North Korea

I'm back from Beijing and Pyongyang. Yes, it's true, in between setting off nuclear bombs, launching missiles and convicting American journalists in secret trials, the Democratic People Republic of Korea let me in, and most importantly, out. I accompanied a small group from World Vision to see their work there. I'll be writing more, but for the moment let me simply report that the DPRK is the most bizarre place I have ever been. I felt like I was in a movie set--perhaps a Stalinist version of The Truman Show. I wouldn't have missed it for the world, but I was awfully glad to set foot back in the intoxicating liberty of Beijing.

Home at Last

We got home Tuesday night. Katie was there to meet us at the airport. The dog still remembers us. So, unfortunately, does the cat. (Anybody want a used cat?) Sonoma County looks as beautiful as ever. It's great to be home.

We're both feeling a bit stunned that our long journey is over. It had begun to feel like an alternative lifestyle. And it's amazing how much you can forget in five months, like how to connect the modem to the wireless internet router.

Adding to the confusion, I had to make two quick trips to San Francisco to get a visa. I have a surprise trip to Asia next week. The timing isn't great but this is really a chance in a lifetime. Hint: what country in Asia has never been visited by a single person you know? I'll report when I get back.

Wonderful day in Cambridge

Seemed like we hit the trifecta yesterday in Cambridge. We woke up in Silas' room (two houses down from one that J.M. Keynes once occupied, according to a plaque), and after breakfast he went off for some strenuous weightlifting while we strolled up the Cam. Passing through a couple of miles of beautiful river meadow we came to the village of Grantchester and the Orchard Tea House. The poet Rupert Brooke once lived here in rural splendor, paddling his canoe to Cambridge when necessary, and entertaining a group of close, argumentative friends who included Virginia Woolf, E.M. Forster, the aforementioned Keynes, Wittgenstein, and Bertrand Russell. They liked to go on 20 mile walks and hung out at the teahouse, which served and serves tea and scones and other light food from a rustic shack to tables set under the apple trees. It hasn't changed much since the Great War. We sat in the canvas chairs and soaked in the sunshine.

Silas joined us there and we had lunch, then walked back to Cambridge, bought a bottle of wine, and went punting on the Cam. Silas' college has its own boats, and to procure them we had to walk through several college courts--all closed and invoking silence because of exams. The river was lovely and I must say that for atmosphere and beauty it would be very hard to match Cambridge.

Then we docked our boat and hurried to King's College. You may know that the college choir is quite famous--I grew up listening to their records--and we intended to hear them sing evensong. Instead we found ourselves in a Requiem mass for King Henry VI, the founder of the college. It was a lovely service in an extraordinary building, and we were very close to the altar over which hangs Ruben's portrait of the baby Jesus introduced to the magi. The music was astonishing, absolutely the best choral music I have ever heard or ever dreamed of hearing. We came away stunned.

It was an unplanned day that worked out in a leisurely fashion, but what a time we had! I'll never forget it.

Prague

Are we getting old?

We're down to the last week of our mammoth extraordinary, and still very much enjoying ourselves. Prague is as beautiful a city as you can find, and we're with good, old friends. I've been close to Fred Prudek since I was a sophomore in college, and Popie has known him nearly as long. We've known and loved Kelly since they married 25 years ago. (Not long after that blessed event, friends of Fred began to marvel over her with each other.) So we love having this chance to catch up in depth. A lot of our time has been taken up with long, long walks. From their home you can walk into the center of Prague, as well as out into thick forest parkland. We've done both, sometimes on the same walk. Czechs specialize in little snack bars along the way where you can buy a beer or an ice cream and kick back.

We've also been able to see some of the Prudeks' work. Popie has gone with Kelly as she leads ESL classes and, every Friday night, goes into central Prague to meet with and talk to prostitutes. We've met members of the little church they are helping to launch in an outlying town, and we attended there Sunday when Fred was preaching. It's great to get some of the texture of their life and work.

Thursday we fly back England for a last fling with Silas and Coreen Hester, and Tuesday the 26th we fly home. Can't wait to see our daughter, our house, our dog, our church and our friends. (No hierarchy implied.) But will we suffer from post-sabbatical stress?

photos of England

Here's Popie with our friends Steve and Alice. Perhaps you can think of a caption for Popie's expression. Alice, obviously, is gloating about something.

The Thames, at the Iffley lock. In the middle distance you can see the Iffley church tower, 12th century building, where we worshiped on Sunday.
A pub lunch with the Trollopes on the edge of the Wirral. At this very spot travelers once set sail for America; now it is all silted in to a broad marshy meadow.
We went for a climb on this green grassy hill and discovered--golfers! Along with the sheep. Walkers, golfers and sheep all comingled. These fairways went ungroomed, unless the sheep count as groundskeepers.
It doesn't get any greener.
We had wonderful walking with David Okonji, although the weather was chilly.

Lost photo of Bergerac

Here's the lost photo of our bed and breakfast in Bergerac. The place with the ancient beams you can hit your head on. Quite a wonderful quirky place. If you ever go there ask us about it.

Green England

We're now in Cheltenham, which is near Gloucester, which is sort of near Bath in Green, Green England. David Okonji lives and works here in internal medicine. We stayed with his family in Kenya (his brother got married, if you remember) and we really like him a lot. Tomorrow we're going to go walking in the Cotswolds (the country around here)--then back to London where I have an interview to do before we head to the Czech Republic.

Our four days with the Trollopes was wonderful. They are fairly newly retired and it was good to see how they are working out their days--wisely and well, it seemed to us, and seemingly managing to enjoy each other more than ever. That was encouraging. The weather wasn't so nice but we got out for some walks, and mostly talked and ate nonstop. So it is with old friends, at least with OUR old friends.

We goofed

We had a mixup and a posting from our days in Spain and France got lost in the internet. I eventually got it restored but in the meantime a photo of us at our b&b in Bergerac got lost. You don't know what you're missing! Sorry!

On the Thames

We've had some wonderful days here in Oxford with the Lawheads, chiefly because they are wonderful people but also because they have a wonderful house a stone's throw from the Thames. Here the Thames is a modest river, just wide enough for one boat to pass another, with a towpath ideal for walking and gawking. Less than two miles upriver is the heart and soul of the university, and in between all the college boats are out practicing rowing on the river. As it's spring and green and flowery, we have had some lovely walks and runs.

