Abuzz

In prep for Webuye, we needed to pack light, taking only a few changes of clothes, in order to fit all our luggage into the van. I also packed in the morning yesterday, due to the wetness of the clothes I had intended to pack the night before. In my haste, I left my unused insect repellent at ByGrace, not thinking that I'd need it. There hadn't been mosquitoes in Bungoma, and there had been mosquito nets everywhere, so I wasn't very concerned to discover that I'd left it. Upon last night's arrival, however, Mitch and I entered our room to discover several mosquitoes, and no nets. I devised an ingenious solution; I turned on the fan. Our room comes complete with a standing oscillating fan, providing what must be hurricane-force winds to the perspective of a mosquito. Well, seeing as how mosquitoes experience actual hurricanes from time to time, hurricane-force winds are hurricane-force winds to the perspective of a mosquito, but I can't imagine one resisting even so much as the breeze from this fan. I determined that if it was blowing on me, my tiny assailants would be unable to establish undisturbed flight paths to my exposed skin. The gentle buzz of a fan across the room is far preferable to the piercing buzz of a mosquito in your ear. This morning, I awoke with no bites. Victory is mine.

But I was soon to experience defeat in another form. I'm not sure I'll be showering here in Webuye anymore. Yes, more shower stories. Our bathroom features a fairly nince bathtub with a shower curtain, and a shower head one would have to hold by hand because it's not mounted to the wall. Ok, I can deal with holding the shower head myself. I couldn't find the traditional water heater switch, but Mitch said that his shower last night was warm, so I wasn't concerned. The shower is also conveniently furnished with a bucket (as most Kenyan showers are, for reasons I don't understand), and a cup (which I've not seen before). I got in, looking forward to holding a nice warm shower over my head. Instead, what I got was a freezing cold shower from the cup. The frigid water flows freely from the bathtub faucet, but the shower head is not so generous. I was left with two options. I could fill the bathtub with water and take a cold bath sitting in a tub that's been filled with who-knows-what and who-knows-who, or I could fill the cup with cold water and dump it on myself repeatedly. I opted for the lesser of two evils. So now I know what the cup is for. I still have no idea about the bucket.

Our UW pastors' training is taking place at Rose of Sharon Worship Centre on the grounds of Glory Ministries in Kenya. It sounds very official, but it's just a church off the side of the road. It is quite a nice facility, however - far nicer than I had expected. We're in a large brick building with a smooth cement floor that provides ample room for the 90-plus pastors involved in the training. It also provides ample room for the 90-plus wasps' nests in the rafters. The wasps mind their own business, and typically stick to air space several feet above our heads, but when the room goes completely quiet (which is rare), I can usually hear a faint buzzing over my head. No one has been stung, so far as I know, but it's all I can do to restrain myself from gathering some stones from outside for the purposes of target practice. The most prominent buzzing, however, has been from the pastors. As before, the pastors really seem to be diving into the training. Due to the large number, I've been needed more in the leadership of discussion time than I was in Mathare. So I've had to put down the camera in order to lead small groups on several occasions. It's been almost as gratifying seeing them delve into the material so close at hand as it has been documenting. At one point, we had them write down the names of leaders in their respective churches that they would like to see involved in a sports ministry. I stepped out for a bathroom break, and when I returned, they were all engaged in the next step; praying for one another's leaders. When Americans are invited to pray all at once, each prayer is offered silently. We are missing out on an arresting experience. Kenyans are not bashful about praying aloud in a group, and in this case, the resulting collective murmur was one of the most beautiful reverberating sounds I have ever heard.

For lunch, we crossed the street to the school where we were to begin our practical sports camp for the kids. Apparently they had run out of serving spoons, and had resulted to dishing out rice from enormous pots by scooping it up with a plastic bowl. Also, for some reason, scooping up a partial serving with the bowl was not an option. Instead, the rice attendant took to filling the bowl completely and dumping it entirely onto each plate. Somehow, my serving was larger still. I was handed a plate with a heaping mountain of rice, easily enough for four of me. When I joined the team already in the process of chipping away at their heaps of rice, I wondered aloud, "Do I look like I'm 8 feet tall and 450 pounds?" I wound up returning most of my rice, and still felt as though I had swallowed one of those wasps' nests.

There weren't as many kids as I had expected at the camp. The school is rather small, and most of the children are quite young, but their limited stature doesn't prevent them from swarming around as Kenyan children are wont to do. I was bombarded with the same cries of "can you take me a picture" and simply "picha picha", as if I was some japanese anime character to be summoned to fight at the beck and call of the child. One of them asked me if I knew Obama. "I know of him - as you obviously do - but he is the president, so... no." Another asked me if I was John Cena. So maybe I do look like I'm 8 feet tall and 450 pounds. Camp was more interesting today because the entire group of pastors involved in the training sat along the sidelines as spectators. It's great that they're observing and learning how to apply the teaching practically, but it also causes an ominous feeling, not unlike the feeling I have sitting underneath an umbrella of wasps.