The "Beach Boys"

We had a rare day to relax on our last full day in Kenya. Since we were in the resort town of Malindi, we thought we would hit the beach and just walk out to the reef at low tide. Dave and Thomas Bartanen, Julie Rawlins and I decided to risk a walk to the reef and the breaking waves about 200 yards offshore. No such thing as a relaxing stroll on the beach. As soon as we left the protective wall of our hotel, we were set upon by the "Beach Boys"; a roving band of young men intent on selling you something...anything really. They offer an astounding array of goods and services: tourist souvenirs, other trinkets, glass-bottom boat rides, deep-sea fishing excursions...and on the darker side of things, hookers and marijuana.

Malindi Side Story (sorry, gotta do it!)

Malindi has changed. Once a sleepy little fishing village (the world's best billfishing), it has transformed into the Bangkok of Africa...and that is not a compliment. It is now one of the leading sexploitation destinations in the world. Visitors from Europe come to Malindi in search of the bizarre and forbidden: underage sex partners. Malindi is now being run by the Italians, who discovered the resort-like weather and white sand "sugar" beaches a decade ago. They began putting up resort hotels and started booking vacations for fellow Italians. The language is now

spoken by most in Malindi, and the tourist signs are all bi-lingual; English and Italian. How long before the Mafia discovered Malindi? Not very. The business of prostitution has exploded along with gambling and drugs. Places like Kenya have an abundance of unemployed youth, leading to exploitation. It is sad to see young people turn to a life like this just to survive. The government turns a blind eye because of the influx of revenue.

Okay, back to our story...

The Beach Boys made it hard to walk in a straight line. Since they couldn't sell us anything, they went into their Beach Tour mode. Their methods seem innocent at first. "Jambo! Welcome to Kenya, my friend. How are you? Where do you come from? How is my english? Can you help me to understand it a little better? Do you want to experience the beauty of my beach? I can show you many things. Here, we have prepared a nice walking path through the rocks to the reef. Let me lead you. Don't step in the Turtle Grass, there could be a poisonous stone fish there." Non-stop. If you tried to ignore them, they were prepared for that as well. "Everyone needs friends, we are only trying to be friendly. We don't expect anything from you, but to be your friend. How can you refuse our polite invitation of friendship?" They quickly pick up our names as we converse with our own small group, and from that point on they call us by name, or by a nickname they gave us. Our small party of 4 required 12 guides!! Each of them chose one of us as their personal target...mine was Phillip. I told him up front that I had no money and that I was only going to walk to the reef. He assured me that wouldn't be a problem. I wondered why it took 12 of them to guide us, so he tried to shoo 8 of them away to no avail. Phillip figured out my name, my son's name, where I was from, what nationality I was, and why I was in Africa. He gave me a nickname..."Papa Jeff" because I was the father of Jeffrey.

Poor Julie...everytime she wanted a picture, 6 or 8 of them jumped in singing their Jambo song. "Jambo, Jambo Bwana. Habari Gani, Mzuri Sana...plus she was worried that we were going to get mugged by their larger number. After about 15 minutes of the assault, we gave up and let them show us the reef. They were actually quite good at finding things: Cowries, shells, starfish, moray eels, crabs, etc. The only thing we didn't see was an octopus, but they assured us they could find one if we just followed them further down the beach. They wanted us closer to where they all hang out on the beach. It is a small collection of huts with souvenirs, drinks, and more Beach Boys. I could see where that was going, so I figured we needed to get back to our hotel beach. We turned back and as we approached the hotel, their pitch changed tunes..."if you could only buy something small from me, I will be able to buy lunch. I am starving and this is how I make my living. Just one small thing, or pay me some small fee for giving you an excellent tour." The closer we got to the hotel beach, the tighter they encircled us. They milled around in such a way that they blocked us from the wall and ultimately, the safety of our hotel. Good ol' Dave had 1200 shillings and promised each of them 100 when we got back safely to our hotel beach. He didn't have 12-100 shilling notes, so he asked them to pick one representative that he could give the 1000 shilling note to, who could break the bill for each of them. They actually were able to pick one guy to trust. When Dave made his offer, they all rushed Dave to get paid and I motioned to Julie to run for the hotel. She made a beeline for the hotel wall and made it safely. Our relaxing walk was anything but...

