L'Afrique Bonanza

Look at Us

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 22:31:00 +0000

Introduction of the Doubling Di

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 22:31:00 +0000

The Introduction of the Doubling Di

Peter In
Well, it looks like my time in Africa is coming to a close. For the past two weeks we’ve been staying with Marianne’s family in Somerset West near Capetown, South Africa. It’s Autumn here and the weather is beautiful. Somerset West has perched itself right next to both the mountains and the sea, as well as in the middle of wine country. I imagine that in North America this property would be thoroughly developed with house lots selling for millions of dollars. As it is, there are still farms everywhere with unspoiled beauty and wilderness everywhere. We’ve been kept fairly busy these two weeks with various projects that have been both challenging and rewarding. The main challenge has been trying to get any sort of construction accomplished with the relaxed African mindset. Capetown is even poked fun at by other South African cities for its “paced” mentality towards working. Apparently in Jo’Burg they say the Capetown is called “the mother city” because it takes 9 months to get anything accomplished. Case in point, our main project while we were here was to help finish building a house for a black lady that does a lot of volunteer work in the township of Lwandle near Somerset West (Lwandle was traditionally the ghetto for black people who worked at Somerset West). WARNING THE FOLLOWING STORY APPEARS TO CONTAIN A LOT OF WHINING – PLEASE AVOID IF ADVERSE TO EXCESS WHINING Our contact here, Andy Hawkins – a missionary from the UK, showed us a few things that we could work on when we first got here, and the first thing that we decided to do was work on this house. It seemed nearly done – just needed some paint and some doors hung, maybe hire a plumber to install the bathroom fixtures, and we’d be finished. We didn’t think it would take more than two days. On the first day the girls did some painting, and I chiseled the hinges into the door frames but couldn’t do any more because the doors weren’t delivered on time. We also noticed that the tiling hadn’t been finished yet, and none of it had been grouted. Also, the trim around the ceiling hadn’t quite been finished. Also the windows hadn’t quite been completely been installed. It was a mystery to us why someone would have gotten so close to finishing so many things and then left a tiny bit of work on everything, however we decided to help as much as we could. Since I was waiting for doors, I went to buy some kitchen cabinets which we assembled near the end of the day. I unpacked the hardware to discover that most of it was missing. I took it back to the store where they gladly refunded my money and went looking for cabinet packages without missing pieces. Eventually they succeed. I take them and we start to assemble them only to realize that they have a faulty design. The assemply mimmicks Ikea’s design, except without the vital feature that keeps the assembled pieces from falling apart. It’s clear that we will have to buy additional screws to ram jam them solid. On the next day the girls finished painting, and I worked on the doors. On the third day the girls painted the doors and started to tile. I was having some trouble with the doors due to skew frames, but things were moving along. Suddenly the tiler shows up and chastises Krista for “stealing” his job. She apologizes and stops finishing his job immediately, and I ask if he’s going to finish now. He says, “oh no, I’ll come back tomorrow maybe.” I manage to convince him to work on it just then, since it only looks like a few hours worth of work left, but he continually complains about the mess I’ve made hanging the doors (we later find out that he disappeared over a week before and had kept promising to come back right away but never had). He takes off without finishing and promises to come back the next day. Meanwhile the girls discover that their paint work has been maimed by what could only have been some sort of violent sporting event in one of the rooms they had painted. There are marks all over the walls that scrape the paint off right down to the concrete. Very odd, but the girls patiently sand and repaint the room. Looking for something else to do, and not wanting to steal the tiller’s job again, they ask about varnishing the door and window frames. They are told, “oh no, someone will do that later.” Okay. Meanwhile I realize that one too few doors were ordered. The girls go to another project and I try to grab another door. I take one of the family members with me, William, and the trip goes as follows: 1. we go to the nearby hardware store and William says we need a waterproof door for the bathroom. 2. They say they don’t have any of those doors. 3. We go to the building superstore, some distance away and they inform us that waterproof bathroom doors don’t exist. William must’ve been thinking of shower doors. 4. We go back to the close –by store so that we can transport the door home by ourselves. 5. The store has just sold out of the style of door we need. 6. I call our friend nick to see if he can hot-shot the door in his bakkie (bucky) (truck) for us. 7. He says sure, but we should go to a nearby cheap place that might have them. 8. We find the cheap store and they don’t have the style we need. 8. We go to the building superstore again, buy the door, and Nic hotshots it for us. 9. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh that took so long it’s time to go home for the day now.
This is getting monotonous but further adventures include grabbing the tiler who does only half of the remaining work again, finding plumbers who don’t have all the tools or parts that they need. Asking us to start varnishing the door and window frames despite the girls being told not to previously, and on and on. Two weeks down we’re finally finished though. Very nice.
Our other projects include: organizing and running games for a children’s choir camp, painting a large bathroom, helping to run a soccer coaches training day, teaching a health sciences grade 8, and other little things.

Peter out, Gil in.

Before I begin let me tell you about my best joke ever. Being sent to ‘cut a disk’ of Incubus songs for Chris, my South-African, bathroom-painting team-mate I headed to i-tunes. Created a burn folder. Entitled it ‘incubus.’ Paused. Erased the title. Renamed folder ‘incupiss.’ Chuckled for a long time. Burned the CD. Erased the folder. Continued to chuckle.

Thanks for listening…..

Excellent outline Pete. To add on behalf of Krista and myself, hours of sitting on a dirt pile in the township, wondering where Peter has gone and when he will be back? What will happen when night comes and we are still here, waiting on the dirt pile, sweeping the floor for the 9th time?

Krista’s gotten sick and developed a blister on the inside of her nose (seriously). The cold seems to have taken all her facial expressions, leaving only one wobegon face and a few sad sentences to tide us over for the rest of the trip. I quote “Peeterrrr didn’t write my part of the post like he saaaaiddd he was going toooo….” One of my favorite things is when Krista gets exaggeratingly disappointed and she is good enough to make sure I get as much laughs possible. We’ve been going to some burger-burger joints where Krista has to order the ‘vegetarian health boxes’ which turn out to be some sort of mockery of all the name seems to promise. Full of fatty mayonnaise, slathered in something strange, greasy and boiled lettuce. So sad. So sad. (I just reminded her. Now she is barfing. You would barf as well if you were here. I am also barfing) I’ve never met anyone so good at being disappointed in a way that makes everything so humorous for us all.

However, the cold/blister was causing us worry – thankfully some antiquing liquid and never-ending bathroom walls seem to have cheered up our dear Krista, bearer of all our illnesses and infirmity and we are back to our singing glory.

Pete’s friend Andy organized for us to take a class at a highschool in one of the nearby townships and it was certainly one of my favorite experiences. The first day Pete and I went for ‘life-skills’ class (Krista was home attempting to rest her spirit back from her cold’s tenacious grasp) where we learned about the 5 food groups and how to be healthy, etc. On the next day we returned, expecting to teach the same class for an hour. Of course, it wasn’t the same kids and so our food group games didn’t go over so well at first. We had to explain the food groups and teach our game – version of ‘horse-knight-rider’ with the additional twist whereby the kids were attached to a food group. Anyway, imagine us –
“okay, you’re a protein. And you – you’re a fruit, no, a vegetable, oh wait – doesn’t matter, same group”
“you, fats, no, a fat – like butter… or something”
Anyway, after explaining over and over that ‘you’re out’ means ‘you can’t play anymore’ and realizing it didn’t seem to matter if half the class wandered off we got off to a great round. The kids left loved it – spinning around with their eyes closed like happy squirrels. It was lovely. For a final ‘teaching session’ we got them into groups and had them decide on a well-balanced meal including elements from all the food groups. This was a task that turned out to be far more difficult than I could have imagined. Fortunately I was able to impart an excellent piece of knowledge before leaving – standing at the front, trying to say something I blurted out to the boys’ group “now, this is important because if you have children one day you need to make sure they get the proper nutrients, a well-balanced diet to help their brains grow properly.” They all nodded and it seemed I’d left a fantastic pearl of wisdom behind. It must be weird to be a teacher – the most retarded things come out of your mouth and somehow the whole class is nodding…

If anyone wants to come and be a teacher I’d advise dropping by Somerset West for a year or so and taking up a few classes in the Township schools. I’ll be readily convinced to accompany you.

We’ve also gotten to know some lovely people here. Exhibit A has left his own blog portion following mine. He is a very big soul, Christopher is. My love language (sorry Nick) is to tease and be teased. These South African’s are filling me up completely in that regard and I’m often beside myself with giddiness so thank you to this new niceness.

Am learning again about God being remarkably large. Habbukuk. Boldness.

Gill out, Chrees in.

Hello, my mother named me Christopher, I’m not happy about how Canadians pronounce apricots. AAH-pricots? What is that? I’ve furnished these lovely souls with the correct pronunciation, along with a few bits of local slang.

I’m trying to decide if I should burn Peter’s passport, I know Candice might not approve but a South African wedding couldn’t be that bad. Obviously the lions and the witchdoctors make for tricky obstacles but we South Africans could teach you northern folk the subtleties of life in the wild.
And if we invited our currently ex-vice-president, maybe he could stab a cow like he did at his last wedding, I think his second or third wife- polygamy gets so confusing, how do the Mormons do it? But yeah, these are my current musings, to burn or not to burn.
On a less serious note, please send me some fuzz free girls next time- Chewbacca here is getting a bit much.
Peter has cleaned up nicely, Candice I take my hat off to the magnificent contribution you’ve made to Peter’s appearance.
Right, that’s it we’re off to save some more orphans and spread truth and shit.

Chrees out, Khreestah in.

I don’t have very much to say. Peter said that he was going to post for me, but apparently he’s lied. I was preparing myself for his worst description of Krista possible, quite excited really, but nooooo.
I’m sad that Pete’s leaving us. He’s taking the Backgammon game, and he’s real special of course. I like autumn in South Africa. I’ve spent the last two days sponging a bathroom with antiquing liquid. I love sponging antiquing liquid. I have a really weird head cold. My nose is a monster. It’s my birthday in four months. I’ve become extremely reserved, and shy, or scared, or fearful. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. We’re watching Edward Scissor Hands, it’s a nice movie, Edward has the same hair as Gil. I’ve started having weird dreams again lately, so maybe it wasn’t the malaria pills after all. I think I’ve developed a weird accent. My favourite game is when Gil and I sing, or when I complain about something dumb that makes Gil laugh. I have hope for the future. I am a new creation.
Love, Khreestah

The Famed Frame

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 22:22:00 +0000

Backgammon Days.

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 17:52:00 +0000

Hello,
This is quite a long one. We find it endlessly amusing to describe ourselves and things that happen to us. After reading out part of this post to some people here and noticing they weren’t finding it nearly as hilarious as we were I thought it worthwhile to warn you. This post is full of things we think are hilarious. The ‘we’ here may not be inclusive, may in fact be exclusive of everyone but Peter, Krista and Gillian.

We’ve been driving a lot lately. Other side of the road, other side of the car. Stick shift with the left hand, wheel with the right, somehow can’t figure out what to do with the diet coke? (am addicted again Mom). The switch has been mostly okay, just the inevitable awkward fumble when I try to pass something to Krista with my right hand, finding my left arm blocking my path. The only distressing thing seems to be the difficulty of translating your spatial awareness; both Pete and I drive almost in the ditch. Not sure why – seems like the middle-of-the-road comes too close so we edge away, blissfully ignorant of the yellow line disappearing its speedy way beneath the passenger wheels. Krista bears with this often-alarming placement with equanimity. Unfortunately for Driving Peter, Front-Seat-Left Gillian can’t stop from squealing at the trees, holes, ledges, pedestrians, mango-venders we shave by. Peter Passenger points out the near misses as well but I think he’s mostly just getting back at me for my skittishness. Why can’t we tell how close we are to the roadside? What happens to our perception?

Today driving. Sand storm, wind storm, rain storm. Wind ripping my skirt completely up just as a man comes to the side of the car to ask for food. I scream, he vanishes to the other side, I dive into the car telling myself ‘it’s okay, bathing-suit bottoms…” When I came back to myself he’d gone over to Peter, figured his bottoms were more safely anchored.

Love Gillian

Here’s Peter!

So, here we are driving along the Garden Route and Wine Route. We’ve just left the Wilderness (yes, there’s a town called “wilderness” there are many trees), and now we are heading to Somerset West near the very southern tip of Africa for the last phase of our African Adventure. We don’t quite know what we’re doing starting tomorrow, but God’s worked out a place for us to stay, (or Marianne’s mom has worked out a place for us to stay – it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.) and God has also found some stuff for us to do, but as I mentioned before, we don’t know what it is yet. I wrote my contact Andy – a missionary from the UK – to say we were coming and willing to help with whatever projects he has on the go, and he just wrote back saying, “call me when you get here, I’ve got a few things lined up for you guys.” It’s a nice feeling to be going somewhere where you have something to do to help someone, but you don’t know what it is. It’s like a volunteer lottery. Maybe I’ll win Helping Black People Dig Ditches, or get stuck with the consolation prize – Watching skilled workers and occasionally hotshoting a suppy from the hardware store back to them. Either way, I’m looking forward to finding out what we’ll be doing, who we’ll be working with, what time we get to start (I always hope for 7am or earlier, but I know the girls differ with me on this)… We’re staying with Marianne’s mom and sister; Marijke, and Tessa – both of them friends from as far back as I can remember in rural north-central Alberta. Who knows what they’re doing in Africa, something about the winters.. As the end of our trip is now in site I’m enjoying myself, looking forward to coming home, getting married. We’re playing Backgammon all the time now. They gave us a new rental car since the spare tire didn’t fit in the old one. We also got an upgrade, and our new car has locks that work and speakers that make it so you can hear the words on my sisters mix CDs. Life is good. We came down the scenic route from Pietermaritzburg over the weekend, and it’s been very nice. We also went through the mountain kingdom of Lesotho and I bought a blanket – it’s for wearing!*
I guess I should rewind a bit to the end of our last project – We finished off the house we were building for Gogo Regina and her orphans, it looks very nice. We brought over some ice cream and had a small party with them. It was very nice. Perhaps the most directly and significantly I’ve ever been able to help someone. Uncle Stanley came to the party and didn’t’ mention money, so that was a plus too. We gave the family a lovely parting gift, but I’ll let one of the girls tell you about that. The main point is that God got the job done, and we were able to help. Very nice.
I don’t know if I have anything else to say right now. Perhaps I could use these last few lines to implore everyone reading this to start playing Backgammon. Immediately. Look it up on Google right now, learn the rules and buy a board and start to play with each other. It’s perfect for coffee shops.
Peter out

Gil bought a new skirt. About it she says, “I don’t know what’s with that thing, it’s like a parachute.” Also, Gil’s obsessed with cutting up all of her clothes. It started in Zambia, with the Mustard Seed shirt. It just needed a little trimming, that’s all. Then she hated it and almost threw it out at one point. Don’t worry; it’s back on her good side now. Then she bought a skirt, and cut the bottom off, apparently it wasn’t helping the parachute situation. She also bought some sandals, and they have become increasingly uncomfortable, so she wants to cut one of the straps off, and part of the sole. Oh, and there’s another shirt that needs the sleeves cut off. It’s not as if we have obscene amounts of clothes. Nope, Gil just really likes that knife her parents brought back for her from France and she wants to use it as much as possible. I use it to cut mangos.
I like mangos, and I like Gil.

