Simon's Nairobi Diary - Archive 7

28 October 2005 10:30pm

It was hot today. Really hot. I stepped outside of my housing unit and the sunlight was poured on me like some sort of substance that could be snow-shoveled off. Thick and unfeelable as powdered sugar. Lizards were everywhere, enjoying the heat by sunning themselves on the hot orange concrete tiles that guide me around campus, except that this scarecrow is led to NT Greek class and not Oz. Lunch was reheated sekuma wiki, and pretty bad. Lawrence told me jokes and it helped to ignore the over-softened green clumps that I brought from the ceramic bowl to my mouth with my fingers. Well, actually, it depended upon the joke.

I cannot begin to describe the inspiration I am getting from beginning to be able to read the bible in its original form. I've been reading this text since Mrs. Pullen's first grade class, yet today it felt like reading it for the first time (amazing). I have a long way to go though, but sawa sawa. Sawa sawa is Swahili for 'its getting better'. Just a 'sawa' alone means 'ok'. If anybody greets me in slang with "Mambo?", meaning "It is...?", the equally slangified response is "sawa sawa". Its speaking Swahili but really hip, and I usually botch it up.

27 October 2005 7:44pm

Dinner tonight with Kebede was so much fun. I found out his name, Talede, means cupboard in his Ethiopian language of Amharic. I think I'll marry an Ethiopian so I can name a child after a kitchen utencil. He has some of the most stuttered broken English of anybody I know. Sometimes, I try for ten minutes to understand him and just can't make it happen. But he gave thanks to God for the dinner in this language today, and it was so sweet to hear him at ease during his speech, this skillfully threaded stream of undistinguishable Amharic words compared to his stuttered 'how are you doing?'.

We ate 'injera', these Ethiopian rolls that are as much of a tool as they are a food. Its spongy sour flatness was used to scoop up soy beans like a cakey tortilla. Delicious. After gorging on a pile of it, I sat back and complimented the meal saying 'tabu!' with much gusto. He looked at me strange, and I immediately knew (like often) that I mixed up my kiSwahili. I returned his stare, also confused. 'Tamu?' I asked, a lot quieter. He burst laughing and thanked me. Tamu means delicious, whereas tabu means bad.

26 October 2005 7:15pm

I've always wondered about the cows around campus. These thick black, brown, and white cows are always wandering around the parking lot and housing units, goaded by this dude with his stick. Today, in the first Student Council meeting of the semester, I found out the cows are a Student Council fundraiser. They bought these dairy cows awhile back. They let them roam around campus, milking them in the morning and at night. The milk is then sold in the campus store, with proceeds going towards the Council.

I suppose that is one aspect of not using the pesticides and herbicides that are so common in the lawns of previous institutions I have attended. This grass, in avoiding that pedicured bright-green crewcut trend, has retained a functionality to combine Graduate level scholarship with milkin'. So cool.

During the meeting, an item that was brought up was how the income from the milk took a dip in August. Apparently, two of the cows had to give birth to calves. The treasurer argued that the loss of a small amount of profit will be regained in the two newly acquired heffer's milk output. Another item discussed was how the financial books did not include an adjustment in assets for the cow that was 'lost' last July. As they discussed, I turned to Vincent on my left and asked, "How did you lose a cow?" I expected a response of 'disease' or 'predators', but instead the reply was "Graduation".

25 October 2005 9:45pm

I spent a good portion of today getting introduced to the drama and findings surrounding the Qumran scrolls (Dead Sea Scrolls). While taking a break, I picked up that red acoustic and began a jazzed version of Jack Johnson's "Flake". While playing, I noticed a group of five boys on the grass, three floors down outside my window. I opened the window and continued to play, much to their enjoyment. Near the end of the song starts a reggae section, and when I busted into that funky "the harder that you try baby the further you'll fall" part, one of the boys stood up and did a silly dance while his friends laughed on and on. It was difficult to go from goofy boy dancing to fragmented papyrus apocrypha.

24 October 2005 6:01pm

The power failed around 4pm yesterday, so as dinnertime arrived it came candlelit. The orange glow lit the faces of me and my three floormates, as we sang a song of gratitude to the Source of it all. The song is called "Because He lives I can face tomorrow", and as our voices filled the concrete kitchen the externalities and busyness of the day faded like a dream upon waking. The meal's focus became gratitude. The greenbeans, carrots, and rice became the sauce.

How is it that such a simple action, a simple song around a simple meal, can be so edifying? How does the vibration of air contained within the chorus bring such fortitude to this dizzy life? One thing is for sure. As we sang our thanks and ate with joy, the dependence upon the Maker was clear as crystal. And so I approach this savior, saved from the desperation that accompanies living through a fallen soul and a selfish will. I approach Him on broken legs, a prodigal wretch, and receive in return a candlelit banquet embrace.

22 October 2005 7:18pm

Woke up today and proceeded to overview the Greek preposition cards still next to my pillow (paralambano - I take, receive), picked out the cockroach from the coffee pot (postbrew - drank it anyways), and was blessed by this wisdom from the great scotsman George MacDonald:

But the door into life generally opens behind us, and a hand is put forth which draws us in backwards. The sole wisdom for man or boy who is haunted with the hovering of unseen wings, with the scent of unseen roses, and the subtle enticements of "melodies unheard" is work. If he follow any of those, they will vanish. But if he work, they will come unsought.

21 October 2005 7:29pm

Had a hankering to get out of campus, so I took the matatu (local bus) into Karen to visit my favorite kibanda for a banana. Just imagine twenty three Kenyans packed into this 14-passenger honda, with this tall white Michigander in the mix of it all. Seriously, there's nothing more awkward than having the 50+ year old Kenyan woman sitting on your lap for ten minutes - receiving these big toothy grins from the surrounding wayfarers.

Well, actually, there was something more awkward. Walking back to the matatu stop I was attacked by a bumble bee. More like a ferocious walnut with wings than a nectar sipping insect of the field. I did the whole 'frantic lean back' movement that is typically associated with flying insect assaults. Its that whole 'Im being attacked by a bee' dance. And of course everybody is watching, even those far away. They probably don't see the bee, just this gawky tall American jerking around and acting violently crazy. I'm surprised that they let me back into the bus. All for a banana, but what a banana it was. These straight off the tree' bananas are worth ten cretaceous-period bumble bee attacks and a hundred matriarchal matatu partners.