It's simpler here, with this smaller crew, and we find ourselves starting to daydream different ways of doing things, authentic ways of doing things.
We talk about Kenya more than I have talked about it in years. Answer questions about mid-term missions and long term commitments. Language learning. Culture learning. Water filters. Trash disposal. Do you boil water before you cook with it? How long before you stop using filtered water to brush your teeth? What do you do about parasites?
What kinds of bugs? What do you wear? Was it safe? Was it hot?
Stories come out, and I find myself bragging on the incredible Kenyan missionary that I worked for and with. See them mentally pasting her against an image of Ms. Betty. Grace. Betty Prophet. These women of God who have the faith to change the world.
These ones who live up to their names.
Together, we take in their stories, God's stories through them, and the team begins to sink into this idea of actually living here. Slowly at first, but gradually with greater confidence.
Ms. Betty passes plantain chips around the van, and they weigh the travel nurse's dire warnings against the casual way that we offer them food from the side of the road. Break open thin plastic bags and bite into crisp saltiness.
They are learning not to be afraid of this place, and it is good.
Learning to show up at soccer games and greet the children around them, but quietly, without chase or tickle or silly games. Without detracting from what this community is here to accomplish. Finding the familiar in dust and heat and wind, and remembering that these things are bred into their bones.
Desert rats. Tri-Cities kids. Better acquainted with with dust clouds than snowstorms.
This is home.
My soul unfurls a little with the normality of it all, and they are at peace.
They are learning not to be afraid of this place, and it is good.
Learning to show up at soccer games and greet the children around them, but quietly, without chase or tickle or silly games. Without detracting from what this community is here to accomplish. Finding the familiar in dust and heat and wind, and remembering that these things are bred into their bones.
Desert rats. Tri-Cities kids. Better acquainted with with dust clouds than snowstorms.
This is home.
My soul unfurls a little with the normality of it all, and they are at peace.
Friends offer a fruit that looks like a tiny lime, and we are shown how to split the delicate but leathery skin. How to fold it back to reveal a J*lly Rancher flavored fruit. Pale, yellow-orange. Round and vaguely slimy around a solid pit. Kenép.
Pop it in your mouth. Suck it clean. Toss the pit and peel into a nearby mathenge patch.
As easy as peanuts at a baseball game.
They add it to the list of things to be googled when we hit an airport, and "eat first; ask questions later" takes on a 2014 spin. Eat first; google in a few days.
Google it while you sit and talk. While you pass around decongestants for drippy nosed kids waiting to board a flight. While you post to a group faceb**k page, blurry phone pics full of fingers and little kid camera angles.
Because, we don't need a thousand perfect pictures to know that this happened.
It happened. And, that is enough.
Pop it in your mouth. Suck it clean. Toss the pit and peel into a nearby mathenge patch.
As easy as peanuts at a baseball game.
They add it to the list of things to be googled when we hit an airport, and "eat first; ask questions later" takes on a 2014 spin. Eat first; google in a few days.
Google it while you sit and talk. While you pass around decongestants for drippy nosed kids waiting to board a flight. While you post to a group faceb**k page, blurry phone pics full of fingers and little kid camera angles.
Because, we don't need a thousand perfect pictures to know that this happened.
It happened. And, that is enough.
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