An Elephant Whisker

A few words on the safari:

We all know that I love the zoo more than most 5 year olds, so I could have died of excited delirium when Leonard popped the top to our van and drove us into the Maasai Mara Game Reserve. Lions! Giraffes! Zebras! Hungry, hungry Hippos! Wildebeest! Rhinos! Elephants! Cheetahs! Warthogs! Water Buffalo! Crocs! Hyenas! Seeing all of those animals in the wild gave me goosebumps. And we crossed the border into Tanzania. Anyway, we spent hours in the van quoting The Lion King and enjoying God's creation. (For the record, Rafiki means "friend" and Simba means "lion" in Swahili.) Because it would take years to explain how I almost peed my pants every time we saw a new animal, here are a few of my favorite safari photos...

On our way back to Nairobi, we got lost. I'm pretty sure we were off-roading in Tanzania for a good chunk of time. The benefit of getting lost is that we came across something we wouldn't have under normal circumstances. In this case, it was a dead elephant. To the left of the red dirt road, the gentle giant took his last steps. He was laying on his side, and his tusks had been removed. An elephant with its tusks removed, is an elephant without a face. His trunk had been discarded and his face sliced off, exposing blood and tissue. We learned from the locals that the elephant had died in the morning from what appeared to be poison spear wounds, which were oozing pus by the time we arrived. The rangers came to remove the tusks since the poachers (supposedly members of the Gussi tribe) weren't in the vicinity when their victim went down.

Our drivers and David reverted to boyish tendencies, standing on the elephant's hardened belly, playing with the trunk, and pressing on the wounds so more pus seeped out. Leonard lifted the elephant's ear to find ticks with nickel-sized bellies making a mass exodus out of the flesh. He also plucked an elephant whisker from the trunk and gave it to me.

I can't say that I'm happy to have seen a dead elephant because it was disheartening, but I am thankful for such a unique experience.

On a much, much lighter note, on our last day in Nairobi, a few of us visited the Giraffe Center (that focuses on saving giraffes) and I fed, petted, and smooched a very pretty giraffe named Daisy!

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Peanut Butter Jelly Time

Every American kid knows what a PBJ is. It's a worthless bargaining chip at the lunchbox exchange. No smart 1st grader is going to trade his Oreos or Snack Pack for a PBJ. I wouldn't either. Plus, chances are, everyone else already has one of his or her own.

A PBJ is no doubt a tasty sandwich, but after you've eaten 1,000, you start to take them for granted. The children at Bright Hope Elementary, however, have never even laid eyes on a PBJ. I don't know that they've even seen sliced bread. Spurred by Maureen's thoughtfulness (and contribution), we lather peanut butter and jelly on white bread and serve hundreds of sandwiches to the hungry students. They are fortunate to eat today.

Some stare in bewilderment at the crumbly squares in their hands, others pick at the top piece of bread eating one slice at a time, some gnaw on the corners, and a few are just natural sandwich eaters. We can't help but giggle as we watch these kids eat their very first PBJ.

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A Mzungu at Got Okii

After another hour long van ride of unsuccessfully dodging potholes, we reach Got Okii Primary School. Got Okii is a low income school in Adiedo. To call a school in this part of Africa low income is ironic to me. Low income is implied, but still, the differentiation is made for Got Okii, and the need is apparent. Inside the classroom, students wiggle their toes as they listen intently to the teacher's lesson. On a good day, the teacher will have chalk to emphasize important points on the blackboard.

The students cover long distances in their bare feet to attempt learning without supplies or books, and many have never seen a mzungu, or white person, before. The vans are surrounded by children as we park, and getting out is a challenge. As I exit of the van, at least a hundred students orbit around me. When I remove my sunglasses, the sea of children erupts into laughter and playful hollers because there are a pair of blue eyes looking back at them. I squeeze through the crowd to make my way up the embankment toward the school office. Children run after me, and the brave ones tug at my hair, run their fingers through it, pet it. (Very) white skin, blue eyes, and light, long, curly hair--I have all of these strange features they have NEVER seen before.

The students continue to be mesmerized by their bizarre looking visitors. We teach Bible lessons, provide hygiene care bags, and learn the definition of an African single-file line when we hand out cookies to the entire school.

SOHI hopes to dig a well and extend child sponsorships to Got Okii in the future.

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Velma

Timid children hide behind their mothers' skirts as the line for the clinic grows. Malaria and ringworm seem to be the most common. We see hundreds of patients who are grateful we care enough just to listen to their symptoms, let alone provide medicine.

As I write another prescription and affix the sticker to a donated pill bottle, one pair of eyes stands out. This little face looks vaguely familiar. It is the same face that smiles back at me from my refrigerator door. Accompanied by her grandparents, my sponsor child Velma is waiting for medicine, too.

On the day set aside specifically for sponsored families, the villagers, dressed in their finest clothing, congregate near Adiedo Primary School. A girl in a carrot-colored floral dress holds the hand of her little sister, Velma. And the mommas sing a song of thanks as they wait patiently for the mosquito nets to be distributed.

Velma's grandmother Mary smiles the biggest, brightest smile as I hand her a mosquito net. I then have the opportunity to join the entire family on a short walk back to their home. Holding Velma's tiny hand, I ask the translator, Aloice, questions about the family. Velma is one of four siblings. As far as I can gather, both parents died shortly after Velma was born, and the children were entrusted into their paternal grandparents' care.

We veer off the main road onto a muddy path that takes us to the grandparents' home. The exterior walls are made of clay and dung, and the roof is sheet metal. Inside, there are two rooms for the family of six and their gueno, or hen. Six wooden chairs are lined up against the walls, three on each side, with a table in the middle. Dirty stuffed animals and pipe cleaners hang from the ceiling as decorations.

Outside, we exchange gifts. I give Velma and her siblings safari-themed finger puppets, stickers, and bracelets, and the grandparents study the photos in the small album I leave with them. In return, I receive raw peanuts and a pot.

The grandparents show Aloice and me back to the road, and Velma's little bare feet slap in the mud behind us as she tries to keep up. We say our goodbyes, and I give sweet Velma a hug.

As we return to the school, Aloice tells me that Velma was instructed to stay at the house, but she traipsed in the mud after us because she was sad I was leaving. Velma didn't make a peep our entire time together, but that gesture spoke volumes. I have to admit, saying goodbye was a little sad, but I am delighted to have met my sponsor child. Plus, in Kenya, we don't say goodbye. We say, "See you here or see you there," as we point to the sky.

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Spring of Hope at 120 Feet!

A quick rehash...Spring of Hope International (SOHI) was founded by David Opap, whose mother and five siblings died of waterborne illnesses. While SOHI's ultimate goal is to reach Africa for Christ, providing clean, drinkable water is also a big focus because without water, there is not life.

Every day we see throngs of women plodding along the road with babies on their backs and yellow buckets on their heads. We see children, not playing in, but fetching water from the mud puddles formed by yesterday's downpour. Other children collect water while their neighbor's livestock do the same.

Protozoa and parasites run rampant in this stagnant water, but with no other water source, people are left little choice.

Spring of Hope is giving Kenyans another choice.

Our vans pull into Adiedo Primary School shortly after the well rig hit water. This is the village's second well. Only, this time, the drill hits water at a mere 120 feet, and the volume of water that gushes to the surface is described by the expert driller, Mick, as "incredible, just incredible." Never in his career has Mick struck so much water, so soon. Raindrops begin to tumble from the heavens--a timely reminder of where the well water has come from.