I wrote a blog already, put it on a flashdrive, brought it to this cybercafe, but alas there is no place to plug it in, so this will be rewritten from memory. Thanks for your grace!
Now when talking to race alumni, one will always hear the “race norms” around the world until they begin speaking about Africa–then all you can do is expect the unexpected. The vernacular phrase for all racers when referring to their three month stint on the continent is “This is Africa.” I’m less than a week in, and truly there are some things that cannot be explained except to say “TIA: this is africa.”
So in order to even paint a little bit of clarity of life for me, here’s some of my “TIA” moments already.
1. “America and Kenya are good friends. We are like this (gestures to fingers interlocked). You know why, right? You want to know why? It’s the Obama!” After four people said this to me within 24 hours, I stopped counting. This is Africa.
2. Now we have taken several LONG bus rides in the last seven months to get to our ministries and to travel between countries. The animal norm is to see cows, chickens, goats, maybe donkeys. Well. Last Thursday I not only saw a baboon on the side of the road, but also two different herds of zebras. This is Africa.
3. I’m living in a mud hut with nineteen people (that I know of. I may be forgetting some). This is Africa.
4. Carbs. Carbs. Carbs. Breakfast: sliced white bread. Lots of it. Lunch/ Dinner: white rice, pasta, potatoes, ugali (only in Africa–looks like fluffy eggs and potatoes but tastes like cardboard…at best), chippati (deep-fried African tortillas), and biscuit crackers. Holy moses. This really is Africa.*
5. Holy Christopher–we have butter this month! Oh wait–no. They don’t call it butter. It’s called FAT SPREAD. On the container. Yes. This is Africa.
6. Sunday night we sat down for cultural briefing with Pastor Shadrack. This is very normal every month–double checking clothing restrictions, tattoo perceptions, etc. Not here. Cultural briefing turned into two hours of lessons on demons, witchcraft, and what to do when you find yourself in a situation where your microphone is bewitched into a snake in your hand….This is Africa.
Other thoughts at this moment: if you ever think you have smelled body odor, you are mistaken. Come to Africa if you want to understand body odor. It even becomes a part of the flavor of your food. It’s best not to breathe when trying to eat.
Our team’s “five star” world race has finally come to a close. This is the first month that the toilets are located outside the home. Which is in itself a blessing when you try to imagine the scent of a pit of human excrement that hasn’t been moved in “x” amount of years. However, when walking through the land at night to get to the bathroom, I don’t need a lamp because the stars are SO BRIGHT! Basically, awesome.
In terms of our physical safety, we do have a man with us this month–our male squad leader has joined us for all of July. So pumped to have him–not only to feel safe, but because he has already proved to be an endless source of entertainment for us. With the name Jeremiah, our contact has decided that he must be both a pastor and a prophet, while his children have decided that with the last name “Jackson” his first name must be “Michael.” Now his official Kenyan name is: Chief Squad Leader Pastor Prophet Reverend Jeremiah Garrett Perfect Michael Jackson. It’s a mouth full, but definitely suitable none-the-less.
I’m sure back home this all sounds pretty ridiculous and like a lot to handle. But. Truth be told, this is what I came on the race expecting. Now that I finally have it, I am PUMPED. Kenya is beautiful (even if the cornfields remind me of something straight out of a horror movie), and the people are the sweetest, most genuine and loving people.
*This may sound like a pretty petty prayer request, but seriously pray against weight gain for all the women on our squad. The portions are ridiculously large, and it is rude here to leave any food on the table–so turning down food is not much of an option. With safety being unpredictable at best, running is always a sketchy road to go down. But with the amount of carbs consumed, I finally understand why every female racer leaves Africa 20 pounds heavier…and our men somehow leave twenty pounds lighter.
