenik's face. "I would have been a revolutionary" he said. I knew it was common to have house help here, but I didn't think I'd ever have to deal with the ethical dilemmas involved with "classes" and the mistreatment of servants. Quite disturbing. Anyway, I hope Ma's servants know they can at least count on kind greetings from us.

On the other hand, I scolded Paulo yesterday for repeatedly swinging my newly hand-washed white laundry and allowing it to touch the ground when he should have been handing it to me so I could hang it on the clothes line. I realized I probably just wounded my boy just as Ma did to Lenik, so who am I to judge.