One of the great things about second term is you know more of what to expect, so it allows you, in the words of my English colleagues, the opportunity to be a little cheeky. I have trained this term of driving students to always greet Nancy, no matter what time it is and no matter what she is wearing, with the following phrase, best delivered in a halting monotone:

Good morning Mrs. Peifer! My, what a lovely dress!

Mrs. Peifer is truly enjoying her greetings, and my shin should recover in a short while.

I had the opportunity to go into Nairobi to go to a computer show. The last show I went to in the states included entertainment by the rock group Chicago and the Pointer Sisters. This was a little different: it was in a mall, and there were 12 exhibitors. In every booth, there were power backups, because if you don’t count on the power going off a dozen or so times a day, you are fooling yourself. I found about half of the people knowledgeable, and half full of wind, which is a higher ratio than the US. How hard it must be to run a computer company, with irregular power and horrible phone lines, but what an opportunity; India built a middle class in a generation by leapfrogging technology. Could it happen in Africa? I hope so.

JT turned 11 today, and it was a memorable birthday in lots of ways. Last year, his party was at Laser Quest; they shot each other with lasers. No laser quest in Africa, but lots of stars, so five of his buddies camped out last night. It gets cold here at night, and the winds were blowing strong, but when you are in fifth grade, camping out for the first time without the parents, the thrill is so great that you forget the cold, or probably closer to the truth, the cold is part of the thrill. They stayed up late talking about the adventures they are planning, and came in this morning cold, tired and exhilarated; a perfect birthday.

Grace’s oldest son received his assignment for school. He is assigned to a boarding school, and the cost is about what the average African makes in a year. And there is so much graft and corruption at the school lever, that it put me in a foul mood: how can they justify this cost when no one can afford it, and why do they require uniforms that cost so much (answer: a prime minister owns the clothing outlet) and why do they require kids to buy books instead of lending the books like the states (answer: a politician owes the bookstore) and why do they destroy their children this way? And I was mad, as mad as I have ever been since I’ve been here.

But I got a powerful reminder of how unrelated things can work together. Grace’s husband has been a non-provider for years; he was caught stealing by a previous employer, and he spends much of his time drinking and chasing woman. When they got the school bill, he disappeared for several days; this was not unusual for him.

What he was doing, however, was unusual for him. He was working. He was so shook up at the bill; he had found a five-day job. He didn’t make much, but he was trying, and that is more than he has done in years. And it struck me: I came to Africa after my son died, but I am surprised that different things can work together in a pattern I can’t see, but only marvel at.

YP