Endless Rambling: 2007

Monday, December 17, 2007

If the Shoe Fits

I wear shoes sized about 10, sometimes 9 ½, sometimes 10 ½ . So what does that mean?
And why is a men's size 10 a different size than a woman's size 10? Why not just tell me the interior dimensions of the shoe? That way I would always know which shoe fits my foot, whether it's a steel toed work boot or a color coordinated pump, which, of course, I know nothing about.

When I go buy a pair of Levi's, I can look at the label and grab a pair that is 29inches around the waist and 32 inches long (ok, ok, maybe I couldn't actually squeeze into them, but I could find them). I don't have to look for a size 18 ½ and guess at what the real dimensions are. I know, it's not uncommon for women's and kids clothing to go by sizes. But I digress?

So, I usually wear a size 10 shoe, but when I buy one of my favorites, and an American classic I might add, Converse Allstars, I wear a 9 ½ . The shoe salesman will proudly proclaim that "Converse tend to run big", as if to assure me that he is indeed well versed in the internal workings of the shoe manufacturers and therefore worthy of my business. Now as much as I love Converse, let's be frank; They don't run big, they are just labeled wrong! If any given shoe company is consistently a ½ size off so as to warrant the "They tend to run big" comment for over 50 years, why don't they suck it up, admit they are wrong and label the dang thing right (as right as they can using a 0.5 increment numbering system instead of a more accurate form of measurement).

Furthermore, kids have their own sizing and once they reach a certain point (size 13) they get to start over as a real person, at size 1. Again, why don't we just indicate how long the shoe is and let us figure out the rest. This brings up another stinkin' labeling disaster; baby clothes. Yeah, according to my calculations every child in the US no matter how large or small they were at birth, no matter how "big boned" their parents are, no matter how many mashed peas and carrots they've been eating, should, in theory, be the same size when they are 9months old, so let's just label the clothes by age instead of size!

Although the whole shoe and clothes sizing schemes are very interesting and could merit their own columns, they are not the crux (interesting word - crux) of this article.

I would like to go a bit deeper and explore an even bigger mystery: sock sizing. Socks have their own sizing chart, one that is totally different than the shoe sizing chart.

So, if my foot is 10 7/8 inches long, I need a size 9 ½ shoe and a size 13 sock. Genius. Furthermore, that size 13 sock says right on the package "Fits shoe size 9-12". Now come on, if my foot is different enough to require a different shoe size, shouldn't I also get the option to wear a different sized sock? Maybe I will go back to wearing the ever fashionable tube socks, at least they don't have a pre-determined heal reinforcement, so nobody knows if they really fit or not.

And another thing, why can't I get a pair of socks that are not, for lack of a better word, ambidextrous? The front of my foot is not shaped like a brick, why is my sock? Just for the record, I am aware of some socks that are foot specific, but I am NOT going to were anything with multicolored, individually wrapped toes!

Well, somewhere along the line, a person much more blog-knowledgeable than myself told me that I should keep my blogs short and sweet. I don't do sweet very well, so I'm gonna try to adhere more closely to the first part. But at the same time, by visiting a blog entitled "Endless Rambling", you should inherently expect that some posts will be somewhat opposite of "short and sweet".

Until next time...put a sock in it.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Angela told me to blog,

So I did...

Friday, August 31, 2007

My date with the Home-Wrecker

So there I was, heading to work on a fairly uneventful morning. I was traveling North on Meridian Road a little before 5:30am. As I approached the intersection at Victory, I noticed flashing yellow lights from a couple of pilot cars. One of them swerved and came to a stop slightly in my lane. The car in front of me stopped and I came to a stop quite a ways behind him (maybe50 feet from the actual intersection). A couple cars were passing in the lane to my right so I just stayed where I was. It was dark out and other than the truck pulling it, there were no lights on the oversized load.

Just before it reached the intersection, the pilot cars took off and headed South. The car up a bit in my lane pulled around and took off. I could see that the load was a very wide one-story building. There were three empty lanes beside me and the house was comfortably taking up residence within them. That is until the driver decided he wanted to take up even more room and swerved toward the center of the road as he went through the intersection. About that time I also noticed that the steel I-beam that was supporting the house, was also protruding a couple feet beyond the structure itself, heading right toward me.

As the house barreled down on me (30-40 mph I'd guess), my destiny was clear, I would share the same fate as the Wicked Witch of the West. When CSI showed up, they would find me under a house with only my legs visible, my converse sparkling in the moonlight.

I reached for the shift lever to slam it into reverse, but I never made it that far, because I didn't have time to see if anybody was coming up behind me or in the other North bound lane. Then Holy-Basements Batman, the house was practically on top of me and BAM!

I was jolted back a bit but then just sat there shaking my head, thinking "That didn't just happen". I limped my truck to the side of the road and saw that the house had stopped (basically creating Meridian Road Cul-de-sac). "Sheesh!" I said to myself, "this guy must not be House Trained." About then, a lady came running around from the back porch (the drivers side) and was very apologetic. She asked if I was ok, said "I'm so sorry" and was more than happy to write down her name and number on the back of the gas receipt I handed to her. She seemed to be the "My house is your house" kind of a person; up until I asked for her insurance, that is. She said "Well, see, that's the thing...I'm gonna have to pay you out of my pocket".

Hmm, yeah, I've heard that before. I took it as "I'm sorry I don't actually have any insurance, is that a problem?" I pondered that for a moment: Would a homeowners policy cover this? About that time she turned and looked at the cul-de-sac and said "I gotta get this outta here." As they drove away, I thought "There goes the neighborhood".

So I called my wife to let her know what happened and see if she could come and save me. The truck made some noises as I pulled it to the side of the road and I couldn't open my door, so I hadn't gotten out yet. While she was looking up the number for the county sheriff, I saw one stopped at the light behind me, so I jumped out the passenger side to flag him down. Apparently somebody had called and told them that there was some dude (me) sitting on the side of the road in a wrecked truck, so the cop was coming my way already.

He had no clue what had taken place so the first thing he asked me was "So, what happened?" He was very friendly, but I sensed a bit of apprehension in his voice and couldn't help but think that he figured I had been drinking and rammed something, then pulled over.

"Well," I said, "I was stopped in the road right there and along came this house and hit me."

I thought to myself, "Wow, that might not have sounded very convincing" and had visions of walking a line and breathing into a straw.

To my surprise he didn't make me touch my nose with alternating fingertips, but instead kind of chuckled as he looked around and said "Uh, where's the house?"

In response, I pointed off into the darkness and eeked out a "Headed toward Kuna."

By this time another other police officer (from Meridian Police Dept) had joined the festivities and stated "I'm going to go after the house."

It was all very humorous in a not-so-funny sort of way.

More police stopped by briefly, including a traffic cop on a motorcycle, before continuing on to the site where the building had been pulled over.

Soon, with Dionna and the girls there to pick me up and a tow truck to pick up my now snub-nosed Silverado, I gave the officer my completed accident report. I instructed the towing guy to drop the truck off at the Chevy dealership in Boise on Fairview and we all parted ways.

On the way home we saw the house, which was now entirely blocking Amity road, hanging over onto both shoulders of the two lane road. There were a handful of miscellaneous cops there; city, county and state with lights flashing to help keep an eye on the whole process. House arrest, I suppose.

At 9am, I looked up "Chevrolet of Boise" on Fairview and called them:
The receptionist transferred me to the Service Department, which had no clue what I was talking about and said that nothing had been dropped off that morning. So I asked for the number to the Chevy body shop. He fumbled around and asked a few other people, but couldn't come up with the number. So I called the receptionist back and asked for the body shop. She sounded confused and ruffled through some papers before finally giving me a number to call.

I called that number (which answered Peterson Body Shop), they said they had no truck but that there were "two" Chevy of Boise auto body shops and she gave me the number of the other one - the number she gave me was the same number that had given me her number.

I called first number again (they answered Lithia) and they told me they didn't have a truck and furthermore didn't have a body shop any longer. She went on to tell me that Peterson Auto had purchased Lithia just two days ago and now all body work was done across the street at Peterson Body Shop (which is now technically the only Chevrolet of Boise body shop).

I called AAA to get the number of the towing company.

I called the towing company. The dispatcher chuckled and told me she had just talked to the driver about this and that, after some confusion, they told the driver to leave the truck at Chevrolet of Boise, space 23.

I called the first Chevy number again and they said that they hadn't gotten any keys turned in and that they don't even have a body shop on site.

I called the second Chevy number and they reassured me that they don't have the truck and that they don't even have numbered spaces anyway. I asked a very strait forward question: "OK, tell me one thing. Are you Chevrolet of Boise?"

To this her answer was, and I quote, "Ummm, I don't know."

Come on, even the "Would you like fries with that?" girl at McDonalds knows where she works.

Well, getting nowhere over the phone, we had to drive down to the Chevy dealer, locate my truck in the back lot and show them where it was. Both places are supposedly owned by the same company now, but didn't seem to have any coherent communication.

The Peterson Body Shop wasn't very professional and just seemed very lackadaisical (cool word). The young receptionist was more interested in how Dionna did her hair in the morning, what kind of curling iron she used and how much hair spray, than helping me. As we waited for the appraisal, she went back talking specifics about hair, then finally moved on to playing checkers on her computer (and actually told us how much she liked play games on the computer).

We did end up taking the truck to a different body shop. One that actually seemed to knew who they were and what they were talking about.

That's the story for now...here is a photo that I like to call "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition":

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

In Case of Emergency

This is a test. This is only a test. For the next sixty seconds,
this blog will conduct a test of the Emergency Blogcast System.
The blogcaster of your area in voluntary cooperation with
himself, unbeknowst to federal, state or local authorities, has
developed this system to keep you informed in the event of a
virtual emergency.

If this had been an actual cyber emergency, the Attention Signal
you never heard would have been followed by unofficial information,
and/or no further instructions.

Thank you for your time, your participation in this effort makes this
blog a safer place for us all.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Needless to say...(but I'm going to say it anyway)

Why would anyone preface anything with these words:
"Needless to say"
If that's true, then DON'T say it.

On the other hand, if women would use this reliably, prefacing all
"fluff" statements with "Needless to say", it would make it a lot
easier for us guys to pick up on what is actually important to
listen to. Just a thought...

Another phrase that people tend to use without really thinking is
"I could care less!"

If they could really care less, then that means that they actually DO
care about the situation, at least more so than they care for some
other stuff.

What they should say in those situations is:
"I couldn't care less!"

Meaning that this is the absolute bottom of their care pile and that,
at this point, there is no way that they could care any less about
anything else.

Regardless wether or not that is true, that is the extreme position
one is normally trying to portray with that phrase.

And that's another thing; "Regardless". We know that it means:
without regard to. Meaning that there is no cause or effect. An
example:
"The game will go on, regardless of weather"

This means that the game will go on no matter what kind of weather
may occur.