Peter has always made me laugh, but lately his quirky humour has become increasingly difficult to let slip by. I suppose it’s possible that by spending so much time in close quarters with him I’ve given him opportunity to manipulate my brain into believing that he’s the funniest man alive. Well done, Pete.
For those of you who are craving a taste of what the man is really up to, here’s a short summary:
He’s seriously obsessed with Backgammon. I mean, sure Gil and I are enjoying our games, but Pierre’s really digging in. I think he’s completed his memorization of the rule sheet, and he’s working on the best possible first moves, and the statistics of roll possibilities. This morning we went to an Internet place and Pete looked up further detailed rules as well as found an example of a game between two of the world’s best Backgammon players. He was really quite dismayed when we accidentally closed the computer and lost the example before he got to relive it for himself. We have to carry our travel-sized Backgammon briefcase with us everywhere, but that’s okay because it fits perfectly in Peter’s new purse. Oh yeah, Peter bought a goat hair man-satchel in Lesotho. He says that it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, and he had to buy it because he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He also got to meet the lady who made it since we were in a little hand-weaving factory. He keeps Licorice Allsorts and after dinner mints in his purse, along with the Backgammon of course. His passport stays in the girl’s purse, sometimes he gets to carry the keys.
Peter’s started speaking in man-grunts on a fairly regular basis. I’ve not sure where it came from, but it’s become a regular part of his vocabulary.
He goes on runs and farts more than seems normal, I think both of these things please him a great deal.
He’s getting married soon. (His lovely fiancé just returned home from S.A. and I believe she said that she likes hugs.)

We went for a hike in the Drakensbergs. The mountains said to me, “Krista, you will love us more than you thought possible.” And I said, “Okay.” The trees said to me, “Krista, you will fall weak in awe when you look at us.” I replied, “Of course,” as if prophecies of the forest are the most natural thing in the world. All of the clouds called to me, the wind wrapped itself around every part of my body, and the gallant, autumn sun shone right through my skin. On top of the plateau I almost couldn’t contain myself from spilling all over the place, or at least breaking into a sprint. Gil giggled at me. But really, it was incredible.
This country is more than beautiful. I don’t know which adjective I’d like to use, but it’s bigger and better than ‘beautiful’, and it when you read it, I’m sure you need to pause for a moment to collect yourself. This country is that powerful adjective everywhere.

Lesotho is really cool. We climbed a small hoodoo there. That was nice. I think Peter’s going to return someday to ask a chief for a 99-year lease on a mountain. Then I shall also come back and wander around in the valleys.

We’ve stayed in a new hostel every night for the past four nights.
#1: Amazing setting in the Berg’s. Gil and I read Rilke aloud before bed and then said goodnight to the German boys sleeping on the bunks above us –too bad I can’t read German and had to read the English translations of Rilke instead of the originals on the other side of the page.
#2: We stayed by ourselves in a 6 bed room in the Anglican Training Centre that no longer trains anyone in the capital of Lesotho. All six beds were fitted with their own bright pink comforters covered in a fairy and flower print. We took a picture.
#3: The Sugar Shack was proudly playing Bob Marley when we pulled in. Apparently some professional surfer owns the place –it’s right across the stress from the beach. I could see the waves crashing from my top bunk in our full 12-bed dorm. We accidentally overheard a conversation between a vegan beauty and a young man who believes that humans should be “classified as carnivorous”. It was an unfortunate argument.** Vegan-girl had two leather purses on her bed andI hope for the sake of her passionate argument that they were fake.
#4: A lovely old farmhouse in the Wilderness called “Fairy Nose” or something obscure like that. It’s getting cold. I needed two blankets. We somehow we managed to use all four beds even though there were only three of us, which apparently baffled the room cleaner this morning, it seems oddly normal to me.***

Gillian and I are finally finished taking our malaria pills. We’ve been out of malaria country for nearly a month now, so Peter’s been poking fun at us for having to continue with the awful drugs while he finished his a mere five days after we exited Zambia. Peter’s pills cost five dollars a pop. Poor social workers like Gillian and myself who haven’t managed to attain for ourselves fancy medical packages like Blue Cross needed to opt for the 84 cents/pill kind. Gil’s managed to find herself a little loophole, and I think I’ve been unfairly ingesting too much anti-malaria as a result. So you see, since the two of us spend mostly every waking moment together we try to share the same purse, wallet, pill-case, etc. So our malaria pills have been residing in the same pill bottle for the last month or so, and just recently I’ve found out that Gil’s been conveniently “forgetting” to take her pill every now and then, which means that her leftover pills have just been adding up in the bottle and adding on to the number of days that I must participate in the ritual of our supper-time drug taking. Gil, Gil, Gil. Sneaky girl. There’s one left in the bottle, and I’ll have nothing to do with it.

The ocean is cool. So are seashells.
My fingernail finally came all of the way off. I am very pleased.
Marianne, your family is lovely. Your house is amazing. I’m very excited to see the pieces of your life here.
We are driving, driving, driving. I am too young to drive a rental car. I’m just a baby.
Gil’s listening to our Zambian music.
I’m ready to groove.
Love,
Krista

PS: The parting gift. What a joy. Gogo is helped financially by a family back in Canada. After seeing their family photo proudly framed and given pride of place in the living room, Peter made it his ambition for us to be likewise framed in glory. Krista and I were horrified by this notion. Pictures of yourself are awkward enough at the best of times, let alone in a frame, let alone as a gift intended for display in someone’s home…. Gross. However, Peter thought they’d be pleased.
Imagine. The three of us, standing in a charity shop holding various items we’d found (fake flowers, tea cup, oriental teapot) beaming or looking stunned (however you take it). The whole photo is glazed with that weird yellow shade characteristic of photos taken in the 70s (not sepia, just a strange yellow glow). Blow the photo up to a size that passes normal and borders on the excessive and you’ve got our ‘lovely present for Gogo.’ Krista and I wanted to miss the gift-giving ceremony due to our extreme embarrassment however, I’m not sure why, we stuck around and I’m glad we did. Peter, once again, proves himself right with his persistence to continue on past the typical limit of embarrassment. Gogo loved her photo and we loved seeing Gogo get her photo.

* “for wearing” Honestly, for wearing. A friendly female banker took us under her wing, driving us to the best blanket-selling shop to ensure Peter purchased the proper, Kingly make of blankets. After 20 minutes of watching two Basotho men drape the blanket over Peter in various ways we did as recommended and purchased the “heart of a king’ blanket. Peter, as befits a Monarch of his caliber, draped himself and, equipped with the blanket, a free hand to hold the backgammon case, and a regal gaze, we continued down the road. Krista and I feeling proud and a little uncertain as to how to deal with this new, very obvious manifestation of Peter’s superiority. Should we follow behind? Can we walk beside? The Basotho people were very friendly at the best of times. Seeing a curly haired white man floating down the road draped in a blanket, showcasing his ‘heart of a king’ was quite new for them. People stopped, stared, turned their heads, finally laughing with an uncertain expression. Or call out their approval, welcoming Peter as one of them. One girl didn’t break her stare with the usual laugh - think she couldn’t make her eyes jive with what she was seeing, got stuck in the horrified stage poor girl.

**Peter will now transcribe the Veggie/Bloodsuckers convo:
hippie feminist agitated slightly drunk girl with pleather bags: I’m vegan because it’s just natural, you know? We weren’t designed to eat meat
very drunk friendly party-guy: yeah, but you know.. the human race are really carnivores right? I mean, I don’t want to reign on your parade right? I mean, what you’re doing is awesome right?
Hfasdgwpb: Well what? I don’t exactly know that right? I mean, India is the most populated in the world and they’re vegetarians. That’s got to tell you something right?
Vdfpg: Well yeah, but what I’m trying to say is we’re naturally carnivore. I mean the human species. Naturally we eat meat, not vegetables right? I mean, I’m with you, it’s awesome, just not natural.
Hfasdgwpb: well seriously though, I feel called to it. Meat, we don’t have to eat meat. There’s soy and tons of stuff. There’s no reason for us to have to eat meat man.
Vdfpg: I’m not trying to fight you man, I feel like you think I’m trying to fight you. No man, it’s awesome, just not natural. Naturally we’re carnivores…
And the argument continues for several minutes in much the same fashion of point, counterpoint, same point, same counterpoint, no one really making any sense or quoting any real facts and both parties getting frustrated and Krista and Gill continually wincing…

***Peter seems to have his own explanation about the beds and blankets:
What? Pardon? Well all right. Gill started out on a top bunk, so not to be outdone, I did the same. Krista took the bunk under Gill. Then Gill jumped on her bed and didn’t like it. She moved to the other bottom bunk and took her blanket with her. Now she has two blankets and while I’m showering she taunts Krista – “I have twoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo blankets,” this inspires Krista to steal my blanket. I crawl into my bed, go to grab my blanket, and come up short. I use my ancient, tattered, MEC sleeping bag liner while Gill and Krista wallow in blanketed bottom-bunk luxury. The next morning I walk in on mr. room cleaner changing the bedding, “how many of you were there?” “there were three of us.” “and you managed to use four beds?”
Maybe he thought we had snuck in an extra person without paying. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I hadn’t even used my bedding.

Go, 'Go-Go'!

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 17:57:00 +0000

We are building rooms. It is very lovely. This is what I think about:

Why do you say, O Jacob,
and complain, O Israel,
“My way is hidden from the Lord;
my cause is disregarded by my God”?
Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The Lord is the Everlasting God;
the Creator of the ends of the earth.

~ Isaiah 40

Love,

Gillian

For the past 2 weeks we’ve resided in a trailer-shaped addition to a boho backpacker joint. It’s affectionately referred to as “the annex”, more commonly referred to as “the budget room”, and casually referred to by the housecleaners as “the old storage closet”.
I love our old storage closet. I love sleeping on my little bed, and I’m reminded me of home when I wake up feeling the bed-slats beneath my back.
There are large wire lockers in Budgetville. In one of them we keep our three different tubs of peanut butter, packages of tea, a loaf of bread, stale crackers, apples, Peter’s margarine, Easter-sale chocolates, Gil and Peter’s nasty old beef jerky, (Peter –“We’ve still got beef jerky?!” Gil – “It’s called biltong.” Krista –“Call it what you will, it’s still nasty.”) etc…
There are books everywhere: Bibles, poetry books, journals, several novels, torn up pieces of Virginia Woolfe, books about Jesus, more journals, books about history, biographies, etc., all strewn about the room. We love to read.
We eat dinner in our storage closet, so sometimes you’ll find a teapot and mugs, some plates, and crumbs that don’t belong.
My clothes are not neat anymore. I have generally been keeping my three T-shirts and two pairs of shorts in line while traveling from place to place, but somehow my organizational skills have unraveled as of lately. Gil’s clothes are still folded and Peter has claimed a couple of the wire lockers –he needs it since he managed to bring three times the amount of stuff that Gil or I did.
There’s barely enough room to squeeze by each other between the lockers and the beds, and our doorknob consistently fell off every time we tried shut to the door (until a couple days ago when the managers realized and had it fixed,) but I’m going to be sad to leave our annex. It has been really wonderful to have a place (even this place) to call our own, a place to come home to, to hang out in, to escape the world in…

We are now in search of secondhand stores. After two weeks of cement mixing, brick hauling, sweat-breaking, tear-your-hands-up, hard work, most of our clothes are looking a little shabby (the key here is that “shabby” is probably an understatement seeing as I already feel as though I’ve been walking around in rags for the past two months).

I tore my fingernail off. A large brick fell onto it. It was bloody. Now my finger looks like a nasty, demented, zombie finger. I thought I would be self-conscious about how hideous it is, but mostly I just think it’s hilarious how grossed out Gil gets when she looks at it.
(Jennifer, you’re one for two: I broke the toe next to my big tow on my left foot. And I tore the nail off my middle finger on my right hand.)
I also got food poisoning, or something like that. I ate a crab curry across the street from the Indian Ocean, it was really amazing, but I’m not sure if it was worth it. Puking is gross.

Tidbits from the work site:
On our first day, Gil and I walked up and down a giant hill carrying cinderblocks… allllll daaay. The pile at the top of the hill would get smaller and smaller, and we would encourage each other by saying things like, “Look, Krista, almost done!” or, “Only 30 more, Gil!” and then the delivery truck would come back and drop off 200 more bricks, and again, and again. Slowly my positive groove dissolved. It’s funny how physically disabling a pissy attitude can be.
Also on that day, GogoRegina (aged 50-something) and her mother (no one even knows how old she is,) helped us haul bricks. There’s nothing like your grandma doing the same job as you to keep you motivated.
No one knows my name. They all call me “Kristine”, or “Kristina”. It’s awful. Peter and Gil play it up, refusing to call me Krista in front of those who think my name is some other Kris name.
Last week some time Gil was mixing cement with one of the guys. Uncle Stanley (the one with toothpick arms,) said, “It’s heavy?” “Yes, it is,” said Gil. “It’s heavy because you are a girl,” replied Stanley. Gil fumed. Today Peter and Gil were both mixing cement and GogoRegina said, “I think Gil’s shovel is heavier,” to which Peter replied, “Yes, it’s heavier because she is a girl.” More fuming.
I can mix concrete. I can carry 50 kg bags of cement down a big hill. I can complain too much. My body didn't know what to do with itself.
Peter’s funny when he’s not in charge and learning to do something new. My favourite thing is when he finally masters something then looks around to make sure I saw him do it.
Building with wood is much faster than building with cement and bricks.
There are kids running around everywhere.
After not even two weeks of work, all six boys are already moved into their new rooms. The rooms are painted bright pink.
I shall not plaster anything in the near future. I shall have no part in dealings of wet cement of any kind. (Unless I have to.)

I’m very glad for this experience, and I’m very glad that Peter’s going to fill you in on the rest.
Love, Krista.

P.S. Mother, call when you get bored and lonely over the next few days… be well soon.

The Ram-Jam
Two weeks ago today we arrived in Pietermaritzburg and Met for the first time with Gogo-Regina (Zulu for Grandma-Regina). She’s a Black (black isn’t a racist term in SA by the way) Christian lady who takes in small children from her relatives and the community who need to be looked after. I believe at last count she had 18 people living in her small government-built brick house, but she’s hoping to take in 4 more babies now that she has more space, and she’s already making plans to build again. We know about Gogo through Anja Reuter who has raised monthly support for her from a family at Southview. Gogo is a simple but wise seeming woman, not seeming to care too much about money but well looked after by God. Our funds consisted of about $2600 gathered together from Southview and various other sources by Anja. Our experience consisted of my framing knowledge (useful only briefly on the roof) and minor missions experience in bricklaying. Also, Gill is a painter and Krista is a visual learner. Our goal, in less than three weeks; to construct a freestanding two room building appx. 4m*7m. Gogo took us to her house to see the site, and we met her brother Stanley who had been recruited to help us. He has toothpick arms as Kristina says, and said that he knew “a little” about bricklaying. The odds did not seem to be in our favour for any kind of success by worldly measurements, but fortunately, God really does seem to be on Gogo’s side. We immediately found a contractor who happened to be available to help us, and at a cheaper price than any of the other estimates that Gogo had received. His name was Moses and on the very next day he met with us to order supplies. He helped negotiate discounts, which started paying for his fee immediately. On day three he worked 11 hours, long after the three of us had taken off to go to the airport to pick up Anja. Anja thinks he’s the hardest working man in Africa, and she just might be right. He continued working from 7am to after 6pm, often to the consternation of the girls and in 4 days, with our help of course ;), he had the bricks laid with the roof on, the windows in and the doors hung. It was more than I could have ever expected, and quick even by framing standards. Then mysterious worker-machine vanished into another job and we were left with uncle Stanley to do the finishing. Fortunately, Uncle Stanley turned out to be a perfectionist and quite handy at plastering. He taught us all how, and Gogo’s son Man-X (real name unpronounceable with a click symbolized with the letter “x”) was home on holidays from school to help as well. Today we finished the plastering, and started on the fascia, which will get finished tomorrow.
Man X is one of the people moving into one of the rooms (actually, they’re putting the 6 boys in there) so he was particularly anxious to get finished. The day we finished plastering the interior, we found out that you need to wait at least 7 days before you can paint so that the plaster has time to dry. Very well we thought, we’ll spend the next while finishing the outside and paint when it’s ready. Not a chance. When we showed up the next morning at 7am, Man X was well into priming the first room. We tried to protest, and Gill, the painting expert gave a valiant try at explaining the need to wait, but Man X just brushed us aside with “no no, it will be fine.” He also rightly pointed out that it was likely to rain that day and so we shouldn’t start to plaster outside. We had no choice but to help him. Of course though, once the primer was done we had to wait a few hours for it to dry before putting on the first coat of paint. What will we do while waiting? We didn’t have a chance to think too long about it because Man X was painting peach first coat all over as soon as our backs were turned. Again Gill tried to explain to him the basic principles of painting, but again we were reassured that it would be fine and we returned to helping him cutting in the edges. At one point Man X started his second coat in the same room immediately after finishing his first coat. I think Gill almost lost it, and if he weren’t twice her size she might have succeeded in stuffing him into the paint bucket. On the bright side, we got all the painting done, primer and both coats, all in a couple hours and could leave early. Not bad for a Saturday. On Sunday when we showed up to meet the family for church we weren’t even surprised to see Man X already moved in, furniture arranged so as to not be touching the walls. So, today is the end of our second week and there are already people living in the house. Amazing!

