January 8 – Nairobi
Up in the morning for church. The service was a gathering of three congregations and I think there may have been a little competition going on. The Sunday School children from St. Mary’s Kipasi (the Ndwara church) and St Peter’s (from nearby Thim) danced at various times during the service, and they danced their best. Nothing can make me smile like a 6 year old dancing with a great deal of focus and energy. The St Peter’s girls all had matching green skirts, but like little girls everywhere, their skirts didn’t really fit, so some had them tucked up under their armpits, and some had them slung around bony little hips. None of this interfered with the dancing, and I am always humbled by the fact that a six year old can dance better than I can.
The pews in the church are made out of boards, and there was a visiting preacher. His sermon may have been wonderful…it was certainly energetic…but it was in DhoLuo so I missed most of it, and it went on for an hour and 15 minutes, so my bottom went to sleep. To make it worse, my sister Rose was sitting next to me, and she was wriggling too. The kids in the row in front must not have been from Ndwara school because they kept turning around to look at me, and Rose kept turning their heads back to the front.
Eventually we were done, and home for lunch. Then it was time to go. All along the highway to Kisumu we kept passing people carrying water. One man had two ten litre jugs carried on a pole across his shoulder. Another had so many jugs attached to his bicycle that he couldn’t ride it…he just pushed it along in the dust beside the road. Small children were carrying smaller jugs. Motorcycles, donkeys, wheel barrows; everyone carrying water home from wherever they could find it, walking between dusty fields of dead corn.
When I checked in at the airport, there seemed to be a lot of policemen standing around. While I was in the waiting room, a gentleman came in with a policeman carrying his bag, followed by two other policemen. The bag carrier was senior, he had a better hat, and many stripes on his sleeve. After a few minutes, one of the junior policemen went into the washroom and came out giving the all clear. The important man then went in while the two junior policemen guarded the door, and the senior policeman held the bag. When the important man came out, he began to work the room, shaking hands with many people but avoiding the foreigners. I suspect an early onset of election fever; but I wonder whether the bathroom guards envisioned this role when they enrolled in police college?
Back to the same apartment as always, but strangely no food. Usually they leave supper in the refrigerator. Since it was already 10 pm, and I was too tired to go out, I ate my granola bars, drank some tea and fell into bed.