I made the mistake of mentioning to Phillip that I enjoyed young coconut water. He offered to bring me some if I could wait. There were coconut trees all around, but he wasn't allowed on the property to climb them; he had to run to the bush to get to a free access tree. He said that it would take an hour to go. I said I couldn't wait, so forget it. He then asked me for bus fare to get the coconuts...again, I said no. He then said he would run to get them, and asked me how many I wanted. I told him if he were to go, I would want two. I then went to the very peaceful hotel pool to cool off. About an hour later there is a commotion on the beach. "Papa Jeff!" I hear someone calling out of my nickname. I see Phillip jumping high in the air to clear the hotel security wall, waving coconuts that he has gotten and cleaned. I couldn't believe that he had come back! Thomas was wondering what was going on, so I sent him down with a 100 shilling note to get two of the coconuts. He came back with two of the most delicious coconuts I have ever had. We all agreed that it was worth the price. It definitely was a win-win for all parties. Phillip had two more, but I was out of money. Ah well.

It seemed like nobody but locals could enjoy a walk on the beach. One mzungu (white) woman walked unmolested on the beach and we asked Phillip why she wasn't being mobbed. Phillip said she was crazy, and called her an unsavory name. Turns out she was living in Malindi and didn't want to be harassed by the boys.

Here is one more story to demonstrate the negative effect the whites have had on Africans. Our money continues to enslave them in what I would term, unnatural trade. Instead of fishing and living humbly, they sell us their services however they can...as tourist guides, sex partners, and even as a temporary friend.

Chow!

Simba, the overweight Lion

One of the things I love about my African friends is their generosity. They are generous to a fault. They give the best of what they have without thought or concern. Whenever we go to their homes for a meal, it is sumptuous...quantities that could feed twice the number present, the best that they can afford and more.

Our group was feted during Sunday worship in Eldoret, Kenya. Each of us Americans was called up by name while a church elder gave an introduction of the visitor to the large crowd present. They regaled everyone with stories of each of us that had previously visited, and for those first-timers, they extended warm thanks for their love and generosity. Each of us was given a meaningful gift. Milton, our fearless leader, was honored with a giant carved wooden lion, his wife Barbie got a georgeous hand-beaded necklace. Julie, the other CRF board member was given a nice wooden giraffe, which quickly earned the nickname of Geoffrey. Everyone in our group got something, with the ceremony of giving the gift as important as the gift itself.

My gift, was especially well-thought out. It was a beautiful soapstone carving of the world map, with Kenya in the center of it. It had a beautiful wooden stand for display purposes. Francis was telling the story of how we started the work in Eldoret together 2 years earlier, and the map represented my travels around the world helping others, but that my heart was in Kenya. It was touching, and he beamed with pride at his selection of the perfect gift for me. However, during the elaborate presentation, it was accidentally dropped on the table and it broke into 30 or 40 small pieces. Obviously flustered, the crowd of Africans tried to quickly piece it together. Unsuccessful at that task, they just handed me the largest piece left. Part of Europe, all of Africa, it was the thought that counted in my mind. It did not bother me a bit, but it embarrassed the elders. We had a good laugh over it, and I didn't think about it again...even though one of the cooks warned me that it was extremely bad luck. She had a deadly serious look on her face. She actually went to the elders to tell them of the misfortune.

Like I said, I didn't have a second thought about it until the morning we were to depart for Kisumu. Francis took me aside after our parting words and songs to talk to me. We said our personal good-byes, hugged and then he dragged me by the hand to his car. He took out a box and presented me with a replacement gift...a beautiful soapstone Lion. It was large, impressive, and a work of genuine African artisanship. He and the elders of the church had felt so badly that my plate was destroyed that they wanted to replace it with something of much greater value. My estimate at the price of this statue put it at two weeks wages for one of them. Far more generous than they could afford. I humbly accepted this gift and named him Simba (Swahili for Lion). He is beautiful...a rosy pink colored stone carved into a roaring lion figure.

There was just one problem with Simba...he weighed in at 5 kilos (11 lbs). We were preparing to leave on a plane that only allowed my baggage to weigh a combined 20 kilos. And here Simba would be 25% of all my allowable weight! I wasn't sure what to do...I didn't want to hand carry Simba for fear of breaking the soft soapstone carving. I couldn't check him in my luggage because he took my total weight over the max. I ended up carefully packing him in my backpack, and moved my books and other non-essentials to my suitcase. I was just at 20.5 kilos on my check-in, and at 18 kilos on my carry-on. Dragging Simba all over Africa was a chore. He crushed everything I put in my backpack with him...ask Julie about how I had to eat my destroyed Rolos...haha.

It was my great fortune that Julie had actually been thinking ahead and had brought a roll of bubble-wrap with her to Africa for just such occasions. She knew we would be bringing back fragile things for the silent auction fundraiser at Christmas. I got an empty box from the Nakumat and re-formed the box into a shape that would protect Simba. I first wrapped him in bubble-wrap and then formed the carboard into a semi-rigid box around him.