More romorrowl

Today we finished the fascia, painted it, and installed gutters. Everything looks very nice, especially considering that the insides have already been mostly furnished and it’s very satisfying to look at the house as a finished project. The only disappointing things about the project have, perhaps inevitably, been dealing with people and money. Moses worked like a wild-man, but after the four days, he found a second job somewhere and denied that he told me he would plaster for the agreed upon price, and even said he wouldn’t do the floor, something he definitely had said he would do. He also forgot that he said he would pay helpers R60 per day, money we were donating back to Gogo Regina. I got a substantial discount out of him eventually, but he didn’t look happy about it. Then, Uncle Stanley somehow got the idea that we were paying him R1500 to do the plastering (the price Moses wanted to continue) but he didn’t mention it until we were mostly done. We offered to pay him R120 per day, for the time he was in charge of plastering – double the labour rate or R60 per day – but he had gotten the idea of R1500 stuck in his head, and the greed doesn’t seem to be letting him go. One night when we finally discussed everything he was quiet for a long time, and finally said, “I was just coming to help my sister.” And shook our hands before we left. Unfortunately he didn’t come back to work again, and he’s still complaining to Gogo that he’s owed money. Please pray for this man as he struggles between love and greed. Gogo Regina cares so little about money that she says she will pay him little by little even though his attitude seems to make her sad, just so he won’t hold it against her.

Enough about that. Today was lovely. The children are adorable and they are loved and now they have more space to live. Most people are very friendly towards us, and God is working. Africa is very interesting, how much evil and good are going on all at the same time. Pray.

Peter out.

Perhaps Candice's Last Post

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Sun, 30 Mar 2008 15:54:00 +0000

Unfortunately, by the end of my trip, I will have only posted twice. Fortunately, that means I'll be home in a week! Or a week and 6.5 hours with the time difference. I must say I'm looking forward to it. Not because I don't like it here. I can't even count how many times I've compared Canada and South Africa in conversations with people and in my own head (snow vs no snow, community culture vs individualistic culture, education vs unequal education, degrees of care in government hospitals, history demanding a space in EVERYONE's life vs not much life-changing recent history, violent crime vs not violent crime, structure vs little structure - I will let you figure out which goes with what country)... and have concluded that they're just different. Neither is better than the other. But I still overall prefer Canada, and idealistically, if I could bring the opportunities and people from here and meld them into Canada, it would be very nice. But also very sad because it still wouldn't be ideal. I have a bittersweet thought process about the people and culture in south africa. I've also discovered a bittersweet thought process about the people and culture in Canada. I realize those are all very generalized statements. I could make a list of all the little things I like and dislike about each place, but I'm not going to at this moment. You can ask me about it when I come home though if you're interested!

The last week was fairly quiet, but included working with some interesting, but sad, cases: hand injuries from bullet wounds to the shoulder, from being cut up with a big knife (there's a word for it here, but I don't remember it), and from protecting one's head from being struck with a telephone cable (next time you need to protect yourself from being hit with a telephone cable, please have the backs of your hands facing out. Makes functioning a little easier later on). Also, there is an unknown boy in the hospital that I am working with - his parents have not yet claimed him. I had my midterm evaluation on Friday (the paper work got lost... typical), and one of the comments was that I was able to handle the traumatic events quite well. I think I have chosen to not have my heart become too soft in dealing with these cases or else I may cry myself to sleep every night. Also, it seems to be more of a norm. Have I become insensitized? I don't think so. It's just the way of life here.

I went to Soweto today - one of the biggest Townships where there were student-led protests (that started off peaceful) about not having education done in Africaans. It sort of started off the end of apartheid process. We went to the church where 5000students fled when their peaceful protest march turned into a bloody mess of police and soldiers shooting at them. Amazing story - there were no causalties inside the church. Bullets were flying from inside and outside, and there were no causalties inside the church. The altar was broken, bullet holes in the ceilings and through windows, but no causalties. We also went to the Hector Pieterson memorial (one of the kids who died in the protests above - look it up on the internet... I never knew about him before today), and Nelson Mandela's house.

And I also went to an orphanage, and the kids are incredibly sweet. Little black kids waiting to be held. Some don't smile, and some just need some stimulation. That's the first orphanage I've ever been to. After that, we drove through the Baragwanath Hospital - a HUGE hospital serving the Soweto area. It apparently has the best burns unit and care in the southern hemisphere.

Oh - and this morning I also went on a small plane trip flying over Joburg and area. Pretty fun! Interesting to see the contrast between downtown, the suburbs where everyone has a pool, and the poorer, quite shabby neighborhoods.

This last week has been fairly quiet. I had ALOT of alone time. Which fit perfectly with the idea of having solitude (which was my spiritual discipline to do during lent... but has overflowed with little effort on my side). It has been very good and refreshing for me, I think, to have time by myself. And to curb the loneliness, God has also provided thunder storms where I can sit and watch the lightening and be comforted by the thunder (which normally makes my heart beat very fast. The girl I was hanging out with today got a spark through her finger touching a metal map outside the memorial when the lightening and thunder came). I think, too, God has been purposely waking me up early so that I can pray... especially to continually consciously remember that Jesus died for me, and that I can live because He lives. I wish He didn't have to use pigeons, doves, car alarms, house alarms, gate alarms, roosters, and dogs to do that. But it seems to do the trick.

It has been good for me to think about what I'm doing in life right now. And to think about the things I would like to do as an OT. Or even not as an OT. To remove myself from the busy-ness at home and think and pray about how I want to tackle the next few months; what kind of focus I want to have, and how I continue on with what I've learned here, but at home. It's been so nice to renew the ability to not worry about tomorrow, or even the next things happening - even in the times I'm not doing something. And instead, take that moment to pray. To talk with God about what is happening. To tell Him I don't understand, or feel inadequate, to ask for guidance in little things, to ask Him to heal the people I work with, to use me, to mould me, to just sit knowing that I am forgiven and loved and not condemned. It perhaps took me 4 weeks to settle down enough to be able to be calm, but I am thankful that I have been here where I have not had much of a choice.

I have SO much to learn. Both as an OT and as a person. I am glad that God has taught me much while being here - or maybe not very much, but still significant things. And that He still is teaching me, and that I am still able to learn and grow.

I will be back next weekend, but may also sleep all next week, so I still might not talk with many of you for another couple of weeks. Half of me is defying the possibility of jet-lag, and the other half of me doesn't care and will deal with it without being stressed about it if it comes. Also, if there's anything I've learned while being here, it is to slow down a bit, and not do things (ie be on the go all the time, hang out with people all the time) because I think people expect me to (which isn't always the case, but sometimes is). I have enjoyed being quiet, and alone. As much as I love people, I have found this quietness to be a very valuable thing, and I think that lately it's been very pleasing to God. So when I get home, I promise I'm not avoiding people. I miss you all and would like to see you all. But I may not hang out as much, or perhaps I'll hang out a bit differently, because I have learned to value space when it is just quiet - where there is just God and me for a little bit.

So, I have one more week to pour myself into, and then I'll be home! See you all soon! And I'll give you hugs! I promise!

Much love,
Candice

March 18th? Commune.

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 20:47:00 +0000

WE WENT TO A COMMUNE!!!! IT’S CALLED KWA SIZA BANTU WHICH MEANS A PLACE WHERE PEOPLE FIND REST (OR HELP DEPENDING ON YOUR TRANSLATION). ACTUALLY WE’RE WRITING VERY LOUD RIGHT NOW TO MAKE UP FOR THE LATENESS OF THIS POST!!!!! CAN YOU HEAR US?!?!
Okay, okay we’ll turn it down. This is Peter now, so if you don’t like reading my posts or if you have more of a crush on Gill or Krista (understandable, I may be irresistable, but I’m engaged) you can skip down a few lines. Actually it wasn’t really a commune, but it seemed like one. I think they refer to themselves as a mission. I was a bit leery about going to some hippie place nonetheless, but Gill was all for it (being a hippie) so I went along with an open mind. It’s free to stay there, and they provide free basic meals for you while you’re there, and they make it clear that you don’t have to help with anything and they want people to be able to come and rest. They stuck me in a dorm with a bunch of Europeans who mostly were there to help for a year or so, and on our first day we got a tour. He mission started with a Zulu revival where God’s spirit came down and hundreds of people came to repent of their sin and know God. It was started by these German South Africans praying in 1966, and the two main guys are still around running things. The mission grew and grew though, and there are over 100 “coworkers” (full-time missionaries) along with other full-time volunteers, hundreds of paid workers, and various other people associated with the mission. Over the years they’ve started various projects to help people or raise money, and now there’s about a million things going on there all the time. To make a short list:
-they discovered an underground spring, built a water-bottling plant, and are now south africa’s #2 producer of bottled water with a tractor-trailer full of water bottles leaving the mission every four hours around the clock.
-they had a few dairy cows which they’ve expanded into a huge dairy plant that sells milk and yoghurt all over SA
-some hydroponic expert taught them growing techniques and now they have state of the art greenhouses supplying the best peppers all over the world.
-they have planted several churches and schools throughout Europe
-they started an AIDS hospice where they pray for people to get better and it works
-they started a school for mission kids which now takes in several students from all over
-they started a college to train teachers which also now takes in students from all over.
-they started a radio station as an outreach to Zulus which now broadcasts all over SA
-they started a bakery which sells all over now
-and on and on, knitting, building, etc, they are always looking for more projects and use the money they make communally and to help people.
They have odd customs that remind you of a Mennonite colony like guys and girls don’t associate with each other, and girls wear skirts, but God really seems to be at work. Often a guy will sense that God is telling him to marry a particular girl. Often the guy doesn’t really know the girl, but he goes and tells an elder, and the elder goes and speaks to the girl, and then the girl prays about it a whole bunch until God confirms with her, and then they get married. We heard many personal testimonies of this, and it always seems to work out “wonderful!” The lovely lady who ran the coffee shop (another enterprise I forgot to mention earlier) said she hadn’t even touched her husband before they were married twenty years ago, and it’s still as lovely today as the first year they were married (which was lovely, I was told).

So, to sum up, a bunch of German guys got together and prayed for revival, and then it happened and tons of people came and became Christians, and then they set up this place for people to find rest and help them and then God gave then huge financial blessings so they could do it, and then God started setting up the marriages and everyone seems joyful and devoted to God.
I spent the week helping a couple Germans (Eddie and Marcus) building a cool octagonal kindergarten. Fun fun.

Peter out!

p.s. joel, you could come here for a year to see God working.
p.p.s. big shout-out to Josh who’s hair is dashing!! I mean seriously, have you ladies checked out that boys hair lately? Dashing.

Hello there littles, let me say something about Kwasizabantu. Pete forgot to mention that after the first day a cloud descended onto our hill and never left. My lips were blue, I wore sneakers with my skirt, the sweater I washed reeks like mold. Poor thing couldn’t dry, hanging out there for days in the cloud.

For all who wondered, I’m not staying at the ‘commune’ forever, not even longer than a week. I’m coming home, coming back to the World with all its confusing, convoluted splendor. Unlike Peter with his happy-go-lucky, all is well personality, I seem to think most things kind of suck. So, Kwasizabantu with its happy marriages, fantastically successful business ventures and people who so willingly gave up everything of ‘themselves’ to serve God and submit to the authority of the Mission was a little much for me. Too much sweetness, or simplicity, or purity. I don’t know fully but I suppose most of it has to do with something rotten inside of me. I felt if I stayed I’d have to be entirely different than I am – which was particularly sad for me to realize. For people to live together, so many of them, it seems to necessitate identification with the group self and goals, rather than those of the individual. I did see how the individual thoughts, perspective, etc lost significance in light of the whole, in light of authority, which was taken to be set-up by God. I think perhaps this pattern is indeed beautiful but it is a beauty I’m not quite able to recognize. I was unprepared for how much that bothered me in reality, because I’m pretty sure I’ve gone on about wanting it before. It seems for so many people to live together in peace and harmony they have to become almost un-human.

I came away thinking I needed to pray more, understanding that I do. Fearful – for it seems once you try to pray it brings shame – some sort of litmus test of faith. I never want to stick the paper in for I’m afraid it will come out the wrong color. Not sure what you’d want to be though, Acid or Base and which one does God want more?

I spent time alone this week, for the first time really in months. Normally I’m addicted to being alone but, being lately out of practice, found my own company unsettling, equally unsettling the company of others once you realize you’re not comfortable on your own. Being on this trip and trying to learn and make the most of my chance to change, serve people, etc, I sort of forget how to be at rest in my own skin. Forget the significance of sitting and thinking, forget about your own self as it is, apart from its growth.

I think I did find help at Kwasizabantu and for that, as well as for the many small and unforgettable examples of self-sacrifice, I say thank you and recommend their hospitality to any of you traveling through South Africa.

Now…
o Leah and kajsa, I’m glad you found the cream. Left it for you guys to fight over, thought if we were going to be away we shouldn’t take Everything good with us. Who knows but you girls maybe in need of a little ‘pick-me-up’ one of these slushy march evenings…
o I made Cream puffs in the Bakery.
o I’m addicted to Peanut Butter
o Janess, I hope your eyes have stopped exploding

That is all, sorry for the low-quality post, there was something about my week at Kwasizabantu that sits oddly with me. I find it difficult to post.

Love,
Gillian

p.s. Josh Wilson is my favorite person to make Ginger Tea for (next to Janay Newton I suppose who introduced it to me… Janay is, for the record, one of the best people to be next to). I wish you well in Vancouver Joshie, I feel a kindredness for your time there and my time there and hope you don’t get really sad. And if you do it goes away eventually.

Welcome, dear wonderers, wanderers, wisemen and wives.

According to Peter, my task now is to “endeavor to temper Gil and Peter’s opposing steel into a double-edged sword.” He seems to believe that I always fall exactly in the middle of any contrasting points of view that he and Gil muster up, and because of that I must always be a forceful advocate for peace and understanding. On the other hand, Gil brings up that she hopes I don’t feel as though I need to play the balancing, peacemaker role. Such contrast.
It’s lovely that I mostly enjoy falling in the middle, and I really don’t feel as though I must translate (I try to do it only when it seems absolutely necessary).
I have wonderful traveling companions.

KwaSizabantu feels like a long time ago. It’s a good thing those other two filled you in on the basic details of the operation, I don’t think I’d be very up for such niceties. (Writing last in our posts has its definite upsides.)

