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!
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