Ok, all that to say this; Why do people use the term "irregardless"?

Prefixing a word with "ir" usually negates the word, such as:
rational/irrational
replaceable/irreplaceable
responsible/irresponsible

But at the same time, suffixing a word with "less" has the same
negative effect, such as:
mind/mindless
clue/clueless
thought/thoughtless

So, that brings us back to "irregardless" (which is a real English
word).

The interesting thing about "irregardless" is that it is a double
negative. One could deduce that in this case "regard" and
"irregardless" both mean the exact same thing.

Not so, surprisingly "regardless" and "irregardless" have
the exact same meaning. This pretty much rules out any rational
reason for having both words. One of them should go, namely
"irregardless".

Nope, I ain't not gonna say nothing more about not using no double
negatives, or not.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

It's me again, Margaret

Following all the hubub on the last post's comments (please read them if you haven't already), I thought it best to clarify a couple things concerning the anonymous signature:

"It's me again, Margaret (Your Sister)"

First of all; No, I do NOT have a sister named Margaret (right Mom?).

Second, most of my two readers (which by default must be both otherwise the implied majority would not be met), read the line syntactically different than the author had intended.

The "(Your Sister)" identifier is reffering to the "It's me again", not to the "Margaret". So another way to say this could have been: "Hey Margaret, this is your sister again". This would make the original poster my "Sister", but it would not make her "Margaret". In essence, I am the "Margaret" in the post. So technically, if the phrase had any validity to it, I would not have a sister named Margaret, but my sister would have a sister named Margaret, as would each of my siblings.

Rest assured, I am not now, nor have I ever been, "Margaret".

I do however, have a few sisters and one one of them was attempting to be funny (it's tough living in my shadow) by quoting the comedian Ray Stevens from 1985 (somewhat dating herself in the process). Ray Stevens, of "The Streak" fame, actually made a video out of this 'song' and you can see it on jibjab.com if really interested, but be forewarned that although relatively tame, it does have some creepy insinuations... and no, I'm not in it.

Well, I hope this clears things up,
Margaret.

Saturday, June 9, 2007

Latest Pics From Africa

Here are some pictures from my most recent Africa trip - sorry I don't have time to write more about it right now.

If you click on the "View All Images" button, a new window will open and the pictures will be larger.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Africa Part 10 of 10

By the time we got done with dinner, we were running a bit behind our planned schedule so when we got to the airport it was rushed again. More like hurry up and wait. It was dark out and I quickly opened my other suitcase to get my tickets and itinerary. They were not where I thought they would be. So I started to panic just a little. There was a line just to get into the building (they were x-raying all bags at the door). Well, actually there was a mob outside the door, not a definable line. As we tried to keep our spot and move toward the door, I had no space to search the suitcase anymore. When we did get inside, it was just a short walk to the next line (which everybody seemed to want to be in). While in this line, I reached in and fumbled around some more, trying to remember exactly where I had stashed the paperwork. I wasn't finding it. I was getting more and more nervous, wondering if I was going to be able to get out of the country. I am usually pretty organized and prepared for this kind of stuff. I save most of my records longer than I need to. I think I still have some homework from the third grade.

I was stressed, and this line was going really slow. About an hour after we got to the airport, some of us finally started to hit the ticket counter. I let a few of those with tickets go through first so that the service rep would hopefully have a clue what was going on before I got there without any paperwork. Well, as was par by now, the first people hit a snag. Turns out, none of the tickets matched what was in their system, so they had to reissue tickets to everybody. But, this had to happen at a different counter across the lobby. No way man, I'm not getting out of line now. Eventually things got taken care of, although they would only issue us tickets as far as Washington; which is where we switched airlines. Hey, I figured I'd be happy just to get to America; I could handle things from there.

Shortly after the ticket counter fiasco, the plane was ready to leave. I boarded and eventually got back to row 75 or somewhere thereabouts, I had the window seat again and some lady was already in the aisle seat. The middle seat was still empty. Everyone got seated; the middle seat was still empty. The stewardesses closed all the overhead bins, the engines started; the middle seat was still empty. I had visions of stretching out, maybe setting my laptop on the extra tray and going through the photos. The lady in the isle seat set a couple of her belonging in the seat. Just as I began to stake my claim on part of the seat, the captain came over the intercom and made an announcement that; international regulations require them to spray the cabin with some sort of pesticide. He went on to say something to the effect that if we value our eyesight and/or lungs, we should close our eyes and cover our face while they do this. A couple questions come to mind:

1) What the?
2) What difference is 20 seconds going to make, isn't this the same air that will be recirculated throughout the plane for the next 8 hours?

I looked back as one of the stewards set off a couple of bug bombs in each hand and began walking through the cabin. After about 20 seconds (which is apparently the magical time at which the Black Flag will no longer melt your cornea), I opened my eyes and it happened. A panicked man came running down the aisle, totally out of breath and sweating profusely. Nooooooo! I felt my space being sucked away. He slowed and came to a stop in the isle beside my row (huffing and puffing). He looked at his ticket, at the seat, at his ticket, at the overhead label, at his ticket.... I was thinking, "Dude, look around, this plane seats 400 people, 399 of those people are seated, where else do you think your seat might be"? Well, once he figured out that it was indeed his seat, he slid in, leaving a long sweaty streak on the back of the headrests in front of him. He plopped down; overflowing into my space, and murmured "I almost missed the plane!" Yeah, my thoughts exactly. So there I was, now plastered against the window trying not to touch the glistening, heavy breathing guy in seat J.

Well by that time in our adventure, I was getting pretty worn out, so luckily, I got to sleep soon after take off. But then I woke up about 3 hours later. The plane was very dark and quiet, most people sleeping, including my now normal breathing, but still slightly sweaty, buddy. I tried to get back to sleep, wasn't happening. I decided to turn on the monitor and see if I could watch a movie or something. Problem being, mountain man had his arms on the armrest where my controls are located. I could get the monitor turned on ok, but changing channels was a challenge. I had to try to sneak my pinky, slowly and surely within millimeters (a small unit of measurement used in most of the world) of his overly hairy arm and use my fingernail to gently press down on the button. The whole time, praying that we didn't hit any turbulence for fear I might catch some exotic disease from one of his beads of sweat. Remember, this guy came in after the bug spray.

Well, as we flew into Heathrow, I was able to see some of the sights of London along the Tymes River. I saw the Tower Bridge, a very cool Old World style drawbridge that has an observation deck across the top. I saw the new (relatively speaking) London Eye, which is the huge Ferris wheel type thing that was put alongside the river to celebrate the millennium. Also, I saw the Houses of Parliament (Palace of Westminster) and Big Ben. So who names a clock anyway? Let's see, we could call a wristwatch "Little Ben", and a grandfather clock "Gentle Ben". That would make the alarm clock "Not-so-Gentle Ben". Any non-digital clock could be a "Has Ben". The time clock at work could be "Where-you Ben". And let's face it, a pocket watch could be "Ben Gay" or to be a little more subtle "Ben and Jerry".

We had a rather lengthy layover (something like 5 hours). I toyed with the idea of trying to catch a bus downtown and back to see some sights, but to do so I would have to go through customs, and also downtown was a 40 minute ride from the airport, I'd have to be back a couple hours early and blah, blah, blah, So after weighing the time it would take and the risks involved (especially in light of all the airline problems we had been through already), I opted for the safe way out and stuck around the airport. I did a little bit of browsing the shops and had a nice sit down breakfast. Then I just killed some time before heading to the gate.

When we boarded the plane in London, for whatever reason, the plane was once again hot inside, and the air conditioning wasn't on yet. As we walked from the upper class seats back toward ours, it got progressively warmer and warmer. I finally found my seat, which was about (1st class + 20) degrees. I had an aisle seat, but I thought that might be kinda nice, especially if that fish-head-soup finally caught up with me. So, after a bit, the captain came on and informed us that they were going to have to find and unload luggage for 11 people that "got lost" on the way to the plane. Well, that's interesting; it's usually the luggage that gets lost, not the people. But, hey, this is Europe, who knows... maybe the people will show up in a few days with some contents missing...Anyway, it turns out that we sat there for about an hour and a half (yeah 90 minutes) while they located and unloaded said luggage. I was starting to wish I'd worn shorts, or maybe even my Speedos. Once they finally offloaded the "bad" luggage and reloaded the "good" luggage, we were set for takeoff.... Not so fast. Next the pilot came on and said something about an electrical problem. I was only half conscious, but I think it was about another 30 minutes before we were able to get outta there. So we took off a couple hours late from Heathrow. This means that the 3hour layover in Washington had been cut to 1 hour. So, we would have one hour to get off the plane, find our luggage, get it through customs, find America West (because we have no paper tickets), check in, get through security checkpoints and get on the plane. Yeah... no problem.

After a long flight, we arrived on American soil. Once we got to baggage claim, while we are waiting, we asked a British Air rep how to go about getting tickets and seeing if they will hold the plane for us. I was one of the first to get both of my bags, but decided to wait and see what she had to say before continuing on. She came back and said that we would need to run to the America West counter as soon as we made it through customs. So I rushed through customs. Like I had any control over the speed at which the guy asked me questions. He asked "Where do you work?", and I said "Micron Technology. Where do you work?" He was totally not amused at my sarcasm and he stared at his monitor like he didn't know where to look or maybe he was trying to figure his next move for solitaire. Regardless, he eventually stamped my passport, and I walked briskly to the door (so as not to arouse suspicion) before running.

I ran to the America West counter (which was around the corner, down the hall, up the stairs, around the counters and down to the last one). Big surprise, we missed the flight. It was still there, but they had stopped taking luggage and wouldn't let us get on it. They said that because British Air caused the problem, we would need to talk to them. I had her double check, so she went over and talked to them at British Air and said, yes, they will take care of you.

So we lugged our bags back around the far end of the ticket counters and around the corner to the British Air counter. We engage the counter dude in some lively discussion, as he seems totally confused as to what the problem is and what we need him to do. After much confusion, I told him that a rep from America West had just been over and talked to someone at British Air and that they told her that they would take care of it for us (hoping this would give us a new customer service person). But he replied, "Yeah, she talked to me." What?

So we had him get his supervisor and she told us we would need to go to America West counter. I said, ok, could you go with us? She did, around the corner and down to the end of the counter. After more confusion, the conversation started down the spend-the-night-and-fly-out-in-the-morning road. I was trying to be calm but firm, I wanted to get to Boise tonight. I had a bit of an incentive, it was our 10th anniversary and I really wanted to at least see my wife for an hour or two. So, after having to call another supervisor to see if the flight was "Endorsable", they finally agreed that they would send us out on another flight. Problem was, the only one that was available was leaving in 50 minutes. She ran down to see if they had the room and the time. She came back and said we had 10 minutes to get our tickets from America West, and haul our bags down to the Frontier counter to be checked. So, after getting seating assignments from AW, we run down past the end of the counters and on to the end of another set of counters (about 100 yards or so), and checked our bags.