Today we get on the bus to go to Heswall, where our friends the Trollopes live. Another three days of walking and lolling around, I suspect.

Steve Lawhead, in case you don't know, is probably our most famous friend. Just about any bookstore in the world will have half a dozen or more of his books, in the fantasy/science fiction section. He doesn't act famous though--he's modest and quiet, and a lot of fun to talk to.

We got to spend some hours with Silas, too, who came back to Oxford with us after we journeyed to Nottingham to watch him race (and win) the British Universities Rowing Championships. He was in good spirits and appears to be aware that he needs to write a master's thesis between now and August. So far his work has been mainly involved with rowing. BTW he plans to move to Berkeley to continue his rowing with the US team in the fall.

Back in England

Yesterday was pretty hectic. We left our 16th century bed and breakfast in Bergerac, France, at 7:30 and I spent the next two hours worrying that we were going to be late to our plane in Bordeaux. But we made it, of course. We flew to London, got to Coreen's house via train and tube, switched around our suitcases and got a key, then tubed and trained to Oxford, arriving at 6:30. So great to see Steve Lawhead at the station! Steve and Alice are great old friends from Campus Life Magazine days.... they have a beautiful house in Oxford and we thoroughly enjoy visiting them. We'll be here for a few days.

We had nearly two weeks with Dave and Daphne in Spain, and a lot of that time was spent talking about our futures. I think we have a pretty full idea of their work in Spain, and they ours in Santa Rosa. It was very worthwhile to talk. We also got to visit in Madrid, Segovia and Avila. Here are a few pictures.

Then, via expensive rental car (don't try to cross borders in a rental, I would advise) we drove to the north of Spain for a night in Basque country,then northeast into France. It was quite a bit more driving than I had bargained for, but it was worth it in the end. We got some time in the Dordogne, a land of castles and rivers and good food. And we enjoyed having a few days just the two of us. Here we stand in front of our bed and breakfast, which had beams to break your head on and floors set at 20 degree angles, and a lot of character. Betty, our hostess, spoke French so sweetly I could actually carry on a decent conversation with her, and that was fun! Thanks to the Lonely Planet guidebook for helping us find her.

Now we get 10 days with three sets of friends in England.

Back in Spain

Okay, I realize that my last post was something of a downer. In fact my friend Fred wrote from Czech that he hoped I would hold off sleepwalking through Europe until after we came to see him and Kelly. Sorry for the bad attitude. Travel has its ups and downs, and there are days when you have to work at seeing the bright side.

On the other hand, sometimes the bright side jumps out and smacks you, as it did yesterday when we spent a sparkling day in Segovia with Dave and Daphne. Segovia is a wonderful town with an astonishing, huge and intact Roman aqueduct and a magnificent castle. Best of all it has many small wandering streets with ancient crumbling walls--a perfect place to wander around and marvel at the antiquity of the place. The conversation was stimulating over lunch in a cozy restaurant with decent food and wine. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. It's so good to be with friends, and in such a place!

We're here all week and will continue exploring the region around Madrid, using the Fishers as our guides as they have time. Plus we're getting familiar with their friends and colleagues here. And I'm preaching in their church on Sunday.

We also had a wonderful time with Dean and Wendy in Geneva. The city surprised me by being small and casual, almost like a small country town in spite of the many important organizations headquartered there, and the depth of its history. (Think John Calvin, whose reputation has fallen on hard times.) Spring flowers were brilliant, and the Hirsches' apartment was a short walk from beautiful parks and Lac Leman, so we enjoyed walking and exploring the city. One day we drove around the lake and went to a hot bath. We had plenty of time to talk and relax. We ate good food and drank good wine. We went to a wonderful church service. We talked quite a lot about our futures, as Dean is winding up his many years heading up World Vision--he's by far the longest serving president ever--and Popie and I are exploring what we ought to focus on at this stage of life.

We were reminded that when we were kids Switzerland was high on the list of travel destinations. Its popularity seems to have fallen off, but it is as beautiful as ever. Such scenery. From my student days I remember the Swiss as being unfriendly, but that certainly wasn't my impression this time around. A very easy place to enjoy.

And now Europe

It's hard to write about what we're doing without summoning up memories of your neighbors' slides of their summer vacation. We're in Europe. Right at the moment we are in Geneva with our friends Wendy and Dean Hirsch. Sunday night we return to Madrid to Dave and Daphne Fisher for another week. Then, we rent a car and drive into France for a few days before heading back to England for a two-week time traveling around to see various friends. It's all wonderful: good friends, great scenery, amazing museums, history, cafes, wine, etc. Yet at the same time the prospect of home begins to peek around the corner, and that's seductive. I'm a little worried that I'll just sleepwalk through the remaining six weeks. Six weeks! That's a lot of time. We want it to be as good, and as useful in our lives, as possible. And we hope it will prepare us to be good and do good when we return to Santa Rosa. We've been talking to our friends about the future quite a bit.

Lebanon

Here's Popie and Phoebe Shaw (daughter of Perry and Karen) at Baalbek yesterday. This was our final fling in Lebanon, visiting the spectacular Roman ruins there. A stunning place,
with massive structures still largely intact, set in a lovely valley surrounded by snowcapped mountains.

We did some touristing in Lebanon, but more of our time was involved in interacting with Perry and Karen and with John and Nancy Sagherian, who lead Youth for Christ. Along with Doug and Judi Webb, from our church, we got to meet a lot of the people both couples work with, and we did several seminars for different groups. We kept busy, learned a lot, and came away very impressed with what our friends are doing.

Lebanon is extraordinarily complex sociologically and historically, and there's a weight of uncertainty and anxiety leaning over everbody. An election is coming and so posters and flags are everywhere, representing dozens of parties and politicians. We're very thankful for that faithfulness and skill with which people we know continue to serve God in that context.

Last night we had an overnight flight to Madrid, so we're back in Europe. Dave and Daphne Fisher are our hosts.... it's great to be with them though we are very sleepy!

England

We've had two lovely days in London, one with Silas and David Okonji and Verity Lawrence, not all at the same time. Here's a picture at the Tower Bridge with David. David just passed his final exam to be admitted into the Royal College of Surgeons. Now he's heading into his specialty training at Exeter. We really like David and will stay with him a few days when we are back in the UK later.

