In a one-week period, we had the opportunity to visit both extremes of wilderness. I’ll be brief, but let me tell you about both:

Nairobi

Nairobi is the largest city in Kenya, with an estimated population of 30 million. As you drive to it on terrible roads, you notice matatu’s, which are vans crammed packed with Kenyans. If an American mini van can hold 9 people, the same van will put thirty people in them. I’ve seen people on top of them, and the back doors open so two people could hang on the doors. They drive without regard to rules or safety, and in that, they are in the majority. It isn’t just drivers that are crazy in Nairobi; on our last trip, I counted over 400 people walking along the road, and crossing over in front of moving cars without much regard. This doesn’t even count the chickens, donkeys, sheep and other wildlife that tends to go all over the place.

As you get closer to the city, the slums on the sides of the roads amaze you, with people burning trash all over the side of the road. The slums are worse than anything you’ve seen in the states; sheet metal with dirt floors.

You get into the city, and you are instructed to walk fast. If you get lost, you are told to head into a store and get your bearings. If you look lost, you are a sitting duck. As you walk through the city, there are dozens of children that will approach you with their hands out; you find out later that many of them are doing it to buy alcohol for their parents, and, as in the states, giving money won’t help. You have friends who bring bread, so the ones who are truly hungry can eat. You see young kids walking around with large jars of glue, sniffing all the time.

The city is dirty, and even the new buildings look tired. As you walk, every kind of item is offered for sale. But what strikes you is how many people are just sitting, looking. There seems to be no hope in their eyes.

Even if you aren’t a big city fan, you can enjoy the energy of NY, the vitality of Chicago, the diversity of San Francisco; it’s hard to find anything in Nairobi you can say you like, except there are 30 million people there who are important, and who are living in the most deplorable conditions you can imagine.

The forest

We leave from our backyard and go up for about 5 minutes, and follow the railroad tracks for three miles. We are going to see the waterfalls. But as you prepare for an U.S. hike, you suddenly begin to realize that this is not a hike that lots of others have been on. There is no clear path. You go over rocks and water and sometimes look up and realize that there are places you can’t see the sky because the foliage is so thick you cannot see the sun.

Remember in those crummy comedies when someone is swinging on a vine and grabs a snake? It strikes you as you struggle to grab a hold on anything, that those movies have some truth here. As we began the walk, we see monkeys, and the friends we walk with saw baboons the last time they went. One of our party spies a large green snake. You remember what people told you about snakes in Kenya: three kinds: deadly, very deadly and see ya! The colors of the plants are brighter and bigger than anything you’ve seen before.

The city and the forest are one hour from each other. Probably twenty minutes with good roads. And both are Africa.

Cross Cultural moments

Fred and I are beating a rug, and I remark to him that I am 44 and have never beat a rug. This strikes Fred as hilarious, and he cannot believe that I have never beaten a rug because I am doing so well at it. I tell him that it reminds me of baseball. What is baseball, he asks. Have you ever tried to explain baseball to someone with absolutely no context of what it is? I love baseball, but after five minutes, Fred was giving me the same look I give my accountant as he tells me about the exciting changes in the capital gains tax.

Grace, our friend who works with us, is puzzled when Nancy offers her a carrot. `Your teeth are good enough to eat that uncooked?’ Later, she asks if we had help in the US; when we tell her no, she is flabbergasted. But the reality we face is that we are millionaires to these folks, and it is an amazing thought to realize you are a volunteer who is living on a sixth of what you lived on in the States but you are rich compared to most of these folks. It is a disturbing and unsettling thought.

I get an email from one of my best friends in the world, and he passes on that his life is not anywhere as dramatic as mine is. As I reflect, I recall how hard he has had to work to provide for his family, without ever complaining once. And I mention this because I am struck with how important every life is, and how dramatic and important each circumstance is because an important life is involved, whether you are in Africa or Kentucky. And I hope it is a subtle hint that your life is important to us, and we’d like to hear how you are doing.

Your friend,

Steve