In this case, I believe Peter’s over-glossing life at the “mission”, I definitely understand Gil’s unsettled feelings about the place. (Pete really is pretty happy-go-lucky.) But I found a lot of comfort there, despite the constant (twice a day, everyday) sermons on sin and rottenness and the sometimes eerie, Pleasantville atmosphere. I drank a lot of tea, read pieces of multiple books, wrote some, drew some, walked around the beautiful gardens, and had numerous valuable conversations with people who were either visiting or living at the mission. Since you basically get to make your own “program”, there was a lot of leeway regarding my everyday routine, and I was very pleased to have a downtime week. I feel bad for poor Gil, forgetting how to be alone with herself. She’s been doing such a great job socializing with everyone since we’ve been here that it’s understandable how she could forget. But since I’ve been incredibly introverted, and a little bit of a mute at times I had a grand time in the slowness and solitude. (I hated the damn cloud though. One day I was wearing a tank top, a T-shirt, a sweater, a zip-up, and a wind-resistant raincoat. Too bad I had to wear my dang skirt, so I managed to remain freezing.)

I still don’t know how I feel about the apparent losing of individuality for the sake of a smoother community. It seems like it’s a little bland. It may be Pride, or some other warped part of my ideas talking, but it seems like God made you and I unique, and I like it when there’s a little more room to express that than there seems to be at KwaSizabantu.
The people there were really hospitable to us though. We had invites to tea dates, lunch dates, supper dates, all sorts of dates –and the people we interacted with were quite open to expressing their interpretations of the mission’s ideas. We asked a lot of questions, trying to figure out how things worked, and got a lot of biblical-based answers. People really felt called to be there, and God is obviously using the place to changes lives.

So, there are many things to ponder and perhaps integrate into my own life, and a few fixations I’d rather not spend any more energy on putting into practice.

Peter asked me numerous times, “What if God tells you to go back there?”
Well, if God tells me, then I guess I’d have to go back. (God’s track record of specific demands regarding the direction of my everyday life is comforting here.)
“What if God tells you to marry some guy there?”
Marry someone I have probably never even had the chance to talk to one-on-one? Probably one of the more ridiculous things I’ve heard of, and one that I’d have some serious issues following through on. It’s not happening anytime soon.

In any case, I’m glad that I don’t live in that commune. But I’m glad that some people do. There was a lot of beauty there, even if I was a little disappointed that I didn’t find a bunch of Amish people churning butter and making yoghurt in large crates.
I echo Gil’s recommendation to check it out. (Joel, I wouldn’t say that you should come for a year, but I did think that you would find it interesting.)

I love a lot.
Sometimes I’m not very good at showing it.
Krista

P.S. I helped out in a Kindergarten class where the children spoke German, Afrikaans, Romanian, and Zulu… anything but English, really.
P.P.S. Big shout-out to Josh, who we really like.

Hi from Candice!

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 07:03:00 +0000

Hello everyone!

Here I am, at the backpackers place in Pietermaritzburg for Easter weekend! It’s really nice to be with Peter and Krista and Gillian again. I’m very thankful it worked out!

Saturday I visited the house that they are building. We ended up not building but watching Michael Jackson music videos and playing with the kids. They are really cute! Yesterday we went to a small Baptist congregation (10 people – including 4 of us and a baby) which was…small, but nice, and then to Durban for a day at the beach.

The last week of work went well, I think mostly because I got over my “I-really-want-to-be-somewhere-familiar” desire and was willing to enjoy each moment of what I was doing. Working in a government hospital here is SO different than working in a hospital in Canada (or a private one here). I have gotten used to calling everyone patients rather than clients; most of the patients are black and don’t speak a language close to mine; it’s not the most sanitary place although is sanitary enough (cats running into the wards???); smiles work wonders. I have seen cerebral palsy kids, wee babies in the neonatal ward, people with visible aids, burns, amputations gone horribly bad, broken arms, strokes (many people with strokes are quite young), developmental disabilities, spinal cord injuries (paraplegics and quadriplegics), hand injuries, club feet, patients who are comatose, a 3 year old walk for the first time, and the one with which I have the most experience: a child who is hyperactive. It’s quite interesting to experience so many kids with cerebral palsy here when in Edmonton you mostly see kids for autism or developmental disabilities. The turn-over in the hospital is also quite fast here, and there have been a couple times where I’ve finally figured out what the most effective intervention will be and go to do it, only to find out the person is leaving the next day.

And it’s not that common here for an OT to ask someone what he or she likes to do. People don’t understand the question. Rather, it’s how they are managing at home or at work. It’s about finding out things like if they have electricity or have to walk to get water and what transportation they have access to. In Canada, the more common questions center around work and other activities people like to do (the things they do that bring meaning – a bit more of addressing the leisure side). I’m sure it’s the same here with a different class of people, but just not so much the ones that I get to see. Another huge difference is the knowledge people have of basic medical issues. One nurse pulled me aside to ask some questions about her niece and said that the biggest problem is that people don’t have the knowledge. An extreme example is a mother not knowing that if her child stays in a curled position for years, it is not normal and she should be checked out. It shows as neglect in a huge way, although not necessarily because of purposeful maltreatment. Unfortunately, that child is now 10 years old and has extreme spastic quadriplegic cerebral palsy. I’ve NEVER seen a smaller 10 year old in my life. She easily fits in a small crib; partly because her legs and arms are so incredibly bent. Thankfully, though, that one has a relatively happy ending because the doctor recognized the need for the mom to have a social network and the child to have medical care so they are now booked to come in multiple times a week.

There are other things that I’ve gotten used to like living in a grimy apartment with ants, having the water or the power shut of randomly, that when it rains it feels SUPER cold and I need an extra blanket because there’s no inside heating (while having comments made to me about how the cold must be nothing to me), minimal internet time, no phone line and not being able to go out after 6:30 by myself (I have two friends who work at the hospital who are male and also black, and that was quite a blessing last week when the power shut off, it was really cold outside, it was really cold inside all day at the hospital and then at home and I just wanted something warm to eat and drink… I could walk outside with them after dark!). There are many people who have offered me rides, laundry, hang-out time, and have sent me text messages to see how I’m doing… I have not been stranded (although the first week really felt like it). I’m getting used to being on my own more. Sometimes that’s detrimental because I’m so used to telling people about my day and being able to think by talking, but at the same time it’s quite nice because I don’t have a choice but to be still (unless I want to read my textbook – which inevitably makes me want to fall asleep). I have more opportunities to just BE, and to pray and read my Bible. It’s good to be away from the mayhem of this last semester, to see Peter, and to experience something new.

I’m also looking forward to coming home. I’m pretty sure that if I planned to be here for longer I would be able to continue on. But since I know I’m coming home in 2 weeks, I’m really looking forward to it! I know there are many things here that I will miss though and want to bring along even though I can’t. Some things like the people (especially some of the rehab staff and patients that I really like), some of the culture (like sleeping on the ground wherever just because you’re tired and can), and the beach in Durban (minus the fear of someone stealing our stuff), and Peter (who will be home 3 weeks after me, so that’s not so bad). But, for now, I am still here and get to experience all the things God still has in store for me. He has protected me so far – physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, and I’m pretty sure He will continue. I have more people to meet, more things to see, more to learn, more to pray about, more to learn… and I think it will be very good.

How Embarrassing.

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 10:00:00 +0000

So, that "last phone number" was wrong.
Hopefully this is actually the last one.

07 3535 45 86
Country code still 0027.

Happy Easter, from a happy Candice, Gillian, Krista and Peter.

Not Good-An Observation and Confession

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 09:52:00 +0000

I just finished an interesting book by A. J. Jacobs called, The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible. This documentary of A. J.’s spiritual experiment was very interesting in an “I didn’t know that about The Old Testament/ The Bible in general/ Jewish culture and practices/ the beliefs of the (fill in any number of specific denominations here). But in addition to the enjoyment of reading Jacobs’ fascinating and quite often hilarious journey that evolved during his mission “to obey the entire Bible, without picking and choosing,” I found the state of my own spiritual journey being challenged. (Hmm… this sounds like a biased report, or sappy book-praise…)

I don’t often do this sort of detailed written explanation of the position my soul is in. I usually feel much too shy, ashamed, inadequate, etc. (in short, “non-committal”) to claim a series of revelations, or a certain type of idea as my own. I’m terrified of taking authority of something I’ve written, because it’s important to me that words are used properly, or that if I do take a leap and decide to portray a thought in a non-abstract way, that my ideas will be understood. And by trying to make my thoughts clear for the public to read it becomes obvious that I have spent a considerable amount of time arranging the words, making things “just so”, (which implies that I must be satisfied with the piece, since I’ve eventually gotten around to posting it). So, there you have it, I’m a scared-y-cat. I just wrote an entire paragraph (Look, I’m still going!) to explain that I’m not actually satisfied with these words. I’m nervous about who will read them, what feelings will be attached to my person afterwards because of them, and how my future self will be held accountable to their meanings. Now, I realize that some (if not most) people don’t attach as much weight to words as I do, and so I really have nothing to be anxious over in consideration of the public, (and this paragraph has become more like a musician covering his ass by claiming, “I haven’t practiced in a while,” before he plays his piece,) but I’m too obsessed with covering my ass to erase this whole thing and expose myself without the preamble. I’m not even going to apologize.
Vulnerability is a fear of mine. I’m working on it.

So, here’s the gist: A. J. Jacobs, a New Yorker and a secular writer, who tends to lean towards the quirky and the obscure when choosing his writing projects, (his other novel is devoted to The Encyclopedia Britannica,) decides to see what will happen when he tries to live the “ultimate biblical life”. His interest in his own Jewish ancestors leads him to decide to break up his year into eight months of strictly Old Testament laws, rules, practices, and suggestions and four months studying the same in the New Testament.
Seriously, this guy is dedicated. He really does his homework: reading through the Bible, studying in different translations, sifting through commentaries and self-help books, setting up for himself a “spiritual advisory board” consisting of many people sitting in various positions on the spiritual spectrum. I was pretty impressed with how far he went to make his experience valuable, how far he went in order to write a good book. His dedication is especially bizarre since he’s a self-proclaimed agnostic. He’s not really sure if he believes that God exists at all, and he’s constantly revisiting three specific states of spirituality: denial of God’s existence, a vitalism of sorts (his reverence for a “divine spark” in life’s molecular reactions), and suddenly coming to conclusion that existence seems much too random without a God who cares, but quickly dismissing that conclusion when he realizes that he’s not ready to let loose control of his life. This is sad.

But I loved the book, especially the first eight chapters.
It’s really easy for me to pull up alongside Jacobs. I love the quest. I love the knowledge he attains, and the setting of that knowledge into practice in his life. He’s practical, and literal. I love the dedicated, slightly obsessive way he performs his new spiritual rituals. All of his progress, and even his doubts and cyclic ideas about God seem comfortingly familiar to me. We’re different in the fact that I believe that God is, this belief is very rarely removed from me, but the vitalist in me often delights more in the wonder of life than the creator of life Himself.
A. J. reminded me of my own fixations. His search to become a “better person”, to become “good” is not unlike my own. Perhaps he was fueled by a slightly different source to begin with, I’m certainly not writing a book on my progress, but after some months of changing his appearance, his speech and his actions, among other things, Jacobs mind has naturally drifted to assessing life from a moral, more biblical standpoint. His reactions are gentler, he’s learning to forgive, he’s slowly conquering the urge to lie, etc. – a form of cognitive dissonance that seems to be working. This is so exciting for me. I romanticize the act of self-bettering. I obsess over it.
I love the idea of being better, of being aware of my faults in order that I can replace them, so that I can improve myself, fix myself. My mind is often consumed with achieving a higher level of goodness –it seems like it’s worth my time.

When he reached month number nine, the first month of his New Testament observance, Jacobs could no longer ignore Jesus, and I could no longer ignore the disappointing realization that I had been ignoring Jesus. Going about the motions, praying, resting for the Sabbath, tithing, the taming of the tongue, the cleansing the mind of greed and other impurities, even the strict observance of obscure laws all made sense to me, they were all filled with exciting possibilities. Somehow I had managed to ignore the fact that Jesus wasn’t in the picture.
So, you can read the book for yourself if you so desire –the ending’s a little disappointing, not because it’s poorly written, but because Jacobs still can’t submit himself to Christ. I certainly understand the logistics of it –to continue in his spiritual search with the same fervor after his project was over would be an obvious personal commitment above and beyond mere research for a book. That’s a big lifestyle change, especially coming from a mainstream New York writer with Jewish heritage. I was raised in a Christ-focused home by (wonderful) Christ-seeking parents, and have been blessed with many dedicated Christian friends, yet I still find it difficult to claim Christ. I want to do it myself. I want to fix myself. I want to be loving, to be just and merciful, to be generous and gentle, and most importantly to be good. The strangest thing is that a lot of the time I do this in the knowledge of God, I do it for Him.

“Why do you call me good?” Jesus answered, “No one is good – except God alone.”
Luke 18:19

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death – even death on a cross!
Philippians 2:5-8

I don’t know how I always come to the idea that I can obtain goodness for myself. God is good. Jesus didn’t even consider himself equal.

It was so obvious to me the Jacobs was missing the point when he skirted around Jesus in the New Testament, still trying to hold onto to goodness for himself. Without Christ, all the transformations that I was so excited for in A. J. seemed pointless. It’s Christ who transforms us, who makes our transformations worthwhile, and it’s God who is good, not me.

I’m not sure what this post is supposed to say, or how it’s supposed to end. I know I felt responsible to be a little more obvious and vulnerable in my claim to Christ. He is what makes me worthwhile; His death makes my transformation and redemption possible. I do believe that, I shouldn’t be too proud to declare it.

Usually this is where I’d write something ridiculously off-topic or whimsical to take away from the heavy fact that I am being serious, and the embarrassing reality that I just laid bare that I’ve “discovered” something so obvious. But that’s probably Pride talking, so I’ll leave it. (Even this disclaimer is probably pushing the boundaries.)

I pray that God would make me able give up my ideals of self-transformation, and to allow Him to be the one to mold me, ripen me, make me less obsessed with my own state and more concerned with His way.

These are my reflections.
Love, Krista

P.S. A. J. Jacobs, you still doing the self-Google?

March 10 post - Botswana Adventure

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 11:18:00 +0000

Good morning, Dears.
Lovely day for drive -the sun shines, the coal dust settles to reveal fields of wild flowers and rows of maize-corn. Some of the trees are wild and mysterious -foreign to my western-Canada trained eye; some are familiar -sitting there, among long yellow grasses, normalizing this country and returning me to Alberta.

Here we are in our little, white rental locker: the music’s loud, the windows cracked –the first half of our trip behind us. We just spent a lovely weekend with a lovely, little lady named Candice in Witbank/Jo’burg, and now we head towards Durban area, to an self-sufficient communal living place where we’ll spend a week wearing floor length skirts, attending two sermons a day, working in a yoghurt factory and learning about living in a (successful) commune. I suppose Peter’s off the hook with the skirts, but he’ll most likely be sporting his collared shirts for a while. We’re hoping that Gil won’t be seduced by the romance of the community, (her dream world,) and abandon Pete and I. There’s so much to come.

We finished off our time in Ontario on Friday, and opted for an hour-long flight from Maun to Jo’Burg instead of a sketchy two-day bus trip. The older couple I sat beside were odd enough to keep me quite entertained. She played Sudoku the entire trip while complaining about the flight delay, the “uncomfortable seats”, and the fact that Gil got a whole can of Sprite. He wrote, crossed out, and circled strange, coded combinations of consonants on a pad of paper –probably a spy, almost sure of it.
Spent Friday night at Candice’s in Witbank, and set off the next morning for the big city. Walked around in a market and Africa’s largest mall Saturday afternoon, and out for a sushi dinner before we settled in to our backpacker’s hostel for the night. I’ll let Gil describe the scene and Peter describe the host; they’ve already got it down.
Sunday morning we went to my favourite church service. I felt unbelievably blessed to join that group of God’s children in worship. I know Gil has some to share on this, don’t want to steal it… I’ll just say that I was very encouraged by their Christ-focused mentality, and their understanding of whole-church responsibility for community. That was an awkward sentence. Sorry.
After church we managed to maneuver our way through the mass of concrete that makes up the “heart of South Africa” with only two maps, four navigators and a few minor detours. It turns out that neither of our fairly recent maps were quite recent enough for the ever-changing street names in Johannesburg. We wandered around the Apartheid museum, where I’m sure Pete memorized every fact he read to recite to many of you at a later time, when it’s convenient to show off his history skills. It’s strange to learn about “history” that happened within your lifetime and is still so responsible for affecting everyday life here.
South Africa is samesame, but different. Our time in the cities here felt like we were somehow dropped off in Vancouver, or in some random American city where the earth was dyed red.

