Thanks for listening!

Some might get the impression I am on vacation. (And I do enjoy how they call it holiday here. Sounds so very festive!) But if less than five hours of sleep daily, tours of slums, meeting street kids and orphans AND shooting the same number of photos as I would at a BIG football game (The sound you just heard was Matthew gasping, knowing he will eventually be stuck editing through all this…sorry) are your idea of a vacation, then I am on your vacation. Don’t get me wrong. I totally and completely understand I am working. This is not the first time I share an airport waiting room with three orange traffic cones, alone in my lime green plastic seat. Waiting. Alone. I love the chance to go where I go, see what I see and share. I just go a little crazy when someone (and I know it is only about one or two people) thinks I am just sitting in the garden, typing away between massages and trips to the sauna. Most all of you know this is hard work.

Just give it a few hours and once again I will be thrust into a crowd, somewhere. But before sunrise here, the traffic is manageable and the lines are short. And I like the moment of silent. Sometimes it is better than sleep.


And I appreciate all your love and support as I hit the halfway mark of my “working” journey. Because if I didn’t have this blog, I would be talking with the traffic cones…

The past few days have been every cliché I have every heard. Overwhelming. Life changing. Deeply moving.

So I will feel free to use some more. Our tour of the Kibera Slum was a total assault of my senses. You don’t quite realize you are standing on a heap of trash until you look down and see a collection of shoe soles, zippers, mud, human waste, waistbands from underwear and a litany of other items under your feet. The earth is about five feet below this I can only imagine. The smoke and smells overload your mind, wondering what each may be coming from. And the sights are too many. I blink more just for a tiny microsecond holiday away from this place I am now in.

Our host takes us to his home. The journey to his place takes us off the main path, behind the leaky water collection system and along a tiny stream of running “water” and on a trail I can imagine goats having a hard time negotiating. We duck under the hanging laundry and past the neighbors calling out at us. We walk past the small wooden door covered with bar locks and into the home, lit in red and green like Christmas. It looks more like a fallout or storm shelter, with just enough room to keep you safe during a passing threat. But for this family, this is home. Their furniture collection is very brief. Their only real comfort I see is a stereo, as music fills this tiny cavern. We see only one of homes and know there are few hundred thousand more, all crammed into this piece of land.

But we are welcomed and made to feel safe. Our hosts and all we see know we are just passing through, as do we. I hope we do this just to gather some mutual understanding, to learn more about each other. Perhaps it is not to feel bad about a place like this, but to feel better about ourselves. How truly blessed we are. And I am still and always will be taken back by their strength and faith in God, much stronger and living than mine. I cry out when I am wronged, or my life seems to take such a wild turn. They are living on a dollar a day and tell me about the love of God. I struggle on how to be peaceful, obedient, strong, loving, caring, but they provide our security and care while we continue through the slum. Past crying babies, people hurting and truly struggling, but least of all with their faith. But we get to leave here.

All of this is in passing, as I am now comfortable in my green chair, watching the sunrise and waiting in a now crowded room for our next flight. My recollection of my visit to Kibera is so intense I didn’t notice my current surroundings. Somehow, and I can’t quite get a grip on this, I am still there. Living daily to just get water, stay healthy, find a little to eat and be thankful for so much. To genuinely care for others.

I know my next bed will be comfortable. My driver will be pleasant and ask about me and my family. My next meal will be filling and delicious. My next adventure will begin and end quickly. And I will sleep little, complain too much and move on. And I hope to be thankful for this all.