We didn’t leave as early as we had hoped. Kisumu was a 4 hour dirve and although we
hoped to be there by noon, it was much closer to 2. We drove through the tea fields of Kericho
and no matter how many times I see them, their beauty still takes my breath
away. It was Sunday, so there was little
activity in the bright green fields.
Usually you’d see the miles of green spotted with specks of brown and
red that were the workers picking the leaves. Today it’s simply the leaves waving at us as
they yield to the wind. Leia, Caleb and
Tati joined us for the ride. They’ve never
traveled to Kisumu and, therefore, have never seen Lake Victoria. Their first view was a drive by as we climbed
Busia road to Maseno. The city is always
crowded and incredibly hot. It felt like
an easy 10 degree difference from Narok.
Even after the climb to 5,000 ft above sea level into the hills didn’t
cool it down at all. The humidity hung
in the air. Our first stop would be at
the Chuolembo junction. We’ll turn onto
the dirt road to head toward Mbaka Oromo but first we’ll stop at a cyber kiosk
to see Job.
Ah, yes. Job. Job had worked for us for many years before I
relationship became so strained that we had to cut ties. He’d become increasingly unreliable halfway
through last year. When I left him in
2016, I gave him enough money to get two projects started. They were simple – 50 desks, a teacher’s
desk, and gutters and a tank for Agulu Primary School. I also left him with money to pay for some
paintings that I commissioned from Edward Orato, an artist at Masai
Market. He let me know that things had
begun and 25 desks were delivered, albeit much later than they should have
been… months later. Things slid rapidly
after that. It’s important to note that
we brought him to the US for 6 weeks. We
treated him like family, but 6 weeks of him seeing our country was too much for
him. I believe that he found a strong
sense of entitlement. He would
eventually say, “You have no idea what I am going through.” In the absence of information we can only try
to connect the dots.
Communication with him broke off. Unanswered emails, phone calls and text
messages pushed me to my limits. Ultimately,
he lied and although I’d like to think he didn’t steal from us, we would soon
learn that he did. Remember the
paintings I commissioned, we were stopping to pick them up. I gave him the money for them so I assumed
they would be in the cardboard tube I’d left behind. The plan was to have them brought back with a
mutual friend when she returned to the states.
That never happened. Nobody was
looking forward to the “reunion.” We
don’t wish him any ill will, but I’m much more comfortable with him at a
distance. To make matters worse, I had
heard that he was slandering me an our organization. Fortunately we have enough friends and a
strong enough reputation that it fell on deaf ears, but it still angered
me. I stopped into his shop and said
hello then took the tube from him. I
turned and went back to the car.
Standing two doors down was one of the teachers from Agulu who came over
and gave me a big hug and said hello to everyone else in the car. While I talked to him, Job said hello to the
van’s occupants and slithered back into his shop. That verb was not a mistake, and I didn’t
need a thesaurus to find it. We turned
around and headed to the clinic.
The polar opposite of Job is Dan Otieno who was waiting
inside the clinic as we arrived. With a
huge smile he gave us all big hugs. Our
reason for being here was three-fold. The
most important one was to visit Helen Angugo.
A couple years ago, our dear friend Sam died – Sam was Dan’s brother,
and I had returned to Kenya for his funeral.
Another dear friend, John Angugo, passed away last September. He was a pillar of this community and the church
in addition to being a dear friend to my entire family. In the end, cancer took him from us, but at
the same time we remain with wonderful memories contained in a small piece of
him that resides in our hearts. I was
unable to attend the funeral because of the atrial ablasion I had performed in
the same month.
The doctor was at the clinic and contacted Violet (the head
nurse) to come over. She was in the
residence next door resting – there was a mother in the clinic waiting to
deliver a baby. Despite the nurses
across the country being on strike, Violet was working. Like she said, “To some, this is a
profession, to others it is a calling.
What am I to do? I have been called.”
During my last trip she asked for a space heater for the labor
ward. The heater was delivered and she
was very grateful.
Dan brought us into the clinic where we signed the guest
book and had a soda and some cookies. We
went back outside and waited for Esther to appear with her children, Susan,
Emmah and Danton. Susan and Emmah hold a
special place in the hearts of Andrea and Karen. They first met during Jim’s funeral many
years ago, and this would be the first time they’ve seen them in several years. Susan was now a tall slender teenager, and
her siblings weren’t frozen in time, either.