I sometimes become quite overwhelmed with how all that I am learning here is supposed to fit into my life. Or how I am to articulate exactly what I’m learning while it’s all so fresh in my mind. I feel as though I cannot properly relay my thoughts on my experiences, because I have yet to discover all of their significance, or all sides of their truth.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t remember how I interact back home, not that I’m entirely different –but right now it’s hard to imagine being anywhere but here, living any life but this transient one. I suppose I’m quite used to being away now.
Life is very large.

Will you take me as I am?
Lovvve,
Krista

Post Script: Dear Southview members -I thoroughly enjoyed reading your cards and letters. It’s encouraging to be reminded that though there are only three of us traveling here, many more at home are joining us in prayer. Thanks!

Peter In

I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking, “yes, these narratives and expositions are lovely, but what are the concrete things you’ve accomplished? If you could make a list titled, ‘I have served God in these physical ways’ then what would the list say? Very well, I hear you shouting for the list and I am happy to oblige. In Maun we accomplished the following:
-Sealed and installed flashing and painted around the steeple of the church.
-Helped paint interior doors for the church.
-Installed 13 interior doors (actually only 11 but we had to do 2 twice because of poor cuts).
-Crashed one of the missionaries’ vehicles into the other.
-Replaced lightbulbs and adjusted the hanging lights in the church.
-Paid for damage caused by Peter crashing one of the missionaries’ vehicles into the other.
-Paid for doors damaged by poor cuts.
-Help ramjam some errands to pick up church stuff (Gill and I spent over an hour in Cashbuild while the clerks figured out how to scan our purchases – and I later spent an hour convincing the manager that he’d sold us two faulty doors that they needed to replace)
-Dusted 24 pews and swept the sanctuary and washed 9 of the 11 aforementioned interior doors.
-Installed 9 interior door handles and one lock.
-Upholstered 8 church pews.
-Pushed 8 wheelbarrows full of dirt from a pile on one side of the church to a dip on the other.
-Accidentally scraped the paint on the back of the church when the ladder fell.
-Painted over the scrape-marks on the back of the church.
-Picked up 12 large used tires for the sewage soakaway from a bush hotshot company.
-Hauled 11 pickup truckloads full of dirt from a pile on one side of the church to a dip on the other.
-Set up and took down our tents that we stayed in for the end of our stay.
-Set up a huge canvas tent for a week of gospel meetings in town.

Now I know at this point some of you are thinking to me (since I’m not there and you can’t speak to me), you’re thinking, “but Peter shouldn’t missionary-type work be more about building relationships than just seeming busy and accomplishing tasks?”
“Well, not to worry.” I think back to you, “along the way we are also meeting many people, both Native Africans and Missionaries, both Christians and non, and we didn’t accomplish the tasks above entirely on our own, we received much help from our new Botswana friends. The work, in fact, even facilitates the building of those very relationships often, rather than detracting from it.”
“So don’t think we’re just mindlessly trying to keep ourselves busy,” I think to you at last, “God appears to be at work in much of what we are doing, whether through helping people, learning things, or ramjamming dirt into a dip, He is here.”
After Botswana we had the lovely good fortune of being able to meet up with the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. By coincidence she is also my fiancé. We drove out in our white Volkswagen rental car (that was upgraded to air con and remote locks for free – although still no power steering) from the Jo’Burg airport to where Candice was working at the hospital in Witbank. She seemed much smaller at first, than I remembered. (Has anyone else noticed that Candice seems much larger once she’s talking to you than say, when she’s still walking at a distance? – She uses this power to such an effect that Gill herself thought Candice was taller than little Ruthey Calder.) After I got over the initial appearance of Candice’s shrinking stature, we all had a lovely reunion and spent a nice holiday weekend in Jo’Burg. Krista left the description of the hostel-owner to me, and I will now oblige:
We got out of the Air Botswana transport and right into both the hustle and the bustle of the Jo’Burg Airport. In Jo’Burg everything goes much faster than in many other parts of Africa and you can feel it immediately. People actually seemed to be walking twice as fast off the plane in Jo’Burg as they had been when they walked onto in Maun. There were about a million shops, which appeared all around us as we walked on, and I suggested the Girls get us a SIM card for our cell-phone while I sorted out our rental car. Having left the ladies behind at MTN Cellular I strode on in the direction of rentalcar. There was a line of people shouting at the new arrivals that they had taxis, hostels, etc to offer, and one woman in particular looked right at me as I passed and inquired if I needed a hostel in Jo’Burg. My natural inclination obviously would be to say, “Oh, no thank-you.” But since we actually were looking for a hostel in Jo’Burg, I was caught with a momentary loss for words. What do you say to someone trying to sell you something that you need when you’re so used to brushing aside a constant barrage of salespeople offering products and services of dubious usefulness? Well I said, “well…” and then I regarded this woman. She was shorter than me by several inches, but she stood in a way that made it seem like she didn’t know how short she was. She seemed to be able to look at me eye-to-eye, perhaps by some trick of bending the light reflecting off her through some sort of refraction technique created by affecting the atmospheric densities in her immediate surroundings. However she did it, as I was walking I was now looking directly into her sternly confident off-coloured eyes (one was light blue and the other was an unnatural-seeming cloudy grey blue) as she launched into an uninterrupted monologue on everything I would want to know about Jo’Burg, her hostel, and specifically the area of Jo’Burg surrounding her Hostel and why it was the superior area of Jo’Burg to hostel in. Her hair was curly but pulled back into a tight medium-length ponytail with a short wisp of straightened curl shooting across the top of her forehead. Her skin looked like it had been very white at one time but now looked like it had been simultaneously tanned darker and burned redder with freckles added underneath. She spoke with an English accent that had been influenced by South African dialects for many years. She seemed sturdy in stature, although very slight in build, without anything but that consisting of sinuous muscle and bone in her body. To put it simply she looked like a British rock band groupie from the 60s who had managed to kick the drugs, move to South Africa, and become a business woman all while staying young and growing old in just the way that all British rock band groupies from the 60s had wished they could though few succeeded.
“Well, I guess we are looking for a place..” was all I could think of responding with, and with her card in my pocket I continued towards my rentalcar destination wondering if the woman was awesome or crazy or both. It turned out she was both, and we enjoyed a pleasant stay at her place – to be described by Gill…
I better leave it here, before I develop blisters on my fingers, and the girls seem to want to induce me to participate in another round of their reading a book out loud sessions. Try not to picture it, and you’re face might not get scrunched up into the same contorted look that mine now has.
Peter out.

Julieen….

Hi lovettes,

Not feeling it today dudes. Sorry. I want to tell you about the Methodists but not at the same time. Sometimes relaying experiences makes me feel like I’m making them up. So I’ll show you what I learned when I come home!

Gillian

p.s: description of the hostel.
Go to the video store. Rent He died with a Falafel in his hand. Watch enough so as to appreciate the atmosphere. Turn it off before you waste too much of your evening. Sit for a moment and recall the spirit of the rooms, etc. What you are left with, a slightly sandy taste in your mouth – there. You’ve found the Hostel we stayed at in Jo-burg.
*Tattooed, SA man with a bruised eye and a rat-tail looking like a wound. Free-range Parrot. Seedy-looking white man with colorless hair (in someway attached to Peter’s rocker lady?) Sinewy Asian with tasty food. An unfortunate dog who ate the pool chemicals, causing his tongue to swell so much it stuck to the carpet over night. Something which was described in detail by our frentic host, poor Mr. Paddle-Tongue*

Newbie Number

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 08:11:00 +0000

This is it, our final phone number. You can reach us here for the next two months.

0027 0735 343586

(0027 is probably the country code, but as usual we have no idea how to call ourselves.)

Talk soon, Mother.

yellow-tailed, horn-toed, three-clawed, woop-woop-bird.

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 20:49:00 +0000

choose your own adventure. to be friends with Peter, turn to page two. to be roommates with gillian and krista, turn to pages 3 through 19

Page 2.
Hello Friends. Peter here, with as you might have guessed, yet another riveting weekly update. you may want to go ahead and glue your eyeballs - in advance - to your monitor, just to save yourself the trouble later. now where did we leave off friends...
oh right, Victoria Falls. Krista had pulled up lame (pun intended and currently true) and Gillian was wandering aimlessly, soaked with water and squinting through her wet eyeballs. unfortunately for the purposes of metaphor she is only metaphorically lame.
Well, we stayed at the dealie for a bit longer and then began our arduous trek from the falls through Botswana down to Maun, its tourist capital. pronounced ma-uuun. Gill, quit reading everything i'm typing. you to krista. I'm trying to concentrate on being witty.
So we crossed the border on a sort of ramshackle pontoon type whatnot, with a lady - whatwhat - who delivered the amazing line, "My baby was pointing at you. Whenever she sees a white man she points and says, 'look mama look' because once a white man gave her ten dollars. he said, 'it's not for you, it's for the baby." so I made sure to buy food and clothing for her with it." She actually seemed subtle and funny, but I laughed with her and then gave neither her nor her baby any money at all. She was making money transporting stuff across the border because she was less likely to get held up being searched.. I don't really understand how that works, but she was quite open about it, and there seemed to be a few people doing it. The line-up of trucks waiting to cross from botswana into zambia stretched for up to seven days wait. amazing. After we crossed we hitched a ride in the back of some government workers truck to a safari place and rented a tent for the night. the arrival into botswana also brought the arival of many new african novelties including, herds of elephants on the road, 3 million wild donkeys, toilet paper in the bathrooms, toilets in the bathrooms, people with money, swimming pools everywhere, etc. We were told that busses left for Maun in the morning at 6, 7, 8, and 9am, and so we figured schedules would be similar to how they were in Zambia and showed up at the bus station promptly at 10 o'clock. Alarmingly the busses had all gotten away somehow on time, and there were to be no more until the morning. On the advice on of a stranger we wandered to the gas station and parked ourselves in front of the store to wait for a ride. the attendants were eager to help and before long had found us a ride halfway to Nata with a used car saleswoman and her pentacostal/baptist pastor friend. they gave us a lovely ride and we even stoped to see the wild elephants wandering over the highway. We arrived in Nata just in time to catch the last bus to maun - standing room only, and when the driver saw us get on he said, "no room, sorry!" I replied with, "your helper has already thrown our bags in the luggage compartment." to which he retorted, "well you must pull them out again because there is no room!" granted, the aisle was already crammed with so many people that we couldn't even reach the bar that you were supposed to hold if you had to stand, and the lady who seemed to be in charge of the bus told me, "there's no room, you can't come on!" I simply looked at the ramjam of extra people who had already squeezed on and shrugged my shoulders saying, "we have to go to Maun." I seemed to be speaking the language she understood because she stopped objecting as i pushed my way past her. the girls followed and the bus driver yelled, "i want everyone to be able to hold that yellow bar!" unfortunately this was impossible because there were too many people and i could barely reach the yellow bar let alone find a place on it to squeeze my hand, but the bus driver lost interest in enforcing this rule as he became impatient to get underway. We made friend among the passengers even though we didn't know any jokes, and even managed to find a seat now and then as passengers got on and off over the four-hour journey. We arrived just in time to call our missionary firends Sid and Karen to let them know we'd managed to barely make it on time to hear Sid say into the phone, "but Peter, didn't you say you were coming tomorrow? we're not back in maun until tomorrow." ahhahahahaha. anyways, their son picked us up and we ended up spending 2 days alone in the missionaries house since their car broke down on the way anyways. We had a lovely time exploring the village, but I guess I'll let someone else tell the rest of the stories. Right now we are ramjamming away at finishing the church, and despite minor mishaps are continuing progress, as always, slightly slower than expected.
Don't worry africa fans, i'll be back to post again soon. in the meantime don't forget to drive with both hands on the wheel and with the steering wheel on the right side and crashing into expensive things with expensive things as little as possible.
until then,
Peter out.

Pages 3 through 11: Narrated by Krista Lee Takkinen.
Thanks for being my roommate, or friend, or family, or for reading my portion of the blog even though you actually only know Pete and/or Gil. I'm sure you're all very special to someone.

Sometimes Peter doesn't capitalize the beginnings of his sentences or the names of people or places, but I'm learning to let that go. There are even some spelling errors that I didn't say anything about (or fix behind Peter's back). I know you're all very proud of me.
After pointing out all of the problems with Pete's post, I'd also like to commend him for doing such a great job of telling you about our hilarious lives here in Botswana. He's a very good story teller. I have a tendency to be quite verbose and a little dull - so I'll show you all how much I care by keeping my entry short.

My favourite things are watching the sawdust dance across the plane of the door as the skill-saw vibrates the wood, and the familiar smell of freshly cut lumber.
The best time of the day is breakfast. I'm thoroughly enjoying my orange juice, granola, yoghurt, and non-instant-coffee that come from a press.
I like to tread water.
Maun is the hottest inhabited place on the earth. (Although, at times this fact is contested with one other place -somewhere else on the earth.) It's a good thing it's "rainy season".
I don't read as much since being reunited with Pete's computer, so facebook's being cut back to once a week.
The house we're staying in right now is like being in Canada. There's maple syrup in the fridge and all sorts of Canadian snacks in the cupboards -not to mention all of the Canadian people wandering around. It's a bizarre little island. I'm not sure how much of Botswana I'll feel like I've experienced when we leave on Friday.
Time doesn't haunt me anymore. It's even growing difficult to keep track of what day it is.

I hope you know I love you.
Krista out.

Pages 12 through 19: Ms. Higgins.

* First day - waterproofing the steeple with Pete, high-high in the lovely sun feeling like a monkey.. barefoot on tin. (sorry, sorry broken-toe Krista)

* Second day - hunch, hunched too close to the sun, all alone on the roof top to paint over the mess of waterproofing sealant we dripped Everywhere. Nice black cons not so nice, slip, slip, balance the paint can. Did I mention all alone? I guess clean-up is for the unimportant labourers, (read female) Peter got sent to do some more 'important things.' Ah yes, continuing on, head downstairs to spend hours scraping sealent off the floor by the pulpit... somehow (?) managed to drip down from the steeple.
Did you know that in the Military you don't say sorry and always accept responsibility for whatever goes wrong, even if it isn't your fault? Wierd. So, when duder got annoyed at me for using the wrong paint I tried not to say sorry and to just say I'd do it again with the right paint. Bit back the "but that was the paint they gave me to use" (upward lilt on "gave" to communicate my complete lack of responsibility for the mistake)... Remembered. Military. Shut up. Used the right paint. I think it was a good lesson.

* Third day - hunting for old tires in a junk yard, rolling them around trying to avoid nasty water, flat spiders, thistles and snakes. Continue to be impressed by Peter as he does what he is asked despite being used to asking others to do things. Think this must be something learned as a new framer, or in the military. Thinking about doing both those things as they seem to be good for the soul.

* Tomorrow - trying to look important and busy. Two things that are hard to do at this job site. First of all because I'm a woman, second of all because I don't know what I'm doing. Perhaps the order should be reversed but it is hard to tell around here. I seem to be extraordinarily sensitive towards sexist, or apparently sexist, things. Don't know when that happened... I must have always joked about being really mad and somehow, over the years, it's become true. I don't want to assume before trying something that I can't do it, sexist attitudes seem to contribute to that mentality.