Then, seeing how we purchased our tickets at the "last minute", we were tagged and had to go through extra security. So we had to then run back down beyond the America West counter and get all the bags X-rayed. For what ever reason, they decided to open mine and search by hand. Then we had to run back down past the Frontier counter again and keep going to the security stop. A Frontier lady ran with us to get us to the front of the security line, I'm not sure how much pull she had, but we eventually got to the scanners. After making it through the metal detector, in a strange reversal of roles, the security guard who is of Middle Eastern decent and wearing a sheet on his head, tells me to get in another line to be searched further (again, because we had been red tagged). There were only a few people in this line, but it moved slowly as they had to search each bag by hand and also make us stand in odd positions so that they could use some little gadget to scan our bodies.

I don't know what they were looking for, but the thing buzzed so then I had to empty my pockets so he could scan me again. He then scanned the items that had been in my pocket and my Breath Savers and my anti-bacterial handi-wipes made the gadget buzz. So I guess terrorists usually have clean hands and fresh breath? Whatever, just let me go. So he gave me the go ahead, and after putting the video camera in its case, after putting the digital camera in its case, after putting the laptop in its case, after closing up my carryon, after putting my shoes back on and grabbing my jacket, I was off and running to the shuttle. The shuttle took us to the Frontier terminal, where we had to run to the last gate again (I'm not exaggerating; I don't know why we can't get a flight that leaves from a gate somewhere in the middle). I was totally stressed out and sweating like a dog (do they sweat?).

I finally rushed onto the plane; luckily I was in the aisle seat again, so I plopped down and let out a heavy sigh of relief. I notice that the plane is rather warm again and that just makes me sweat more. I had officially turned into the heavy-breathing-sweaty-guy in seat J. There was nothing I could do about it, I was just happy to be on the plane. After a short period of trying to act normal even though I was sweating off a few pounds, the engines start and the air comes on (slowly). We get out to the tarmac and the engines shut down (No!!!!). The pilot comes on and says that due to a severe thunder storm in our path, we will need to get a new flight plan and that will take up to two hours.

Furthermore, he had to cut the engines to conserve fuel, so we would not be getting any air for a while. That was more than I could take. I got up and stumbled to the restroom, well, I guess it's more of a rest-booth. I went in and used the cereal bowl sized sink, and the water conservation faucet with auto shut off, to take a small shower. Of course there is no cold water, but at least it was wet. Due to the whole disappearing items act from the last leg of the trip, my carryon was full of souvenirs and cameras, leaving no room for an extra change of clothes, and mine were ripening.

Of course, once we took off 90 minutes late, we no longer had a layover at all in Denver. As a matter of fact, we should be landing about the time the other flight is taking off. Sheesh, maybe we should have spent the night in Washington. At least I could have taken a midnight tour of the sights. Who wants to be stuck in Denver? The main thing I know of Denver is, a few years back, they had some fancy multi-billion dollar baggage handling system that wasn't working very well. That made me feel much more comfortable.

Well, it turns out that our flight called ahead and we were told that the next flight would wait for us. Our captain said that they would have an airline cart waiting for us at our gate to take us to the next flight. He also asked the passengers that were not continuing on past Denver to please stay seated so we could get out of the plane smoothly. A few of us got off quickly and rushed to find our waiting cart. Huh, no waiting cart? But we saw one coming, knowing it must be ours, we jumped on. Turns out the driver was just out giving a kid a tour, but she cruised us over to our gate, the one totally on the opposite end of the terminal (yeah, you guessed it, the last one again). The whole team made it just before take off. Well, in all the rush and hubbub, we have not had a chance to call anybody to tell them we are not only coming in a little later than planned (about 30 minutes), but that we were not even on America West or coming from Phoenix!

Once in Boise, in udder disbelief that the flying ordeal was over, I hurriedly walked toward the main part of the terminal and through security. Our original flight was supposed to arrive at about 10:30 (it was now about 11pm), so I wondered if anybody would still be hanging out looking for us, or if they would be wondering why none of us were on the original flight. As I was coming around the last corner, I saw familiar faces.

As it turns out, the original America West flight got delayed somewhere along the line and was just getting in about the same time we did, so nobody even knew we weren't on it or anything about our airline ordeal. Even though my clothes felt like wilted lettuce and, I'm sure, smelled much worse, everybody in my family hugged me. The biggest surprise came when I actually saw both pieces of luggage come around the carousel.

Summary:

Phew, you made it. Did you really read all that? You really need to get out more often.

So I have been trying to figure out exactly what I got out of the entire trip. It's really been hard to process everything. Once I returned home, I was thrust back into the American schedule. I have been really busy. That's part of the reason why it took me a month to get this done. People keep asking me "How was the trip"? Well, it was very good; sometimes sad, and sometimes sorrowful but I didn't regret being there for an instant. I loved being exposed to all that I saw, and continue to be amazed at the diversity of Gods creations.

The Kenyan people were awesome. I was self conscious because I stood out, but I was always treated well. As I said before, this is a very young population (however, I still didn't qualify for the senior discount at Taco Bell). The children impacted me so much. I wish I could ease their hunger, comfort them and cloth them. The young adults impacted me so much. I wish I could bring them over and show them our country, but I don't know if that would be more beneficial or detrimental. I think they deserve a lot of credit for trying to reach and teach their people, especially in light of their own living conditions. To see how the missionaries work impacted me also. They are in a foreign land and must try to merge two cultures within themselves. There are many inconveniences that they face everyday, but they deal with it all so that they can take the word of hope to a suffering people.

Do I feel the need to sell my belongings, quit my job and move to Africa? No, not at all. Would I like to go back sometime? Definitely, but I don't know if I will get a chance to return. There are many many people in this World that are in similar situations. We must not forget that we are very, very blessed to live where we do.

Now I pick up on a lot more when anyone mentions Africa. Whether it is the animals or the AIDS problem, I can relate on a closer level. Maybe someday, I will be able to help them, even if it is just in a small way.

A few years ago, I made a list of things I wanted to do and places I wanted to see. I only wrote down three places outside of the US that I would like to visit. One of my goals was to visit the Serengeti Plain. Well, the portion of the game park in Tanzania is called Serengeti; the portion of the park across the border in Kenya is called Masai Mara. So, yes, I was thrilled to be able to experience the game park and see the animals. I never even imagined that I would be able to visit small villages in the bush and be welcomed into their homes. At the same time, I felt like I had a purpose, helping to spread the word of salvation (even if I am only a nearly-silent partner of the team).

So, if any of you ask me how my trip was, be prepared for a short answer, because I cannot possibly put into a few words what the experience was like. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to talk about it. But I would need more specific questions (a starting point) to be able to answer concisely. Oh yeah, I have over 3000 pictures and some video if this small book is just not enough.

Africa Part 9 of 10

As we were driving across the vast open savannah watching animals, we saw an unlikely sight; a person walking along. He was a Masai. From what I understand, there are two things you need to do to become a Masai warrior (besides being born into the Masai tribe).

1) You must kill a lion. Sure, it sounds tough, but they get to use their club. I don't know from what tree they get their club, but it looks like a small branch with an enlarged bulb shaped growth on one end. Killing the lion is the easy part.

2) At the age of 12, they must, without flinching a muscle or getting anesthetic, be circumcised. Count me out.

Every so often, we would see one of these guys crossing the plains. Some of the tour vehicles had Masai in the car with them as tour guides. They also came in handy if the vehicle got stuck, the Masai would get out and lock in the hubs (I saw that happen a couple of times).

Shortly before lunch, we spotted a few vehicles jockeying for position around some bushes, so we headed their way. We pulled in and could see a female lion in plain view and the tail end of another partially hidden by some bushes. We thought it was a male but couldn't tell because the head was hidden.

This surprised me, because I have always heard that "You can't hide your lion eyes!" (Oh, that was bad). A few minutes later, he got up turned around. Paying no attention to the spectators, he came over and made his move on the little lady. From her body language and growl, it was obvious that she was not impressed with his king-ness. Dejected and embarrassed, he went and hid behind another bush to sulk. We pulled up and got a great view of him sitting there pouting. He was very regal and we watched him for quite a while.

Then, on the way to the lunch spot, we stopped beside the river and took a pit stop. Here we had to balance between modesty and safety. I could see crocs and hippos in the river and other animals back in the distance, so I didn't venture too far into the shrubbery to use the facilities. We then stopped for lunch, which we ate in the shade beside the river. This seemed to be the designated lunching area because there were many other groups there also.

While the male lion was the animal sighting of the day, the event of the day was yet to come. After lunch we headed just up river and found a large group (thousands) of wildebeest waiting to cross the river. They were waiting for someone to lead them across. We tried to get into good position, as did some other vehicles. The wildebeest would slowly move closer and closer to the river. They got to the top bank but none would go down the bank to the edge of the water.

Another wanna be leader dude started leading a large portion of the group around behind us down close to the river. This caused people, including us to move to look for a better view. It was another fake out. Back over at the original crossing area, they had regrouped and were getting closer again. Finally, two wildebeest walked down the bank and right down to the water. Something spooked them and they turned and ran back up the bank, which caused the crowd of wildebeest to retreat. It was no wonder they were spooked, we could see crocodiles and hippos in the water. But perhaps even more daunting to the would-be crossers were the wildebeest carcasses in various positions stuck in the shallow part of the river. There were legs sticking up here and there as a reminder to the rest that crossing could be dangerous.

Meanwhile, back around behind us, one brave wildebeest was again leading a single file line toward the water. We pulled up beside our other van and had the perfect spot, right on the edge of the river bank. The ledge was maybe 10 feet high, so we had an elevated vantage point. We had an unobstructed view of this guy as he paused for a moment at the edge of the water, and then just marched across. The others followed, single file. He just marched all the way to the other side. The entire herd gathered and crowded along the riverbank, but they would just follow the one in front of them into the river. There were a couple times when there were a couple lines at a time, but they would mostly stick to one single file line.

Finally, after about an hour of waiting, watching and hoping, they were crossing. We all watched with anticipation, knowing that at any second the crocs would snag one. It didn't happen.

We watched for 30 minutes or so while probably a couple thousand crossed. On the entrance side, they were jumping and falling over each other and the rocks. Still, they mostly waited for a spot in line before getting wet. Once they reached the other side, they would take off and run up the opposite bank, then continue on single file. Eventually, they stopped crossing, leaving some to cross at a later time. A couple of zebras came down as far as the water, but then just took a drink and ended up staying with the group that would need to cross later. I guess the crocs had had enough wildebeest and didn't want anymore rotting in the water. It almost made me feel safe enough to cross (not).

This was definitely the highlight of the safari for me. It was very surreal; yeah there were many surreal moments for me on this trip. After watching the crossing, we headed back toward the lodge. It had taken us a few hours to get this far and we wanted to be able to see more animals before we had to be back. The day was awesome.

