Pray Like a Child

I have been reading a book on prayer that was given to me as a gift. I am finding it surprisingly good and helpful – and realistic. I like that. One thing the author talks about is being child-like in your asking.

When I saw this post on a friend’s blog I choked back some tears then realized a little more what it’s like to ask like a child asks. I want to be more like that too.

Chinese Saying

A friend of mind wrote about what the people in her country say when in a traffic jam. I was trying so hard to think of the best way to say this in Swahili:

Usikufa katika jam, umeshinda

Schrubbing

Not sure how the term got its name, but schrubbing refers to a Kenyan speaking English but mixing up letters in words to do it. Usually it’s r’s and l’s that get switched. Those are the main two in Nairobi that get swapped. I think other parts of Kenya have folks that have trouble with b’s and p’s.

There are favorite schrubs. Recently one of the preachers at church caught her schrub, “We need to play for our situation.” This orator caught it right away and corrected the mistake. Another pastor’s proclaimed ‘favorite schrub’ is the quote from Hebrews 12, “since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses…” He likes it because it works just fine to say, “crowd of witnesses.”

There is a plot I pass often that has been working on becoming some kind of business. They have made the neat gravel drive and have tables and chairs in the garden. I don’t know if it’s a restaurant or is it a beauty salon. It could be both. The other day I was passing the sign for it and finally made an effort to read the scrawling font on it. It’s called Subrime. What more can I say?

When a tree falls on empty clothes lines, does it make a sound?

The answer to this non-philosophical question is yes. Last night about 9:30 I was minding my own business, already in my jammies, when I heard an all too familiar sound; that classic falling tree noise. I tensed every muscle waiting for it to hit the building. It didn’t. But as soon as the noise stopped, I put on a wrap and some shoes and grabbed my keys to dash out and see what had happened.

A tree fell from just outside out compound wall over on the clothes lines. We have 18 units in our compound, half are 3-bedroom and half are 4-bedroom. This is the laundry hanging area for the entire place. (I’m sure no one has a dryer!) And oddly enough, this was an evening when no one had forgot and left laundry out.

What makes this all particularly odd is that about 2 months ago a tree fell over that same wall, into our parking lot and damaged three cars, the wall and electric fence. This is only about 10 yards from where the tree last night fell. This is so random, since it wasn’t storming or anything either time.

Since shortly after our first tree fell and the folks across the street cut all their aging trees down, our compound is getting more and more sunny. It’s all fairly minimal on the big scale of recent worldwide earthquakes. But between these two trees and our personal flood, I feel I have had more than my fair share of natural disasters lately.

Habari Mzee?

Generally speaking, old men are the safest and wisest people in Kenya. I’m generalizing here, but it’s generally true. I have advised new-comers from the US working the in slums, “If you are ever in some kind of trouble, look around for an mzee to help you.” (Mzee means old man – but it’s a term of respect.)

The other day I was picking along a muddy road when I noticed an mzee coming towards me. I rehearsed in my mind my respectful greeting in Swahili. As he got closer he smiled and stretched out his hand, I took it into a hand shake and greeted him. But he didn’t let go. He started with how happy we are for the rain even if it means our shoes get muddy.

Still gripping my hand, he then began a story about how he lost his job because of advancing technology and how needy and poor he was. This produced in me a very uncomfortable feeling. I have made it a matter of practice to never hand out money. But I should have been carrying something I could give him, why wasn’t I carrying some peanuts or bread?

Inevitably, the mzee asked for some money. The moment came for me to refuse him. I kept wishing I had been more ready, more practiced for how to handle his request. I’ve been through this enough times. I said I was sorry him, but I couldn’t help. I walked away feeling so badly.

Why couldn’t that have been different? I’m praying for him, and for my next encounter with the same kind of request.

The Whining Toto

Not far from my apartment here in Nairobi is a little side street that I enjoy walking on. It’s not really paved (it might have been at one time), and it’s only about two blocks long. Not that we have ‘blocks’ here. On it is a lonely compound. It has a large yard and an old, simple, single-story house on it. The yard is neat, but just the basics. There are no flowering bushes or lawn furniture. In fact, I have often wondered if anyone really lives there. It seems a little deserted. But the grass is cut, it’s not over grown. So it’s not totally forgotten.

Last Saturday, I was on my way back from a walk and I could hear the whiny cry of a toddler. You know the type – perhaps a “crabby, just up from a nap cry”; or an “I need some attention fuss.” I thought to myself, “Ohh, poor toto. No one is minding you.” (Mtoto means child in Swahili; often used mixed into English, the “m” is left off.)

It took a moment to realize it was coming from this place that I often peered at longingly. I slowed my pace peaking first through the gap in the gate and then through the hedge. There was a car or two in the drive. I realized that whine was diminishing.

Then I saw the toto sitting on the front step watching me pass through those same cracks in the fence and hedge. When I could see the whole of this baby, I stopped. I could see he was about 2 or so. I waved; the kind of wave you do for a baby here – flattened palm facing the toto and rocking my hand side to side.

When he could see me he stopped crying altogether. The tired little toto lifted his hand with his fingers spread apart and waved back at me in a slow deliberate motion. It was almost as if in wonder that the creature he was eyeing through the fence had also noticed him – even if his parents had not.

I wished afterward that I had tapped on the gate and introduced myself to the adults inside. I thought as I walked away, it would be a good time to meet these absentee occupants. And that toto might have had a bit more attention from a passing auntie.

Walking

I have a friend in Minneapolis that blogs about walking around our neighborhood there. I love reading it. Now I have started walking around my neighborhood here. I cannot go after dark for safety reasons. But in a way, I am glad that it’s light, there would be so much I miss if I couldn’t see it.

Today I walked to the nearest mall, the Yaya Center. All I needed were paper coffee filters for tomorrow morning’s coffee. I didn’t change clothes but left my office attire on adding only my running shoes. I thought about how odd I must look here in this culture where ladies seem to always be well dressed, sporting heels even on the foulest weather days. But as I walked I did notice that there were other ladies in suits wearing runners. Maybe I don’t look so odd.

I noticed too that even though it was ‘rush hour’ even for pedestrians, I had a hard time enjoying a ‘sea of faces’ always wanting to watch my step. It rained all night and half the day. It’s muddy everywhere. I kept wishing for my camera in hand. Because I agree with my friend in Minneapolis, everything is weird, nobody’s paying attention.