It is really nice to be here and I'm happy to be working, learning how to measure things and what it is like to fetch and carry. I would like to applaud all who have passed through the rigours of newbie at Monarch Framing... you must all be humble, willing to serve and generous from dealing with not knowing how to do things. It is difficult to not know what objects words refer to.. particularly when you are meant to be fetching that object very efficiently. I'm learning about humility, how to accept hospitality without trying to make up for it, how to blend in, and how important it is to try to respect people.

Thank you Leah. You are lovely and I miss seeing you baking treats for other people.

Happy Birthday Stevey-weavey. I'd make you a treasure if I was home.

Love Gillian

Candy-bandy... see you soon.

Calling Botti-wana

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Sat, 01 Mar 2008 19:59:00 +0000

Dearest Mother and other concerned parties,

We have a new phone number now:

7431 9233

Unfortunately we aren't sure if the country code is 0027, 027 or neither option. Just check Botswana on the dealie...

Hope you all have recovered from the last post.

Sincerely,

Bonanzers

Scramble for Africa (Reader's Freedom)

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 19:59:00 +0000

We're Posting!!! (And together! How beautiful! Now all of our comments will be combined, and Peter can quit counting for whatever reason he is claiming to be counting for now. -K)
Peter's turn -
Well, weekly readers, I'd like to start by giving my sincere apologies for missing last weekend's post. the truth is that i was so buzy gion to goodbye parties at the mission station that i just didn't have time to post. What did you miss...
Let's start with a ramjam of a summary regarding the 9 workdays left unreported:
monday - gordon returns and the sun comes out - work moves forward on several accounts! Word is given to tile the kitchen (final room) of the flat we've been tiling. I get my tiler helpers started and then i go to check progress on the foundation. Foundation is almost done, but gordon orders another course of bricks to raise the level of the duplex a bit. I start bringing in loads of infill as the guys spread the dirt around and start hacking away at the treestump that remains.
some day after monday - I cut the edge pieces of tile as the work is finished and we ramjam the grouting to get finished. good work team tile. I start grabbing sandy soil from just by the duplex (grade needs to be taken down anyways) and hauling it right into the foundation with the tractor bucket. the guys use shovels, rakes, and paint cans filled with cement as tampers. guys also work on digging out the stump and cutting all the roots.
another day after monday - The bricklayers who have just finished tiling begin the final course of bricks on the foundation. I keep beinging in soil. I run over a water connection that we have to quickly patch up. after work I convince my favourite three workers to put n some overtime and help me cut the million pieces of wood neccessary for the trusses. also, we finish building the prototype truss - looks good!
some other day after monday - stump roots are all severed but it turns out to be far too massive to pull out with the tractor. two men are contracted to chop the whole thing into small pieces of firewood - amazing. they work at it for about five days straight and amass a huge pile of firewood. also, two men are contracted to cut the huge tree trunk into lumber by hand. it's a meter wide! first they cut it into two 3 meter lengths with their axes, then they cut two flat sides (edge the log) with their axes. then they dig a large pit and move the log over the pit. then they snap some lines along it and use a long saw to saw it along its length (if this is boring, know that it's also the most amazing thing i've seen in africa so far. I'll try to post pictures). it takes them days to turn this huge log into a few pieces of lumber, but apparently by selling the lumber they make more money per day than if they were just working per hour (average wage here seems to be below $3 per day).
Some other day after that - we finish infil and lazer-level some points around the exterior to put up forms for the slab. We drive in stakes every 2m or so and screw planks to the stakes that have been straight-edged with a sideways axe. we continue to work overtime to cut the truss pieces.
Some days in the middle somewhere - we move a huge metal container on logs with the tractor. we get a load of rocs from a village an hour down the road and get stranded with a dead battery. fortunately we find the only person within miles to have a cell phone and he calls justin for a rescue. I have to give him a dollar to pay for his talktime. I take a load of food in the tractor bucket to the leper colony.
last work day - amazingly we finish the forms for the slab as well as finish cutting all the truss pieces (still waiting for nails to assemble them). I feel satisfied that things are in order for the guy coming from ontario this week to take over the duplex building. Despite several delays and frustrations along the way, God seems to have things under control and running in His own timeline. I flew out on a friday, several of the missionaries came out to say good-bye. all in all it was a very pleasant trip. I got to work, meet missionaries, get to know native zambians, play soccer, and see God at work.
Special thanks to all the missionaries who welcomed me and made me feel at home - especially the McAdams, Sister Margie, and even Brenda. thank-you for all the delicious meals and fun movie nights. You too Andrew, JP, and Bradley - excellent late-night rook games.
I flew into Lusaka and immediately ran into Gil and Krista screaming at the grocery store (corrections brought to you by Krista: We were never "screaming", both of us may have made slight joyous sounds at Peter's unexpected appearance in our line of vision, but there was no "screaming"). I stayed at the CMML guest house and spent the last day/night with the family they've been staying with. we bussed to vic falls (ahem: Livingstone -K) on our way to Botswana and right now we are enjoying ourselves at Fawlty Towers hostel in Livingstone.
Sorry for the boring post. to spice up your life a little bit, why don't you listen to Lust for Life by Iggy Pop and dance like crazy around your living room floor. it helps if you are wearing shorts on your head and socks on your hands.
thank-you and have an enjoyable flight.
Peter out.

Krista in.
Lovely day to all of you. It's nearly 2300 hours here, so that leaves all of you Albertans at around 2:00 p.m. Finishing a late lunch? Crunching the numbers in some weird engineering calculation? Debating taking an afternoon nap in some dark corner of the Armoury? School? Kids? Work? Waiting for the bus in a giant ice cube? Sounds like a fair February 26th to me. (Happy birthday, Bryce.) While you do whatever you're doing I'm debating whether or not I feel weird about listening to music off of Peter's computer, and wishing there some sort of fan in this sitting room. I should be in bed, but Pete convinced me to write -very Peter of him.

Our last few days in Lusaka were fabulous -in their surprising, sentimental, halariously annoying ways. Friday we ran into Pete -which lines up with every else in Peter's life. How perfect that we found him just after we had all picked out our own favourite piece of fruit in a grocery store that Peter had never been to before, in a city where Peter wasn't expected for another day. So we had coffee and went to Pete's for a very western supper where I rediscovered cauliflower and broccoli, and then some post-supper fruit salad and e-mails.
Saturday we bought bus tickets and went to the Lusaka National Museum, which kind of sucked, but it was Japan day -so that really boosted the museum's overall appeal. Lots of Zambians running around in Japanese martial-arts-wear, doing jumps and suicide rolls, etc. Quite amusing. Also, "be sure not to miss the witch-craft exhibit." -Lonely Planet. As Peter pointed out, the defence charm had been stolen, but everything else was pretty interesting. All of that reading hurt our eyes, so we went for lunch, and parted ways.
Sunday we picked up Pete and his stuff at the bus stop and made our last trip to the Baptist church. The service was a little slow, but we sang a couple of good hymns and the people were very excited to have us as their guests once more. Afterwards, the three of us went with the supervising temporary pastor for lunch at his house. It was a bizarre experience, with his house being much larger and nicer than any of the homes I had been in during our time in Lusaka. We sat in the sitting room with another guest and I watched in delight, (and great surprise,) as the pastor (being man of the house,) helped his wife set the table and prepare lunch. It was shockingly different from the home we've been staying in, where the kids/other relatives in the home are preparing in the kitchen and much yelling of requests and demands from Mom and Dad come from the living room. After lunch and some conversation we went home to the usual Sunday afternoon wedding dance rehearsal. Peter was welcomed once again with open arms into our family -this time even Baby-Mwila warmed up to him, in the process forgetting all about how exciting Gil and I am. I was sad, and jealous, and very thrilled to be able to watch the spectacle that was Mwila delighting in Peter's games. Beautiful, brilliant, Baby-Mwila. Gil and I had wrote cards to everyone in the family, so that night after supper we handed them out and said our thank-yous, expressing gratitude for the blessing it was to have shared our lives with that bustling household. Then, one by one each of the members of the family said their "Thank you, we'll miss you, God bless the rest of your trip..." It was nice. They are kind people.
Then we roasted marshmellows over the brazier and made S'mores. Wonderful, sweet-toothed Zambians liked this treat better than our previously baked Apple Crisp (or more commonly referred to as "Apple Krista".) Apparently, baked apples are kind of nasty. It was lovely to share something so familiar and nostalgic.
Since Peter was spending the night, and there was also a random Aunt and Uncle who had come to visit for a few days, the house was a little packed and needed some re-arranging. Aunt and Uncle X and Y took the girl's room, Peter slept in our room, the boy's slept on the kitchen floor, and we joined the 3 other adult girls in the living room on the floor. Not sure why the boys didn't join Peter in their room, but Peter thinks it's because "he'd probably do some weird white-guy thing in his sleep and freak them out." Gil and I found ourselves in hysterics over our "slumber party from grade seven" in the living room. Esther properly squished Gil a number of times before she left for the couch, and I, afraid to roll onto the nasty foot-carpet underneath me, slept most of the night in a crooked position, loosing the capability to breathe out of my nose -similar to sleepovers in the seventh grade before I discovered allergy medication that protected me from the nasties inside of weird basement-floor-carpets in strange homes.
Saying goodbye was different. Six weeks is a long time to spend with people in an obscure country you may never have the chance to return to. But as Chris (the father of the home,) had mentioned, "these connections are only the beginnings of the ripples that will somehow reach into our lives again...." or something along those lines. It'll be interesting to see how connected our lives may be down the line, that's for sure.
We gave Baby-Mwila our washing bowl, that was nice.
Our bus was scheduled to leave at 1000 on Monday, we were instructed to be there at 0930 to make sure that stand-bys didn't get our seats. So, 0930 we show up, and five too many men grab our bags to throw them into a bus. We take a last-minute pee break, buy ourselves an apple and settle into our seats, ready for the sixish hour bus ride ahead of us. Around 1230 we got hungry again, so we took another pay-potty trip and buy ourselves peanuts, yoghurt, and nasty meat-pies which I helped to eat the crusts of. Around 1345 we rolled out of Lusaka, just in time to be a wee bit early for the 1400 departure time that we declined in order to get to Livingstone earlier. Gillian didn't know how true it was when she joked when we first arrived that "we wouldn't leave until the bus was full anyways." Zambia is halarious sometimes.
The bus trip was lovely, neat to see the country-side.
Fawlty Towers has proven wonderful so far. I had a hot shower this morning, that was great. And there's a pool, which was welcoming after Peter convinced me to go on a run with him in my out-of-shape conditions, under the blazing sun, at 1400 this afternoon. I'm very excited about running with Peter. I went for a run last week by myself, and it was most amazing. My body is continuing to remember itself. While I first walked up the steps to our dorm yesterday all I could think about was all of the different muscles that were re-awakening during that motion. Tonight I feel amazing -Gotta love endorphins, Pete promises I'm going to get addicted again, can't wait. Mid-mornings are still kind of awful -I'm starting to really hate the malaria pills. They seem dumb at this point. AND, this morning, for the first time since I've been here, I couldn't remember my dream. I think it had something to do with how I was mostly dead in the comfort of my new bed, but still -very lame.

So that's where I'm at.
Gil and I constantly "write" blog posts outloud while we're in funny situations, but none of them have made it here. Sorry. (But not really.)

Lisa, are you home? When? Any more riots?
Mom, I'm going to Victoria Falls tomorrow, and Botswana for a week on Friday. We're getting a new number when we get to South Africa, I'll let you know what it is and then I expect a call. ;)
Dad, what's your cell number? I think we've figured out how to text home. Actually, Peter's known all along and finally enlightened Gil and I.
Grandma?

Whit, thanks for the call, sorry my phone died. Though, I was kind of glad, because it reminded me of times at home where we talked and accidentally hung up on each other, but never called back and it was beautiful that it never mattered. Nicenice. You're nice.
James, you get our text? You were the trial.
Josh, are you swimming lots like you wanted to? I remembered while I was swimming today. How's your west-coast family?
Kristina, Read your Bible -Pray everyday. ;) Remember as you begin to grow fins from all of your pool/ocean visits, it's probably not very easy to be a fisher of men if you turn into a fish. (Oh, and I listened to our BrandNew album at the beginning of this post.)
Lindsay, Ontario?
Andrea, Cranbrook?
Lindsey, sample room?
Alanna? Alanna? Alanna?
Jared, want to lose a game of crib?

Probably enough shoutouts for now.
The computers at 97% now, I think I've done my share in it's revival time.

I know you'll probably roll your eyes at this, but I'm sure glad that you exist.
Lovve.
Krista out.

So I'm the last one.

We went to Victoria falls today and drank half the Zambezi, or perhaps drank is the wrong word. Today the Zambezi poured itself down our throats. Turns out it doesn't taste very good.
Zambians aren't terribly safety conscious, which isn't too suprising, but i found myself wondering in amazement as we negotiated a bridge crossing near the falls. Pummelled by the vigourous spray that kept forcing my blind eyes closed, water twisting at our feet as it flowed in a current down the pathway, onto the bridge and fell, fell, fell far below us. As I clung to the rails, trying to figure out if there was a way i could face in order to open my eyes and see something, a man stopped me yelling at me to take off my flipflops because it was slippery and I'd fall off the bridge. I think he thought I was scared. I couldn't manage to explain that I was just trying to see. Couldn't see him anyway, too much spray not to mention my eyes are broken. I always feel like my nose is running and my eyelids are crooked when I'm wet and without my glasses. After my advice-yelling friend I proceeded, glasses shoved in a pocket, flipflops in one hand, the other searching for the slimy rail. I think 'exhilirating' is the right word. Spray, spray everywhere. A downpour, sidepour, up-pour. I missed you Mom, you would have squeled endlessly with me.

I've never seen so much water in so many different places. Never been entirely surrounded water and yet standing on solid (dry?) ground. Krista suggested that Vic falls as the spot where water-dwellers became landfolk since you can learn to walk while still breathing water.

- we went down to look at the bottom, got lost, trapped by fighting baboons which are really, really nasty, broke a toe*, suffered a wasp sting, 3 puncture wounds, ate lunch, drank 12 drinks, went to the bathroom several times, got taken by 'friendly authentic' Zambian curio vendors and a taxi driver.

- I have a fair number of hairs on my big toe. Interesting to look at, thought i hated toe hairs, turns out I'm rather fond of them.

- Krista and I were given a very cheesy novel by an American women (Catherine Cooksonesque) and are reading it out loud to each other. We got reprimanded on the bus the other day by a Zambian in desperate need of some sleep. I realized with some remorse and plenty of guilty giggling that we'd been reading out loud for hours. There are few things more irritating than a woman's voice reading in the background - something extra nasally happens to a voice like that, particularly when you're reading quickly because you're only interested in the story and rather embarrassed by the writing. I thought of you Nicholas and how much you hate women reading out loud, also of getting yelled at on a train in Italy for the same thing (Jonathan and Erin, do you remember?)

- My hair looks like a picture i once saw of Tristan Penny. 12 year old Tristan with side parted, carefully brushed hair. My hair isn't carefully brushed, just nasty, but somehow I seem to have arrived at the same effect. I'm hoping this too will pass for me, as it did for Tristan.

- Am not homesick anymore, just roaming around Africa and enjoying myself. Knowing kind of what will come but not lots of details about how exactly which is nice because it leaves room for everything but makes sure something is there.

- learned a new thing about God, or about believing in God. That perhaps it is okay to ask him for mercy, to ask him to heal us. I always thought it was wrong to ask because God could do whatever he wanted and there were more important things going on than just our bodies. I thought since God doesn't seem to heal very often He must not be very interested in it. But perhaps it is okay to ask, to hope that while there is yet a chance for mercy God will grant it. A friend here was telling me about how I didn't ask the Spirit to work enough, using a story of David that I'd always used to explain why I didn't ever expect healing to show me that it was important to hope for healing. David prayed and prayed while his baby was ill for God to be merciful, to turn back from punishing David for his sin and save the child. God didn't but David didn't regret praying. While there is yet a chance I will pray he said. After the chance was gone, after the child died, he stopped asking and continued on. So, from now on, if you are sick i will pray for you to be well and i will pray with a clear conscience. Or at least I want to anyway.