Well, there were a couple animals that we hadn't gotten to see yet; the rhino and the leopard. Some of us decided to get up and go on an early morning ride the last day to go see the rhinos. There are less than 30 rhinos in all of Masai Mara, so they are very difficult to find in the wild. However, due to the fact that they are endangered, they have a few that they use for studying and breading. They keep these under guard 24 hours a day and put them in pens at night. During the day, they let them out to roam. Well, since these are used to people (I guess), they let us out of the van and we followed one of the guards up a trail until we came upon them. It was early (between 6 and 7) and the wind was coming down the hillside making us all cold. We were on an African Safari and we were freezing.

The Rhinos are some hefty animals. They looked indestructible, but also seemed very docile. We were able to get with in about 10 feet of them and it was a bit unnerving considering the size of that horn on their huge head. We took turns posing for pictures, so I was standing there trying to act casual knowing full well there were three rhinos behind me. I held my forced smile as I wondered what was taking so long to push the shutter release. I had this terrible feeling that at any second one of them would decide to charge. Talk about getting a horn up the wazungu! After hanging out with them for awhile, we rode around looking for other animals, one in particular; the leopard. We ran out of time and had to get back so we could leave for Nairobi, no leopard this trip.

Back at the lodge, we all loaded back into the vans and headed out. First we had to backtrack on the same dirt road we came in on. Then we traveled down the main highway between The Mara and Nairobi. This is the same road that all tourists would need to travel to get to the game park, unless they flew into one of the remote airstrips (which I would strongly advise).

This highway cannot be effectively explained in words. It defies all logical definitions of roadways. It has more potholes per Kilometer than any other stretch of road in the world (ok, I'm just guessing here). Big potholes, little potholes, potholes in asphalt, potholes in gravel, potholes in dirt. Some potholes were so big that they had potholes inside of them. This is a two-lane highway, however, the asphalt (where available) was about a lane and a half wide. Lines? We don't need no stinkin' lines! Kenya is one of those countries that you supposedly drive on the left hand side of the road. "My left or your left"? seems to be the question. But, on this highway, there is no such rule.

We were on the left hand side, the right hand side, the middle, the left shoulder, the right shoulder, parallel, perpendicular, bobbing and weaving. Now, don't get me wrong, there where stretches were we actually hit cruising speeds of about 65-70. That doesn't sound too bad, but that's kilometers per hour, which is just over 40 MPH. Another odd thing is that every once in a while, just for kicks, they had thrown in a speed bump; Yup, across the highway. A couple questions here:

1) Why put in speed bumps when the potholes slow you to a crawl anyway? And

2) Don't you think that asphalt could be put to better use by actually filling a couple potholes?

My theory is that maybe when a vehicle gets stuck in a big pothole, they just pave over it, creating a speed bump.

Shortly into our trip from Masai Mara to Nairobi, I grabbed a can of coke from the cooler. Kenya still has pull-tabs; you know the old pull-em-and-chuck-em type. Anyway, as you can imagine, the can was kinda shook up already, so it fizzed out a bit when opened. Well, before I could get a drink, we were bouncin' to and fro while zigzagging down the road. I knew immediately that this was not a wise thing to do. As I was spilling it everywhere, I looked for that slight pause in the action where I could try to sip some. I tried covering it with some tissue I had, that only made it build up pressure and squirt further. Finally, my opportunity arose; I slammed the can against my mouth and created a suction cup with my lips. I could feel the pressure build up between swallows as I was bouncing around with this can pressed to my face. My cheeks were expanding, but I kept it there until I was able to drink about half the can. Phew, talk about "drinking responsibly"! What a pain, from now on, it's nothing but resealable bottles on this road.

Also on this drive I saw some road repair going on. There was a guy with a shovel digging some dirt from beside the road and throwing it into a rut in the road. I'm thinking that would be a full time job just filling that one rut. Maybe they could start putting up those signs "This pothole maintained by the Orongo family". I also saw a sign on the highway "Road Work Ahead". I never actually saw anybody doing anything. I guess, without punctuation, it's hard to tell what it was trying to say. I think it may have been a question. Such as: Does the "Road Work Ahead"? I'd have to say "No, not very well."

Another bonus in making the 4 to 5 hour drive, we went down and across the Great Rift Valley. Other than sounding impressive and being one of the largest valleys in the World, there wasn't a whole lot there. We got to get out on one side and look over it. The only problem was, there were a bunch of curios shops there. This is where we ran into the most high pressure sales dudes. Almost to the point of irritating. All these shops were situated on the side of a steep mountain, so the entire strip-mall (4 or 5 shops) was built on an overhang. On the upside, they had restrooms; well they were actually self cleaning outhouses. This is because the hole had no bottom. After fertilizing the hillside, we were back on the road.

Upon arriving in Nairobi, we went to a guest house that let us shower and relax for awhile. Our suitcases showed up and only one of mine was there. Apparently, they decided that they didn't quite have room for them all, so two bags were just going to meet us at the airport. I had been planning on being able to organize and repack both. Besides, I couldn't find my ticket stubs and flight information paperwork in the suitcase that came. I figured I would just locate it when we arrived at the airport.

Dinner at Carnivores was very interesting. I was a bit disappointed in the selections that night; I had hoped to try zebra or giraffe. The unusual meats on the menu that night were:

Ostrich - This was my favorite of the exotic meat, it was tender and had sort of a sweet taste.

Crocodile - So-so, it seemed to have quite a bit of fat and small bones. Reminded me a little of lobster, but then again, it's been over 20 years since I had lobster.

Gazelle - This was served seasoned in meat balls, it was pretty good.

Africa Part 8 of 10

After lunch, a few of our team walked back down to the Curios to do some more bartering. Some of us stayed back to get our suitcases ready, because the plan was this:

We would pack a small bag with just the things we needed for the Mara. The rest of our stuff would be packed in our other suitcases and would be taken directly to Nairobi, and someone was coming to pick them up at 1pm. We would then meet up with those suitcases on Thursday, and have time to rearrange them before heading to the airport and out of the country.

Well, plans changed a bit, and we found out we no longer needed to have them ready by 1pm. So a couple of us decided to take bota botas down to meet the others at the Curios shops.

I've mentioned these a few times; I guess I should expand on them a bit. So here is a little background on the Bota Bota, mainly because I only know a little. But don't worry; what I lack in actual knowledge, I will not hesitate to make up. A bota bota (remember, pronounced like boata boata) is a bike with a cushion on the rack over the back wheel, thus creating a "back seat" if you will. For 20 shillings (about a quarter) you can have these guys give you a ride across town. Now in the interest of comfort, they do have little footrests near the back wheel axle and sort of a mini handle bar under the drivers' seat for stability. We saw these things weaving in and out of traffic, sometimes into traffic and we actually saw one under traffic.

I saw a lot of passenger-less Bota Botas, but also saw a lot of people using this mode of transportation. A lot of ladies in dresses would ride sidesaddle and not even hang on or have their feet on the footrest. I saw a few bota botas carrying a couple of people, a lady and a small child. Some of the bikes were more set up for cargo. They would strap stuff on the rack and deliver it elsewhere. Some of the items included cases of coke; an old bench seat out of a van, there was even a pig strapped to one. He was squealing so he might have been

the one that went "weee weee weee all the way home", but I'm betting he was the little piggy that "went to market".

We now return you to your regularly scheduled sarcastic account: As you may recall, we were about to ride bota botas. We went out to the street and flagged down a couple bota-botas and off we went. My guy spoke some English so we were talking:

ME: So do you do this all day long?
BB: Yeah.
ME: Have you ever been hit by a car?
BB: Yeah.
ME: What!? Can I drive?
BB: (laughing) Yeah. (But he kept going)
ME: No really, if you pull over, I'll pedal and you ride.
BB: OK.

So he pulls over and stops, as does the other bike. I had a bit of a rough start, I'm sure it was just because he was flailing around back there. But, for whatever reason I started wobbling and ended up in the weeds beside the road, then was able to get back onto the road way. I had that old African classic running through my head..."Rock the Bota, don't rock the bota baby. Rock the bota, don't tip the bota over." Luckily no cars were around because I weaved around on the street a little before I was able to gain complete control. This bike is set up a bit different than I am used to.

1) The handlebars and seat are set up so that you ride totally upright.

2) The seats are kind of interesting, it wasn't that uncomfortable, but was sort of scary looking. It was like a strip of leather (or vinyl) stretched over some metal rods and the front had this wire-coil-thing that was kinda like a small saddle horn.

3) These bikes were all just one speed, which made it harder to get started. And

4) There was a Kenyan guy on the back laughing hysterically.

Well, just when you thought we, being white, couldn't stand out any more than we had been all week, there we were, two white guys driving a couple of Kenyans on bota-botas. Everyone was staring, laughing, pointing. Well we made it up the slight incline and to the top of the last hill. Here we had a couple of blocks down the hill ending at a stop sign and a crossroad. Directly in front of us, across from the stop sign, were the curios shops. I reached for the hand brakes, which are just a couple of bent metal rods that pull some old pieces of tire out against the rim. They didn't work quite as I expected them to. So there I was, speeding down this hill, heading straight for cross traffic and the shops, squeezing frantically on the brakes. I yelled out "OK, dude, your turn to drive", but there was no time for an in-flight switch.

There was not a lot of vehicle traffic, so my concern turned from being a hood ornament on a Peugeot, to ramming through one of these curios shops. I quickly did a survey and some minor calculations to figure out which one looked like it had the cheapest and less breakable stuff, in case they employ that silly little "you break it, you buy it" mentality. On the left, were a lot of soapstone carvings, which could be bad. On the right, a bunch of wooden carvings. The right side, other than the tusks and horns, looked to be the best bet. Before I got close enough to take aim at going between the two, the brakes started to take effect and we began slowing down. Hakuna Matata, I pulled in and dismounted amongst the stares. No broken bones, no broken curios.

The next day, we were up early and headed to the Mara. We had two vans; someone had the bright idea of having a girl van and a guy van. It didn't really matter to me, as long as we didn't have a chicken rolling around on the floor (by the way, we left the chicken for the KBC pastor). Once we got out of town, we passed a lot of cornfields. With the Kenyan climate, they can grow corn year-round.

Eventually, the cornfields subsided and we started to see tea fields. We had climbed a lot in altitude and everything was very green and lush. Tea bushes are just a couple feet tall, so we could see them across the rolling hills. We also saw a bunch of people picking the leaves. Apparently, they go along and just pick the top few leaves, and then they go back through about a week later doing the same thing.
It's like a vicious cycle.

