8/14/12 6p

We had a busy day today.  Well, relatively speaking.

I don't know if it was the awkward sleeping on the plane in bursts, or the pure release of exhaustion from packing and dreading and excitement, but sleep was easy to come by last night.  I'm sure we were in bed and asleep by 9 pm, and I slept more soundly than I have in a long, long time.  I awoke at 1 am, feeling as if I'd slept more than enough, but thought it was best to sleep more.  After thinking and praying for 3 hours, my desire was granted, and I fell back to sleep.  A few hours later, I was up, showered and ready to face the day. 

About 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet a welcoming face to face the town, I figured I should wake up Lisa.  She had enough time to shower and get presentable.  Then I was sent back to the changing room as I was told my shorts wouldn't cut it.  We walked to the main office, and then to lunch, then part of the way until we decided the 3 of us would split up as we couldn't find a taxi that would fit all of us together.  All the while walking, my legs cried.  There was a beautiful breeze of which they couldn't take part.  They were sweltering and sweating, and I mourned with them.  Respect vs comfort.  Modesty vs comfort.  Custom vs comfort.  Whatever the reason, I did what I had to do.  Day 1.  I'll skip ahead for a moment only to say, first thing after walking into our house, I put away my groceries, the drank and filled up my water bottle.  That is all to say that, only after that, did I rush to our room and change into shorts.  In one day, I have grown.

We sent off some brief emails from the main office to our parents to say "I'm alive."  My parents have requested that I do that every so often, to prevent them from having to send one asking just that.  In a new city and a new country, I felt obliged; even without prompting.

We then went to a restaurant called Mango; although we say no mango anywhere on the menu!  I ordered "capitan," although the word I had learned for fish was poisson.  Alas.  It was one of the best fish I've ever had!  It was thick, meaty, tasty and the texture was perfect! 

After a relaxing meal, mostly, I presume, because of how long it took to prepare our meal, we set off for the Missionary School to exchange money, and then to the market.  Taxis were taken, walking was done, and multiple requests for money and who knows what else were received.  The store was well stocked, but not quite as colorful as I remember it being in El Doret, Kenya.  What helped in Kenya was a list from the missionaries there of what we should buy in town, and what was available back at the hospital.  We had a large list from some past friends, but the local recommendations were to buy cheese and chocolate.  Not knowing what is available in the town we are going to, or the mission store, I pretty much bought just cheeses, but also some fruit and juice for our time here in the guest house.  In Kenya, we were travelling in the "ambulance" and there was ample space for our large box of treasures.  Here, we were travelling by taxi and it seemed more reasonable to limit my purchases to one grocery bag.

I bought a SIM card for my Grenada phone, but alas, the phone was too high tech, and not "unlocked."  Instead I had to buy my fourth phone in order to use my previously bought SIM card.  I now have phones for use in Grenada, St. Vincent's, America, and here; purchased in that order!  To think my first ever cell phone was not from the US!  Such a world traveler I am!

We had an uneventful taxi ride back to home base, and then rested and read for a bit.  I am reading Evidence Not Seen, by Darlene Diebler Rose.  It is a book DD gave me, and came highly recommended by everyone in my River small group!  The author was a missionary in the jungles of New Guinea who survived a Japanese prison camp.  A quote from the preface.  A particularly interesting quote from the preface states, "Now, suspended between captivity and a new life, I felt a fear I'd never known.  Would I know how to live outside of the confined, yet familiar regimen of suffering."

I don't see the next five months as being captivity, but definitely a new life; and I have ample fears of the unknown.  I pray that the suffering does not become so familiar as to necessitate its overlooking.  There is a fine line between what is needed for survival when kids are dying daily and how to sincerely recognize how each death will impact their parents, children, or relatives.  I hope that no life is in vain, and that something good could come of each of these trying interactions.

It is raining now.  Lisa just played a song for me by Toto, called Africa.  "I'm thankful for the rains down in Africa…"  Maybe you have to hear it to recognize it, but it is a popular song.  And I have a new respect for the rains down in Africa.  I feel as if the temperature had dropped at least 10 degrees.  Any honking of horns on the street and the jeering and requesting money on the streets has been hushed out by the sound of rain on the sand and the tin roof.  It is a massive rain.  Large drops, high velocity and getting the job done.

I am sitting on the front porch - facing out toward the entrance of the guest house.  The compound is gated and guards are present to maintain security and offer a word of goodbye, or hello.

 There is a tree in front of me.  He had about a six inch deep area about 8 feet in diameter around him.  I watched as the rain coming off the roof started to travel a path toward the tree.  It first reached the tree, then crept around, trying to find the right place to settle.  It seemed as if some was evaporating just from the left over heat from the day.  The rest continued it's quest.  After reaching midway toward the trunk, the water branched out trying to reach around the trunk, then that mission was complete and then, with time and patience, the whole basin around the tree was filled.  As the rains continue to cool and refresh, the whole front yard is nearly covered, and only a few roots around the front are seen in the soil.  I can't think of a good reason that was important for me to see or to not, but it was and I have. 

Perhaps hope that every rain drop is not just an ignored drop in the bucket, but to some refreshing, to some life providing, to some destructive.  Maybe to remind me of Oregon, or Grenada.  This has been a long trip, regardless of which origin, and I hope the upcoming is what I'd dreamed it would be.