Karen greeted them first giving Susan a big hug just outside the gate to
the clinic. I heard her say, “Guess who
else is here?” As her eyes turned
towards us she gasped out loud and ran to Andrea. It was beautiful. They embraced for a long while as Ann
showered her with praise over the young woman she had become. She was a typical, shy 
Andrea and Karen tried to re-enact the picture we have of
them when they met. She picked up Susan
and Karen picked up Emmah. It wasn’t
easy to hold them at this age. You see,
in Kenyan culture it’s not customary to pick up your child when they’re
young. Once you’re walking on your own,
your feet remain on the ground. The
consequence of that is that when you are picked up, it doesn’t occur to you to
open your legs to bend them around the person holding you. Instead, there’s an awkward rigidness to
it. It didn’t stop Andrea or Karen from
doing it. Andrea asked Susan if she’d
like to try picking her up, and without answering, she bent down and scooped
her up as if she were a bag of feathers.
Everyone laughed as they continued to exchange greetings and updates.
Soon, Dan said, “We should may our way to John’s home.” His house was just beyond the clinic. We walked up the short hill behind the
building, then down the dirt road, sneaking through a tree line to his
compound. I’m most familiar with his son
George. I know he hs many children, but
George is most like his father – funny, smart, and charismatic. George lost his leg below the knee after a
car accident, but it hasn’t changed him in the least. He approached me on his crutches (his
prosthetic has been giving him problems) and we gave each other a big hug. I apologized for not being here for his
funeral. His response – “Are you okay?” They all knew the reason why I was not
there, and it was humbling and warming to hear them asking about my health
while they are still grieving. The other
brothers emerged from the house along with John’s wife Helen. We walked quietly up the hill a short
distance to where John was buried. Karen
told George to go ahead of her. George
responded with, “You go. You only have
two legs. I have three.”
There was a large concrete slab slightly raised above the
ground with red earth surrounding it.
Beneath the stone lay our friend.
I couldn’t help to think how much I miss him. If he were here, he’d be quoting scripture to
me; and true to his roots as an educator, he’d begin a verse and expect me to
finish it. He was the first headmaster
of Mbaka Oromo Primary School. You can
take the teacher out of the school, but you can’t take the school out of the
teacher. I’m not sure that makes any
sense, but I’m sure you know what I mean.
We said, “Goodbye,” and proceeded back down the small hill to his
home. There, we sat with her family and
we broke bread. Chicken, beef stew,
ugali and skumawiki along with bottles of water. Helen sat on my left, George on my
right. I went back and forth joking with
each of them about what John would be doing if he were there. “Most likely
talking to his cats,” I said. That I did
what I thought was a good impression. He
loved the cats that roamed his home. No
Kenyan worth his weight in salt would have a dog as a pet – they were meant to
protect the home, not sleep in it. All
dogs are watchdogs. All of ‘em. Cats, on the other hand, get a pass. John had varying numbers over the years, and
he talked to all of them as if there were his children still living at
home. It was much more endearing despite
sounding potentially sad. I hadn’t
likened his behavior to speaking with his sons until just now. Still, I didn’t see it that way. Those cats were sources of joy for John, as
was all life. That was the source of his
charisma. He never had a harsh word to
say about anyone, and those around him knew it.
It rubbed off on everyone. When
speaking with Dan after we left John’s house, I asked him about the
school. He said things were going very
well and the student’s marks were improving rapidly, then he asked me if I’d
seen the laboratory that the government built.
Ahhhhh. He was speaking about the
secondary school. That was not my
question. I said, “Dan, what about the
primary school. How are they
performing?” He tried to hide a smile as
he looked over my shoulder at the school and said, “They are still there.” He won’t say anything derogatory about their
leadership despite the obvious state of affairs, but I’ll get back to that in a
moment. When lunch was over we thanked
the family for their hospitality. George
stepped out for a moment and returned with a program from John’s funeral. It contained pictures from his childhood
along with the order of the celebration.
It also contained his eulogy. I
haven’t been able to bring myself to read it just yet. Perhaps after I have been home for a bit. I asked George about the bright blue rosary
that Andrea presented John several years ago.
He said, “It is here, in the house.
It was very special to him and he had it always. It is in a place of honor here in the
home. Did you know he wore it often?” “Yes,” I replied, “Yes I did.” I knew that when related this exchange to
Ann, it would make her smile. The Israel
Church of Africa (where John was a pastor) did not hold Mary in such high
regard, but that didn’t prevent her from talking to John about her. He loved talking about religion and was happy
to talk with her about Mary; his curiosity leading to questions with answers. I was right.
When I told Andrea, she did indeed smile. |
| Esther and Dan in the foreground Nurse Violet in the background |
We went back to the clinic and talked more with Dan, the
doctor and nurse. The labor pains
continued with their patient, but they weren’t close yet. He estimated the birth to be around 7pm;
unfortunately after we had to leave. As
we walked back to the clinic, Dan asked me about Job, and I told him. He said that although he had attended John’s
funeral, that was the only time he had seen him since I left last year. That just means that his betrayal did not end
with me and my family – it extended to this community that also treated him
like family. I found no solace in
that. Not all misery loves company.