Sandy Bryant: Thank you. You are so good at loving from far away. I appreciate you.

Grandma King: thank you for the messages I'm amazed everytime I get one! You are a brave voyager on this internet.

Georgie May: I gave the necklace you made me to a good friend here because she loved it so much. Your handiwork was much appreciated by the Zambians so keep up the good work... I told her about you before I left it with her so you're famous now!

Thank you for the Birthday wishes and for remembering about me. I recovered from my irritations and spent the majority of our last times with the family being able to appreciate them. I miss them and am glad to be able to say that. I think I became friends with them.

Thank you also to everyone who leaves us comments. I rarely do because it feels strange so I appreciate everyone who braves this wierd blog thing to make a remark. Not sure I can properly convey how it matters exactly so just trust me to know it does.

With love,

Gillian

*Krista broke her toe. She's really brave. we were lost and trying to get over a little branch of the river and she slipped into it. The Zambezi river, brown, tumultuous, big falls, death river. All i heard her say after the fall was, "this way won't work" so i decided to wander off looking for a better way. I remember thinking, probably isn't smart to wander around on these big rocks in the middle of the jungle. maybe those nasty-bummed baboons will eat me. After getting attacked by a thorn bush which left big long needle snares in my arm i decided to turn back. No sign of Peter and Krista so I felt a little sad and decided to return to see if they'd found their way across after all. Turns out it didn't turn out to be a way across, turns out Krista broke her toe and was hobbling back the way we'd come, turns out I walked out on krista saying she'd broken her toe. Luckily i had some tylenol in my wallet thing, wet tylenol, completely drenched from the waterfall spray so Krista didn't need to drink water with it. Pre-soaked pills. The little gaffer's doing fairly well now, just a lot of pain, swelling and bruising to attest to the broken toe's trek over Frank Slide, across the Baboon wars, through the woods, up the gorge on rough hewn giant stairs, around a rich-people hotel maze interspersed with embarrassingly awful 'modern-art sculpture' and back home. Special wishes can be sent via blog... our injured one might feel a little sad tomorrow treking around with her swollen friend.

The Big Day.

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 11:51:00 +0000

Gil's birthday today... ridiculous that it's actually February 13th... Feels more like July. We're beginning to be quite sun-kissed... infact, it's proving difficult to go outside without quickly turning pink. (Don't worry, Mom, we brought sunscreen.) I think we must have been deathly ill when we first got here -seeing as we managed to stay whiter than we've ever been at home until just recently. Oh dear.

French toast was wonderous, it smelled like home. Can't wait until we make rice pudding tonight. I love treats.
We didn't set our alarm this morning, I managed to sleep all the way until 7:40, quite incredible.
Mwila joined us on our bed this morning, for early morning cheers and giggles.
Today is one month since our arrival.

And now for a bunch of personal notes.
Mom, tomorrow is Valentine's Day and I have no cinnamon hearts! :( Very sad.
Lisa, you're pretty lucky that you sent that wimpy e-mail before you left -I was about to disown you as my sister. I'm not writing until you write me back first. LoveBabyLove -Have a great trip.
Dad, if you don't want to post your "personal messages" on here you can still e-mail me. How did your interview go? When do you find out?
Grandma, glad you're enjoying the snow, but I most definately love being very far away from it. By the way, do you know of any jobs in Revelstoke that would pay me an okay wage for the month of June? Is that even possible? Like painting someone's house, landscaping, nannying, anything? It might be fun to be in the mountains for a bit, I don't know what my plans are.
Pat, good to hear from you... how's writing? and working out? and have you planned for your trip with Lise?

Kristina and Mikey: Thanks for the e-mails, both amazing in their entirely different ways. A couple days ago I saw a guy wearing a purple shirt and a red toque, veryverynice. Glad you're writing again. Have fun in Mexico. Who's Nathan in an "open relationship" with? How's "Dyl"? What else is new? Will one of you please ask Matthew Cairns to e-mail me so I can have his e-mail address and reply to his facebook message?

Alanna: I didn't forget your birthday, I wanted to send off a "Have a great one" but alas, I don't know your e-mail address, and facebook doesn't work. I hope it was lovely. You are lovely. Fill me in, dear.
Ian: Your birthday is soon and I was hoping to e-mail you a quick one, but it seems you've deleted your address? Hopefully you're still reading blogs. I didn't catch your warning before Sunday...
(Other February birthdays, I'm remembering you as well. Consider this your personal note.)

Jonathan: Thanks for the "farewell e-mail". It was kind of you to send us off. I'm learning about God's movement. And as for your student, I'm volunteering Lise, she'll be in Columbia for a couple weeks now, but you can message her... And as for me, when I get back to Canada I'm down.

House: Where are you? Where? Did you move into the upstairs bedroom yet? Don't be shy. Move out our stuff and gogogo! I want a spinach smoothie.

Candice: Sooooo soon! Wow.

Others who've e-mailed me, ThankyouThankyouThankyou. I treasure you.

I know I'm forgetting something "important", but I must sign off.
I'm learning to sing in Bemba.
Gil and I bought a sweater. It's pink.
I love you.

Guzzy-bear

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 11:14:00 +0000

Walking along the lane yesterday, on our way to buy eggs, Ella says to me "Gill, I like the way you walk. As though someone was forcing you. Saying, 'come gill, come.'" Then she imitated me, swinging her arms.. and other parts. I think I was grumpy. I couldn't tell if she was mocking me or otherwise but I knew I didn't like it. I wanted to yell - 'well, if you didn't walk so damn slow!'

But I didn't, seeing as we aren't supposed to do what we want to do most of the time. I think i laughed, because it might have been funny. But really I was mad/irritated/all the rest, why does everyone walk so slowly? I can't help but waggle my body side to side, seeing as it can't go forward very quickly it needs somewhere else to go.

Birthday french toast this morning. Presided over by 3 or 4 extra curly heads peering into the pan. Syrup of our own concocting with honey, limes, cinnimon and sugar. I kept repeating that this was not a real thing that we ate at home - just an attempt to make something like syrup. Everyone was quite interested in the details none-the-less. It was lovely, the french toast I mean. The syrup, a little strange, but full of home.

We are leaving soon, a week and a half and I will miss this family very much. In light of the leaving I find myself quite sentimental, though I wish I could be sentimental enough to keep from getting irritable. It is so nasty to be irritable... That would be something to pray for if you are so inclined. Irritable Gillian. I want very much to have enough spirit inside me to carry me well through this last bit with these people I appreciate so much.

Seeing as I gorged last time I shall leave this for now. We are well-loved here and well cared for. Garlic is given to us at slightest sign of sickness, water encouraged.

Love to you all. I think about home a little too much but I am always glad when I do.

Gillian

another week already?

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 16:46:00 +0000

well, as one more week passes, so does the time since my last post. I suppose i should resign myself to this duty of privileging you; my snow and frigid temperature bound friends to these wondrous and well written tales of Africa. When I think of all you home-grown Albertans wandering around in your parkas and snowshoes making the big bucks in our ever bustling economy, it warms my heart to step out onto my sunset-facing, riverview, warm african patio* in my shorts, sandals, and t-shirt to take in the last rays of sushine as the spherical radiating orb makes its near-equatorial descent so much closer to my latitude than to yours. *sigh* If only you were here then you could experience it for yourself. But wait my friends, don't delete the bookmark to this blog just yet, perhaps I still have some encouraging and interesting information for you that is less likely to make you want to spit icicles on your computer screen than these previous lines.**
Where should I begin.. in breaking with tradition, I shall start with the beginning of the week.***
Monday - rain all day, very miserable, I worked mostly inside but I had to walk around often to fetch various tools that my zambian friends and I needed to work on grouting the tiling work that we had done in previous weeks.
Tuesday - still raining. We move to tiling the bathroom. Rate of progress has increased significantly since our first attempt, which is an encouragement to all.
Wednesday - little rain, but i am eager to return to finishing the foundation of the duplex. Gordon is gone to Lusaka, and His #2 Justin thinks it is too wet to continue with cement work. we finish tiling the bathroom, and lower the toilet which has inexplicable initially been installed 3 inches too high and on a small mound of concrete (very ugly). We finish, except for the grout-work - as we have run out of grout - and are pleased with the esthetic improvement of tiling over the concrete floor with raised toilet.
Thursday - First dry morning in a while and Justin is willing to let us start foundation work again. the bricklayers work on that, under my distant supervision, as i make futher tractor trips to fetch sand before the location becomes unaccessible.
Friday - Another dry morning so we continue with the foundation and sand work. A non-marrieds movie-night (even missionaries can party down) and we watch Sahara on the projector while drinking A&W rootbeer and munching popcorn.
Saturday - Halfday. Still no rain and we almost finish the foundation along with a few trips of sand. on monday we will be ready to begin backfill and then onto pouring the floor! Movie-night is continued as we watch the shocking surprise conclusion of Sahara: Matthew McConaughey against all odds saves the world from nuclear waste-poisoned water and ends up with the girl (elegantly played by our favorite female actress with a heavy spanish accent - Salma Hayek)
Sunday - Communion service at the assembly with the usual non-english hymns and usual non-english sermon. Actually, this sunnday the speaker threw in just enough occasional english phrases to keep me from reading an entirely different section of the bible from the one being preached on.**** As usual a delicious lunch followed, and I went for a run this afternoon and played a little soccer with some kids*****, followed by a dip in the pool. Bible study was tonight and we had a lovely message on not being frustrated when building goes very slowly, because God has it in his hands - from the book of zeccariah on the subject of zerubabel.

*Actually, I don't have a sunset-facing, riverview patio, but my neighbours do, and I'm sure they'd let me use it any time they wanted. In actuality, I have a sunset-facing, riverview gazebo, but for the purposes of illustration I thought that a patio would be better.
**I would like to apologize if i have offended anyone with the juxtaposition of your snowed-in, edmontonian, wind-chilling, hell-frozen-over type conditions with my idylic african setting.
***if this is becoming confusing for you, remember, you can just read from the outside in.
****I find the book of Proverbs always suffices for a practical and spiritual alternative to suffering through whatever unintelligible ramblings a preacher may be bring forth.
*****an added note, on most late afternoons i have been running into town, meeting the natives, playing soccer, and otherwise making the most of my rural Zambian experience. Also, after the zambian workers knock-off at their usual time of 2:30 I have been designing and starting to build trusses. if anyone could send me a quick 5000 or so nails for gussets, it would be much appreciated.******
******Just send package to Chitoloki, Zambia, Africa
*******this isn't a reference to anything written in this post, but i just wanted to add that I really want to keep this comments competition going. Few of you may realize, but I actually enjoy competition for its own sake, and don't really care as much about winning as you might think. therefore, I'm encouraging you all to post at least 2 times on Gill and Krista's posts for every one comment on mine.********
********I'm secretly betting all my money on them to win, through a distant cousin of mine, and that way when they come out ahead, we all win! so long, and thanks for all the fish!
Peter out.

Tutemwane.

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 15:42:00 +0000

Tutemwane, let's love eachother. No more competing, Pete.

First of all, while Gillian is very excited about posting, I feel shy, nervous, and as though I might relay everything in an inadequate manner. But here I sit, typing away anyways... I hope you're pleased.

Time is bizarre, I'm obsessed with calculating how long since I've left, how long I've been here, how much longer until I move again, etc. I'm trying to conquer this ever-present thought pattern, as one would suspect that living in the moment is a great deal healthier than allowing one's mind to drift from past to future all of the time, but kicking this habbit is harder than I'd like to admit.

My body is my own again, and I'm very thankful. I no longer feel the need to be in bed by ten after nine, and I've recently remembered how I usually walk. There's still the odd vitamin deficiency, or malaria pill side-effect, but I'm feeling more and more like myself everyday. (Good thing it's only taken me 3 and a half weeks.)
Speaking of malaria med. side-effects, I've failed to have a sleep since I've left that wasn't filled with crazy dreams from start to finish. I've always been a dreamer, but never before have they been quite so action-packed, filled with random aquaintances and strangers, and had so many movie-like special effects. If you've been a part of my life in any form over the last 14 years, it's very likely that you've been a part of one of my dreams. I'm definately enjoying them, and I'll be very disapointed the first morning I wake up to realise that my sub-conscious entertainment has slowed down.

Gillian and I found a sign for a Baptist church in Emasdale, near where we live, and decided to check it out last Sunday. Much to our delight, we found a mere 40-50 people crammed into a small room sitting on pews lined with multiple hymn books. It was really wonderful to be able to go somewhere where we didn't know anyone, and where no one was expecting us. People were very friendly and welcoming, as is very common here in Zambia, and many of them wanted to talk with us afterwards to hear our story. We weren't meant to sit upfront as special visitors, or asked to share in the service. We were normal people, who went to a new church on Sunday morning. It made me think a lot about home, and once after closing my eyes during a prayer, I was shocked to find myself surrounded by Zambians when I re-opened them again. It was very interesting for me to realise that up until that service our experience with Christians in Zambia had been mostly limited to one end of a spectrum of believers here. That's all I can muster to say about that one.

I'm still loving the babies, it's going to be very sad to leave them here... Today Gil and I took two of them for a walk, it's sad that a boy over two years of age is shocked by what the sky looks like. I've started to become quite overwhelmed at the delays that many of the babies have because of the way life works in an orphanage, but we've also seen many improvements in the 3 weeks we've been working, and of course there are many rewards that come along with their snotty, poopy selves.
Many of the women we work with are quite fascinating, and it's neat when they tell us some of their thoughts. The sister in charge, Irene is wonderful. Recently we were talking with her about the orphanage system and the young women having the babies, and the subject of abortion came up. It's mind-blowing to realise the possible connection of abortion rates to the fazing out of orphanages in Canada. Here, in Zambia, where abortions are illegal, it makes sense that there are many babies being left in the hospitals, or abandoned other places shortly after they are born. In Canada, most of the babies that make it to full-term are the ones that the mother wants. So, probably we don't need to focus ourselves on adopting all of the African babies... I don't know, but when Irene heard us making this connection, she told us to convince the mother's to keep them and then send them here. She said, "I'll take them." Interesting, and slightly backwards, to think of Canadian babies being raised in Zambian orphanages...

There's much more to say, but I'm becoming overwhelmed with shyness and I'm running out of time.

I'd really like a cold glass of soymilk, a carrott, some jalapino chips, and chocolate covered coffee beans.
I watched 3 chickens get their throats slit, and hated it.
We had to learn an African dance at a bridal shower infront of 300 women.
We're starting to hate our filtering waterbottle, it hurts my mouth.
I'm beginning to look right first before crossing the street.
We're back to our normal "I hate the morning" selves.
I'm excited.
I love very much.
Send me your thoughts, your life's happenings, your learnings... but don't send it on faceboook, because it doesn't work here.

Hoping you're well,
Krista
xo

Continuing to look hideous...

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 15:28:00 +0000

Krista and I have (almost) matching rain jackets. Almost matching shorts and tops, matching mud splatters and matching flustered expressions. I have never felt so ugly nor been so praised for my beauty. I brought my painting shirt by accident, not to mention hardly anything matches. Which is sad when you only have 3 shirts and 2 pants. I think i was crazy when I packed. And why would a person not bring anything to wash their face with properly? What made me think I would like pimples any more in Zambia than in Edmonton?