Then yesterday we had a great time with Silas in Cambridge. He learned how to punt on the Cam. Imagine us leaning back against the cushions as he poles us along. Silas is still grieving the loss, but showing considerable maturity. Now he'll have some time to enjoy studenet life.

It's on to Beirut today.

Young People

It has been wonderful to be in Coreen Hester's wonderful home in London, to see her (some) and Katie and Silas quite a lot. Katie was with two Spanish friends quite a lot, Raquel and Laia, and we enjoyed them too. Silas has three Stanford friends, Dave, Eric and Ben, who came to watch him row. They were fun to see too. Here's a photo of Katie and Popie with Raquel and Laia in the cafe of the National Gallery, and one of Silas in his blue jacket with me and his sister.

The Boat Race

The bad news is that Silas and his team lost The Boat Race yesterday. We are sad, though I must say Silas seemed to deal with the loss well. By now he has won and lost quite a few Big Races; maybe he is getting some perspective.

The event itself was fun: hundreds of thousands of young people jammed onto four miles of river bank, the Thames itself full of boats, giant screens showing the action from many locations. Apparently Silas was featured in the pre-race coverage as the rower with "the golden ticket" and the silky-smooth stroke. We watched from a historic boat house in company with other parents and friends. We saw the start, and watched the rest of the action on TV. Cambridge had a chance to win it at about the halfway point, but Oxford was too strong and ran away with the race.

That night we attended a Black Tie dinner for Old Blues, which is what they call former rowers. I have never felt so short. It had a nightmare quality: one hundred or more very tall men in tuxedos, jammed into a room in an ancient and elegant London club, talking at the top of their voices. The new Blues (Silas being one) were wearing their new blue jackets, which are quite ugly light blue blazers piped with light blue satin. If you own one of these, you are quite a feature at certain events. In England it is something to be a Blue. So Silas will ever be.

Good-bye to Kenya

Our Kenyan adventure is over. We are in London having a wonderful time with Katie and Silas (and our friend Coreen) but feeling a little mournful to have left our Kenyan friends behind. That's what sticks out: we have some dear, dear friends there, and we are missing them.

I suppose if you live with somebody for two and a half months, you will either get a lot closer to them, or you won't particularly want to see them for a long time to come. Our experience was definitely the former. Getting to know the Okonji and Wachira families better, including their kids and their close relatives and friends; experiencing Jan Okonji's wedding; talking through work projects with Haron Wachira; and on and on--the texture of life was rich and interesting. And these friends made us feel so loved and welcome! They took care of us in a hundred ways.

We feel very privileged to have such wonderful friends. We will miss them a lot.

The last day in Kenya--Wednesday--was naturally preoccupied with packing. We had our stuff scattered all over in two households, and organizing it was a significant job. We got everything into our three large suitcases, and then the gifts started coming. Most of them were relatively small and light, so no problem to pack, but at 11:00 p.m. Bob and Wanjeri Mburu arrived with a wood carving, carefully ensconced in a heavy wooden case, that measured about four feet high and one foot wide. You can probably imagine our conflicting emotions. One: you shouldn't have! That is such an amazing gift, we don't deserve such love! Two: how on earth are we going to carry this? However, we managed, though we had to give up the heavy wooden case and just wrap the delicate carving in cardboard.

The next morning, early, Michael and Risper Okonji drove us to the airport. We had overslept, due to my faulty skills in setting the alarm on my watch, and that meant we rushed into the terminal without much of a proper farewell. After we got everything checked in, we looked out the large plate glass windows and saw that Michael and Risper were still there, making sure we got off safely. So we stood by the windows and talked a bit before saying a final goodbye. I can still see their lovely, kindly faces.

Worries

I’m feeling afraid for Kenya. On the surface life is quite calm, but (as every Kenyan I’ve talked to would agree) underneath are dangerous currents. Perhaps most troubling is the discrepancy between how ordinary Kenyans feel about their country and the way their leaders respond. You can’t miss the fact that most people want change. They are frustrated. They see so many simple things that need doing—things like better roads in Nairobi, an orderly planning process to import food during the current drought, a reform of the highly corrupt police—and none of their politicians seem to see the same things. On the contrary, the Members of Parliament pay themselves some of the highest salaries any legislators get in the world, tax free, and there isn’t even a movement among some of them to change it. Huge corruption scandals get pawned off on investigative committees, and their reports—years in the making—never get publicly released. The political order is thoroughly corrupt, everybody knows it and is sick of it, and yet, there’s no channel to change things.

Right now we are waiting for the long rains. The last few years rain has been erratic, which directly affects everybody because nearly everybody has relatives who live off their crops. There’s already considerable hunger in Kenya, due to poor harvests, and if the rains don’t come there will be a lot of hunger. The rains are late. The sky continues with day after day of beautiful blue, it’s warm and dry and there’s no hint of moisture. What particularly worries me is that the government is so disorganized right now it’s very questionable whether it’s capable of organizing the importation and distribution of emergency food. It’s one thing when remote desert areas experience famine, as they often do, but if hunger bites closer to city dwellers, it’s conceivable that frustration could reach dangerous levels. I hope and pray that doesn’t happen, but it seems conceivable to me.

Kenya’s political history has never made very elevating reading—it’s mostly a story of greed and oppression—but somehow God has been kind to Kenya. People have been patient and long suffering, unwilling to take violent steps. That’s why last year’s post-election violence was so utterly shocking to people here—they had never experienced anything remotely like it, and didn’t know that Kenyans were capable of such horrors. Nobody wants to see that again, and most likely whatever happens to the political order this year, Kenyans will continue to complain but go on with their lives. I hope and pray so. But I would certainly be happy to see some signs of political progress—a new constitution (which is supposed to be in process), a new Electoral Commission (ditto), and maybe even the dismissal of some of the most obviously corrupt government officials.

On the lighter side, here’s a picture I snapped of a sign on a police station declaring rather boldly the commitment to avoid bribery. I got in trouble seconds after taking the photo, because it turns out to be illegal to take pictures of police stations. So I was ushered into the station by an officer toting an automatic weapon, and told I had done something really wrong and some reparations must be made. The message was clear: I was being asked for a bribe.

