ok, ok. this is a lot of complaining, i know. i want you to know that right now i'm sitting at java house with lindsay drinking coffee and just finished a delicious spanish omelette. i have absolutely nothing to complain about. later today i will go to a soccer tournament and hang out with some kids. then i will relax in my comfy house with friends and go to a sweet worship service with my loving community in the morning. no complaints. life is good. anyone who has been to or lived in kenya will find my experience yesterday very typical. and i want to share it with you.
so, yesterday:
the difficulty of living in africa comes in waves. today was one of those days.
i took a cold shower out of a jeri can this morning. this means that i dragged a big bottle of cold water from downstairs and lifted it above my head in the shower and poured it over me. i haven't had a real shower since monday when i paid 500 shillings to go to the country club. i haven't showered in my own bathroom since may. i do, however, drink more than 2 litres of clean water every day. and i can flush my toilet at least once a day. so no complaints about water since we have neighbors in kenya who have to walk miles for any kind of water and it mostly isn't ever clean.
i got a package from my mom!!! this was awesome. picking up the package at the post office wasn't awesome, however. i thought it was going to be at village market so i worked on children's ministry curriculum stuff all morning and put the post office off until the afternoon. i shouldn't have done that because everyone knows that friday afternoons at village are a nightmare in and of itself, not to mention going to the post office. they always require i.d. to pick up packages and you never know which i.d. you'll have to present. sometimes your driver's license will do other times you need a passport. just to be safe i brought 4 different picture i.d.'s. the lady behind the counter laughed at me. then she said i needed to go to city centre and pick up my package. i almost burst into tears right there. she felt sorry for me. so i got back into the defender (the beast) and drove downtown.
ONE HOUR later i text kim to ask about where in the world to park at the downtown post office. after 20 min of driving slowly on the four lane road i parked on the street. after getting hassled by the "security" on the street and refusing his "services" i walked two blocks, up the stairs and across the road. i then waited in line at the counter where i was told to go to the second floor to collect my parcel. i waited in the queue for the lift (in the line for the elevator) because that's what the sign by the lift told me to do. when the elevator door opened before all of its riders could exit three people pushed past me and onto the elevator. i rushed in before the door closed. i started to get out on what i thought was the 2nd floor but was pulled back by a woman who explained that is the 2M floor and i need to wait for the 2 floor. who knew there were two second floors?! so i got out on the 2nd floor and went to the counter. i waited for the guy to go in the back and get my package. this was, of course, after he looked at my package slip, said my name aloud a few times, asked where i'm from, and smiled at me for extended periods of time all throughout. he gave me my parcel and sent me to another lady behind the same counter. this lady gave me a really large knife and instructed me to open my package while she watched. after asking me about everything and what kind of sweets i had she wrote some notes on my package slip and sent me out in the hall to room 113, keeping my package with her! i went in room 113 and after the same "where are you from," "how long you been here?" and saying my name aloud several times the fellow behind the desk wrote something on my paper and sent me to another desk in the same room i was before! i talk to a lady behind some bars who looked at my paper, laughed at me, and told me i have to go outside, across the highway, and down two blocks to the bank to pay duty on the contents of my package. i asked for clarification because i couldn't believe what i was hearing. so i went. drenched in sweat. i passed the defender parked in the street on my way to the bank and the sketchy character who wanted to protect my car for a small fee was lazily leaning against my car. i didn't let him see me looking. i didn't want any more attention. i probably heard the word "mzungu" 5 times in my short walk to the bank. i had to fill out three forms and pay $10 at the bank. i got back to the post office where i had to go back into room 113 and get my paper stamped. then i spoke again to the lady behind the bars who commented that i looked tired. almost 3 hours had passed since i left my house to pick up the package. i told her that. she laughed.
the lady behind the bars stamped my papers too and sent me back to the counter across the room. that lady charged me another 70 shillings ($1), but didn't have change so i really payed more like $1.30. she took her time writing my receipt. i took that receipt to the original guy who went back again to the same room and got my package again. he said, "ok, fine." and i walked away.
as i sat in traffic on the highway on the way home i read the letters my mom had written. i cried. she sent me a picture of herself. i cried a little in the post office too when i saw her handwriting on the envelope. and i felt heartbroken for a second when they took my package away from me after watching me open it. the collection of that package was an emotional experience for me.
here i'm reading the card and then excited about the hair dye that mom sent:
i've been a little homesick lately. don't get me wrong, I LOVE LIVING IN KENYA. and this is exactly where i'm supposed to be. it's just a little sharp pain sometimes because just as much as i love being here and love following my Jesus, i love my family too and a little bit of me (ok a big bit of me) wants to be near them. i miss fall. i would love to go to the fair with my sister. i'd love to go to the mountains with my friends.
sometimes i feel like it's easy to live here. people say they're so proud of me and they admire me and that i'm brave, but i don't see what they see. this is fun. i love the kids here. i love kenya. i love my team, my house, driving our cars. i love camp. but there are times when i vividly remember the sacrifice of being away from family, friends, comfort, and familiarity. being away from things that "make sense."
BUT, in this memory and little taste of suffering, i praise God. he is constantly and consistently providing for me. i have a great church, a sweet small group, an amazing ministry, food to eat, a bed to sleep in, and right now i'm sitting at westgate (a mall my sister haley compared to perimeter in atlanta) drinking yummy coffee and using high speed internet.
and last night when i got home i made myself sick off of candy corn (from the package) and watched grey's anatomy that i downloaded with that high speed internet. and living here was a little easier again.
