Update 12--Safari

Before I tell about our safari to the Nakuru Game Park, let me put in a good word for the Mennonite missionaries in Kisumu. Despite their busy lives they treated us like royalty, inviting us for meals and making sure all our needs were met. All of them seem to have this cheerful acceptance of all the deprivations that life in Kenya entails, including driving from the main road to their compound on--dear me, I can't even call it a road--it's a cleared area with bumps and holes and rocks and not anything you would dream of taking a vehicle over in the States. But they have these tough, reinforced 4-wheel-drive vans and take it all in stride.

In fact, I think the young men especially rather enjoy that sort of driving, particularly Jason Peachey, the grinning son of one of the pastors who agreed to drive us to Nakuru to the game park and function as both driver and guide. He asked to take another young man, 16-year-old Daniel Kauffman, (who assured me that no, he didn't write Doctrines of the Bible) so he'd have company on the way back.

So after the boat ride we hurried back to the guest house and packed up and then stripped sheets and swept floors so the busy missionaries wouldn't have to do it, all while the young men waited patiently.

Then they hoisted all our stuff to the top of the van and tied it down, and we were on our way. I had decided to assemble and serve lunch on the way, and Paul had bought big bottles of pop to pour into cups we had along, but we were not far down the road, weaving and jouncing, before we realized this had not been such a good idea.

But we finally ate without too many sandwiches bouncing out of our hands or too many lapfuls of pop.

And well before dark we got to the game park. First you see the huge, shallow, Lake Nakuru, surrounded by thousands of flamingoes and pelicans. South of that are large grasslands, very dry at this time of year, and some forested areas as well. The best way to see animals is simply to drive around and keep your eyes peeled.

We saw a number of rhinos, including the rare black rhino, lots of cape buffalo, with their massive horns and sullen expressions, a few giraffes (my favorite) among the trees, lots of zebras, jackals, several kinds of deer, and wart hogs.

Daniel said, "Whenever a wart hog runs across the equator, his tail goes up."

Yes. Well. Whenever a wart hog runs at all, his tail goes up.

Oh, yes, and we saw a couple of lions, resting in the shade after a feast of whatever carcass that was, dragged into a clump of bushes. Not far away, a jackal tried to sneak in for the leftovers.

It really is an amazing experience to see these National-Geographic sights for yourself.

We got to the Naishi House, one of several guest cabins in the park, before dark and Jason fired up the grill and started barbecuing the large supply of marinated chicken he'd brought along.

Meanwhile a group of cape buffalo assembled at the watering hole not very far off and the two 16-year-old guys decided to run out as close as they dared, waving their arms, to tease the cape buffalo. So they did this, several times, until the buffalo started acting agitated, like they might take off after them, and then they ran back to the lodge, laughing.

The parents did not laugh when they found this out. Cape buffalo are almost as deadly as hippos.

Meanwhile I was ignorant of these shenanigans as I started frying potatoes and the pretty, uniformed park ranger/hostess stopped in and showed us around. Linens here, soap there, propane down in this cupboard.

"We have a big problem with the mouze," she said. "The mouze are hungry and thahsty, it is dry season, so they come inside."

Ooooo-kay. Well, better mouze than snakez.

"And we have dishes and beds only for eight," she said, "and you are nine. Normally we do not take nine."

I thanked her for letting us be an exception.

Later she came by with another setting of dishes and silverware, and I think she liked us, or more specifically Amy and Emily who were helping in the kitchen, because she told me that she has to leave and another ranger would be on call if we needed anything. "I have been working for two weeks, now I will go for four days, to visit my daughtaz." She gestured at the girls and smiled. "Like your daughtaz."

The first mouze of the night scampered across the kitchen soon after. The second one across the bathroom soon after that.

The boys slept in a guest cabin not far away except for Ben who was on the couch. The main cabin had two bedrooms, each with a rustic king size canopy bed with mosquito nets all around plus a twin bed, so the girls were in one room and Paul and I in the other.

