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I never dreamed I’d live by a stream in a desert

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No one suffered any mishaps—no warthogs charged out of bushes, no snakes struck, no lions roared and pounced, though they were there and could have.   (If you missed it, click on “Longing for a loo.” )             We climbed back into our vehicles and continued our dusty drive across the Great Rift Valley. A thin line of green trees ribboning through a parched land: our next home The drive took several hours but eventually, in the gray-golden distance, we looked down into a broad valley, Maasai territory. Our orientation director, Brian, pointed out a thin line of green trees that ribboned through an enormous parched land. That, he said, would be our next home. When the pavement ended, we followed a track in the sand. When that faded, we made our own way. Before long, we found ourselves driving alongside that meandering line of trees. We had arrived in Eleng’ata Enterit, a place you can’t find on the map, in southwestern Kenya....

Through the Outhouse Floor

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I have a hunch many women missionaries arrived on foreign soil with no idea their toilet needs would be so . . . um . . . challenging . (Click on I could envision how men could aim for that hole in the ground, but . . . . and Longing for a loo .) “Did you notice that the slide bolt is missing off our outhouse door?” Barbara Thomas had asked . “And that floor sure didn’t last long. The boards must have been green. Already they’re rotting.” In her memoir, Through the Outhouse Floor , Barbara Thomas writes that when she, her husband Paul, and their sons returned to Zaire (now Democratic Republic of Congo) after their furlough in the U.S., repairs awaited them. Barbara continues, “One afternoon I grabbed a hammer, nails and a new slide bolt. I was tired of using a rock to keep the door shut every time I went to the outhouse. I placed the slide bolt on the door, matching it to its metal slot in the doorframe and penciled in where the nails should go. “I opened the door, braced it against th...

Longing for a loo

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Looking back, I can't help but laugh at the things that stressed me during Kenya Safari, our three-month orientation to living and working in Africa.  I can laugh now, but I wasn't laughing back then. In recent blog posts, I’ve been recalling my bellyaching about having to use a pit latrine.  I’d never heard of pit latrines and never dreamed (nightmared) I’d use them. (Click on I could envision how men could aim for that hole in the ground, but, but—what about women? ) The day came, however, when I would’ve given almost anything for a pit latrine . In Chapter 2 of Grandma’s Letters from Africa , I wrote the following about day thirteen of Kenya Safari, our orientation course: We left the shade and lush vegetation of Lake Naivasha and set out across the desert for our next phase of Kenya Safari, our orientation course. Much of our route took us through The Great Rift Valley where, for three thousand miles, the surface of the earth is pulling apart, leaving a gaping scar across ...

My plans and dreams had been too small, too tame

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I always imagined that when my grandchildren entered this world, I’d be a quaint little old grandmother—the kind that knits booties and bonnets for new grandbabies. The kind that sits in a rocking chair and sings infants to sleep. But I was in for a surprise—and not a welcome one. Both God and my husband ganged up on me and hollered “Africa!” I told you recently about a hippo that charged me : I escaped with five seconds to spare. How many other grandmas have been charged by a hippo? And then I received an unpleasant introduction to pit latrines . How many other grandmas have ever had to use a pit latrine? Originally, I had thought our rough wooden outhouses with black toilet seats were bad, but compared with pit latrines, those elevated, black toilet seats were, in my opinion, things of beauty. I myself, however, was not a thing of beauty. Without electricity, I couldn’t use a blow dryer or curling iron, and my hair was a disaster. Nor could I use an iron, and my clothes stayed as wri...

I could envision how men could aim for that hole in the ground, but, but—what about women?

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Before Christmas, I told you about my too-close-for-comfort encounter with a hippo —a hippo that was charging me, only a few feet away. Dave and I were participating in our three-month orientation for living and working in Africa, and one morning several of us had unzipped our tents and headed for the outhouse, only to find that a couple of hippos grazed among our tents. With long, razor-sharp tusks in mouths that open four feet wide, hippos are deadly. (If you missed it, click on I didn’t tell you the whole truth about a hippo charging me .) When it became clear that hippo had not killed me or our fellow orientees, we all remembered we’d originally planned to head to the outhouse. By then, for some of us doing so was urgent!         A row of outhouses lined the edge of camp—rough wood planks and black toilet seats. The place was dark, stinky, and full of flies. Ugh. Actually, we had two rows of outhouses. The second sat equally close to our site, but ...