Winding Up My Time at Daystar University

Popie here, just wanting to report about my time at Daystar these last few months. While Tim has been interviewing and meeting with people for his various projects and doing his writing of articles for Christianity Today, most days I have reported to Daystar University for several hours. When we are staying with the Okonjis, it has been no problem getting there.—only a 15-25 minute walk, which actually was the walk I would take when we lived here in the same estate, 30 years ago, so lots of memories! However, the Wachiras live much farther away, so navigating the transportation scene on many days has been quite daunting. I figured my commute from their house was as if I were traveling from Santa Rosa to San Francisco, for it can take 1 ½ to 2 hours! Because of the traffic (the “Jams” as they call it) I found that walking could take about the same amount of time as going by matau (bus), so it can take some time getting there and getting back. Needless to say though, my new knees have been the best, for I have really really walked, and felt no pain, except with that weird episode in the Mt. Kenya that lasted only a few days.

In the early weeks of my being with Daystar, I was teaching various seminars/workshops (mostly through the peer educator group on campus) and meeting with students, so it was a combination that I really enjoyed. In the last six weeks or so, my work there has been mostly counseling appointments with students at an office in the counseling center. My main frustration has been the mixup/tardiness in appointment and peer educator meeting times. Day students have many things competing for their time, so often several student meetings are planned at the same time. And then there are their transportation issues! Despite this, I have had a number of significant connections. I have done some very intensive marriage counseling , as well as less intense appointments concerning issues that students anywhere face. Very serious financial stressors definitely figure into life here more than they do in my practice at home. For examples one student I have met with semi regularly, over the loss of her mother, just told me that she eats one meal a day due to her perception that she and her sister and brother who live together don’t have any extras (I recommended that she at least take a banana to eat, especially in the afternoon when the grief thing feels so overwhelming). But between school fees and being students with no financial support from family, things can be extremely tough! I have met a number of refugees who have found their way to Daystar who are living on an incredibly tight budget, but somehow they make it. On the outside though, the student body is extremely attractive, enthusiastic, and seem to have so much going for them. They represent the new Kenya! It really has been a privilege to be able to connect with many of them and to be a part of some their inner journeys!

I have spent quite a bit of time with staff members as well, and have particularly bonded with a couple of women in the counseling department.. They both represent a growing number of PhD candidates who are working at Daystar, doing night school, have young families---and deal with transportation-- so it is easy for them to get overwhelmed! One of the women in particular, I feel I have been able to help with our contacts in the Daystar area of Nairobi (in not only the counseling world of Nairobi) regarding placement of students in the community as volunteers and internships. For example, yesterday I visited a nursery school (which has 200 plus children) in Kibera (reputed to be the largest slum in Africa ) and it was easy to identify a number of ways Daystar students could volunteer or have internships in all sorts of areas, not only working with the children (both with disabilities and not), but also with the single mothers and grandmothers who work with the school.

It’s been a very good experience—not without its frustrations, but on the whole very worthwhile and eye-opening. If we come back to Kenya, I would love to do the same kind of thing again.

Transportation

The greatest hassle during our time in Nairobi has been getting from one place to another. We don’t have a car, but even if we did transportation would be a major obstacle most days. Reason: the traffic is horrible. The city roads have changed very little since we lived here 30 years ago, and they are simply not up to the number of cars on the road. So, one must routinely budget one and a half hours to get from one part of town to another, and much of the time it’s just as fast to walk.

So we do. Lots of walking. But since sidewalks are scarce, walking is not particularly pleasant. You dodge cars and mudholes while breathing pollution. We get most of our exercise hoofing it.

Or we take a matatu. That’s what Kenyans call the buses and vans, privately owned and operated, that are the backbone of the transportation system. {If you look closely at the photo you’ll see Popie getting on one of the nicer, bigger buses.) There are many matatus, maybe a quarter of the vehicles on the road, so you don’t have to wait long, usually. Generally they are jammed full, and the seats are set so close that I can’t get my knees to fit. The drivers are, shall we say, aggressive, and the conductors who take your fare are a marvel of gymnastics swinging in and out of the open door, jumping on when the vehicle is already moving into traffic, and singing out their destination and cost in a singsong that sounds very much like a fired-up Pentecostal preacher. Matatus are cheap. We pay about a quarter for most routes.

Matatus work, except when they don’t. One day two weeks ago the local Mafia known as the Mungiki called for a one-day halt to matatus, and everybody got stuck. (It’s an interesting story: a UN representative had that week issued a report accusing the police of killing people without a trial, the government blew it off, and the Mungiki, who perpetrate horrible, grisly crimes, protested in favor of human rights. The Mungiki are the ones the police tend to murder, so they had developed liberal sympathies.)

The third option is begging a ride from friends. Our hosts the Okonjis and the Wachiras have been extraordinarily generous—and in this traffic, it’s no casual thing to offer a ride. We rely on their help, particularly when we have to travel after dark (which falls at 7:00 p.m.) because it’s not very safe to be walking around then. Most of the time, we try very hard to be safely at home when the sun sets.

In Santa Rosa, as most of you know, we hardly drive and rarely hit traffic. We’ve made up that deficit here.

Transportation

The greatest hassle during our time in Nairobi has been getting from one place to another. We don’t have a car, but even if we did transportation would be a major obstacle most days. Reason: the traffic is horrible. The city roads have changed very little since we lived here 30 years ago, and they are simply not up to the number of cars on the road. So, one must routinely budget one and a half hours to get from one part of town to another, and much of the time it’s just as fast to walk.

So we do. Lots of walking. But since sidewalks are scarce, walking is not particularly pleasant. You dodge cars and mudholes while breathing pollution. We get most of our exercise hoofing it.

Or we take a matatu. That’s what Kenyans call the buses and vans, privately owned and operated, that are the backbone of the transportation system. {If you look closely at the photo you’ll see Popie getting on one of the nicer, bigger buses.) There are many matatus, maybe a quarter of the vehicles on the road, so you don’t have to wait long, usually. Generally they are jammed full, and the seats are set so close that I can’t get my knees to fit. The drivers are, shall we say, aggressive, and the conductors who take your fare are a marvel of gymnastics swinging in and out of the open door, jumping on when the vehicle is already moving into traffic, and singing out their destination and cost in a singsong that sounds very much like a fired-up Pentecostal preacher. Matatus are cheap. We pay about a quarter for most routes.

Matatus work, except when they don’t. One day two weeks ago the local Mafia known as the Mungiki called for a one-day halt to matatus, and everybody got stuck. (It’s an interesting story: a UN representative had that week issued a report accusing the police of killing people without a trial, the government blew it off, and the Mungiki, who perpetrate horrible, grisly crimes, protested in favor of human rights. The Mungiki are the ones the police tend to murder, so they had developed liberal sympathies.)