A mouse bit Amy's finger during the night, and in the morning a large dead mouse lay in the living room. Except, said the missionary boys, "that's not a mouse, that's a rat."

Everyone but me and Emily left early to go look at the lions again. I made a pot of tea and Emily and I sat on their big bed and sipped tea and through the mosquito nets and windows watched the sun come up and the zebras waiting their turn at the watering hole while the water buffalo helped themselves and the little monkeys clambering all over the barbecue grill. This, we decided, is our style of safari.

Then, as we sat there in luxury, the mosquito net started shaking ominously at the foot of the bed. Emily took a careful look. A big mouse/small rat was under the bed, trying to get out. There wasn't much we could do so we kept drinking tea.

After the others came back we packed up and left and drove around some more, looking for and at animals. Since this was the dry season, it was terribly dusty in the van, even after Paul dug a bathrobe and socks out of his suitcase and stuffed the cracks around the back door of the van. Jenny and Emily spent much of the time with a wet rag over their mouth and nose, trying to filter it out.

So we were very weary when we got to the Mennonite compound at Nakuru that afternoon. It's under the same mission umbrella as the one at Kisumu, and just as welcoming and refreshing.

Everyone else took naps and I did four loads of laundry in the wringer washer on the back porch of our hosts' house, and that in a nutshell tells what it is like to be the mom on a trip like this: you have lots of wonderful experiences, and you make sure everything keeps running smoothly, but you don't have a restful vacation.

Update 11--Boat Ride

[Note--you can see photos of this episode if you go on my Facebook album and go to photo 75.]

On our last morning in Kisumu we arranged to go on a boat ride to see wildlife on Lake Victoria with Titus, a guy that we met seven years ago when the Mennonite missionaries recommended him. Back then, he took us out in his little rowboat a couple of times to watch birds aka "baaahds" in Kenyan English.

We were scheduled to leave Kisumu in the mission van, accompanied by two teenage MK's, at about 11:00, so I got as much ready the night before as I could, scheduling it all out in my head--early boat trip, hurry back, pack up, clean the guest quarters, leave.

We recall that my children and I are not the most efficient cleaners and packers in the world, so we needed all the time we could get.

But I didn't want to miss out on that boat trip.

"It'll only be an hour and a half," promised Paul. "That's what I told Titus."

Ok, that'll work.

We drove out to the lake in the early morning, passing scattered groups of uniformed school children walking to school.

The vast masses of water hyacinth had blown far enough offshore that we could board at Hippo Point, a pretty almost park-like area where we used to hang out on Sunday evenings when we spent 3 months in Kisumu.

Titus was obviously coming up in this world. He had a bigger boat, for one thing, still made of rough wood but painted a high-gloss salmon color. The seats had backs and even more amazing, padding. And there was a home-made roof over the boat to keep off the sun, and a real motor at the back. The crowning touch was that he provided life jackets for us.

Wow.

Oh, by the way, said Titus to Paul, this will take two hours if you want to see the hippos.

Titus's assistant curled up in the front of the boat and we set out, slowly motoring along the shore to admire egrets and little hoppy yellow birds in the bushes and tall papyrus plants growing along the side. We passed women doing laundry by hand, fishermen preparing their boats for the day, other fishermen setting their nets, and people bathing, which of course made us respectfully admire the scenery off to the other side.

Soon we came up on three hippos. They popped their huge bulgy eyes and nostrils out of the water and grunted at us with deep unh-unh-unhs that boomed out over the water. Hippos are known for being huge (3 or 4 tons) and vicious. When they open their mouths it reminds me of a car hood opening although believe me I wouldn't want to attach jumper cables to those massive teeth that can snap a crocodile in half with one bite and take occasional bites out of wooden boats.

As one comforting source said, "The hippo is extremely aggressive, unpredictable and unafraid of humans, upsetting boats sometimes without provocation and chomping the occupants with its huge canine teeth and sharp incisors.”

Yes, well, but we were in good hands.