Merry, Happy, Blessed Christmas

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I'm wishing you a merry, happy, blessed Christmas, wherever in the world you are this year. This card is hand-painted by Albert Mutiganda,  a young man who fled the horrors of Rwanda  a few years ago.  He sells his cards to support his family  and escape poverty.  (Card not copyrighted) mutiganda@yahoo.com giftcards.homeafrica@gmail.com

I didn’t tell you the whole truth about a hippo charging me

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Earlier this month, I told you about surviving a hippo stampede on the first night of our orientation-to-Africa course. (If you missed it, click on Terrors of the Night: Hippo Stampede .) Hippos stayed in the lake during the day, for the most part, but at night they roamed freely throughout our campground, Fisherman’s Camp. Each hippo can consume up to 80 pounds of grass each night, using their wide and uniquely muscled lips to rip up the greenery. While they roam and eat, they made monstrous grunting, munching, belching noises throughout our campground. According to Alina Bradford , “Hippos are very loud animals. Their snorts, grumbles and wheezes have been measured at 115 decibels . . . about the same volume as you’d get when 15’ from the speakers at a rock concert.”  Now, picture this: Hippos routinely grazed within an inch of our tent wall . Imagine waking up at night to such ghastly noises—just an inch or two from your head! I often snuck out of my sleeping bag, grabbed my cam...

Terrors of the Night: Hippo Stampede

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Let me tell you about our most dangerous experience during the orientation course at Lake Naivasha—and it happened on our first night!   Hippos lived at Lake Naivasha, yet Fisherman’s Camp had no electric fence—no fence of any kind—to keep us separate and safe from those hippos. They stayed in the lake during the day, for the most part , but roamed freely throughout our campground at night. Try to take all this in : Hippos are about 15 feet long. Females can weigh about 3,000 pounds, but males can weigh up to 9,000 pounds! Animal Facts Encyclopedia writes this about even small hippos: “At 14 to 16 feet, and 4,000 pounds, they are about as long and heavy as a Ford Fusion.” With those facts in mind, here’s an excerpt from Chapter 1 of Grandma’s Letters from Africa : During the day, the hippos stayed underwater among the reeds, but at night, they grazed freely—even within two inches of our tent—and made monstrous grunting, munching, belching noises throughout our campground.   ...

An episode of ethnocentrism

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Superb starlings at Fisherman’s Camp plunged me into an episode of ethnocentrism. Just little birds! At first, we and our fellow orientees were in awe of the superb starlings’ striking beauty . Their wings and back reflected a brilliant, shimmery blue-green color. Combine that with their orange bellies and black heads and indeed, their beauty was stunning. And to think they lived right there with us, so close! Before long, though, their arrogant, tenacious determination to steal our food—right from our plates sometimes!—soured our initial admiration. To make matters worse, they pooped on our laundry hanging between trees. When that happened, I’d have to get out my little plastic basin, scrub the laundry clean, and hang it to dry—again under those birds! Then the ibis calls began to get on our nerves—they were so loud and piercing. In fact, they bordered on obnoxious. Mind you, people come from around the world to watch and listen to Lake Naivasha’s birds, but to my way of thinking, th...

Have you ever been serenaded by fruit bats?

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Let me tell you about fruit bats. It was just before bedtime on the first night of our orientation course at Lake Naivasha, Kenya, when our director, Brian Caston, warned us about fruit bats’ strange nocturnal noise. He said it sounded like someone striking a note on a xylophone, the same note over and over and over again. Have you ever tried to sleep through the night with someone playing a xylophone outside your tent? Sigh. . . . Brian forgot to mention that the note was flat. According to Learn About Nature’s website , fruit bats are “furry, cute mammals and do not inspire the fear that some people have of bats.” Click here to see pictures of these “furry, cute mammals.” Researchers with Tel Aviv University discovered fruit bats make various noises to communicate with each other. Bob Yirka reports , “The researchers grouped the sounds into four main groups: arguing over food, mating and sleeping clusters, and differences of opinion regarding how close was too close when hanging ...