The roads were not well kept. There were potholes and it just wasn't very smooth. We got a flat tire and consequently pulled over. I whipped out my AAA card to see if I had coverage here just south of Mudsuck, Kenya. Nope. The spare was underneath all of our luggage. So out came the bags, off came the tire and on went the spare. I was a bit nervous after inspecting the spare that was just put on. It was in very bad shape. I'm talking; no tread. This tire should have been retired long ago and by now it should have been showing up on the bota bota break systems.

The bags were reloaded and we continued on with our new racing slick. After 3 or 4 hours (I didn't wear my watch all week, so I wasn't really sure how long anything took), we headed off the paved road and onto a private dirt/gravel road to the Lodge. We continued on for another hour, passing little huts and people along the way. They all stopped and waved.

When we got to the resort entrance, I couldn't help but notice the large electric fence around the perimeter. It was a bit eerie and I quickly found myself looking toward the dashboard to see if there were ripples in the water cup. We were dropped off at the lodge, and as we walked in, they gave us warm moist hand towels to freshen up with. That was especially nice after traveling as long as we did on sub par roads.

The accommodations were nice. They were permanent tents, with cement floors and a bathroom with running water (although we still couldn't drink it). The "bathroom" was separated with a zippered partition across the tent. We were instructed to zip our tent down all the way every time we left, to keep the monkeys out. All the tents sat high

above the meandering river and it didn't take long for us to see some hippos hanging around.

After lunch we had our first safari ride. It was just awesome, very exciting. We saw ostrich, gazelles and warthogs. We saw many zebras just standing around eating. We saw a lot of wildebeest. They have to be the ugliest animal ever created. They look like a mix between a half dozen animals along with some facial features from John Kerry. They are one of the few animals that look better after a couple days as road kill then they ever did alive. We saw a couple pretty young wildebeest. I am here to tell you, those were the nastiest babies I have ever seen. Next to these guys, the warthog seemed warm and cuddly. I wondered why so many of them walked single file, but now I think it was because the best view of a wildebeest is from behind.

Then the sighting of the day was a female lion with some cubs. She didn't really do much, but was fascinating to watch. The lions blended into the surroundings very well. While she was standing there breathing, you could see how big her teeth were. After watching her for a while, we went back inside the resort compound.

After a shower, dinner and devotions, everyone headed to bed. Well, my normal pre-bed routine was to download pictures to the laptop, recharge all batteries, and write in my journal. The tent was kind of small so I crawled into bed to do the afore mentioned routine. Whoa! Was I surprised, as I put my feet under the covers, they ran into something very warm. I thought maybe someone left the zipper up and a monkey got in. Something has been sleeping in my bed, and it's still there! Anyway, as it turned out, the staff had come by to turn down the beds and they had put a hot water bottle in each bed. After learning it wasn't a bald monkey, I realized just how nice it was. The weather was much cooler at night there than it had been in Kisumu, and now we were in a tent, so the heat from the water bottle was great. But unfortunately, I didn't sleep to well. I was cold and the hippos were making strange noises all night.

The next day was a full day safari drive, so we got up early and loaded into the vans. The vans both had the hard tops popped up, so we could stand and have great views of the savannah and animals. I stood all day long. The roads and/or fields we crossed were anything but smooth. So, although standing provided the best experience, it also came with its share of bumps and bruises. The rough ride also made taking pictures and video worthless until we came to a complete stop. Some animals wouldn't stick around much, but most just went about their business and were still there when we would move on. The scenery was incredible, the openness, the flat top trees, which were few and far between. And the animals, we saw so many:

Elephants - We saw plenty of these at different times. There were some very young ones also. They were magnificent to watch.

Giraffe - Now these are interesting creatures. They sort of glided across the fields. They stand for most of their life, because, with those little wimpy legs and a large, seemingly awkward body, it's hard for them to get back on their feet once they are down. On the upside, they can neck all night long.

Ostrich - We didn.t see too many of these, but they looked like they could run very fast.

Zebra - Thousands of these, they were all over. I don't know how they kept so clean, the stripes were very defined. These are also fascinating, I'm not really sure why.

Wildebeest - Tens of thousands of these homely creatures.

Hartebeest - Yeah, go look them up.

Topi - You may need to look these up also, I liked their color and they had a real shiny sheen.

Hyena - These just looked mean and mischievous, not really tough to anybody but themselves, but they just looked like trouble. They were kind of like the teens of the savannah.

Crocodiles - We saw many different sized crocs, from about 3 feet long to maybe 8 or 9 feet. They just didn't seem real friendly.

Monkeys - The monkeys weren't as big as other animals and were a little harder to spot. I saw one sitting atop an acacia tree out on safari. We saw a few others, including one that walked by outside the window as we were eating breakfast.

Hippos - Most of them were in the water, but I did see a couple walking around. They don't seem to be real active, just bobbing around in the brown river. They do wiggle their ears, just like those on the 'Jungle Cruise' in Disneyland; I told you those were real!

Gazelles - There were a couple varieties, the most abundant one was the Thompson Gazelle. They liked to hang around with the zebras. They were cute little animals that didn't seem to be able to stop their tails from wagging. They wagged very rapidly. It was like somebody wound them up too tight.

Impala - The animal, not the Chevy.

African Buffalo - Very tough looking. They would just stand and stare you down. They have a very wide, solid head and horns. If they got mad, they could turn our van into a minivan without too much effort.

Lion - Male and Female. This was awesome to see, the male was so regal, even though he was just slackin' in the shade.

Mongoose - Weasley little guy.

Dik-Dik - Speaking of little guys, this is the smallest antelope in Africa and I would imagine, the World. They were very little and kind of cute. The ones we saw were either 1) Female or 2) Girly Men. They reminded me of Rudolf's girl friend, Clairise.

Cheetah - She was watching some cubs nad she looked very fast and built for speed.

We also saw a variety of birds, big, small, pretty, and ugly. There was one group of birds that had big fleshy type bag thingys hanging down from their necks. These were big birds and the "flabby thing" was probably 6 - 8 inches down. It just swayed and bounced as they hopped around.

Africa Part 7 of 10

After taking everything down and packing it up (not sure why, since we would just need to put it up again the next day), we headed back for dinner. Us wazungu folk were going to have chili, and it sounded good. While it was being prepared, along came one of the Kisumu guys and invited me and another guy for another ugahli experience, probably because we had both shown interest in the whole ugahli tradition. So, thinking we were going to see it being made, I didn't give a second thought to going with him. As we walked into the house, instead of to the kitchen area behind it, I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. Not wanting to be rude, I played along. In keeping with their politeness for guests, they let me go first. The hostess handed me a plate with soup already on it, then once again slices off a large chunk of ugahli, and slapped it on my plate right in the middle of my soup (splat). I sat down and, as my stomach was still sinking, surveyed the damage.

A Kisumu dude sat beside me and as I looked at his plate, then mine, then the door, all I could think about was "I don't even like normal seafood". Yes, fish soup, not only that, entire fish soup. As his plate tipped, the fish eyes were staring at me through the soupy mixture. Back on my plate, I thought "at least I got the tail". Then I got to thinking, wait a minute. What comes out of the south end of a north bound fish? Yup, now my Huggies joke takes on a whole new meaning. Well, my stomach had finally stopped sinking and instead was just sort of churning. At this point I knew two things: 1) I needed to eat some of this food. 2) I aint gonna eat no fish, uh, tail. My mind wandered back to my childhood, and in just a couple of minutes, there in Africa, 30 years of pent up hostility vanished, as I came to realize that being forced to eat spinach wasn't the worst that could have happened to me.

Where is that malnourished dog when you need him? While trying to think "happy thoughts", I rolled my ugahli (which was already slimy from the fish head soup). I scooped some juices from my plate, and holding my breath, put it in my mouth. I tried to swallow it whole (like with peas, which, now that I think about it, are about the same size as these eyeballs), but that wasn't happening, so I was forced to chew it. I cringed with every bite, not sure what to expect. I did not, as far as I know, eat any eyeballs. I don't remember much of what happened over the next 20 minutes; my mind seems to have blocked out a large portion of it. If ever there was a time I wished for dental floss, this was it. I had some "stuff" stuck in my teeth. Do fish have eyelashes? Oh to have some mouthwash, I even pondered siphoning some gasoline to gargle with.

On top of all the obvious reservations I had, I also had no clue as to how this was prepared. I really expected to contract some exotic African disease. Then I'd be in trouble. At least in the states, you can hug the toilet in times of desperation. Out here, I'd have no such luck, no toilet here. I tried to merge another couple of thoughts here

1) Those massage type tables where you rest your face in those little cushioned face holders,
2) The bathrooms here with their own little 6' square face holders made of mud.

Moving on.... Well after my little "Eating Nemo" episode, I went back outside, hoping and praying that I had not missed my chance to have some chili. It was dark, but I wondered over to a couple lanterns and was relieved to see the chili and cornbread was about ready. Due to the lack of light, nobody noticed that I was a bit blue in the face. I just wanted to get something else in my stomach to hold down its contents. That chili sure tasted good, although I kept finding myself wanting to roll my cornbread into a ball.

Once I crawled into my sleeping bag, I realized how bushed I was (ha, ha, very punny), but I couldn't get to sleep. I could hear some music and singing off in the distance. This went on all night long. OK, technically, I cannot vouch for it playing all night long, but it was going every time I woke up. Kinda reminded me of sleeping in the dormitory during my college years. Come to think of it, the Swahili language bears a close resemblance to drunk Americans singing songs that, even when sober, they don't know half the words to and when drunk; don't know how to pronounce the ones that they do remember. Rumor has it that this was actually a funeral. I guess the tradition is to party for a week when a loved one dies. That gives a whole new meaning to being "The Life of the Party".

Saturday morning I went out on a walk to experience the sights and sounds of early morning Africa. I came across a couple of girls, who, I assume, were carrying their daily water supply back to their hut. They were each carrying a bucket of water on their head. Where I saw them, they were about a half-mile from the river already, and heading up the trail. That got me thinking of how much the kids (even in Kisumu, but much more so here), loved to grab our empty water bottles. I suppose containers are pretty useful out here, where there is no running water and you need to walk a long way in the heat just to get any water, or anything else for that matter.

Three kids in a hut about 100 yards over also spotted me. They came running out. I didn't know if they were just curious or if they thought I was stealing their cow. Turns out they just wanted to come and check things out. They came right out to me and just stood there side by side, they were from about 12 down to 7. I shook each of their hands. The oldest one spoke a little English. I asked how she liked living there. She said "OK". I asked what she did for fun. She giggled a bit, and then just kind of stood there. I didn't know if she didn't understand the question or just didn't want to answer (maybe her families hobby was to shrink the heads of white people). Turns out she was just thinking, and after a long pause, she finally said, "Work...and sing". Well, I guess if there is nothing else to do, you would rather work than be bored. But it is probably more likely that she works so much, she doesn't have time to do much else, I don't know. Well after talking to them and unsuccessfully trying to take some good bird pictures (the human zoom isn't ideal for bird watching), I headed back to camp.