We motored on and on and on, leaving the populated areas behind and seeing only thick brush at the edge of the water. Then we rounded another curve and there were lots of hippo nostrils bobbing up out of the water then disappearing. "There are 26 in this herd," said Titus.

We circled the hippos at a safe distance, slowly, once, then again. And then on the third time around, the motor suddenly stopped. We turned. Titus was looking confused and yanking on the starter cord.

The boat began drifting silently. Toward the hippos. On and on, swish by gentle swish. We sat there in cold, silent terror as Titus frantically yanked and we came closer and closer to that huge bunch, any one of which could easily have swum over and stuck his snout under our boat and flipped us over.

Finally, finally, when we were only a few yards away, [Paul and I disagree as to just how many] the guy at the front of the boat came to life, stood up, pulled a long green wooden pole from the top of the roof over our heads, and began to pole us to safety.

We all exhaled.

[Jenny, reading over my shoulder, wants you all to know she wasn't scared.]

Mr. Assistant pushed us along, push by slow push, back along the way we had come. This was going to take a long time.

Titus, in addition to his modern life jackets, also has a cell phone. He called a friend to come help us.

The friend took his time, and it was some 45 minutes before he showed up. In the meantime I took stock of our belongings to see how long we could survive if the pole wasn't long enough for deep water and we drifted out into the middle of Lake Victoria which is the size of Lake Superior. Two cameras, one water bottle, one little packet of wipes with sunscreen and bug repellent. No food.

We were glad to see the friend arrive. He clambered into the boat and fiddled with the motor and poured in more gas. Finally the motor started.

The friend left and we motored on to Hippo Point, where we left our life jackets on a pile on the shore.

"We were never in danger," said Titus. "We were on the shore side, not between the hippos and open water." I didn't believe him. Floating almost above the hippos' heads doesn't seem too safe to me.

Titus told Paul that we had actually been out there for three hours instead of the two we had arranged for, but he decided not to charge us for that extra hour! Amazing, such generosity.

Pictures

I'm laboriously posting pictures of our trip on Facebook. This is supposed to be a public-access link.

Update 10--The Babies

No trip to Kisumu would be complete without a visit to New Life Home, a haven for abandoned babies. My first visit there, seven years ago, was overwhelming. Prisca the nurse/director had showed me around the clean, sunny rooms full of gentle caretakers and toys and lots of adorable babies. "They are found beside the road," Prisca had said, "or in latrines, or in the garbage, or along a riverbank. Some are left at the hospital, and the mom gives a false name and address, and then slips out without her baby." I remember the enormity of it hit me and I couldn't stop crying, remembering my fierce love and protectiveness of my own babies, and here were these motherless babies by the dozen, and I couldn't take it in. This time I was better prepared.

Back then, we used to walk over once or twice a week just to hold babies. This time we came with a big box of cloth diapers someone had donated and also $100 worth of supplies, paid for by the ladies from Brownsville Mennonite Sewing Circle. Prisca's sister happens to be our friend Vincent's wife Phyllis, and she had sent me a list of things they need, from Vaseline to cooking oil to porridge meal. So I had shopped at the local Nakumatt the day before and we came loaded down.

The caretakers posed a few babies with all the gifts.

And then, of course, we held babies. Amy's was a feverish little girl, also named Amy.
I fell in love with Peter, who put his head on my chest like he belonged there. Peter had a piece of packing tape in his hand and was furious when someone tried to take it away and replace it with a safe toy. He would fit right in with our family.

Babies and toddlers everywhere--may God have mercy on them all and bring them safely into loving families. Thankfully, New Life Home has an excellent track record of placing these babies in good homes.

Update 9--Home

One bag of tea spilled, sprinkling black grains all over the suitcase contents. Lots of soapstone rhinos lost a leg or two. The pottery survived intact. So did Ben's chess board and set. All the wooden lions are fine.