Now,please remember that Peter and I are completely opposite. Where he asks for anything to beat our numbers nonsense makes me sad.. And Peter! When are you coming? Things are ah, how can i put it? "heating up" at home and it would be nice to know our time-line. By the way, you are hilarious and I'm very much looking forward to seeing you. Krista and I will be matching (she is my daughter, younger sister, twin) and I assume you will be in the tilly hat?) Hoping the tractor improves....

Yesterday my flip-flop broke. Torrential rains upon leaving the bus (with the inevitable head bump, awkward squeezing through Zambians with babies, baskets of salt fish, spikey umbrellas) made for a massive mudslide on our way home. We aren't so good at walking in the mud as the flip-flops do a good job of flopping the mud back onto our backsides, not to mention sticking in the mud while our legs continue. For some reason no one else here seems to have trouble. Just us. Anyway, flip-flop broke leaving me with no shoe and a demented hobble. Rains continue all around us and my giggling left me with almost no barrier to raining inside my trousers as I had to go to the bathroom fairly terribly. Zambian women passing by 'sorry, sorry' as she bemoans my plight. Zambian man the most enraged i've yet seen as my hystarical giggling has caused me to unknowingly flounder back and forth into his path.

We got home. Moses, one of the nephews staying was horrified with our state. Somehow we manage to be in a shambles most of the time. I need to spend more time cleaning my shoes in order to fit in.

This is going to be long. Perhaps you'd like to play 'choose your own adventure' and skip to parts you'd like. That way I'll remember i'm not inflicting this on anyone due to the remarkable thing known as readers freedom.

I have occasionally bemoned the absense of listeners freedom in my life currently. The family watches tv lots, combined with listening to music on the dvd player, added to baby crying and boys shouting and laughing. But that is mostly funny. The worst part, and one I'm still working on dealing with, is listening to people (oh, and by people I mean men..) say things I disagree with and find rude, intolerant and damaging without having the freedom to deal with the situation like I would at home. Coming from a completly different background I realize my ideas don't necessarily fit here and won't always be the best thing. It is hard when hearing things that make me squirm, to keep from fighting back and trying to convince, to 'correct.' I am disgusted with this in myself, this impulse to make everyone like me. But of course, since I think I'm right or more fair I want to win the day. (Dad, perhaps you will get this due to our 'discussions'!). An older man yesterday went on and on about this and that, how women's subservience doesn't denote inequality but rather is a way of showing respect and making the world work smoothly, that Americans gave more money, and were thus more awesome, than the british, that Canadians didn't care about their inlaws, on and on. Most things I suppose one could gently disagree with but I felt bound by my female, whiteness and didn't want to be contrary. I had to leave the room with my face blazing. What an awful man I thought.

But - point. To learn about tolerating intolerance. How to do this is a graceful way? For me this is difficult because I can become so enraged so quickly but anything I think is unfair or unkind and thus, in the process become exactly what I hate so much. So I am learning to wait on my reactions and to consider later if it is something worth following up. The father of the family pointed out the importance of 'saving face' for others and being careful never to show anyone wrong in front of their children. He said, you should correct afterwards in order to preserve the dignity of those involved. I thought that was different than home. I thought that perhaps we sometimes get too excited about proving other people wrong.

Addition to the Faith comment from before:
I still hold that God has given Zambia the gift of Faith and that it is a merciful and incredibly intelligent gift to give here. But, to add to this, we heard from a gentleman the other day, how much they are searching for depth to be added to faith. How many people are christians but need to think more and be impacted by their faith. For one of the first times Krista and I felt we had something to contribute.

Exciting things:

+ Got to tell someone that Mormons didn't worship "Mammon, the God of Money" but were actually M.O.R.M.O.N.S's. Very interesting. I'm not sure he believed me, or rather I think he liked his opinion more. If one can have an opinion about those kinds of things.

My mom called me!

Favorite baby has changed her life. When we came she sat on the floor and stared, mostly at food if it was passing around. She only laughed late afternoon, and this only under 5 minutes dedicated tickling. Now, favorite baby is hystrical for most of the day, large eyes gleaming and wierd noises trickling out of her. (Speaking of trickling, found some poo dropping out of her nappy on to the floor this morning. Almost barfed.) She will reach up her hands now to walk around. This is a miracle I believe - when we came she wouldn't really interact. So I'm happy. Whenever i feel bored wtih the babies I think about her and am glad to be around.

Excited about the Mustard Seed news! Looking forward to coming home because I think I've got some things to do in Edmonton and I'm glad the Mustard Seed is there.

I 'pack plates' every night before bed and am glad to be able to do something so normal and nice.

Watched one of the boys kill chickens with a bread knife. Felt awful about it but thought it was important to watch seeing as I'd been eating it. Don't know what I think but I do know that there is a distinction here between Edmotnon and Lusaka. Here they kill chickens behind the house with a bread knife and a 12 year-old helping you hold the body. They bury the blood, just there, behind the house. then we eat the intestines.

"I love God" in sparkly letters on bus dashboards

Oh - life is changing I think. Saw a compound flooded with Children wading out to get water. Young child mother, knee-deep in water hanging the washing on the line. 5 percent of houses in the compound have electricity. There are children everywhere. I think my life is meant to be different than it is currently, or something. And so I'm excited to come home because i'm coming to belive here that God works and that if he calls you to something, convicts you of something, it matters and you are meant to GO. So, we'll see. Church messages are about God equipping you, about him giving vision and the rest coming. They don't have much stuff here so they rely so strongly on trusting God with stuff and just working to carry on vision. I think I"ve been culpable of having vision and doing nothing with it because I'm afraid and because I doubt myself and God in me. So. Zambia is a good place to be learning this, good place to be if God wants to stick something in my side.

Notes for the loves:

House! I miss you guys. Think of you fairly often, particularly when the boys here want to come to Canada and ask if any of my roommates would make suitable girlfriends. Am having a lovely time describing you all. Jamie, I say you float when you walk... hope that's okay:) I'm excited to return in the spring and dig the garden and hear your stories and eat bananas and peanut butter. Peanut butter is such a comfort to us both here and it often reminds me of home. What are you guys doing? How are you? Are you all still there? Of course you are, only been 3 weeks but it feels like way longer. Good faith with Remedy Kaiser...

Ruthey, you're nice and I'm so glad for you. The asian kids will be just your size..

Booty: Think of you. We say goodnight sometimes though I don't think you hear. Got 3 birds hung on a string, think it is part of a baby-mobile and are going to bring it home. Me, you and Krista. Krista is the brown one and I'lll leave it to you to decide if you're the blue or orange one. For once I have no opinion.

Candice: Will be so good to see you. Hope you are well. We think of the wedding often and what a nice thing it will be to come home to. Hope you are well...

Love to everyone, as always. My hands hurt. Sorry that this kind of sucked, i should try more regularly so they have more shape, less blather.

Gillian

Two weeks down.

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Sat, 02 Feb 2008 17:35:00 +0000

Well, I've been at the mission station at Chitokoloki for two weeks now so I guess that means it's time for an update. Let's start on today and work backwards. Today was saturday, which is kind of a half-day here. We finished tiling the guesthouse we've been working on today, and all we have left to do is grout on monday. there's also the bathroom to do, but the toilet got put in 3" too high, and they're waiting to decide what to do about that. the interesting thing is that we're preparing the house for a girl that's coming from ontario, but she already arrived last week. oh well, that seems to be the way africa is. the house should be ready for her to move into sometime next week. After work I went for a walk to the shops and got caught in the rain, so i ended up hanging out with Zambians for several hours. The young people complain that there aren't enough jobs here in the country, and many seem to have ambitions of moving to the big city of Lusaka to make their lives. I played with a bunch of shopkeepers children who wanted to practise their english. They have several phrases memorized that they resort to when they're stuck, but my favorite was one that I was asked several times after we had learned each others names, "Mr. Peter, what is your name?" Yesterday was friday, and Matt the bricklayer departed for his wife and home in jolly old england. Gordon got nervous about how work would go with Matt gone, so he suspended all work on the new duplex until further notice. Since my tractor was out of commision and work had halted on the new duplex, I returned to tiling the guesthouse with Ron and two new team-members. Work was slow since we had to find all the tools again and get back into our groove, but I learned how to use the tile cutting machine and had a lot of fun with that. The day before that was thursday. It was Matt's last day of working, so everyone was trying to ram-jam as much as possible on the new building before he left. I hauled a bunch of sand and bricks with my team, but at the very end of the day I ran over a steel dealie hidden in the grass and blew a tractor tire. oh no, what will i do with my days now? only what i've just written earlier in this very post will say. Since it was Matt's last day we watched Fargo together for a little roomate last-minute bonding time. the day before that was wednesday. my memory fades with time, but i'm sure i spent it ram-jamming sand and bricks with my team and tractor. tuesday preceded wednesday as did more of tractor work. at this point i'm sure i've overlapped with my last post, and if you want to keep reading you can just continue down the page as time continues to flow backwards as the elevation of lines on your computer screen decreases. thank-you for your comments help and let's all keep this competition alive. remember, only you can post several comments right now. and until next time:
Peter out.

GoGoTractor

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 17:21:00 +0000

So, It looks like I've found my calling in missions. It only makes sense really, when I stop and ask myself: what one activity do I have more experience at than any other? the answer, as it would be for any farm-boy i'm sure, is driving the tractor. Gordon asked me if i knew how, after three days and the regular native tractor driver had just gotten stuck, and i replied, "only since i was eight." he said, "we need people who have been doing it since 6 years old." but he must have been desperate because the very next day he came and pulled me away from my absolutely adequate job of tiling to ask if i'd mind hauling some sand. the river is rising, and they don't know how much longer they will be able to get sand (it's from a far away spot, down by the river) so i was given a team of three zambians: Joe, fabian, and koyumbo (watch for their pictures if i ever get a camera) and we've spent the last 7 workdays hauling sand, rocks, cement, and bricks for the new duplex they are starting to construct. it's very satisfying, the piles are these materials are getting bigger and build into foundations, and the beginnings of walls. after work i often go for a run and then a jump in the pool to cool off and do some physio for my shoulder. after that it's home for some e-mail time and then off to supper if i've been invited. speaking of which, it's time for supper. i'll post again soon now that i know how. in the meantime, i'd appreciate it if you could help me get more comments than Krista/Gill and their posts. it's quantity that counts here folks, not quality. even if you just post a single word several times over, it will be much appreciated. and i guarantee, i will read every one. thank you, and have an african day.
Peter out

Post from 23 Jan 2008

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 17:18:00 +0000

Chitikoloki

Well, I made it. I stayed in Lusaka just long enough to find Krista and Gill and buy them some $4 milkshakes and go see their living situaion. It’s a good thing Gill and Krista are such extroverts! Quite crowded, but at least they have a room of their own. The people they are staying with seem very friendly and quite fascinated with our white white white girls.
So, on Saturday I drove up from Lusaka to Chitioloki with Gordon Hanna and some supplies. It was quite an amazing drive and we did see an elephant, a snake, several deer-type creatures, but the best part was the road we took. I already knew Gordon was quite an aggressive driver from riding along on errands with him in Lusaka, so I was ready for an adventurous drive through the wilderness, and Gordon did provide. Full speed ahead through swamp and sand and bushes, sometimes not even turning the wipers on for a few seconds after crashing a puddle just to heighten the suspense. Add that to the wild Zambian landscape with all of it’s trees (Joel knows what I mean) and whatnot – probably one of the best 12 hour drives of my life.
We arrived in the afternoon and Gordon gave me a quick tour. The setup here is a largesh looking hospital that consists of 3 buildings I think, along with several houses for the missionaries, a guest house for visitors, another guest house that we are renovating, a large shop, several storage buildings, a pool that I just discovered today (that’s right, a pool! Gated, with several lounge chairs, and just the right temp. of water), and various other buildings that I’m forgetting. There’s also a brethren assembly where most of the missionaries attend. I have a room in the guesthouse with an English chap named Matt who is a bricklayer. I’ll fill you in on more as I find out.
Peter out

Where are you, Mother?

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 08:42:00 +0000

Gillian and Krista will continue to be in Zambia for 1 month, this period of time gives you a chance to send us some mail by post.
For those of you who prefer pen and ink:

Campus Crusade For Christ Zambia
Box 36176 LSK
Lusaka, Zambia

Also, our phone continues to be silent... If you were having troubl, we've figured out that the country code for Zambia is probably 260. But when added to our previously posted number, one of the zeros is not needed. So it will be 26097...etc.
If you call between 7a.m. and noon we'll be readily available. :)

Still learning,
Still love you,
Gil and Krista
(Jule and Kreesta)

GoGoBaby

noreply@blogger.com (L'Afrique Bonanza) — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 08:33:00 +0000

Krista here,

I have survived and enjoyed my first week in Lusaka, Zambia.
Gillian and I are staying with a Zambian family who are involved in Campus Crusade. Including us there are 14 people living in the house (and multiple visitors coming and going all of the time -but it seems to somehow work better than our late ComHo. Our first couple of days were a little crazy -learning how to communicate, how to be dependant, how to take the crazy minibus and manouver our way through the muddy, rainy-season streets.
We've now settled into working at a baby place called House of Moses.. there are 34 babies there, from one week up to two years. They have been short staffed from quite some time, so it's nice to be a help. Basically we feed, and play with the babies all day -and take breaks to fold laundry.
I love babies.

We had a surprise visit from our dear friend Peter, the 40-year-old Safari man in his collered shirt and tilly hat, on Friday. Turns out his guest house was a 15 minute walk from the House os Moses -I suppose this wasn't really a surprise because everything always works out for Pete. He showed up at baby-place and we spent the afternoon with him, getting some tasty treats and bringing him home to meet our family. Of course, he immediately became a celebrity with them. It was a very rejuvinating visit -a reminder of who I am. We taught him to eat Nshima, and he's already learned the most popular greeting here, (which he says to everyone on the bus, street, or in any room he's in,) so I'm sure he'll get along well in Chitokowhatawhata.

Zambians are friendly people.
I am tired a lot of the time.
And also probably the most introverted I've been in a while.
Soooo shy. But getting better.
We have lovely friends.
I have mett my favourite little girl ever, Mwila, the 3-year-old in our home who hisses, and growls, and attacks everyone -but always makes me laugh.
I am well, and learning.
This is a lovely addition to life.
I love love love you.

Our number is:
097 621 0038 We don't have to pay anything for your incoming calls. Remember that we're 9 hours ahead of you here.

Gillian....

Hello lovelies. We don't have much time as our babies are awaiting us. So, i will say this:

I'm learning to pick up babies by their one armpit because i'm holding another on my arm.

Night terrors from cockroaches creeping along the window above our bed

just discovered copious amounts of belly button lint (guess the single bucket bathing system doesn't reach all areas...)

I have to speak at a church next Sunday so please pray for me. People here believe that |God calls you to ALL ministries, not just the ones you feel compelled to. So, as a result I am speaking to a church and feeling badly a littel because i think my faith is much different than the Zambians. God has given them the gift of Faith in the most full sense I have seen in my life. I am so doubting of belief most of the time and here I see the goodness of unshaken belief. I didn't know that I would ever say such a thing is good but here I do. Zambians need to believe in God absolutly and in his goodness absolutly in order to survive. I see that God in his mercy has enabled them to do so. Consquently - what can I, with my constant half-thoughts have to say to encourage these incredibly optimistic people? We shall see...

The family stare at us all the time and are fascinated with the variations of our bodies. For example - these 'red' marks on my face??? what are these? Having to identify my pimples as such is not incredibly plesant. But hilarious all the same. And these brown spots (moles) and this hair? Does it grow this way or do you cut it?

The girls greet us each morning before we are out of bed and crowd into our room - a strech for Krista and I as I'm sure anyone whose lived with us will understand!!

Mostly I'm very happy to be here. Just sometimes feel alientated by the difference in how we understand God and how he works in the world. This is my hardest thing thus far.

Make us love notes on here please... This is mine to all of you.

love Gillian and Krista