We went out on visitation again before lunch. This time, my group went on down beyond the river. The river water was brown. There were people bathing in it, washing clothes and just gathering water. Much of the bank was a large rock formation and the water funneled from maybe 40 feet wide in some parts, down to about 3 or 4 foot wide where we crossed. We had to jump from the rock on one side to the other (supposedly it was about 20 feet deep at this point). On the other side, we visited more huts. I was getting hungry. I started to look around for the local fast food, didn't see any. I wasn't really expecting much, but had the strangest feeling that we were about to come across the very first, original Pizza HUT. We didn't. So we just kept going hut to hut. We were talking to one guy, and I was surprised to hear that he didn't know what church we were talking about on the other side of the river. I guess I figured all these people knew each other and wandered all over the place out here. Wrong again.

On the way back to camp, we found a snake in a tree; he was green and only a few feet long. I crossed over to the other side to get a better picture and saw he had a frog sticking out of his mouth. I got a great photo from a foot or two away. The frog, which still had three legs hanging out of the snakes? mouth, had no hope and was just staring at me as if to say "Psst, I don't suppose you have a snakebite kit on you?" The snake was a bit shy, or maybe he just didn't like to talk with his mouth full, either way, I felt much more comfortable getting close to him knowing his jaws were occupied. I have this permanent picture etched in my mind now, and will recall it vividly every time somebody uses the term "I've got a frog in my throat". Well, I guess that's better than having a snake on your back.

We got back to camp for lunch (which we had taken ourselves) and, while hanging out, saw dinner being led through the yard and to the back of the house. After lunch we did some more visitations, then back to set up the movie again. As I was walking back to the church, I heard a bunch of hubbub from the direction of the kitchen area. I turned to see a few kids chasing a mangy mutt, who was running like a greyhound (and looking even slimmer). The people were yelling and just kept chasing him. I saw him run down and beyond a hut. So at this point I ponder, just for a few seconds; Uhh maybe he was the scheduled appetizer for tonight or maybe he had just sniffed the wrong person. Either way, there was no way some teen girl was going to catch him. Well, as I continued to the church, I saw a turtle in the mud. He was an interesting little creature. He was looking right at me with these big ole round eyes. I had an unfortunate flashback to my fish head dinner and found myself wondering if I could swallow his eyes whole.

After snapping a few photos of the slightly mutant turtle, I continued on my way, and whom did I see but the dogcatcher. Yes, that girl had caught the dog. I then reminded myself that I was in Kenya, the country whose natives win more US marathons than any other country. That dog never stood a chance and probably began to slow after a couple of miles. Anyway, the whole event was becoming clearer to me now. She was carrying back this long piece of meat/bone combo. So, and I'm guessing here, it appears the dog had made off with some of tonight's delicacy. I'm not even sure what part of the sheep it was, maybe the backbone and associated body innards. I have a photo of the girl carrying it. Maybe we could play a little Jeopardy! "Yeah, Alex, I'll take "Boosh Meats" for a thousand please." I'm assuming this was part of the sheep we saw headed for slaughter earlier. This idea was backed up by the fact that we did have sheep (mutton) for dinner (along with that local staple, ugahli). With each bite I took, I was reminded of the meat-fetching incident and couldn't help but wonder if the dog had been chewing on it first. At that point it didn't really matter, as long as no one brought out the fish head soup!

That night, we enjoyed another outdoor movie and even more people showed up for it. During the movie, clouds moved in and when we turned the movie off, it was sooo dark. (How dark was it?). Well, it was so dark, that even the fireflies were bumping into each other. All the BABC team had flashlights (or as Kenyans called them "torches"). But, and try to get another visual here, middle of nowhere, no, wait a minute. We are like way past nowhere, let's call it the "far end of the Earth". So there we were, at the far end of the Earth, nighttime, no stars (not even the Big Ugahli-scoop). Add to this visual the thorny bushes, thorny trees and black mambas (the most poisonous snake in Africa). I didn't see any, but supposedly there are some down by the river. Once you get that in your mind (some of you will need to make room), then picture a couple hundred people, many without shoes. Then picture these people just "disappearing" in all directions through the bushes, headed home in the dark without streetlights, flashlights, or moonlight. It was quite a strange scene, kind of like the cornfield in Field of Dreams: except, of course, these weren't dead people. Off they went. Who knows how far they had to go!

The huts weren't in sub divisions, there was quite a bit of space between them. Before we got here, I kinda pictured it as more of a village. Maybe like with the American Indians, with all the Teepees in close proximity. Nuttin' like that. They were spread way out with acres and acres between them (at least). So, bottom line, some of these people had quite a walk ahead of them.

So, I went into my tent to sleep and I saw a rather large spider in the middle of the floor. Not necessarily an overly scary spider under normal circumstances, but standing barefoot in a small enclosed space after dark in Africa, this thing was a force to be reckoned with! So I stood there motionless, waiting for my lightning quick wit to come up with a sure fire plan of attack. I didn't want him to get away, because then I knew I wouldn't be able to lay there, much less sleep. Of course, then maybe I could go join the funeral festivities. Well, he wasn't moving, so I kept the light on him, and tried to recall any and all arachnid information I had gleaned from watching the Discovery Channel. Well, that didn't take long, pretty much nothing. He didn't look poisonous, but then again, how does anything LOOK poisonous? I did notice that he had a bit of meat on his hairy legs, so I got a little nervous thinking he might have a 4-foot vertical leap. I resisted blinking, knowing that by the time I got my eyes open again, he could be straddling my nose.

Well, the brilliant plan finally came; smash him with my shoe! I had set them beside the door inside the tent. So, as I reached down for my shoe, not taking the light or my eyes off him, I pondered how long it would take me to unzip the tent door and exit if he became hostile. Once I grabbed my shoe I moved with the stealthest of movements until, Wham! Ha! He's not so tough.

I didn't sleep well that night. I had this eerie feeling that all the dead spiders? relatives would soon show up and, in true bush tradition, have a funeral party in our tent. I would have a front row seat to the Ugly Bug Ball. They would all be gathered around his round very, very flat casket. His Black Widow would be in mourning and, at the request of his father (Daddy Longlegs); Tobey Maguire would give the eulogy:
"Harry was a good spider, a spider's spider. From his younger years, when the other youngsters called him "16 eyes", all through his brief adulthood, he never stopped striving to be the best he could be. When, a tangled web he'd weave, he was quick to find a new website and start again. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's a bit ironic that Harry, who wouldn't hurt another soul, was, in the end, hurt by another sole. So now, in remembrance of Harry Crawler....Let's Party!!!"

Then they would kick off a musical extravaganza including songs from Jim Stafford (Spiders and Snakes), ZZ Top (Legs) and Tom Jones (Ghost Spiders in the Sky).

Morning rolled around and I was still alive, so my story continues. I took a walk down by the river and just kinda took in the scenery and enjoyed the time just exploring alone. Then we were all kinda getting ready for church and packing up. Most of us BABC guys dressed in jeans and a nice shirt for this and, of course, our still mud caked shoes. Well, out came the KBC guys, in slacks, dress shirts and they were all polishing their dress shoes. What the? I felt a bit like a heal. I just assumed any long pants would be good for the boosh, and I only brought one pair of shoes. Church was supposed to start at 9am, but apparently not everyone was ready because it didn't really get going until 10:30. Not sure why, I think it was just an African-Time thing. During the service, I would periodically go around the back of the church to get a photo from the other side of the congregation. Sometimes, in doing this, I would come across someone using the facilities. Well, actually, they would be using the lack of facilities. They would just be squatting back there somewhere. "Excuse me, pardon me, pardon me, excuse me", and I'd be on my way.

Bye the time we had to leave, the ground had dried so the vans could come all the way in. But only after we sent a scout out to meet them at the main road and show them the way. At this point, we said goodbye to the KBC team. I had a weird feeling, thinking that now they would go back to the life that we had just gotten a glimpse of, and we would travel to the game park then back to the other side of the world to our lives. In reality, if our paths are ever going to cross again, it would be us going back over there. They can't feasibly come here. At one point in our trip, one of them asked me how much it cost for the plane tickets to get there. I thought for a moment then said "roughly 170,000 shillings". His jaw dropped and he said that "that kind of money is unheard of here". These people made quite an impression on all of us and we hated to say good-bye and I for one, wished they could have gone to the game park with us. They live in Kenya, but none of the ones I asked, have ever been to the Masai Mara game park.

Before we left, our host family wanted to thank us for coming, and the lady wanted to give our women a gift. So she handed one of them a chicken; yup, alive and well. Her legs were tied together (the chicken not the lady) so she wouldn't get away. Classic, simply classic. None of us had ever received a chicken as a gift before (at least not that anybody admitted to). And off we went across the fields, down the paths, through the trees, over the bumps and around the corners. Every once in a while I could hear a little squawk from our new friend "Chicken Little", who was rolling around on the floor with her feet tied together. Periodically, she would come into reach and I could give her a little kick (just kidding, Sheesh, back off). Soon she will be running all around, because that's what they do when you chop their heads off.

That evening, we went to some club type place that had some tables out by the lake and legend has it, hippos come up out of the lake, walk past the tables and graze on the grass. Hmm, not sure how safe this all sounds, but, bring them on. While waiting for this "Amazing Graze", we enjoyed the view of Kisumu across a portion of the lake and had some "chips" (french fries). The ketchup there is like a thinner, runnier version of the ketchup we have here. We also got to see a "fish eagle" which looked a lot like a bald eagle, with a little more white down the front, and we also saw some other bird. I have no idea what it was, but it was normal bird size and looked very prehistoric. Like a not-so-terra-dactyl or something. The back of its head looked similar to one of those fancy, aerodynamic bike helmets that come to a point.
If you put him on a tiny bike; I bet he could really fly. Turned out, the hippos were down by the golf course. Makes sense, if you are going to eat grass, why not at a golf course? Perhaps we should have gone there in the first place. Maybe we could have seen someone shoot a double-fish-eagle.

Monday (at least I think it must be close to Monday), we had an "off" day. We decided to do some souvenir shopping and had an appointment with Pendez Weavers. The day started out by hitting the Curios (souvenirs). The Curios consisted of a couple dozen different booth-type vendors. Each booth was about 5 feet wide and went back 12-15 feet. They were placed just far enough apart for one person to walk between them at a time. There was a variety of stuff to choose from. There were many woodcarvings, some woven baskets, chess sets, nativity scenes, jewelry and other miscellaneous items.