And so are we. We came home to daffodil shoots pushing out of the flower beds and supper from Grandma steaming in crock pots on the counter next to plates of Bonnie's awesome cookies and sour cream twists and a bouquet of flowers. I'm afraid the supper wasn't fully appreciated because we were all kind of in a daze, so we ate and put the food away and went to bed.

Paul and I slept til almost 4 a.m., and got up and ate a sour cream twist each which were fully appreciated this time, especially with a cup of fresh Kenyan tea. Now our clocks are only two hours off. Pretty good for less than a day at home.

Flying home was only slightly eventful. In Warsaw, the guy at the KLM counter asked how many bags we have, and his eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead when we said "ten." [Those Europeans, they take one small bag for a week-long safari.] Paul informed him firmly that we were assured of two bags each the whole trip since we had gone to Africa, but he still had to make phone calls and type a lot while we nervously watched the clock.

Steven's backpack got held up in security, of course, even though Paul had sifted through it beforehand and removed two nail clippers. I have a feeling they stuck a microchip in the pocket during that awful episode in Amsterdam and it's going to set off the alarms for the rest of its natural life.

In Amsterdam we parted ways with Amy and Emily who didn't seem nearly sad enough about parting from their wonderful family after two weeks in close quarters with them. The girls flew to Washington/Dulles, and they plan to get Emily's car and possessions in Virginia and leave them at my sister's in Pennsylvania, visiting old friends at SMBI in between before they fly home.

As I was telling my SIL Laura in Poland, I didn't realize how much I process things by writing about them, mostly on blog posts, until this trip, when I had limited internet access and only brief snatches of computer time.

Of course, said Laura wisely, there's always writing it down by hand. True, but there wasn't much time for that either.

So like a Jersey cow I'm sure I'll be ruminating for a long time and if you want to read about it, keep coming back. Otherwise, wait a few weeks.

Many thanks to everyone who followed our journey and prayed us through hippo encounters and bacteria on lettuce and all the perils of land and sea and air.

Trip update 8

This is skipping over miles of territory but I wanted to write a bit about today's adventure.

We are now at Paul's brother John's place in Poland, and John's wife Laura and I were just talking about those freak-out moments as a mom when you realize "My child doesn't know this obvious thing that everybody just KNOWS! Where have I gone wrong??? What's going to happen to him??"

I had tried to help Steven pack before we left home and he took to that like a cat to a cold bath so I lectured him good and let him pack his own backpack.

At Portland they confiscated three too-large bottles of shampoos and such. "Steven, what were you THINKING??"

As we left Nairobi on Tuesday and flew to Amsterdam and then to Poland, I assumed all was well and he knew the rules. After all, hadn't I given him another lecture--no shampoo, Ok?? And no knives! Nothing like that! Got it??

So we went through security to catch our flight from Amsterdam to Warsaw today and suddenly all the antennae went up on the heads leaning over Steven's backpack.

And there was a big Dutch security guy holding Steven's high-powered slingshot.

I had a fit. You had a SLINGSHOT in your BACKPACK???!!! WHY???

Shrug. "I thought I might use it."

Two big Dutch security guys with black boots and big guns and blue berets came over to Steven and Paul and me. "Do you speak English? Yes? Well, do you realize that a catapult is considered a weapon in Holland?"

Lord have mercy.

"We will have to call the local police."

We gave the other kids their passports and boarding passes and told them to go on to Warsaw without us if need be.

Soon a few policemen surrounded us, joining the normal airport security guys and the guys with big guns. The policemen had small guns and lots of other stuff on their belts. There was lots of talk in Dutch and the occasional sentence in English about taking us to the police station and/or fining us 60 euros and this is considered a weapon and it's illegal, do we understand that?

Yes, believe me, we did now.

They took a photocopy of Steven's passport and filled out a few forms and looked serious.

Finally, finally, they told us we can just go. "No fine."

I think they figured out that we were hick Americans who consider slingshots normal equipment on international trips and a fine wouldn't change anything and maybe in another generation or two we would be more civilized, they could only hope.

So we left and I apologized profusely for about the fourth time.