The third option is begging a ride from friends. Our hosts the Okonjis and the Wachiras have been extraordinarily generous—and in this traffic, it’s no casual thing to offer a ride. We rely on their help, particularly when we have to travel after dark (which falls at 7:00 p.m.) because it’s not very safe to be walking around then. Most of the time, we try very hard to be safely at home when the sun sets.

In Santa Rosa, as most of you know, we hardly drive and rarely hit traffic. We’ve made up that deficit here.

The Wedding

It finally happened, the wedding that we have been waiting for and negotiating toward since we came. It turned out to be really fun. I think this picture captures some of the energy when the newly married couple danced into the reception and all around the pavilion, trailed by and supported by their maids and groomsmen and most of the women, Popie included, dancing and singing. It was a kick.

Kenyan weddings are all-day affairs. For us Americans it’s an adjustment, but now that I’ve attended several I’ve really come to like it that way. You set aside the whole day, there’s no hurry, and you have time to talk. Speeches, dancing, singing, eating, along with a pretty lengthy church service—you don’t look at your watch. This wedding, according to the printed invitation, was to begin at 10:00, but in the event the service began at 11:15 and one of our Kenyan friends remarked later that it seemed too early. Generally, he explained, a 10:00 wedding begins between 1:00 and 2:00, and goes until dusk. This one broke up a good hour before dusk, which seemed strange to him.

The day began a lot earlier, about 8:30 when Popie and all the Okonji women went to pick up the bride from her home. The gate was locked when they arrived. They sang and danced outside the gate for 20 minutes without a response. Finally someone came to say that there were several parts of the dowry that had not been paid—the tin of honey was missing, the bedsheets had proved to be single sheets instead of double. Also we needed a key to open the gate—a key being 1,000 shillings. Marx Okonji, the oldest brother of our friend Michael’s, responded that if they needed those things to be set right immediately it would take three or four hours. Word had it that Daphine, the bride, threatened to go out the back gate and take a taxi to the wedding. In the end some cash was exchanged and the bride was released. She was sung and danced to the car.

The wedding took place in a very nice garden. The ceremony was more or less unexceptional, except that it lasted two hours and the pastor’s sermon included a section telling husbands not to beat their wives and explaining why. Then we moved to a large lawn with tents set up on all sides to shield us from the weather (which was wonderful, the string of beautiful days we have enjoyed continuing unbroken) while we ate lunch and listened to speeches and music.

The processional dancing was the most fun, and we had a good time talking to friends who were present and also meeting or re-meeting relatives of the bride and groom. A special treat was the presence of Dean and Wendy Hirsch, who flew in from Geneva, Switzerland for the event. We had more or less talked them into it—they are Jan (the groom’s) godparents, and we convinced them it would be fun. Dean is President of World Vision Intl and needs to take time for fun. We had a great time with them—they are old and dear friends whom we first met in Kenya 30 years ago. Dean and I both have Okonji sons named after us, so there is quite a bond with the Okonji family.

It really was a great day. Popie and I have been very much a part of the wedding preparations, getting to know the bride and groom as adults (we are quite impressed with them), and walking alongside our friends Michael and Risper through the process we ourselves went through not too long ago. (My major contribution was to assure Michael that everything would work out in the end. One of Popie’s was to go on multiple trips with Risper and Florence, the bride’s mother, to the tailor who was to make all of their dresses.) We loved being so thoroughly part of their family, and they seemed to have genuinely loved having us so involved. This surely was a once in a lifetime experience.

Here’s Popie with Risper, me with Michael, Dean, and Michael’s brother Marx, and the four groomsmen—that’s my namesake Tim on the right, standing next to his brother Jan, the groom. These and many more people have become very, very dear to us.

Mombasa and onwards

We just got back from three luxurious days in Mombasa, staying at a tourist hotel where, for the first time in two months, we could be just the two of us. It was very relaxing. The beach has a coral reef about a third of a mile offshore, which means warm, salty water inshore with no waves to speak of. You float higher in the water that you’ve ever imagined, thanks to the salt, and the water is bathtub warm. One day at low tide we walked out quite a way with guides who showed us amazing creatures like sea slugs and sea worms as well as octopus eggs with little well-formed octopi visible inside. Another day we got an outrigger canoe to take us out snorkeling on the reef, which is a lot like swimming in the most wonderful aquarium you can imagine. We saw loads of monkeys and brilliant lizards, too, on the hotel grounds.

Most of the time, though, we sat under the palm trees on the hotel lawn, reading in our chaise lounges. There was a fabulous sea breeze that kept us at a perfect temperature. Occasionally we got up to walk down the beach or to jump in the ocean or the hotel pool. It was just what we needed to get ready for the last two weeks here in Nairobi before we start off on the European side of our adventure. Most of the time when people ask whether we are on vacation, we are not quite sure how to answer. But these last days really did feel like a vacation.

The only painful side to being there was the conversations with Kenyans trying to sell us things on the beach. They were polite and friendly and not too pushy, but the desperate poverty that grinds at their daily lives is not too far under the service. It’s hard to know how to live in a world with such extremes of wealth and poverty, which are particularly evident at a beach tourist hotel.

We did see some wonderful creativity in the ways people seek to make a living. We loved experiencing camels every day—such grave, awkward beasts—because some Somalis have brought them down to give tourists rides up and down the sand. And it was sheer pleasure to watch a remarkable gymnastic troupe of very young men, probably in their late teens, practicing their routines in the early morning on the beach.

This Saturday is Jan and Daphine’s wedding—the couple whose negotiations we chronicled earlier. We’re at Jan’s parents’ house where family members are beginning to gather, including David, their son who is studying medicine in the UK, now beginning his specialization in kidneys. (He’s a very likable young man whom we will see again in England.) Also Dean and Wendy Hirsch, our American friends who are Jan’s godparents. They are flying in from Geneva for three days just for the event, and we’ll have breakfast with them tomorrow. This wedding will bring together many people whom we love and enjoy, and we are really looking forward to it.

The Blue Boat

At long last Silas was officially named stroke to "The Blue Boat" for Cambridge. If you mention this to some Brits, the chances are good they will be impressed. Here's a photo of Silas posing with his counterpart from Oxford.

