Coming Home after USA 2/09
April 23, 2009Justis sleeps the sleep of the just after a 12 hour layover in Nairobi. I am jet lagged and unpacking when I hear the young boy Bedo arrive to milk our cow Dora. I go to say good morning and feed the ducks. I love our new ducks!!! They eat leftovers and stuff that I don’t like, so they are going to be fat! (note to self..is there a foie gras market here? Can it make us a self sustaining orphanage?) The ducks must hear me thinking “Ka-ching!” and march away single file. I am so darned hungry. No less than 8 times have I pondered sneaking just one of the 8 Cliff Bars donated for Steve. Steve has AIDS and cancer and needs all the concentrated nutrition that we can get in him because his appetite is so low. The bars are the last edible vestige of our trip to the Land of Plenty and I am getting the DTs for processed food. I would not be considering such a heinous crime as stealing Cliff Bars from a sick orphan, but the only thing to eat is a gorgeous pineapple and all of our knives have disappeared in our absence.
Bedo is wrapping up. He hands me the warm milk and I ask him to please borrow a knife from his…….the word ‘master’ comes to mind. Fourteen year old Bedo was imported here a few months ago from some nether village. He has no education at all and that coupled with him having no family here makes him seem trapped. When we left on our trip he had not yet received a salary and I’d be stunned if he gets much more than room and board. We pay him to take Dora out to lunch each day with the neigbor’s cows. Bedo comes back with the knife and looks worried. He asks if I have foot medicine. He explains his pain to me. I ask when it started and it seems that his ankles are hurting him because he walks for miles as a herd boy wearing only flip flops. He stands awkwardly in them and his position seems to put pressure on his ankles and shins. I find him a pair of sneakers and hope that they do the trick for now.
I need to boil the milk, but I am out of gas for our little stove. Won’t it be great when we are on the farm and cooking gas to sterilize the milk will come from the cow? It’s still early so Justis and I walk to the store. Someone stops his motorcycle to talk to the white lady. Funny how some locals are hard on me for not speaking better Swahili and others think that it’s great that I can speak to them at all. This guy is of the latter variety. We pass the hunchback man. Dozens of people greet us, some by name, but all with sincere friendliness. We can see the fishermen getting ready to go out for the day.
We get home and the rain pounds on the tin roof. It is one of the most welcoming, cozy sounds that I know of and I settle in for a day of visits from the kids. I cook the milk so I will have something to give them.