Steven didn't act dented by the ordeal at all.

Paul said, "I hope you at least feel foolish," plus a few other things.

I didn't say much because it's better if Paul says it and I was too furious and most of all because I was, and still am, having a crisis as a mom. "Where have I gone WRONG that my kid didn't KNOW not to take a SLINGSHOT of all things on an AIRPLANE????? HOW COULD HE NOT KNOW THIS??? Adn what POSSESSED him to stick it in in the first place???"

Somebody please tell me he's going to grow up and eventually learn this stuff.

Our trip. Update 7

One of the purposes for coming to Kenya was to Trigger Memories. It is very odd and sad to have five children with overly documented childhoods and one whose childhood is like having only five random pieces of a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle.

So the biggest thing on my agenda was going downtown and walking around with Steven to see if any places look familiar and trigger a forgotten memory for Steven which he can then share with me and I can write in his baby book.

Since we all know how Steven likes to share his Feelings and have me whirl around and grab a pencil and write it down like it was the latest word from the Oracle.

Sammy the blessed guide took us to all the current haunts of the street boys. First we went down to the lake where three vehicles were parked in a little pond of water at the edge of a vast field of lush green hyacinth that used to be Lake Victoria and three street boys were washing them, sloshing lake water on with rags.

Along the lake stood a line of ragged, open, makeshift buildings held up with posts crooked at odd angles and decorated with bits of ragged lace curtains. Most had the word "hotel" in their name, and I couldn't imagine staying in such a thrown-together package of loose corrugated tin and crooked sticks and lots of dust and air.

No, Sammy told us. A hotel is where you eat. See, the boys gather here, and people bring their cars to get washed, and while they're getting washed the owners eat at the hotel, and then they pay the boys a few shillings. The boys will often do a few jobs such as washing dishes for the hotel owners, and then they get to eat the leftovers from customers' plates. Not get a fresh meal of their own. Just leftovers.

"Did you wash cars here?" I eagerly asked Steven. He said no.

We went to a different part of town, a market area. If you've ever been to a county fair on a summer night you can maybe picture it. Heat, crowds and crowds of people, little shops and loud music and people-action all around. That's what it was like, only it was the heat of the day, with the sun at its usual wattage of ten times any sun I've seen in Oregon, and the shops a hundred time dirtier and more desperate than any at the county fair.

"Do you remember coming here?" we asked Steven. "No," he said, with a Pleeease, Mother, look in his eyes.

Suddenly I spotted them, a small herd of street boys across a deep drainage ditch. They looked about ten years old and had the requisite filthy brown clothes and old water bottles with mind-numbing glue hanging from their mouths. I started taking pictures and they came to life, grinning and lining up beside each other, arms across shoulders.

How does a half-high street kid know how to look cool for a picture?

I shot a few pictures and then pulled a handful of little candy canes out of my pocket and tossed them to the eager boys, all the while trying not to think about who these boys were and what their lives were like.

Then I caught up with the family and Emily said, "MOM! Why did you take a picture of the guy with the obscene t-shirt?"

"Huh?" I said. "I didn't notice his t-shirt. Only his face."

We walked through the teeming crowds and smelled the terrible smells and came out by our van again. Within a minute the street boys found us. Who knows how they got across the ditch and knew where we were, but no doubt they have great instincts by now. They held out their hands and begged for more candy, which we were happy to supply.

And oh yeah, the one kid had a shirt with a few unsavory words and a large anatomically correct picture of a woman.

They darted around the van as we backed up, hands out for more and more. And all I could see was their eyes, their haunting, empty, terrible, drugged, suffering eyes.

I still see them. Those eyes, those eyes, those eyes.

Steven does not have eyes like that--that is my sole comfort.

And down another street as we passed a gas station he said, "Oh, yeah, I used to sleep there." I got a picture. One of these days I'll post it.

Our trip--update 6

Steven sits at the table here in the guest house, wisecracking and being all snarky and sassy as he plays a game of chess with Jenny using the cool new carved set that Ben bought two days ago, with lions for kings and elephants for knights and so on. He just put a piece of tape over his nose. We're not sure why.