Simba only caused one security line snafu. He caused one screener to pull my backpack from the conveyor and inspect each and every pocket. I guess Simba looked like a giant solid mass. The security screener was about to rip apart the packaging when I begged her not to. I told her what it was, showed her one of his legs, and she let me pass.

That lion made it safely back to the US and is right now proudly guarding the dining room hutch. He will make a wonderful auction item and should fetch a great price. I toyed with the idea of keeping him for the sentiment and the memories, but Simba will serve more people as an auction item. For the auction, I will rename him, "The Lion of Judah"...Francis will like that.

Chow!

Dreams of a young girl

Our Christian Relief Fund roots run deepest in Kisumu, Kenya where we have had about 5 years of operating experience. The work there is centered in the Nyalenda slum, where over 500,000 people call it their neighborhood. The Ring Road Orphan's Day school has over 500 kids from 1st to 8th grade attending daily. They get 3 meals a day, a good education, healthcare, clothing, and as much love as we can give them. That is still not enough, but they seem to make do, and are thriving.

This trip we purposed to repaint the entire school building inside and out. It started out as a huge moving and cleaning project as the building was scrubbed top to bottom in anticipation of receiving a fresh coat of paint. I was put in charge of cleaning walls on the inside. One thing about these kids, they love to help. I don't know why, but they will hang around you watching you work a scrub brush and then somehow take it out of your hands to finish the job. They are not afraid of hard work, and never ever complain. I need my American kids to see this for themselves. My work crew consisted of 3 pre-teen girls. The ringleader was Marcy, a 6th grader. She and her two friends were helping me scrub the walls and remove any tape or glue remaining from the posters we took down earlier. As we worked we talked. They mostly wanted to know about life in America. They asked me about my family, my house, my kids, on and on. No details could be left out; they wanted to hear it all! So I told them what life was like in the US. They were eager to come to the US to thank their sponsors. So I started asking about their sponsors. Marcy is sponsored by a group of college students from Tennessee, her friends by individuals in Texas and Washington. Marcy told me how much she loved her sponsors and wanted them to come visit her in Kenya to see how she was doing. The girls then started talking about prior visits groups had made to Kisumu...they remembered each and every one of us by name. It was touching to hear them talk about us in such loving ways. 

I asked them one other question. I asked them what they dream about for their lives. One girl dreams to be a doctor so she can work at the local VCT (AIDS Clinic) to help her neighbors. One girl wanted to be a teacher at Ring Road or another school. Marcy wants to be an engineer. Her dream is to tear down the slum and create affordable good and nice housing. She doesn't like the way the slum is old and ratty. She dreams of nice houses like what she hears about in the US. I told them I was proud of their dreams. Marcy continued on...she told me that she has been at the school as a sponsored orphan for over 3 years. She came as a 9-year old after her mother died. She told me that 3 years ago she couldn't have dreams. She was trying to survive, and her dreams consisted of thoughts of food and the endless hunger she felt. Because of her sponsors in the US, she was fed, clothed, educated and she felt loved. She said she can change her dreams because of people she doesn't know, yet can still love. It is amazing how small gifts like monthly sponsorship can accomplish big things. That $22 each month that a sponsor sends for these kids really does change a life. Marcy is testament to that. She giggles and laughs like any pre-teen. She has awkward moments and is easily embarrassed like the child she is. But I don't know many 12 year olds that have changed their view of life as much as Marcy has. 

I didn't get to spend enough time with this remarkable girl, but the 2 hours we spent together will be with me forever. I hope all 3 reach their goals. I pray that their sponsors continue to put a priority on them during this tough economy. 

If you want to help, I urge you to sponsor a child through Christian Relief Fund. (www.christianrelieffund.org) There are hundreds of children like Marcy on our waiting list. They currently watch the goings-on at Ring Road from beyond the gate because they aren't sponsored. It breaks my heart to see them look on the activity at the school and want so badly to come in. Maybe their dreams can be changed too.

Chow!

"Chef" Larry

Okay, here is a funny story from Africa. My stories from Africa will run the gamut: emotion-packed, humorous, political, serious, religious, and personal. This is one that had a few of us laughing for most of our trip. 

Part of our "service" work on our trip to Kenya was to prepare and serve a meal after Sunday service wherever we were at. My turn in the kitchen was to be on our first Sunday in Eldoret, Kenya. 

Eldoret is one of CRF's newest projects, barely 2 years old. We started that work after my last visit. The project leader, Francis Bii is a rock-steady man that is accomplishing a ton with a little support. They are currently feeding and educating almost 2oo AIDS Orphans in the immediate area. So naturally we wanted to do whatever we could to lift their spirits, and for me, nothing works better than a good meal.

