up country weekend part 3 (of 3)

Saturday morning, I woke up at 6 in the morning. Remember how I said everything can be heard in the house since there is no ceiling? That is the cause for my early morning wake up call. Rosemary was praying. Not going to lie, it is pretty cool to hear an African Mami praying for her friends who have come so far to see the childrens. It was quite a blessing to start the day.

After breakfast and tea, we hoofed it over to the orphanage, which really isn’t that far away. The kids were playing at the small compound, and were excited to see us. They know Rosemary, and they were excited to see the mzungus. Angie and I already had our cameras out, and the kids rushed to get in the pictures. It was IMPOSSIBLE to get candid shots, because the kids were so curious to see themselves.

Rosemary gave us a tour of the small compound. They have one classroom, an office, and a stand alone kitchen. Andy by kitchen, I mean 4 sheets of corrugated metal, about waist high, tied to branches in the corner, with another sheet of metal on top to make the roof. It works though, especially since they use an actual fire to cook.

After some time there, we went to the beach. Although it was not an ocean beach like I am accustomed to, it was pretty incredible. The view was great, but the most interesting part was the people fishing. They had these huge nets far into the lake, and about 15 people per net pulling them in slowly. From what we could see, they hadn’t caught anything. I imagine the net is pretty similar to the ones they used in Jesus’ time. In fact, the methods probably are very similar.

At that point, Angie and I had decided that we wanted to go out on the lake in a boat. Seriously, who gets to go on a boat on Lake Victoria? I knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I wanted to go for it. So Rosemary talked to several boaters, and finally found us a ride. I was marginally concerned, but was confident in my swimming skills. The snails kept me from a true desire to swim, but I knew I could save my own life.

Angie and I emphasized that we did NOT want a three hour tour. As we were cruising around, I looked down and noticed a small fountain of lake water coming into the boat. Thankfully, they would bail the water out every once in a while, so it wasn’t like we were going to sink or anything. Just a little leak. No biggie. I did not point it out to Angie until we were safely near the shore.

We then hiked back to the orphanage at high noon. I think I might have inhaled an entire colony of flies. We only had to ask for directions once, and found our way back from there. Luckily Patrick, one of the guys who works at the orphanage, was with us and able to lead us, or else we would be really lost.

The children had a presentation ready for us. They sang about how grateful they are to us for visiting, and to ask for our prayers. They don’t have parents, and who is left to care for them? The guardians they stay with make them work. They are the first ones up, the last ones to bed.

After the presentation, they played a little while before it was time for lunch. They serve the littlest first, all the way up. The bowls were full, but they were mostly full of maize. Rosemary and staff would love it if they were full of beans, but beans are expensive. The maize at least fills there tummies, even if it has no nutritional value. They don’t even have silverware to eat with, just their hands.

I noticed one thing while we were there. These kids don’t really smile. I saw a couple of half smiles, but mostly when they were posing for pictures. They weren’t genuinely joyful. When I got home from the trip, I saw the kids of the family I was staying with that were perfectly healthy, fed, and happy. The orphans did nothing to deserve losing their parents to aides. They did nothing to have the innocence of childhood ripped from them.

I took a few more pictures before we said our goodbyes and went for our own lunch of African food. We didn’t leave till 1 or 1:30, so our lunch was even later. That afternoon we relaxed before heading into town around 4pm. Rosemary needed to get the next weeks worth of food for the kids. I think she expected Angie and me to have money that would feed the kids for the whole week. I hate that they think just because my skin is white, I can make money appear in my pocket.

I understand that food is a huge need, but there was another need that I saw. Patrick, basically the director of the orphanage, has to walk everywhere. When a child is sick, he has to care the kid all the way into town, which is at least 10 km. He has to walk to take care of food, and they have to bring water up from the village on foot. A bike would take so many burdens off of him. A bike that costs around 80 USD. I bought Patrick a bike that afternoon. Food is important, yes, but the bicycle provides a service that will enable Patrick to work so much more efficiently and effectively. Sort of like the way I want to use airplanes.

Wherever we stopped in the village, a group of kids would gather and stare at Angie and me. I knew they were going to be curious, but I didn’t anticipate how unsettling it is to have a group of kids just standing there staring, giggling behind my back. As we walked home, a crowd of about 50 gathered behind us, and started singing. I have no idea what they were saying, nor do I really want to know. All I know is that it has something to do with white people. They didn’t even leave when we walked into the house. We had to ask someone at the house to tell them to leave. I was frustrated with being on display.

That evening, Rosemary had a long meeting with the small staff in the living room. They were talking in Swahili, so I heard everything through the ceiling and didn’t understand a bit of it. I went out to greet them and explain why I felt the need to buy the bike. So I was able to do a small part to meet their needs.

We prepared to leave at 8 the next morning. We were packed back in the car at the mzungu 8, not the African 8. We were told that it would only take 6-7 hours, and we would be home in 4 hours from Kisumu. Africans aren’t very good at predicting time.

We stopped to see Betty’s grandmother before even leaving the village. That visit took a half hour. Again, the crowds of kids gathered. Betty also loves fish, and the fish from the village are much cheaper than in Nairobi, so we stopped to pick some up for her.

Now lets think about the fish for a second. Unlike in America where the fish is nicely packaged and preserved in ice, these little sunbaked sardines smell wretched. Thankfully, they went in the trunk. Angie and I prayed our stuff would not smell like fish as the scent wafted through the car.

Finally we got on the road, and stopped again a ways out of Kisumu to visit more people. The African way of life… so between the visits, we killed an hour. Oh well… In Kisumu, we picked up some full sized Tilapia, having a similar scent to the aforementioned miniatures.

All in all, we were on the road for 11 hours, including visits. I don’t know how that trip could be made in less than 10 hours.