Drink Chai and Settle Down

Sometimes, from a distance, life in Africa seems quiet and serene.  I think that's when I haven't been living here for a while.  It is quiet, in its own way, not in a lack-of-noise way, or a lack-of-people-coming-to-the-gate way, but more in a relaxed way.  Quiet, as in, if you are in a hurry, you should stop it and relax and go drink a cup of chai until you get that out of your system.  Quiet, as in, why did you plan to get so many things in town on the same morning?  Because that rarely happens and you might be setting yourself up for disappointment.

As I type, I have ten neighborhood children from around the corner playing soccer in the yard, greeting me through the window.  Which can take a very long time, since greetings have to be done individually.  And that is not a problem, just a consideration when everyone gets invited in.  This morning we had electricians in the house to fix the problem of the house power shutting down when I turned the oven on.  We can make it without an oven, but it sure is nice to have one.  I'm gonna make these guys some bread first-thing. :)

The last time they came, they found a massive mound of grass in our attic that had been brought in by some over-zealous birds, along with significant amount of bat guano.  That got hauled out, down through the bathroom ceiling for the entire morning, about thirty bucket's worth.  whew.  Today they were still working around lunch time so they ate with us.  Then Esther, who blesses our socks off by helping in the house, had a toothache, so we put some medicine on it and I recommended going to the dentist but she said she might just wait until it stops hurting and then she can just pull it out. (!!)

The milk arrives at the gate on bicycle, brought by a man who wears a bright green Christmas hat.  I'm not sure why he does, but it comes in handy because I always know it's him.  The milk is brought in, boiled, skimmed, put in the fridge.  The beans are sorted, the rice is sorted, washed, and cooked.  At times I really like having the house to myself and decide that the kids and I can just do everything.  So we end up sorting beans during chai time and washing rice in the afternoon.  Or I decide, what's the big deal with washing the rice, and we all break our teeth on the rocks I didn't pick out.  Or we're doing math problems frantically while we get the laundry down because it's going to rain.  And it works, in a sense, but then when Esther is here there is a degree of sanity that arrives as well. :)

And then we have to figure out if we have a guard or not.  Can't we just live in the house with our dog and not worry about a guard?  Well, yes, but then guards are mostly just a precaution anyways, as they are usually either sleeping or trying to wake you up.  I remember our first morning in Africa, 2005, and the sun had just started to think about coming up when the guard, Emma, was standing next to our bedroom window hoeing weeds from the concrete.  6 o'clock in the morning.  Clink, clink, clink.  And, as we have come to suspect, it is a sign of a hard worker to be up early, so the guard tries to let you know that he is up early by making noise.  Like talking on the phone right outside the window a couple of days ago.  Or snipping the bushes out front into nice, smooth, round balls, Disney-style. While I'm trying to get a couple more winks in.   And all we can do is lay in bed and laugh.
Or cry.
I choose laugh.
We have collected a plethora of humorous guard stories in our repertoire of house sitting.  Like when our light finally went out at night about 11:30 and Dave's phone rang.  And it was the guard right outside the window, calling him to let him know a door was unlocked.  And the reception was bad, which was good, because we could hear him clearer through the window than on the phone.  And we had a new awareness of exactly how un-private our lives were.  And this same guard, he liked to sit right outside the living room window and wind his flashlight to recharge it.  Whirrr, whirrr, whirrrrrrrrrr.   In a similar way to knowing the wind is blowing but not being able to see it, the guard's presence is felt in so many unique ways.

When you get out on the street there is not a shred of privacy.  I mean, we get stares in America when we walk around with this many children.  Here, one white person is a novelty, much less nine of us.
Last week I walked by an evangelistic meeting that had been set up near our house.  I was trying to be nonchalant and the girls and I were walking on the other side of the road.  All of a sudden the Swahili changed to English, "We are waiting for you!!"  I'm pretty sure I was the one they were waiting for.  Blending in is ever-elusive.

And at other times the advice starts coming,
"Don't let the baby suck his thumb."
"Why are you carrying the baby that way?  That's not how to carry a baby."
They grab the baby, he starts crying, "He's crying!  You need to nurse him!"
And then another lady, "You need to wean him!"
The most hilarious time was a little kindergartner who came to my gate and I arrived, carrying the baby facing out.  "White lady!  You don't carry a baby like that!!!"  Even the little children know how to carry babies better than I do.

The main topic of conversation, if you're seeing friends you haven't seen in a while, is how you have expanded.  "Wow, Mama Hannah, you are FAT!  Where have you been?  America?  Oh wow--America has been good to you!  Because you are BIG!  You had a baby?  Oh, that's probably why you're so LARGE!"  The thing I liked most about this conversation is how it didn't faze me in the slightest.  I know, I know, bring it on.  Fat, fat, fat.  Keep talking until you get it all out.  I was just excited to be in a country where everyone thought I looked so much better large. :)  And frankly, it felt really good to not have the slightest bit of self-consciousness about the whole thing.  If I come back and tell you that you look fat, remember it's a compliment.

And finally, the "Quiet Life" is punctuated by "Hodi"'s--the Swahili equivalent of a knock on the door.  "Hodi, Hodi," and it just continues until you go to the gate.  It may be the little children looking for playmates, or the man with the chickens who wants water for them, or a mama wanting help with food or a little business or a friend stopping by for a visit or a medical need or my neighbor selling cabbage...the thing about hodi's is that you always have to be ready for anything.

Sometimes at the beginning of the day, I feel like I'm at the top of a roller coaster, looking down, down at the track.  I know I can't fall off the track, but I also anticipate a wild ride.  It's a good ride--guided by the One who prepared this course just for me.

“I have always been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I slowly discovered that my interruptions were my work.”--Henri J. Nouwen