The shores of Lake Victoria

We just got back from a wonderful four days in the Kisumu area, on the shores of Lake Victoria. We went with Michael and Risper Okonji to the homes where they grew up—remote rural places strewn with huge, rounded granite boulders. (Here’s an example of how some boulders got utilized by a local cell phone company.) We stayed at the compound of Michael’s father and mother, about half an hour off the pavement along a dirt road that really could have used four wheel drive. All the sons in the family have, by Luo tradition, built houses of their own on the compound, so you really have a little village. It’s a quiet, peaceful place with lots of trees and farm animals, and a constant stream of neighbors and relatives coming by to say hello.

Just getting out of the plane in Kisumu we felt we had entered a different world—with soft tropical air, and a decidedly slower pace. We had wanted for many years to meet Michael’s parents, because we had heard so much about them. They didn’t disappoint. Michael’s father has a face like Nelson Mandela’s, and a manner that is the essence of gentle kindness. He likes to laugh, and he and Michael constantly tease each other. Michael’s father is eighty now and limps badly. He spent most of his working life as a lab tech for medical research for all kinds of tropical diseases. Though he had little schooling, he became sought after by researchers from all over the planet because of his skill in reading slides. We thoroughly enjoyed him. This picture is of Michael and his father (and me) in front of the church they recently built on land they donated next to their compound. Michael’s father can no longer walk very far, so he got permission to start a new church next door. He’s very involved—a person who was “saved” in 1950 through the East Africa Revival and never got over it.

Michael’s mother, too, was a delight. She doesn’t speak English or Swahili but we got a good dose of her personality. She is an extremely short, positive, energetic, non-stop worker with a smiling, elfin face. We loved seeing the delight that Michael and Risper so obviously feel in relating to both parents! Here’s Michael’s mother (on the left) with some other ladies, doing kitchen work and talking together.

And here is the preschool the church just started in a little tin building next to the sanctuary. They have 30 adorable kids coming from the neighborhood. They acted so pleased to demonstrate that they had learned their alphabet and numbers. We would like to see whether we can start some kind of partnership with this school. They have no tables, chairs, books or toys. But they are not complaining! A preschool like this can make a huge difference in the lives of children, giving them a boost toward education.

One day we drove over to Risper’s home, to meet her mom. Here she is with Popie and Risper. She had prepared an incredible feast, and invited quite a host of neighbors and relatives, including Risper’s “other mother.” Risper’s father died a few years ago and is greatly missed—a lovely man, by all accounts. He had two wives, as remains fairly common among the Luo. These large families can have fairly complicated dynamics, to say the least.

One unexpected highlight was a trip to Kogelo, the village where Barack Obama’s father grew up, and where Barack himself has spent considerable time visiting. Popie urged us to take the trip—I was skeptical, I admit. We didn’t know what we would find, or how we would be welcomed, since we had heard that tourists were besieging the place. But it really turned out to be fun. Obama’s grandmother Sara—Mama Sara, as she is known—came out to sit with us under the mango trees, and we had a long and animated chat. Well, I shouldn’t really say “we” because it was all in Luo, but we got the interpretation later on. Mama Sara is very animated and enjoyable company. She immediately placed Michael and Risper and remembered dancing with Risper’s grandfather, whom she greatly admired. Mama Sara is on the left.

Random thoughts

Sorry that we haven't posted in a while. Busy! We're about to head toward Kisumu, on Lake Victoria, for four days of up-country visiting. We've long wanted to meet Michael and Risper's family in their country home, and this is the chance.

This picture is from the Wachiras' home.... a harvest of avocadoes from their tree. Two huge gunny sacks were taken to feed Margaret's pigs. Shall we say that avocadoes are not as expensive here as in the US?

This second picture takes some explaining. If you look carefully at the glass bottle, you will see that the top and bottom are sort of frosted. This is what happens when you use and reuse a bottle, and it rattles around next to other bottles. Sodas are ubiquitous in Kenya--you can get a coke anywhere, and I do mean anywhere!--and the bottles are definitely reuseable. It's something small I enjoy.

We'll probably be out of email contact for much of the coming week. Will try to post when we return!

Us Vs. Them

I 

 got back from Eldoret last night, tired but satisfied after three days of interviews. Eldoret is a mid-sized agricultural town in the Rift Valley, the epicenter of post-election violence last year. I am working on a story for Christianity Today.

 

Everybody in Eldoret remembers vividly the eruption that came immediately after the presiding government announced that it had won the December, 2007 election. Within minutes they heard shouting and saw fires burning. People were running everywhere. It is widely believed that the government stole the election, which brought a huge emotional reversal from the euphoria of the election campaign. But the reaction was as much tribal as political, for the two are completely intertwined. This affected Eldoret more than anywhere else because it is such a mixture of different communities. Eldoret was the center of what was once known as the White Highlands—vast tracts of good farmland that British colonists took for themselves. When the British left after independence, much of their land was bought by or given to Kikuyu. The Kikuyu, who are good business people and farmers, have done well there, but they have never been fully accepted by the local Kalenjin people. So the disappointment of the election was interpreted through the belief that the Kikuyu, who have dominated Kenya for much of its history, were unwilling to relinquish power. And that connected to many historical and cultural grievances.

 

The result was that roving gangs of young men attacked Kikuyu families, burned their homes and businesses, and ordered them to leave, never to return. Those who resisted were sometimes killed. (Some other communities were also attacked, but mainly the Kikuyu.) Hundreds died (from both sides) and hundreds of thousands (mostly Kikuyu) became Internally Displaced People (IDPs) living in tented camps for months. People I talked to were still reeling from the memories of violence. And I saw many houses that remain burned-out shells more than a year later. (Here’s one.)

 

As I learned, though, more than a few Christians bravely shielded their neighbors. Many churches became refuges, protecting hundreds or even thousands of frightened people who had lost everything. And almost immediately pastors, who had been (everybody admits) negligent in warning against tribalism, began to meet to pray and take action. This photo is of Pastor Martin Shikuku and his wife at the Glory Baptist Church, where they sheltered 73 people. Her father was killed a few hundred yards from here.

 

Overall, there’s no doubt that church leaders were willingly manipulated by political leaders before the election, which means that they participated in tribal thinking (us versus them) and endorsed politicians (“God’s anointed servant”) along tribal lines. Prominent church leaders have made public apologies for their failure to provide better guidance. It wasn’t so much what they did (though there were some egregious behavior) as what they didn’t do. The church pretty well mirrored society at large. It got sucked into the politicians’ game.

