watch out for the bat in the outhouse hole! he likes to come out at night

That’s right. After eating bush rat for dinner, sitting in the dark as the generator does not run after the sun goes down, I go to get ready for bed. Our sole expat living up here shouts “watch out for the bat!” he lives in the hole in the outhouse and flies up when things fall into his house. Oh, joy. It’s pitch dark outside. Clouds are covering the stars and the mud is slick and sticky beneath us after the heavy downpour. Two white girls can’t really squat in the open without being noticed. A Full moon on a dark night, if you know what I mean. We brave the outhouse with our headlamps. Scouring the walls first for snakes and spiders – just a hairy one in the corner to be found.

Thankfully, the bat did not make an appearance.

Next we go to our room - in a separate building than the boys are sleeping at. Again, we take the bright light around looking for rats, snake, spiders…anything creepy and crawling that I don’t want in my bed. Remember, it is pitch dark outside. My logical brain is thinking a flashlight is not going to catch any creatures that may be moving about. But what else can be done? So tired. The village is silent from words, but loud with cicadas.

Goodnight, Faradje! I pray no bedbugs bite!

dinner is served: bush rat

Returning from a long, hot, dirty day in the village and traveling from Abi, we bucket bath in the dark and sit down for dinner. I open the containers curious to what’s on the menu. It is pitch black in the food hut – I can’t really see. Rice, bean stew, fish stew, and some kind of meat. We are told not to ask and just eat. We need the protein.

There are six Americans on this trip – our two reporters came from North Carolina. The guys all start to eat, as does Bethany. After a few bites, the mystery meat is revealed. Bush rat. Lovely. Bethany swallows hard and asks Aaron to eat the remaining chunks on her plate. He refuses. I am proud of her, she ate it all! And I am really thankfully I only took rice and beans to start with. Had I tried the mystery meat, culture would make me eat it! After all, we’re feeding the village with cornmeal and oil. Who am I to complain of rat stew??

prayer request

I'm headed into the Congo in two hours. I am told it is unlike any place I have or will ever go. And that I won't be able to understand it until I am experiencing it first hand. I am intrigued; and I am nervous. A tiny plane will fly us in from Entebbe to Bunia (on the northeastern corner of the DRC if you look on a map). We'll be visiting project sites all week in several different locations. I'm told the geography of it will change - and that I'll miss the rain forest portion of the trip due to my USAID workshop next week. :( Next time.

Please pray for our teams safety as the area can become insecure without much notice; and for good health (as my stomach isn't too keen on motion and I hear little planes do!)

I'm excited for the company and seeing good friends. A girlfriend of mine is there and it will be wonderful to have some girl time. Our fearless leader is also an expert on Congo and has more stories to tell than I could possibly ask for. It should be fun!

(Re) Introducing...Bob

Bob joined me for dinner tonight.

I'm staying at a lovely little guesthouse in Entebbe, Uganda awaiting my AIM AIR flight to the DRC tomorrow.

Flying termites have been attacking me all evening - but I got even and (accidentally) ate one. At least I'm assuming that was the crunch after the buzzing sound landed in my salad.

I thought geckos were suppose to eat insects - Bob must not like the flying ones. Maybe he's old and not fast enough to catch them. He stayed with me at the table until I finished the most delicious coffee ice cream dessert (my first ice cream in months). Now Bob has gone. Come to think of it, so have the flying termites. Maybe I scared them away by eating one? Or maybe Bob is faster and sneakier than I thought. :-)

lesson learned

When asked..."would you like a meat pie?" Always answer, NO thank you!

Kenya Airways has some food service needs to be addressed.

stolen rice

A question was posed to me – what I do with beggars on the streets when I am approached? Do I give them money? Food? Turn my head??

We went to the fish market yesterday for lunch. In Maputo, this is a must visit. You buy the fish in the market fresh, then walk around the corner, pick a restaurant and they cook it for you. Seating is in beer-garden style, with plastic beach tables, sand on the floor, live (horrible) music, and people walking around trying to sell you things. Yesterday the boutiques being walked around were all “tasteful” nude paintings for some reason. I was at a table with my three bodyguards (as I called my three tall well muscled colleagues I was with all week :-)) and the paintings made for quite some conversation starters. We had a working lunch, enjoyed plates full of clam, shrimp, lobster and fish steak (I don’t know what they ate – my eyes were on the shrimp – a favorite from my time in Moz).

We had cleaned up just about everything on the table, but some rice and a little salad. A small boy (my guess is he was around 10-12yr) came over and started to beg. I noticed his eyes at first, and it wasn’t until our country director told him to take the rice and salad did I notice his hands were open and he was bowing, begging for food. His clothes were tattered and dirty; his hands unwashed. He pulled out a small black plastic bag from his pocket and began to quickly try and transfer the left-over food into it. We sat in silence and watched him. He struggled at first; the bag was too small. Nathan reached over to help the boy. I sat across the table, watching, and uncomfortable. The look in the boys eyes was one of mercy. It was as if he was pleading with me not to judge him, not to shame him, but to have mercy. Show compassion. He was only hungry.

My initial reaction surprised me. I had forgotten what it is like to be challenged with this level of poverty face to face. The area of Nairobi I live is clean and there are rarely homeless people on the street. If I were to drive downtown or just 10 minutes to another suburb, I would be pulled at and asked for money. Glue sniffing street boys would surround me. But day to day, I do not see this. In Quelimane, after a night of eating out with the girls, we would always take away any leftovers and hand to the ill woman living on our street corner near the apartment. I had forgotten.

What do I do when I am approached by someone begging for a handout? I am uncomfortable. I often don’t know how to respond. Or I turn my head and walk away. And I don’t like any of those responses. There are many things with this new organization I work for that I struggle with. But one thing they do not compromise on, no matter how many questions are asked, is why we are here and around the world working. Our mission is to be the good Samaritan. It is to offer food, water, and shelter to those in most desperate situations. It is to provide hope, extend God's love, and show mercy.

I respect that. Theologies vary and beliefs are challenged as one travels the world and is faced with many different situations that alter points of reference. But aside from all of that, is the very basic. Humanity. Eyes begging for mercy. Stolen rice.

no idea. (amended)

I have no idea what I just ate. The veggie salad started out normal, the yellow chicken curry was questionable, but the dessert square is a puzzler. At first glance it looks possibly like an apple pie bar with cream sauce over top. It’s not. (I knew that would be too good to be true!) Half way through my tooth crunches down on something – no idea what. There’s not really a taste. I contemplate stopping as I can’t figure out what it is. I continue. Intrigued. Then something falls out of the bar – sort of a grape shape or raisin, possibly. But not quite. I stop eating. Tis a shame to waste a dessert, but I simply cannot figure it out!