Today we had lunch with the Into Africa boys, about seven boys who are the remnant of what was once an orphanage with 25 kids, plus Sammy the supervisor and Benard the guy that Paul trained in when we left. The boys live together and Into Africa sponsors them with a stipend that pays their school fees and basic living expenses.

Steven remembered most of his old friends right off--the other Steven, Francis, Victor, Vitalis. We sat around a long table and ate fried chicken and chips/french fries, and learned to know each other again. Steven and Steven sat beside each other, across from Paul and me.

"What do you want to do when you're out of school?" said the other Steven. "I don't know," said ours, "I haven't thought about it much."

"I want to be a barber," said Steven 2. "I'm saving money for equipment and Sammy keeps it for me." He looked connivingly at Paul. " If you buy the equipment for me I can get started."

This guy obviously knew where he wanted to go and took an opportunity when he saw it.

He also talked about soccer, and the World Cup, and which village he had come from, and such normal things.

And when we go, Steven 1 will go and Steven 2 will stay, and that is a lot to think about.

Three of the orphan guys are brothers. The two younger ones look like they're about 12, and their older brother Richard joined us later, looking all sharp in a shirt and tie, after he had finished some exams at school. Their parents are dead, as are their two older sisters, and Richard takes his responsibility seriously as the head of the remaining household, hence the priority he gave to today's exams.

I left the lunch early to go buy some supplies for the baby orphanage we'll visit tomorrow, and Paul told me that after I left, Richard's principal happened to come by. Paul asked her how Richard is doing. "Very well," she said, "didn't you see his tie?"

He had a special badge on his tie denoting him as a student leader.

He wants to go to college and be a mechanical engineer.

He is amazing. And I really really want his life to work out, and his funny little brothers', and every orphan's there.

And how do you process the fact that this kid over here won the lottery, so to speak, and doesn't have to worry about more than finishing his homework and emptying the dishwasher in the morning.

And that one gets up every morning taking full responsibility for his own life and his two brothers', knowing how high the stakes are and what the result will be if he fails the exams or the funding dries up or Sammy the supervisor decides to leave.

It is just a lot to think about.

Update 5

I am having a leisurely afternoon with time to write. This is why: Last night as I mentioned we took our friends Vincent and Phyllis out for dinner. Oh, before that we went to their house and met their two adorable little kids who loved to growl at our kids and "scare" them and we got updated on all the current issues in Kenya from Vincent who works with a development agency and knows all about how free school lunches from the UN affect HIV rates among girls ten years down the road. And I had a little mom-to-mom with Phyllis about how to survive morning sickness. Then their kids stayed with a sitter and we drove out to a lovely restaurant by Lake Victoria and had a nice dinner and Steven was over the moon with joy because he could order a whole grilled fish, complete with eyeballs, and a pile of ugali.

As Amy says, we were at a classy restaurant with two forks apiece and fancy cloth napkins--and geckos on the walls and ceiling.

It was beside Lake Victoria, as I mentioned, but the ambiance was lacking severely because almost as far as we could see, the lake was covered two feet deep in a lush green plant called water hyacinth. Apparently it grows on the surface and moves around when the wind bloweth it where it listeth, and it all got blown into this arm of the lake. This all meant that no hippos came ambling by either, which Vincent thought was nice but I disagreed.

Our plates came with a lettuce leaf and cooked carrots and green beans. I told the family they can choose for themselves with the fresh lettuce--it's fresh and Kenyan which is dangerous but from a nice restaurant which probably means it's ok. But I didn't eat mine.

Then on the way home, as mentioned earlier, we hit that speed bump and I hit my head.

When we were here seven years ago, the orphans' learning-to-read class was taught by a young man named Francis who took his work seriously and tried to teach the kids phonics from an American supplier even when it meant twisting his mouth around to say with the cassettes, "R. Rrrrr. Run." He also went to the local museum with us once and taught me more about Kenyan culture in half an hour than I had learned in weeks from others.