Our plan was to help their church members cook a big meal in celebration of our visit. We paid for food enough for all their church members and some visitors from the neighborhood slum. We were told to plan for 500 people! Our menu was a typical East African meal: stewed chicken, greens, potatoes, stewed mutton, rice, and beans. While services were going on, we cooks slaved over hot charcoal fires stirring mountains of food. A typical kitchen in Africa is not outfitted the way a western kitchen is. If you need another burner, start another fire! If you need a pot to cook in, move something out of the pot you want and put it in another container, any container! Hot pot holders to pull giant vats of cooked food off the fire? No such thing...find some cardboard, fold it up and hope it doesn't burn through to your fingers. Air-conditioned comfort? Nope, stand by the window and hope a breeze comes through. Waist high counters to chop veggies on? Get real! In Africa you bend over and chop everything on the floor! Now that I have painted the scene, we will get to the story.

Cooking everything in time for lunch required perfect timing, rushing around, and lots of choreography of moving food from pot to storage container. We were moving in a well-choreographed manner. 3 huge tubs of beans, 2 equally large tubs of perfectly cooked rice, 2 pots of potatoes, one giant one of greens, and one each of mutton and chicken stew. I had cut my finger earlier, and had a bandaid put on to help protect it from the heat, salt and other things that could possibly infect it. Finally it was time to serve everyone. A long line of people formed and we began dishing food out as quickly as we could. It was hot, thankless work and my back was killing me. I had seen the food prepped and cooked, so as my western pals moved through the line, I was warning them which foods to stay away from. For sure the Chai...I was watching them brew pot after pot of tea with milk and sugar and then dumping it into a large 20 gallon jerry can. I was pretty sure the can had been previously used for storing Permethrin, a very strong pesticide. 

I was on rice detail, and well onto the second large pot of rice when I noticed a sharp burning sensation whenever the hot rice touched where I thought my bandaid was. After the crowd started thinning, I looked down and noticed that the bandaid was missing!  Somewhere in that crowd of 500 people someone got a surprise in their meal. I hope they noticed what it was and didn't continue chewing when they found it!

I was finished serving and was chatting with my friends Julie and Milton. We were commenting on how the food was prepped and held for service, and I mentioned that I lost something during the serving of the food. Julie asked me what it was and I told her about my missing bandaid. I thought she was going to pee her pants she laughed so hard. She had to tell Milton, who also laughed uncontrollably. It may sound disgusting to many of you, but the humor in all of this for those of us that were there comes from the setting...chopping vegetables on a dirty floor, cooking over an open fire, the unsanitary conditions of it all...and one lost bandaid. Throughout the rest of the trip, whenever we wanted a laugh, we would mention the lost bandaid. Even now you will see references to it on our FaceBook pictures...now you all know the inside joke.

Chow!

My New Friend Chase

I met a new friend on my Africa travels. He is warm-hearted, generous, hard-working, faithful, funny, and I believe he loved his time in Africa. He is a young man with awesome potential. His name is Chase. I promised some stories, so Chase is one of them.

Here is the interesting part, Chase had zero interest in coming to Africa with his mom. He was being "punished" by his parents, or so he thought. He didn't go into too much detail when I asked him a few days into our trip if he was glad to be in Africa. Instead he asked me back, "Did my Mom tell you I didn't want to be here?" I fibbed a little and said, "No, I was just making conversation." Here is the truth: his Mom didn't clue me in, but others on the trip had. He followed up with, "I REALLY didn't want to be here. In fact, while we were in Houston making our connecting flight to Amsterdam I begged my Dad to let me come home. He wouldn't let me." I asked him why his folks were making him come to Africa. He mumbled something about "his attitude" and something else, but I could tell it was something he didn't want to get into, so I quickly changed the subject, sort of. I told him if he were my son and had asked if he could come home, I would have told him to start swimming. We laughed at that one. From that conversation I knew I needed to help Chase connect with Africa...to experience a life-changing voyage. He needed to see what kind of life of privilege he lived, and how much he took it for granted. From that point on, I made it my business to make sure Chase experienced a little bit of everything. Whenever we met a new group of Africans, I made sure Chase gave a little introduction of himself. Whenever we had thought-provoking opportunities, I always asked him his thoughts. I wanted him to learn about the culture of Africa, so I shared with him as best I could about the people, the customs, the food (partially unsuccessful), and the country. I hope he learned how to travel internationally from me.

We became friends on that day. I enjoyed his company and our conversations. I got to know his mother, and in a way, she introduced me to her husband and Chase's father. They are great parents.

