Let this self-portrait stand as incontrovertible proof that while Africa can do many things for you, it can’t make you pretty. This is the hallway of the house where I live at Lukenya Getaway. It’s very nice and I am spoiled to be here.

Saturday, February 18

An update on the customs situation. I went to the airport yesterday, heavily armed: Medical records, use records for the past year for the light treatments, PIN# certificate, passport, pictures of the whole light apparatus, orphanage literature, survey maps of the property, and probably a few things I am forgetting. Masaa, the driver and I were set upon by “brokers” as soon as we entered the airport complex, guys who want to help you get your stuff for a fee. They were none too happy about my refusal, but, I wasn’t in the mood to be put upon. We found the Fed Ex office up a few dark flights of stairs and Carol, whom I had spoken to on Friday and gave me the estimate of the duty/tax costs. One of the brokers simply came with us as though I hadn’t been clear about not needing his services, and sat in the small office until even he saw that I wasn’t budging.

My case got turned over to David, a very nice guy who after hearing my story and a lot of uh huh’s and head nodding, got a very troubled look on his face. But he became my advocate, and over the next few hours guided me through the bureaucratic swamp with kindness and a good deal of proficiency. We went from office to custom’s cage to office to Head Receiving Agent to Fed Ex office to custom’s cage to receiving agent line…well, it just goes on. We eventually got an audience with the man who was going to make the call. I trotted out as much of my stuff as he could take and in short, he reduced the tax from well over 71,000ks to 730ks, about ten dollars. I shook his hand and he dismissed me in that benevolent monarch kind of way. I had my equipment, minus a cord which David assured me was waiting for me in the Nairobi City Center office. That was a minor adventure which isn’t going to make the cut here. The whole episode was a painful reminder that God is calling the shots, and that my getting my knickers in a twist doesn’t do anything except make sitting down uncomfortable.

I was pretty lighthearted when I went to Nairobi hospital to meet with Dr. H., my new physician here. A very nice man, cardiologist, a good listener. We went over my medical history. I didn’t really used to have one, and I liked that a lot better. He told me how lucky I was to be in America for my treatment, and for the first time I realized that things would have been very different for me if I had been in most other parts of the world two years ago.

Near the end of the visit I was telling him about some trouble I have been having with my ears. Since the radiation treatments they itch inside in a way that drives me crazy at times. I want to take a garden rake and stick inside my ear and scratch away. He said that extreme dryness was the culprit and he had just the thing for it. Wow! The first positive answer I have gotten for this problem anywhere. He wrote a script, which I took to a couple of pharmacies. Both said that the ointment hadn’t been available for about ten years. Oh well.

Sunday, February 19,

I walked the half mile down the dusty road to Mary Mount Chapel this morning to go to mass. When I got there the pre-mass choir rehearsal was in full swing, a choir director, wearing a tri-colored Nike wind breaker, and about a dozen choir members. Four or five females, seven or eight males. There were about thirty people scattered throughout the small church, all enjoying the proceedings. The director was taking them through their paces, at times in five or six part harmony. When someone would make a particularly good mistake, the congregation would crack up. No one seemed to mind. It was all good natured.

Mass started about fifteen minutes late, with the entrance processional. led by twelve female students from the nearby Kilimanjaro Private School. They were dressed in their school uniforms: light blue collared shirts, dark blue and white regimental striped ties, light grey v-necked sweaters with dark blue and white trim at the neck, calf-length black and white plaid skirts, and in this case, sarongs tied over their skirts, all predominantly dark blue in color, but all different. One very nice one had red camels on it. They were dancing the celebrant in, with slow, rhythmic steps while the newly tuned up choir accompanied by a djembe-like drum, sang beautifully.

The ceiling of the octagonal chapel was covered entirely in three inch slats formed into various designs, crosses, diamonds, squares in regular patterns. It reminded me of those crosses that are made entirely of burnt wooden matches, only this was quite beautiful. Parts of the mass were in Kiswahili and parts in English. The short sermon was delivered sequentially in both.

Just before mass started, a man came and sat down next to me. It was David who works at Lukenya Getaway, where I live. It was the first occasion of my ”running into” someone in the neighborhood. Well, the first human one . A few days ago, I was walking home from the property and I saw over a field, about fifty meters away, the unmistakable lilting flight of a black shouldered kite. Maybe my favorite bird in the valley. I was so happy to see him. I felt he might be like me, leaving to live in a new place, or maybe he is just a wanderer. I wanted to call to him and make him turn his head to see who was speaking to him in English.

This is the entrance to the chapel.

Mass was wonderfully paced. Two more dancing trips down the main aisle by the girls from Kilimanjaro, a few parts where everyone made coordinated hand movements, and throughout, the beautiful singing.

There was a seven or eight year old girl, her lightish brown hair all in straight rows, who was sitting well in front of me. She would turn and look at me in fifteen second stretches. I returned her gaze and smiled and she did too. She made her way back in my direction over the course of things until she was in the row in front of me to the left. I could feel her looking, and then we would smile, looking right at each other for a long time, repeatedly.

This was, I think, the baptistry. A separate small building to the left of the main chapel.

Here are some pictures I took on the walk to the chapel.

This is a clothing store owned by Purity, whom I met today while she was having her hair done inside. She is having a pair of my pants mended that I tore this summer on a hike in Wales when I got irretreivably lost. The shutter didn’t open all the way.

This is Re-Eunice’s Hair Saloon, Fine touch

The signs here are magnificent. One of the things I like best.

Albert’s multipurpose Shoe Repair Shop

Albert. When I introduced myself to him he said, “So your the one with the Project.” It’s a small world here in Lukenya.

That’s the neighborhood and the news. So long for now. Always good to hear from you.

David

Posted on February 19th, 2006 by david
Filed under: David's Journal