If you like to barter, this is the place for you. Nothing is marked with a price. So you need to ask the vendor. He will then tell you some obnoxiously high price. Well, here is an example of how it might go:

Curios Guy: Jambo, come look at my shop.
ME: Jambo, I am.
CG: What you like?
ME: I don't know, I'm just looking.
CG: OK, look down here?
[They would try to get you between the shops and then block you in so you couldn't leave. I only fell for that once]
ME: No, I can see.
CG: (watching my eyes, and if they paused on anything, he would grab it up and hand it to me) Look, very nice.
ME: (taking it and looking it over) Hmm, how much?
CG: 800
ME: (scoffing a little) What, are you kidding me?
CG: No, very nice.
ME: I don't think so. (handing it back to him)
CG: (will not take it back). Make me offer.
ME: 300.
CG: Nooo. 700. Make me an offer.
ME: Well, maybe 350.
CG: What else you want, I give you good deal if you buy more.
ME: No, just this, 350.
CG: You are my first customer, so I give you special price: 600.
ME: There are some similar at the next shop, I'll go there. (when he won't take it back, I set it on the ground to move on)
CG: He picks it up mumbling and says 500.
ME: 400 or I'm moving on.
CG: OK 400.

Each vendor would try to keep you in his "area" because as soon as you stepped into the next "area", the next dude took over. It was a bit draining. All I wanted to do was to walk from one end to the other to see what was there before I bought anything. I started in the middle and headed toward one end. The amount they would barter varied a bit, but, on average, I paid less than half of their initial MSRP. I did buy some stuff on the way up, but by the time I got to the end, it was time for us to go to the weaving place.

This was a small local business that used a spinning wheel to make their own thread, died it, used looms to weave material by hand, and then made various clothing and household items. It was very interesting to see the process. We bought some stuff there then headed back home for lunch.

Africa part 6 of 10

Packing for the bush, or the boosh, as the Kenyans pronounced it, was more difficult now that I had wardrobe and shoe choices. I was really looking forward to going to the boosh. We were going to a place called Awatchorongo. I'm not really sure how to spell it, but there were no "welcome to" signs out there so bear with me. I was looking forward to the chance to do something very few people get to do, experience a culture and way of life that much of the world has forgotten. I would have the chance to see some of Gods? creation that hasn't been corrupted by modern conveniences, and besides, I could go potty where ever I wanted to.

So Friday we loaded up the Montero and the trailer with all the supplies. We then piled into a van to take us out to the boosh. We drove through town and continued on into the country. It was great to see the African terrain, I took it all in. By this time in the trip, I had come to realize that most photos taken from the moving car didn't turn out and even if they did, they couldn't capture the moment as I had hoped. Of course, that didn't stop me from taking some anyway, but mostly, today I was just taking it all in. There were many women standing beside small ponds doing a variety of activities. Some were washing clothes, and then laying them out to dry. Some were washing children and laying them out to dry. Some were just there to fill buckets with water for use back at home. None of these ponds or streams had clean water; every one of them that I saw was dirty brown.

As we continued on, I continued to see people walking, where were they going now? There wouldn't be a town for miles and miles and they were still out walking somewhere. Not long after most of the brick houses turned to mud, so did the road. And shortly after we got off the pavement, the road became slick (it had rained the night before). Soon, we needed to hang a right, however, due to the mud and a trench down the side of the road, the Montero got stuck. Well, all of us guys knew what had to be done so; some pulled, some pushed, some fell in the mud. And one, I like to think of him as the wise one, crawled out the back window of the van and up onto the luggage rack to take pictures. I am, after all, the team photographer.

Well, seeing the Montero get stuck kind of spooked the van drivers. So we unloaded the luggage and threw it on the trailer. The Montero took off and we were to follow on foot. By this time a small crowd of onlookers had amassed on all sides of the road. Gawking at the spectacle of us slipping and sliding in the mud. Then we started up the muddy road. There we were, not a clue where we were going, no interpreter, just following the tracks in the mud. Thick brush covered both sides of the one lane road, so we had no choice where to walk. It seemed like everything there had thorns on it. Not just the little prickly, slightly irritating thorns, but the large, "don't touch me or you'll lose a thumb" type thorns. The bushes had thorns, the trees had thorns, and even the weeds had thorns. I think they may have filmed "The Thornbirds" here. Also originating from approximately this spot, that classic love song "Thorn Between Two Lovers".

By this time the sun was getting hot. Actually, I believe the sun is always hot, but it was starting to really warm us up. This mud was slick (did I mention that already), It was also sticking to my shoes. So after a dozen or so steps, my shoes gained about 10 pounds and I would try to shake, scrape or stomp some weight off. Scraping and stomping were especially risky, if I wasn't careful, I could stomp on a thorn, which would promptly go through the sole of the shoe, continue out the top of the shoe and, quite possibly, put an eye out. OK, I realize I don't write so well, so what I am trying to get across here is that there was a lot of icky, slicky, sticky mud and a lot of thorns.

So we trekked along, occasionally seeing some Kenyans tending livestock or fields. We would wave and say "Jambo" or "Hi" or "Do you have any rubber boots I can borrow"? At one point, I had to step off into the brush and thorns a bit to let a small herd of cattle pass by. Yeah, they really helped smooth the road out, NOT! We hiked for maybe about a mile, or maybe it was just less than 5300 feet, I couldn't be sure. When we saw the Montero stuck in another mud bog. The area along the road was starting to open up into more wet fields. Well, since there was no van to climb up on, I had to help get the vehicle out. We pulled, we pushed, and we lifted. I was pulling back on the trailer and slipped under for a second. I never actually lost hold of the tailgate, so I quickly pulled myself back up and looked around to see if anyone was watching. I was down just long enough to cover my backside with mud.

So this journey went on for awhile, then, when the truck got stuck for, like the 5th time, we decided to start unloading everything and carrying it across the fields for the last few hundred yards. Some of the locals had come to meet us at this point and they grabbed some of the luggage and supplies and headed off. I figured either A) they were helping us or B) they were robbing us. Either way was fine, less for us to carry.

So I grabbed a couple of bags and headed across the soupy field. We walked past a couple huts and got to the pastors house. There were no fences out here, but they would plant hedges and stuff to mark their land. Some hedges were shorter so you could see over them, some were taller, but you could still see through them a bit. The pastors' house had a hedge of high bushes (maybe 9 feet or so). He had a good-sized yard, no road or driveway. No phones, no lights, no motorcars, not a single luxury. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but very primitive. There were no phone lines, electricity, running water, roads etc.

After a few trips back and forth to the truck, I had to try to find some shade. Standing in the sun, it felt like it was 110 degrees, but step into the shade and it felt like a comfortable 80 or so. Now contrary to my prior belief, there are a bunch of bushes and some trees in the bush. They also have a lot of fields, where they grow mostly corn. So there wasn't a lot of shade, but some. I grabbed a water bottle and sat down for a break. I notice that the ladies (wazungu ladies) were seated along a bench in the shade with no shoes on. Turns out that the natives welcomed them by taking their shoes and washing them. The shoes were very muddy, but they did a great job cleaning them. I watched them take the shoe and remove the shoelaces, then scrub them with some kinda plant root or something in a tub of water. It was a very nice gesture, and I sat there for a little bit knowing that at any time, they would come take my shoes, bring me grapes and start fanning me with some large leaves. But when that didn't happen, I went to help get the tents set up.

While doing that, I noticed a scrawny dog walked by. This dog was scrawny, not just skinny. You could see all his ribs sticking out (Hmmm, did I see ribs on the menu for this weekend? Maybe "Cup O' Poodles"?). Anyway, I guess the story is that they don't feed their dogs; the dogs need to scrounge for what ever they can find, kinda like the rest of the livestock. They don't even name their dogs, kinda like cattle. I ended up seeing a few dogs out there, and they were all scrawny. Maybe, like American people, a large percentage of our dog population is overweight, and maybe I'm just accustomed to seeing overweight dogs (kinda like my prom date). I guess our media hasn't gotten around to making our dogs feel self-conscious and insecure if they are overweight. It's probably just a matter of time before we start hearing about studies that show American dogs are too fat. Then under pressure from lawsuits and some vocal Democrats, the entire industry will have to change. Some of the more notable being:

- Puppy Chow will be replaced with Puppy Nibble.
- Kibbles and Bits will be just "Bits"
- Milk Bone treats will have to be low in calcium
- "Low Carb Alpo" will make its debut
- And for the female dogs, we'll see the "South Bitch Diet"

Ohh, can I say that? I'll probably be in the doghouse for that one. Enough about dogs though, at least "Every Dog Has His Day". How come I don't get a day?

So, we were setting up the tents, the first one went up without a hitch, mainly because we are all master tent builders. However, in the process of putting up the tent for the Kisumu Team (who hadn't arrived quite yet), we noticed that we were missing some (six) poles needed for construction. Well, we had the center portion up; the little side areas were left drooping, so it was a bit TeePee-ish.

We got word that the van the Kisumu Team was in also got stuck, so a few of us headed out to help carry stuff. The three of us took off and after a few minutes, we stopped to try to get oriented, everything looks similar. A mud hut here, a mud hut there, here a flat top tree, there a flat top tree. We decided to just keep going, and soon found the mud tracks made by the Montero. Shortly after that, we spotted a group of women, traipsing through the mud, with their luggage on their heads! There I was, trying not to fall, and they were walking through this stuff with big ole duffle bags on their heads. Anyway, I took a couple of them and waited for the guys who were bringing some stuff for the PA system.

When we got back to "camp", the others were in the house eating. So we went in for lunch. Luckily some of the others were done by this time so we could have a place to sit. As I walked in, the lady of the house met me at the doorway. She was carrying a pitcher of water and a large plastic bowl. I was thinking to myself (as opposed to thinking to somebody else I suppose), "Hmmm, I'm not that hungry and I don't even have my glass yet". As I mulled this over in my head, she held the bowl out and had the pitcher half tipped over it. Ahhh, I get it, so I put my hands together and she dumped the very warm water over them and caught the runoff in the bowl. Wow, that was kinda nice. For a moment I felt a bit like I was up in the first class section of the plane. After I got my hands cleaned up, I grabbed a bowl and tried to find something I could eat. While standing there scoping out my options and looking for the desert bar, she cut a large piece of Ugahli and put it in my bowl.

This is a good time to explain what Ugahli is, and an even better time to inform you how to pronounce it. I'm pretty sure I am spelling it wrong, but I'm also pretty sure none of you speak Swahili, so I'm not too worried about it, I think I slept through most of my 7th grade Swahili class (along with most of my other classes), but it is pronounced like this: "ue golly". With the "ue" pronounced like in blue. The last two letters for those of you that need more precise instructions.

Now, Ugahli is made from flour and water (two great tastes that go great together). It's sort of like a corn mealy type cornbread concoction. It was a little larger around than a normal pie, but was raised up in the middle (about as tall as a pop bottle). The consistency is kinda corn bready, but it is denser and does not crumble. The consistency is similar to new play doe, that can be packed tightly together when squished. So, when she slapped a slice of this in my bowl, it took up a large portion and hung over. That was ok with me, because I had been surveying the spread and could see the remnants of some kind of soup, some small potato type things, cabbage and a chicken carcass that had already been picked over by a dozen people.