 

There’s a mindset here in which politicians are treated as godfathers, not serving their constituencies so much as becoming their champion. It’s a mindset that politicians use. For example, yesterday the Minister of Agriculture was up for a vote of censure in parliament due to some very questionable dealings he had with the distribution of corn bought by the government on the international market. (There’s famine here, and it’s a very emotional subject.) He’s a Kalenjin, and the Kalenjin in Eldoret interpreted the issue as an assault on them as a community. While I was there I saw groups of men gathered on street corners, talking excitedly about the issue. They stood 100% behind their man, and there were apparently even threats to mistreat people who came from his accuser’s community.

 

It’s very normal to prefer “my people,” whether my ethnicity is involved or something as flimsy as my college affiliation. African tribal identities are deep—communities speak different languages and have significantly different customs. Today there is a lot of intermarriage, and that may erode tribalism’s power for the next generation. For the present, though, ethnic and cultural differences give lots of room for African politicians to manipulate. It reminds me of the way in which white segregationist politicians held the entire American South hostage to a highly self-destructive approach throughout the fifties and sixties by playing off “us versus them.” And the more recent American “culture wars” have some of the same political flavor (though thankfully nobody has gone on a murderous rampage). We all do well to ponder that famous question, “Who is my neighbor?”

 

Us vs. Them

I got back from Eldoret last night, tired but satisfied after three days of interviews. Eldoret is a mid-sized agricultural town in the Rift Valley, the epicenter of post-election violence last year. I am working on a story for Christianity Today.

 

Everybody in Eldoret remembers vividly the eruption that came immediately after the presiding government announced that it had won the December, 2007 election. Within minutes they heard shouting and saw fires burning. People were running everywhere. It is widely believed that the government stole the election, which brought a huge emotional reversal from the euphoria of the election campaign. But the reaction was as much tribal as political, for the two are completely intertwined. This affected Eldoret more than anywhere else because it is such a mixture of different communities. Eldoret was the center of what was once known as the White Highlands—vast tracts of good farmland that British colonists took for themselves. When the British left after independence, much of their land was bought by or given to Kikuyu. The Kikuyu, who are good business people and farmers, have done well there, but they have never been fully accepted by the local Kalenjin people. So the disappointment of the election was interpreted through the belief that the Kikuyu, who have dominated Kenya for much of its history, were unwilling to relinquish power. And that connected to many historical and cultural grievances.

 

The result was that roving gangs of young men attacked Kikuyu families, burned their homes and businesses, and ordered them to leave, never to return. Those who resisted were sometimes killed. (Some other communities were also attacked, but mainly the Kikuyu.) Hundreds died (from both sides) and hundreds of thousands (mostly Kikuyu) became Internally Displaced People (IDPs) living in tented camps for months. People I talked to were still reeling from the memories of violence. And I saw many houses that remain burned-out shells more than a year later. (Here’s one.)

 

As I learned, though, more than a few Christians bravely shielded their neighbors. Many churches became refuges, protecting hundreds or even thousands of frightened people who had lost everything. And almost immediately pastors, who had been (everybody admits) negligent in warning against tribalism, began to meet to pray and take action. This photo is of Pastor Martin Shikuku and his wife at the Glory Baptist Church, where they sheltered 73 people. Her father was killed a few hundred yards from here.

 

Overall, there’s no doubt that church leaders were willingly manipulated by political leaders before the election, which means that they participated in tribal thinking (us versus them) and endorsed politicians (“God’s anointed servant”) along tribal lines. Prominent church leaders have made public apologies for their failure to provide better guidance. It wasn’t so much what they did (though there were some egregious behavior) as what they didn’t do. The church pretty well mirrored society at large. It got sucked into the politicians’ game.

 

There’s a mindset here in which politicians are treated as godfathers, not serving their constituencies so much as becoming their champion. It’s a mindset that politicians use. For example, yesterday the Minister of Agriculture was up for a vote of censure in parliament due to some very questionable dealings he had with the distribution of corn bought by the government on the international market. (There’s famine here, and it’s a very emotional subject.) He’s a Kalenjin, and the Kalenjin in Eldoret interpreted the issue as an assault on them as a community. While I was there I saw groups of men gathered on street corners, talking excitedly about the issue. They stood 100% behind their man, and there were apparently even threats to mistreat people who came from his accuser’s community.

 

It’s very normal to prefer “my people,” whether my ethnicity is involved or something as flimsy as my college affiliation. African tribal identities are deep—communities speak different languages and have significantly different customs. Today there is a lot of intermarriage, and that may erode tribalism’s power for the next generation. For the present, though, ethnic and cultural differences give lots of room for African politicians to manipulate. It reminds me of the way in which white segregationist politicians held the entire American South hostage to a highly self-destructive approach throughout the fifties and sixties by playing off “us versus them.” And the more recent American “culture wars” have some of the same political flavor (though thankfully nobody has gone on a murderous rampage). We all do well to ponder that famous question, “Who is my neighbor?”

Disappointment

I heard from the potential agent today that he's not interested in taking on Birmingham. So I have to go back to the beginning of the agent search. Rats. 

Preliminary Observations about Kenya’s Future

I’ve been asking people whether they are hopeful for Kenya. I get divided responses. Some are hopeful because they say the horror of last year’s violence shook everybody deeply, so they will draw back from any repetition. Some, too, are hopeful because they perceive a different spirit in the younger generation, who are much less bound to their own ethnic group and far less willing for politicians to lead them. (Kenyans universally blame their leaders for the country’s plight. In a month reading daily newspapers I have not seen a single favorable word for the current coalition government.)

On the other hand, many Kenyans express fear that violence will break out again at the next election, because so far the government has so far done almost nothing to change the conditions—no electoral reform, no revised constitution, no accountability for those who organized or encouraged mob violence, no settlement of crucial squabbles about land. Two days ago I interviewed a member of the Kenyan Human Rights Commission who told me that she dreads the next election (in 2012). In talking to communities that experienced violence she was told that they were determined never to let it happen again—which is to say, they plan to defend themselves and are preparing to do so.

Everybody says that the church simply mirrored the problems of the country—that pastors and bishops were caught up in their tribal perspectives. Some announced to their congregations that God had spoken to them and anointed one side or the other to lead Kenya. In one town the pastor’s fellowship had to stop meeting for prayer because they could not agree on how to pray.

