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.