I think America has too many distractions for our young people. There are so many choices and unlimited opportunities that our kids take all these blessings for granted. There is no struggle for our daily bread; it shows up on our plate whenever we are hungry (or not even hungry). They obsess about their appearance because they can, and they worry about what others think of them because they are thinking the worst about their peers.

In Africa, the struggle for survival is truly life and death, and it shows. The joy young Africans show when they get a good meal (one with meat included) is real. Watch a group of young people when you give them a used, ratty soccer ball to play with. They are excited because now they don't have to play with a homemade ball made of shopping bags and twine. When you see this and compare it to your life in the U.S., you begin to understand how good you really have it. Ask an African orphan to show you his worldly possessions. You will be shocked at how little they have. It might be a ragged stuffed animal that was given to him 2 years ago on your last trip. It might be a picture of him that was given to him years before. It will be as well cared for as possible. Privacy? What a joke...the average orphan sleeps with 2-3 others in the same bed.

I think this is part of what Chase experienced in Africa. First and foremost, he learned that kids are the same everywhere. He played basketball and soccer with some of the boys his age and the competitiveness and trash-talking was the same. The language might have been different, but nothing is lost in translation when someone questions your abilities. He hates to admit it, but I think he also learned that sometimes Mom and Dad do know best. He needed to come to Africa to reset his moral compass. He needed to see that what he thinks is difficult is nothing compared to the difficulties he saw in the slums. Wealth? Compared to his orphan counterparts, his family is blessed beyond measure.

The best lesson he learned is that people love him all over the world. His new friends from Seattle, Kisumu, Eldoret, and even Amarillo love him a lot.

How long will these lessons stay with him? I hope a lifetime. But I also know that it is too easy to get caught back up in our world of excess everything. I am praying for you Chase!

Chow!

Back from Africa

My friends have been asking me how my trip to Africa was. It is hard to explain it unless you have gone to a developing country to help. It is hard to share experiences that are difficult to describe, explain, or understand. The easiest way might be just to share stories that happened along the way.

First of all, I continue to meet amazing people on my travels. The people in Africa amaze me at their dedication, resilience, and pure faith. My fellow wazungus (whitey) also amaze me with their selfless service, love, compassion and generosity. 

I am learning new things every time I go to Africa, some of the lessons are harsh and not very pleasant to learn, but they are so very vital.

Lesson #1: Money is a curse as well as a blessing (duh!)

I guess I better explain this one a little more with a story. Our second Sunday we found ourselves worshipping with a very small congregation in Malindi, Kenya. This church was started by the Karabu family...12 brothers and sisters that live locally and work with the less fortunate. Two of the brothers decided to start a school on a small plot of land near the church. It is constructed of mud, rocks and sticks, but almost 200 kids between 1st and 4th grades attend. The church has a fundraising, or Harambe every month or so to meet the expenses of the school. We happened to be attending on Harambe Sunday. The fundraising part would be in the form of a food auction. Bid on various food items and win. They also add a fun element to the proceedings. They can accept up to 4 high bids, and then pick a winner through a raffle method.  So, first up was a dish of Kuku stew and Ugali (Chicken and polenta). You could buy the dish outright for 200 shillings ($3), or 4 people could put in 50 shillings a piece and they would pick a winner out of those 4, and the other 3 losers go hungry. I decided to just buy a plate and give it to three orphan boys who had no money to bid. I did the same with 5 hard boiled eggs (20 shillings each).  At one point I held up a 1,000 shilling note and told the auctioneers that I would pay 100 shillings for every ripe mango they could find. They brought me a basket of 40 ripe mangos! I had to find 3 other people in my group to help me pay for them all. I then just started handing out mangos to the crowd gathered. 

It was after this Mango Madness that I first noticed the women were getting a little agitated with the process so I asked one of the elders what was up. He explained that the white people in our group were bidding too high, and the villagers could not participate. For example the plate of chicken and ugali normally goes for 5-10 shillings per share (4 bidders getting a chance). We had driven the price up to 5 times the normal level! The locals were worried that there wasn't going to be enough for them to win! So we quickly changed the situation by stopping our high bidding after a plate or two, and letting the locals have the remaining 5-6 platefuls. Their overall donations were up because of us, but so also was the stress and hard feelings. Our attempt to be generous was causing issues because the locals couldn't keep up, and it was important for them to support their own school cause. It was an eye-opener for me. 

Africans are willing to help, but if we don't let them, they will just stand on the sidelines and wait for us westerners to jump in. If we set the parameters too high, they won't feel involved nor empowered. 

Be on the lookout for more stories and lessons...

Chow!