Meanwhile, as I scooped up something that could have been anything from small potatoes to donkey droppings to Killamanjaro Mountain Oysters, one of the Kenyans reached around me, got a good grip on part of the chicken and ripped it away from the rest of the remains. You could hear the bones breaking and veins were snapping, I got a small piece of an artery in my left eye. Well, not wanting to be a bad guest, I tried to act normal as I grabbed one of the last parts of that chicken that looked like it may have a little meat around the joints. It a was a slippery little sucker. I had to put my bowl down and use two hands. Aint no way a dead chicken was going to get the best of me. I tugged, I ripped and I tore off what was now rightfully mine. Once I got seated, I looked down and saw a garbled mess of chicken bones and little meaty pieces, intermixed with various veins and other inner workings. My first thought was "Hey, chickens DO have nuggets!"

I started with what looked like donkey droppings. I was in luck, as they were potatoes. I don't know exactly how they were cooked, but oh man, they were very, very good. I ate a couple of them to sort of ease my stomach, and then moved on. We had been given a crash course on how to eat ugahli and it went something like this: Grab a chunk in your hand and roll it in your palm, kneading it until it is about golf ball sized. Then take your thumb and insert it into the ball, sort of forming a small bowl-scoop. After that, you use it as a scoop and fill it with soup and/or chicken or whatever, then cram it in your mouth and savor the taste.

How hard could that be? I tried to act real casual, and began rolling my first chunk of ugahli; I created the substance-holding indentation, scooped up some food and started eating. First thought: Dang, I wish I had remembered to bring my water bottle in! Ugahli is a bit on the dry side; it didn't have much flavor at all, but made for a good scoop (which was especially important, since I had no utensils). By this time, I had psyched myself up enough to try the nuggets. So I grabbed an unidentifiable portion of the chicken and in one smooth motion, pried it off and ate it. Well, I got through it. The chicken was a little blah, at least the part I got, (which may not even be meant to be eaten). After forming ugahli, scooping food, forming ugahli, scooping, ripping chicken tenders, forming ugahli, etc, my hand got really messy. Really messy. Imagine, if you will, a small child that has just discovered that gap in the back of his Huggies... Yeah, that messy.

After cleaning my bowl, including parts of the chicken that nobody should ever have to look at, much less eat, I went back for a few more potatoes. Most of the BABC team had finished and gone back outside, but a couple of us were still in there and the KBC guys were giving us tips on how to eat ugahli and giving us a little insight into African tradition. They were telling us the proper way to eat ugahli was that you grab a chunk, and, while rolling it (with exaggerated arm movements), you tell a story or talk about the day. Then, just before you come to a break in your vocal presentation, you create your thumbhole, scoop slop, and seamlessly put it into your mouth as you finish speaking. This way, you can chew while the next person talks. I also learned that, by tradition, a guy should make ugahli for his girlfriend before they marry. And they told me the proper way to make it (later we went out back to the cooking area behind the house and they demonstrated, but didn't actually make any). They take three stones, build a fire between them and put a pot of water on them. Once the water boils, you add flour until you get the correct consistency. On the way out of the house, I got the washbasin treatment again, and then away I went.

Feeling like a real man, having survived my first meal in the boosh, I went out and took a rest in the shade. Give me a break, it was hot. Meanwhile I saw the Kenyans laughing at their tent (remember, it was sagging in a few spots). The next thing I knew, they had gotten this big machete (is there any other kind of machete?), and, using the trees in the hedge for supplies, they whipped out some tent poles and finished the tent. Yeah, well, I could have done that; I just didn't want to tick off the local environmentalists. Just a passing thought (and not necessarily a bad one): With all the thorns, if an environmentalist handcuffed themselves to a tree or did a little "tree sitting" they would lose a lot of blood.

Meanwhile, a goat had to be chased out of our tent and that little dogette kept wondering around looking for scraps.

We had a few hours to go on a hut-to-hut visitation. This was very interesting, as we got to see where and how some of these people live. As we would approach the huts, the residents would come and welcome us in.

Hut 101, an introduction to the Kenyan boosh dwelling:

Architectural design: Basic 12th century Square (which much resembles the modern square)

Construction: Sticks, Mud, Manure, Grass (or corrugated metal) roof

Construction Method:
Build stick house
Mix mud and manure, apply generously to sticks, let dry in sun.
Will be dry to touch in a few hours, will be cured in a few weeks.
Top off with sticks/grass or sticks/metal.

Size: Small, approximately ranging from one to three hundred square feet (about twice the size of a normal bedroom.

Layout: A couple of rooms (near as I could tell)

Additional: Small outbuilding away from the main structure, surrounding (on three sides anyway) a small hole in the ground.

The main room would have as much seating as possible. Little wooden chairs, benches or couches would line as much of the four walls as was feasible. Again, most had small cushions and covers. There would be a table (usually coffee table height) in the center of the room. Maybe one or two walls would have little windows, about the size of a big computer monitor (no glass, just shutters).

The wall decorations were very sparse. Most huts had calendars hanging around. Some had many calendars. I did see one for 2004, but most were older and some dated back to the 90s. It's no wonder that some of them didn't know how old they were, even I was starting to get a bit confused. I wondered how they kept track of days and months, or if they even cared.

The floors are also made of mud; I don't know how often they need to be recoated. Some floors were in need of repair, one was very uneven, but most were in pretty good shape. Our hosts had redone their entire floor because they had company coming (us). Once they smooth the mud, they use an aloe Vera type plant that has short thorny ridges (go figure) to create a pattern. The whole floor had a little swirling design.

Many of the huts had a metal roof. I guess they are probably more durable and harbor less bugs, but they weren't as insulated as the thatched roof huts. Many metal roofed huts were very warm inside. Some doorways were short enough that even I had to duck to get inside.

End of Hut 101....

So, again, everyone would welcome us in. We had a pretty large group at times. There were a few of us from BABC, a few from KBC and now a few from the local church. We would invade the house and find a place to scrunch in. Then we would say a prayer to bless the house then all sit down.

Many times the homeowner would sit on the floor, usually in the doorway to the bedroom. Sometimes there wasn't enough room for everybody, so some would stay outside. They were excited to see us. I guess they probably don't get a lot of visitors out there, or maybe they thought we were handing out calendars.

At a lot of huts we visited, we only saw the mother and kids, I don't know exactly why, I'm sure there were a lot of different reasons.

As we walked up to one place, we couldn't help but notice a person lying on a matt in the dirt between the house and the latrine, with chickens walking around. It appeared to be a child about 10-12 years old. He was just lying there, not even looking around much. The homeowner told us he was sick, so we prayed for him then went into the house. We learned that he had been sick for 20 years! He was actually 23 years old. They couldn't do anything for him, and so they would just lay him outside.

In another house we went into, the lady was holding a sick child (about 3 years old?). She said he had been sick about a week. She did get to take him to the doctor and got a prescription. But she could not afford to get the drugs, so he was still sick, lying there pretty much motionless. Again we prayed.

One lady we visited had lost her first husband and their two kids to disease (AIDS?) and had also lost her second husband and was now raising their kids alone. We also went into the house of an elderly woman who was in the "bedroom" on a mat; she couldn't even sit up on her own. She was a great inspiration though. Through an interpreter, she expressed how important it is for us to keep visiting people and sharing the Gospel.

There were definitely heart breaking stories, but not all was sad. One couple in their mid 80s (way above the life expectancy) was excited to have one of our team in their hut, as they said they had never seen a white woman before. Visitation went very well; I believe that the people in all the huts we visited were either already Christians or accepted Christ as Savior while we were there.

Also, while sitting in the hut talking, it wasn't unusual for a chicken to come in and wonder around. At one hut, a skinny dog came in snooping around. The lady who lived there was trying to shoo it out. Finally he started going toward the door, and one of the other bush people with us, kicked it on the way out even though it wasn't his (next time I'm sitting by the door). It's kinda funny listening to these people trying to get the dog to get out of the hut because it doesn't have a name, so they just kinda babble different things. Here in the states (yup, more compare and contrast) all the dogs have names, even the ones at the pound. So when a dog is doing something it isn't supposed to, such as sniffing certain areas of the human anatomy, the owner usually says "Scruffy, Scruffy, stop that Scruffy, SCRUFFY!. Leave him alone Scruffy" using his name over and over.
Then with that awe-isn't-he-cute tone of voice "Oh he must really like you, he just wants you to pet him." Oh, well -News Flash-
A) I don't want to pet the smelly, flea infested dog,
B) If he wants me to pet him, why is he behind me? And
C) If he doesn't get his slimy, disease spreading snout away from me, I'm gonna kick him out of the hut! Besides, I thought the true sign of doggy affection consisted of a leg ride.

Now that I may have offended all the dog lovers in the crowd (please see preface), let's move on...Next on the list was to go set up for the movie at the church that night. Yes, movie. We got everything set up: the generator, the CD player, the lights, the speakers, the laptop, the projector, the screen...it was great. Another side note (imagine that), because Kenya is on the equator, the sun goes down at the same time everyday of the year (it also comes up at the same time). I don't remember the exact time, but it was about 6:00pm. Quite a few people showed up, I didn't count, but maybe 100. The movie was "An Africa without Missionaries" or something like that. It was a pretty cheesy flick, but I think it got the point across. I couldn't understand it (Swahili) but the children seemed entertained. During the movie, I walked back to camp to write in my journal so that I could later transpose my thoughts into one lengthy, mostly true expose on Kenya. In hindsight, maybe I should have just stayed at the movie, and then you wouldn't have to read this now. Anyway on the way back, I stopped about half way (well, I stopped all the way, it was just half way between the camp and the church), and just took in the moment. Standing there, alone, in total darkness, looking up at the stars from the African bush, it was a very surreal, unexplainable feeling (guess you will just have to go for yourself to see what I mean).

Speaking of stars, I don't know all the ins and outs (or even many of the facts) but the constellations seen in the Southern Hemisphere are different from those seen in the Northern Hemisphere (Kisumu is about 6 miles south of the equator). Anyway, I saw a lot of stars, but I didn't recognize any constellations. I looked for the big dipper (ok, maybe that's because it's about the only one I know), but couldn't find it. I even looked along the horizon, thinking maybe I would see it lying around, I didn't find it. However, and I couldn't be positive about this, but at one point I saw a group of stars that greatly resembled my ugahli scoop. I turned and walked toward the movie, which I could plainly hear (noise traveled a long way out there). As I approached I had a weird sensory experience. My mind was trying to merge two seemingly different visions.

1) I am in Africa, in the bush, nothing around but mud, dung and thorns.

2) I am seeing a movie being shown on a big screen.

Another oddity was that, as I approached the screen from behind, with the audience on the opposite side. I could see the video but it was just kinda backwards. Come to think of it, that's kinda what the audio was like too. The people really seemed to enjoy the movie, after which there was an invitation and many came forward.