Last Trip Update: Home at Last

Time has been galloping on and I'm guessing everyone who had been following our journey got tired of waiting in Nakuru for the story to end, and went home without us.

So, more for my peace of mind than your enrichment, here's the last installment of The Trip.

Our two young guides dropped us off at the Mennonite compound in Nakuru and headed back the 3 hours to Kisumu, a trip that is no longer as awful as it used to be because they've been redoing the main Nairobi road and now instead of being a deathtrap of narrow lanes and potholes and sharp dropoffs at the side it is as nice as Substation Drive that goes past our house and even as wide as 99E sometimes. Believe me this is a huge improvement.

We saw quite a few big Caterpillar and International machines working on the road as we drove, and our guides said they think it's an Israeli outfit that the Kenyan government hired, implying there was something distinctly un-Kenyan about big well-maintained equipment and just getting the job done.

Which is sad.

I certainly thought about this as we drove by miles of farmland and saw only one or two tractors. I mean, you have vast acres of black soil but only scruffy little crooked fields here and there interspersed with lots of brush and weeds. Maybe it's the German in me, but I like straight corners and sharp edges parallel to the road and looking down parallel rows and rows of corn.

Oddly, I had to wait until we were waiting in the hot, stuffy Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi to see my fill of tractors. I looked out the window and there were these good-sized Ford and Massey Ferguson tractors that could have come straight off a Minnesota farm in maybe the late '70s, pulling all the trailers of luggage.

But first we had to get from Nakuru to Nairobi, a drive of several hours. When Paul had gone to Kenya to adopt Steven, he had a certain taxi driver that he really liked take him all over, to the law office and embassy and wherever. Somehow, Paul got hold of the same guy this time, and found out that it's now a family business, and one of the sons agreed to pick us up in Nakuru at 9 in the morning.

Our hosts looked dubious that he would actually show up at nine. That African sense of time, you know. But no, there he was, right at nine. In a nice safari van*. That was nice and clean. We piled in and he made sure we all fastened our seat belts. Amazing. And then he drove carefully and professionally to Nairobi and chose not to pass trucks ahead of us even when he could have. Truly amazing, at least compared to most van drivers I saw in Kenya.

*Safari vans have bucket seats inside, with a bit of an aisle down the middle, then the top ratchets up about two feet so you can stand there and watch the elephants and lions in safety. To do this right you have to have that self-assured wealthy-European look, with a tan safari hat and big sunglasses and a camera lens that sticks out to there.

We didn't have the right Safari Look, just so you know.

Before we went through security in the Nairobi airport, I was in the restroom or something, and the girls were complaining how hot and stuffy it was. Steven said, "I have a pack of matches in my pocket if you want to be hotter yet." His sisters pounced on him, of course, but unfortunately the slingshot went undiscovered until we got to Amsterdam.

Meanwhile, we were still in Nairobi, waiting in the heat. Emily found a place by the wall where you could plug in all kinds of cords, so we started recharging our spent computers and cameras, and Emily sat down and leaned against the wall and watched them.

Meanwhile I got Jenny a bottle of pop, which she spilled on the floor. I snagged a passing employee and asked for a mop. She never brought one. Then Emily, from her odd vantage point along the wall, suddenly noticed that hidden behind the Safaricom booth 15 feet away was a bucket and mop. Should I? Yes, so I fetched the mop and cleaned up Jenny's mess and decided there probably aren't too many tourists who have mopped a floor at Jomo Kenyatta International.

Then we flew to Amsterdam and after several hours tried to fly to Warsaw, and endured The Slingshot Episode, which everyone tells me is funny, but I'm not laughing yet.

And then we finally got to go, and flew to Warsaw, where Paul's brother John and his wife Laura and their family picked us up, and this is the kind of family they are--even their three teenage boys hugged us all and made us feel like we had done them the greatest favor in the world, coming to see them right on the heels of other guests and eating up pretty much all the food in the house.

John and Laura plus another couple, Lavern and Lolita, and a revolving contingent of singles have been working in Poland as missionaries for about ten years. At first glance it may seem odd to send missionaries to such a religious country--Catholicism is an astonishing force in the country--but for many people their Catholic faith is nothing more than habit and tradition and they have no sense of God being a Father to them and loving them, or of following Jesus on a daily basis, or of knowing their sins are forgiven. I know Catholics in the U.S. who have all of the above in larger measures than I do, and have a feeling there are significant differences between the Polish and American churches.

