Where do I start after so long? My last blog left me in Maputo. I finished that leg of the trip and flew (via Nampula, Pembe and Nairobi) to Mombasa, a town in southeast Kenya on the coast of the Indian Ocean. My last memorable Mozambique moment was being picked up from the apartment at 4am, when it was still pitch black, and the driver telling me it was very dangerous to be driving at this time because of highjackers. He ran most of the red lights to avoid stopping at deserted corners. I was not too sad to leave, but I was sad for the people who live in a place that has become increasingly violent as the country strives to develop.
Kenya was wonderful and difficult. The Kenya office's staff retreat was the reason we were in Mombasa. The hotel (really a cluster of freestanding cottages) was in some ways exactly what you'd expect from a beach-side resort -- a beautiful pool overlooking the ocean, a large dining area with never-ending buffet, palm trees heavy with coconuts. But some of it was out of the ordinary, like the dozens of skinny black and white cats decorating the grounds, playing in the giant planters, following you to your room, waiting for something to drop from your dinner table and ready to finish off scraps of food after you've walked away; like the swarms of monkeys swinging from balcony to balcony, jumping from palm tree to thatch roof, avoiding the sling-shot of the man whose responsibility it was to keep the monkeys away from guests enjoying their meals; like the 20-year-old hotel employee eager to practice his English, asking me to explain salvation to him and how I could believe in something as illogical as the Trinity.
There is too much to say. The people working for our organization in Kenya are gifted, well-educated, articulate, passionate and funny. I am blessed to have spent a little time with them. The retreat provided was just what I needed: space for personal reflection, time to get into God's word, a reminder of the brokenness of this world and the healing that is in our reach.
I was picked up at 3am from the hotel in Mombasa to catch a flight to Kigali, Rwanda, where I spent the remainder of my time. I should do a post on the people I met with -- there were days of 10- and even 14-hour marathon meetings, but it was worth it just for the opportunity to be touched by their wisdom, for it to somehow ooze onto me. I felt richer when I was around people like Kayijuka and Sophonie, Ngoga and Marcel, Rita and Joie-Claire, who have known genocide and war and suffering beyond any scale I could fathom, but who have been given the strength and grace to speak words of peace, healing and wholeness.
I got home Thursday evening. Richard took me to an urgent-care clinic to have my foot x-rayed. Just a couple of days before I left for Africa, it had started hurting; I'd been walking with a limp for 3 weeks now. The x-ray showed a stress fracture of one of the metatarsals (the long bones in your foot). It's official: I've broken myself. Too much walking, too much speed, too little rest. The doctor ordered me to wear a moon boot, which Richard and I picked up from a medical supply store the next day. I am now walking around in a great big black Star Wars-looking contraption that goes all the way up to my knee.
On Saturday we got on an airplane headed for South Lake Tahoe, where we'll be this week for a long-awaited vacation. Next post: the importance of having appropriate expectations (or Why Didn't Someone Tell Me My Vacation Would Be More Disneyland Than Rustic Getaway).
Kenya was wonderful and difficult. The Kenya office's staff retreat was the reason we were in Mombasa. The hotel (really a cluster of freestanding cottages) was in some ways exactly what you'd expect from a beach-side resort -- a beautiful pool overlooking the ocean, a large dining area with never-ending buffet, palm trees heavy with coconuts. But some of it was out of the ordinary, like the dozens of skinny black and white cats decorating the grounds, playing in the giant planters, following you to your room, waiting for something to drop from your dinner table and ready to finish off scraps of food after you've walked away; like the swarms of monkeys swinging from balcony to balcony, jumping from palm tree to thatch roof, avoiding the sling-shot of the man whose responsibility it was to keep the monkeys away from guests enjoying their meals; like the 20-year-old hotel employee eager to practice his English, asking me to explain salvation to him and how I could believe in something as illogical as the Trinity.
There is too much to say. The people working for our organization in Kenya are gifted, well-educated, articulate, passionate and funny. I am blessed to have spent a little time with them. The retreat provided was just what I needed: space for personal reflection, time to get into God's word, a reminder of the brokenness of this world and the healing that is in our reach.
I was picked up at 3am from the hotel in Mombasa to catch a flight to Kigali, Rwanda, where I spent the remainder of my time. I should do a post on the people I met with -- there were days of 10- and even 14-hour marathon meetings, but it was worth it just for the opportunity to be touched by their wisdom, for it to somehow ooze onto me. I felt richer when I was around people like Kayijuka and Sophonie, Ngoga and Marcel, Rita and Joie-Claire, who have known genocide and war and suffering beyond any scale I could fathom, but who have been given the strength and grace to speak words of peace, healing and wholeness.
I got home Thursday evening. Richard took me to an urgent-care clinic to have my foot x-rayed. Just a couple of days before I left for Africa, it had started hurting; I'd been walking with a limp for 3 weeks now. The x-ray showed a stress fracture of one of the metatarsals (the long bones in your foot). It's official: I've broken myself. Too much walking, too much speed, too little rest. The doctor ordered me to wear a moon boot, which Richard and I picked up from a medical supply store the next day. I am now walking around in a great big black Star Wars-looking contraption that goes all the way up to my knee.
On Saturday we got on an airplane headed for South Lake Tahoe, where we'll be this week for a long-awaited vacation. Next post: the importance of having appropriate expectations (or Why Didn't Someone Tell Me My Vacation Would Be More Disneyland Than Rustic Getaway).
1 comment:
I haven't been to South Lake Tahoe, but given what people told us about it being one of the more populated areas on the lake, I can imagine. Jrex found us a great B & B on the west side that was a little more small town/rustic. Near Homewood (?) mountain.
Your time in Africa sounds amazing!
And, hey, nice shoe, babe!
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