As I said earlier we talked about the primary school. Things had changed dramatically after the
previous headmaster died. Charles was
the deputy under William Kabis and took his position after he passed. Things did not change for the better. Charles was also the choir director under
William. I would often say that William
ran a school that had an award winning choir.
Charles has an award winning choir that attends the school where he is
headmaster. The last time I spoke with
Charles, I expressed concern over the student’s marks as well as the condition
of the classrooms. One in particular was
very dangerous while another was being used to store unused timber and broken
wheelbarrows left over from the construction.
His response when I pointed out my concern. “I wish you would build me a veranda so that
I can watch the children while I’m working.”
Super. It never dawned on him
that he’d be watching his enrollment fall along with their grades. Jim is watching… and he’s disappointed. So am I.
To add insult to injury, the site where Jim’s remains lay is between the
primary school and the clinic. During a
trip a couple years ago we cleaned up the site and fenced it in adding a bench
for reflective times. The children were
using it as a playground and the stone had broken which is why we had a bronze
relief made. I would have hoped that
they would be telling stories about Jim and what we accomplished in this
area. Instead, Charles cut down the
trees surrounding the plot and took the money form another NGO that also worked
in building this school, and put a fence around the compound… and around the
plot. Now, nobody can sit with Jim...
not even me and my family. We tried to
pay our respects, and we did; we just did it from the wrong side of the fence. I’d shake him by his lapels if I thought it
would do any good. We find peace knowing
that John and Jim are back together again, laughing and smiling regardless of
what happens on this earthly plane.
We said our goodbyes and got back in the car to head
home. We wanted to stop at the Masai
market to see Edward Orato and pick up our other painting. As we drove down Sereba Road, Isaac asked if
It looks like we’ll have to change plans
again. The one thing you have to learn
about Kenya is that when you’re here, schedules need to be fluid. Our intent was to spend the night at Isaacs
home. We wouldn’t get back before 10pm,
and packing everything to head over to his house just didn’t make sense. Isaac agreed so we headed for the lake. The lake is lined with restaurants that sell
tilapia taken from the lake. As you pull
in, they have women hawking at each storefront trying to get you into their
place. The truth is that some of them
are better than others. I’ll never
forget the first time I came here with Jim.
We got out of the matatu and a woman wearing a Nebraska shirt was
pleading with us to come in. As he
approached he said, “Hey, you must be a big cornhusker fan!” No response.
Kenyans do not understand sarcasm.
It’s completely lost on them, which is sad because that is one of my
strengths.
Isaac asked if he could stop at the lake so his family could get a closer look.
On this day, we weren’t having dinner, just looking at the
lake. We walked past the hawkers with
fish sitting on tables behind them (you get to pick your dinner as if they were
lobsters sitting in a tank). We took
pictures and shooed away people trying to sell us boat rides. All part of the ambiance. Now, back in the car and off to the market.
I love the Masai Market in Kisumu. Love it!
I know most of the shop owners that line each side of the 100 yard
market, and most of them know me.
Andrea, Karen and I got out of the car and made our way down the right
hand side stopping only to look inside, NOT go inside each shop. You see, it’s a 100 yards of 6 foot wide,
lean-to shops selling wood and soapstone carvings, belts, jewelry, sukas,
spears, knives etc. Each person asking
you to go in just wants you to take one step “inside,” breaking the plane of
the opening. Each shop has only three
sides, so you can’t call it a door. They
items inside are the bait, and the shop “owners” who all say, “Costs nothing to
look” or “It is free to look” box you in once you break that imaginary line in
the sand. They stand there placing
things in your hands telling you what they are and how they’re made and how
they’ll give you a good price. You
really have to push your way out most of the time. We moved quickly down one side and those on
the other called to us. We only stopped
to say hello to the friendly faces we recognized and look at something that the
girls were interested in. A couple stone
pieces caught their eye so we entered a couple shops to make some
purchases. That’s the best way to do
it. Most of the shops have the same
items, so you scan quickly and if something jumps out at you, than, and only
then, do you step “inside.” We turned
before reaching the end because the further away from the road you get, the
more soapstone you see – and the carvings get bigger, too. Karen and Andrea saw a stone hippo that Kevin
would have loved, but it had to weight over 100lbs. Edward Orato’s shop is on the opposite side
and he stepped toward me as soon as I got to his storefront. We smiled, shook hands, and he immediately
got out the painting of Mary that Job never paid him for. We paid for it a second time and Edward
appreciated it. He then showed us some
other pieces that we also bought. He
really is a marvelous painter. We
continued on stopping to say hi to more familiar faces before getting back in
the car and beginning another 4 hour ride back to Narok.
I was right. We
didn’t get back until 10:30 and just to make sure we had something in our
bellies, we made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before going to bed. Sleep came easily for all of us.
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