A while back Francis moved out to the Yala Swamp about an hour and a half from Kisumu and opened a school, continuing his passion for teaching kids to read. Recently I was told that now he has students who go home and read to their illiterate parents, and that is very satisfying.

So the plan today was to go out to visit Francis, in a hired taxi, accompanied by Sammy the best guide around.

However.

Ben ate the lettuce last night and woke up feeling awful. "I don't want to go, but I don't care if you leave me here alone," he said.

I gave him activated charcoal to try to ward things off.

Meanwhile with my painful head I was still walking around like the floor was made of thin ice and debating about whether I wanted to spend three hours in a taxi on Kenyan roads with a Kenyan driver and my head flapping around like a bobblehead doll.

"How about you go, but then if after two or three miles you see you can't handle it, we can bring you back," said Paul.

Ok. Cool.

I got ready to go.

Ben threw up.

Not cool.

"Mom, could you stay with me after all?" he asked, suddenly much less tough and independent.

Ok, I said, that's my sign.

I did three loads of laundry at the neighbor lady's house and then Ben and I hung it up together. He dragged himself out bravely and I would hold the garment and clothespins up as high as I could, like shoulder level, then he took it from there, and it looked odd but it worked.

He is doing better by the minute.

I am able to sit still which is the best therapy of all.

Update 4

First a QOTD.

This morning Steven was bouncing around the kitchen, frying up a passel of veggies and eggs, looking very pleased with himself and life.

Paul: Are you enjoying yourself?

Steven: I am VERY MUCH enjoying myself!

Paul: So, you're having a good time?

Steven: I'm having a VERY good time!

And that, people, makes it all worthwhile.

It is so odd coming back here with Steven. Picture an old photograph, black and white. Ok, now picture the negative. White is black and black is white. Everything you knew about light and color in the first is reversed in the second.

Oregon is full of white folks. Steven always stands out in a crowd. If you're shopping and see a black guy out of the corner of your eye you know it's just Steven trailing along a bit behind like he always does.

But here, the non-Steven family members stand out and get stared at. And all of us keep whirling around and looking for Steven because we're afraid we'll lose him in the crowds. And when we're shopping for carved lions and see a big black guy out of the corner of our eye our first thought is that Steven is right behind us and then we whirl around because no, it isn't Steven, and where in the world is he?

Oh. Over there. The Luo guy with American clothes.

Everyone expects Steven to speak Luo, but unfortunately he's forgotten most of it. Even when he's obviously with our family, people look totally confused when they speak to him in Luo and he doesn't answer.

We had a few strange episodes at the Nairobi airport. We were all clustered at the desk to get our passports stamped, and one by one we had to make ourselves known, get compared to our passport photo, and have our picture taken. The guy spoke English to all of us until it was Steven's turn. Then he turned to this American kid in American clothes with an American passport and a surname of Smucker, and told him what to do in Luo. Huh? He repeated it. We all looked confused. I turned to the official and said, "He speaks English." So he complied, but acted like the world suddenly didn't make as much sense as it once did.

I forget at which point in the process we had to pass through a doorway and show our passports. I showed the guy all seven at once, then we walked on as a group and Steven as usual was last. The official stopped him in his tracks and said something like, "Where do you think you're going?" Steven said, "I'm with them." The official looked like, "Nice try, kid," and at that point I turned around and saw what was happening and tried not to freak out and said, "He's with us!" Mercy, something about that gave me a turn and ever since I've been harping at Steven to keep one of the rest of us behind him at all times.

And there again, the official looked like his understanding of the world was flipped around, and next thing you knew, rain would start falling up instead of down.

Everyone who knew Steven before keeps exclaiming about how huge he is now compared to then. Kenyans are naturally tall people, and I wonder what they would be like if they all had access to meat and potatoes for supper every night, seven eggs for breakfast, and peanut butter sandwiches in between. They'd be a nation of giants.