However, it wasn’t all failure. When violence erupted it called some Christians to their senses. Many individuals sheltered people from a threatened group, at the risk of their own lives; churches mobilized spontaneously to help people burned out of their homes and businesses; and church leaders immediately realized they had to meet together despite their deep differences.

Right now everything is peaceful. By nature Kenyans are an optimistic people, and like all of us they go about their business without necessarily worrying about the big questions. Different ethnic groups routinely meet, pray, and work together; friendships are common. But there’s a shadow over Kenya, and a sense of uncertainty about the future.

Friends from Home

We feel really comfortable living with our friends here, but it's also true that we are far from home and we love to get emails from friends and family. This week we saw a friend from Santa Rosa, Gary Moline, one of Popie's counseling colleagues. Gary had been roaring over the countryside with a Kenyan pastor he knows; the last two days of his trip he was in Nairobi. We introduced him to our friends the Wachiras and the Okonjis over meals at their home. It was very fun. Gary also very kindly brought Popie some needed contact solution. And a book!

We also got word that our friends Dean and Wendy Hirsch will come for Dick Jan's wedding March 14. They'll only be here a few days, but they will add great excitement to the event (as if any were needed). Dean and Wendy actually introduced us to the Okonjis 30 years ago, so this will be a bit of a reunion.

Can I add that the weather here really is phenomenal? We have had gorgeous, perfect days without exception since we came. Amazing.

Dowry Negotiations

Late Friday afternoon we let ourselves into the Okonji home after a week with the Wachiras, only to find ourselves encountering two white goats in their back yard. These, we remembered immediately, were part of the dowry to be paid for Dick Jan’s bride Daphine. The goats had wreaked havoc, eating all the flowers within reach.

Saturday morning, bright and early, one of the goats was led through the house on its way to be slaughtered. Its companion bleated pitifully but soon settled down to eating more flowers. He was not to be dined on today; he would be led into Daphine’s parents’ house on a new rope as a gift.

The negotiation party was meant to begin at 11:00, and quite a few relatives had gathered, including some who took an all-day or all-night journey from Kisumu. (Obama country.) Due to semi-intentional delays we arrived at the gates about 2:00. This was intended to create a level of anxiety in the substantial gathered crowd. I am not sure I would recommend this tactic to prospective marrying families, and it did provoke some stern scolding. The Okonji troops gathered outside and the women sang and danced, pleading to be let in. After some delay—do they know we are here?—an answering troupe began singing inside. The two groups competed for a while until we were let in. Popie did her job quite well.

The negotiations, as I understand it, were a series of accommodations of traditional practice to urban life. Inside the gates were three large tent awnings shading 150 plastic chairs. One tent was labeled Kisumu, another Makweni (Daphine’s community) and a third Visitors. Popie and I took up seats in the Kisumu tent, and after a substantial snack was served, the “inner core” of negotiators was called into the house. We were included in this inner core. (Throughout, we were treated as members of the Okonji family; it was explained that the third son was named after me.)

After the approximately 15 negotiators had taken up every inch of a small living room, we set to work with two “chairmen,” Michael’s elder brother Marx on our side, and Daphne’s father’s elder brother on the Kamba side. Neither bride nor groom were present, or anyone from their generation; the parents and the bride and groom never said a word. In fact apart from introductions all the talking was done by the two chairman gravely taking turns standing up and addressing the other as Mr Chairman and making short speeches with many rhetorical flourishes. “Mr. Chairman, I would like to say that we are very pleased to be welcomed into this home. Our only concern is that these two young people should be able to love each other and settle into a very happy marriage.”

After a bit the demands were set on the table, the chairman reading very meticulously from a list. First, as a sort of entry ticket, three goats had to be produced—one male, that we would eat together, and two female that must be seen by the negotiators. It was understood that the male had already been slaughtered, but there would be careful checking to see that an entire goat had been brought. The two females, additionally, could be compensated for at a price of 5,000 shillings each.

Our chairman responded: we had brought the male goat and one live female goat—it was brought to the doorway and accepted as legitimate—and we would purchase one goat. The cash was produced and counted.

Then the main list was produced. We should bring two blankets, double-bed size, two pairs of plain bedsheets, double-bed size, ten pairs of lesos (the colorful cloth African women wear around their waists), a bag of sugar (fifty pounds?), a debe of honey (a debe is maybe five gallons), ten cows, ten goats, and an appreciation for the mother for all she had gone through in raising Daphine. Due to urban circumstances it was agreed we could substitute money in some cases. The honey was being valued at 10,000 shillings, as was the appreciation for the mother. The cows were 30,000, the goats 3,000.

We set to work. Most of these items we had known about in advance, and so purchased and brought with us; but the money items had to be negotiated. It takes about 80 shillings to make a dollar, so you can see that the total sums are not huge, but nevertheless both sides had to convene discussions of their menfolk to talk strategy. Since the cows and goats were tokens, we were able to graciously accept the demands (“We love the girl, and we have no problem accepting that we should bring ten cows.”) and then bargain over their price. (“In the current economic crash, we are finding that these are very expensive cows; we would rather purchase cows that cost 15,000 shillings.”) Also, it was worked out that we would make a substantial down payment—three cows at 20,000, three goats at 3,000) with a promise to pay the rest throughout the lifetime of the marriage. Everybody was happy.

The rest of the event, which went until dark, was mostly eating, singing and speechmaking. Parts were the equivalent of our bridal showers, with kitchen gifts lavished on the bride. The most fun was a game in which Jan, the groom, was supposed to choose his bride from a lineup of girls. The first group was covered up to various degrees—see the picture. Jan determined, after looking them over carefully, that none of them was Daphine. Then a second lineup was produced, dressed identically, of identical height, and completely covered. This provoked great hilarity. Jan took his time and found his bride, I don’t know how. I suspect there was rigging.

We were impressed by the impact of the actual event. It served to signal that two families were thoroughly involved in the marriage, that this was not just a decision involving two young people. It introduced the two families to each other through play and feasting and semi-serious negotiation. In this case, where two different cultures are meeting, it reminded them of their differences (for the negotiations differ by community) as well as their commonalities. We had a great time, and were very honored to be included.

Here's Risper with her soon to be daughter in law dressed up in kitchen gifts.