So the little mission runs a school to teach English, and they have a small church, and in general just learn the language and are kind to people around them and have neighbor ladies over for tea, which we should all do, missionaries or not.

John is ten years younger than Paul and Laura was once my fifth-grade student, but over the years the age differences seem to be less significant and we can talk as equals, especially since their children are so close to our youngest 3 in age. Ben, you may recall, is 17, Steven is 16, and Jenny 11. Their oldest is Conrad who is 18, Austin is 16, Derek is 13, and Allison is 11, just a couple of months younger than Jenny.

The boys all had great fun playing basketball on the snowy court for hours, until their hands were almost frozen, and eating lots of food, and playing long games of Puerto Rico. Jenny and Alli have always been two peas in a pod and they giggled and squealed the days away, managing to dress alike every day (don't ask me how) and playing with the cats and buying matching hats in the market, and when they someday go pick out Alli's wedding dress and a bridesmaid dress for Jenny, I'm guessing it will take less deliberation and comparing and giggling into the mirrors than picking out those brown knit hats.

On Saturday we all wanted to go to Warsaw but Jenny woke up pale as a ghost with a lingering bacterial souvenir from Africa. Finally we decided that the girls would stay home and one of the voluntary service guys named Gideon, a noble and brave soul, would come to the house and stay with them. The girls curled up in chairs and blankets and cats in the living room and watched movies. I don't know what Gideon did all day but he didn't seem to have any nervous twitches by the time we returned.

We ladies took the train to Warsaw and I told Laura it is astonishing to me how she, this Oregon farm girl, learned to know which train to catch to Warsaw and to hop off at this station and run for that tram and catch that bus, and get where she wants to go, and all in Polish.

We went to the Polish pottery store. Oh my. It is this unique, beautiful, homey-looking pottery that specializes in small repeated painted designs, mostly in cobalt blue. They had about ten different color-designs, and everything from plates to teapots to butter dishes to soup bowls in each design. Where to begin and where to end? I finally bought six pieces for me and a few for a friend, and now wish I had bought a lot more.

And then we went to the Warsaw Uprising museum commemorating how the people of Warsaw rose up against the German occupation in World War II. It was truly a David and Goliath battle, and the Russians across the river sat there and watched when they could easily have stepped in and helped, and afterwards the Russians shot most of the Polish officers and brutalized the people even further.

It is humbling to be in Poland and to think of how much that country has suffered. America as a nation has the Civil War, but nothing like the invasions from East and West, several times over, and being obliterated as a nation for many years, and the Holocaust, and Communism. You get on the train in Minsk Masowiecki and think of the trains full of Jews from the Warsaw ghetto rattling along these tracks to the concentration camp at Majdanek. You see the snowy forests and think of how the Polish officers were taken to just such a forest and shot. Modern young Polish people are free and proud and educated and becoming more wealthy all the time, but you know they all grew up on stories of how their parents and grandparents suffered and struggled in unimaginable ways.

And then last year that plane carrying the Polish president and a whole raft of dignitaries and government people crashed, and you wonder, hasn't this country suffered enough?

Anyway, I love history, and Poland has enough history to keep me fascinated for years.

On Sunday we attended John and Laura's little church, held in a classroom at their school, and Paul preached, and John translated, and when John couldn't think of the Polish word, the Polish people in the audience would supply it, which made me wonder why we needed a translator, but I guess there were a few who didn't know any English.

I had a chance to chat with Lolita for a bit, always a treat, and to talk for quite a while with Anita, one of the single workers, whom I knew by email since we are both Mennonite Lady Authors, and I really enjoyed getting to know her.

Our time in Poland was much too short. Others of the family were happy to leave the snow and cold behind but I wasn't. It was astonishingly like Minnesota, where I grew up, from the size and shape of the trees to how the snow sounded underfoot. So I felt right at home and could have stayed a while, not just for that reason, but because it is just a joy to be with John and Laura.

They are just sweet, funny, honest, loving, giving, smart, and understanding people. And you need to read Laura's latest xanga post to help you understand what she's like. It's about her mom, who was very special to me and who died too young.

In Amsterdam we parted ways and Amy and Emily flew to Washington, DC, and got Emily's possessions and her car in Virginia, and parked it at my sister's place in Pennsylvania, and in between they visited friends at SMBI, everyone's favorite Bible school. Then they flew home as well.

And there is no place like home, but we would all go live in Kenya if the Lord called us there, and I would go live in Poland in a heartbeat too, but the Lord would have to work on the others.