I like to walk in the mornings. We are in a very rural area of Africa, so I get to see all varieties of birds and animals, including monkeys and baboons. I have learned proper baboon etiquette, which I am sure will be useful the next time you run across one.

First of all, it is unusual to run across one baboon at a time. Baboons travel in families, or packs. When I am walking, I usually notice a branch in a tree moving. It is usually the scout, who is on the lookout for problems. The next thing I notice several small baboons running for the fence. None of this prevents me from walking on.

Then Big Daddy appears. He glowers at me, and since he is capable of taking a fifty-pound trash lid and tossing it like a Frisbee, I stop, put my hands behind my back, and avoid direct eye contact, or anything that might be considered aggressive. While I remain motionless, I will see between six and 20 baboons run behind Big Daddy and run to the forest. Only when everyone is over the fence does BD give me one more look, and then he jumps over the ten-foot fence.

What is interesting is that last look. When I first saw it, it seemed like the most menacing thing I could imagine. But I see it several times a week now, and it almost looks like a nod, an acknowledgment that I know the rules of his game.

It is probably too easy and a cheap analogy to mention at this time that we have a dorm of 16 seventh grade boys. They are an interesting group, and six of them were in our dorm when they were fifth graders. We have two Kenyans, two Indians, four Koreans, one Brit, one Canadian, and the rest Americans. The biggest difference I can comprehend presently is that while the mere mention of girls would cause immense gagging from fifth grade boys, mention girls to a seventh grader and you get LOTS of nervous laughter.

Nan is doing the elementary library again, and has an amazing way of getting children who would only read Garfield cartoons excited about literature. I’m helping to implement Accounts Payables in the business office, teaching elementary computer and teaching eighth grade English.

I have an older sister who, as she reads these words, is booking a direct flight to Kenya to save the children. I received a minor in English in college almost twenty-five years ago, and have no real teaching experience. It has lead to some real terror on my part, because I don’t want to harm these children, and I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. The other day as we were correcting some sentences, I had the distinct impression that several of the kids knew more than I did.

Part of the terror is learning names: Ha-Sun, Jojanneke, Aneurin, Ye-Ji, Njoroge, Malindi, Narshil, Bokeum and Ng’ang’a are some of the tough FIRST names I have.

We knew this time wouldn’t be as easy as last time, and it isn’t. But it is forcing me to the Father who delights in being strong in my weakness, and who wants me to stretch and grow in ways that aren’t always comfortable. It isn’t an easy thing, but it is a good thing.

Matthew had his tenth birthday this week. A little Kenyan girl gave him two tiny erasers for his pencils. In the United States, it would be laughed at as a gift. But I know her family situation, and the sacrifice it was for them to give a gift like that.

Three years ago, I couldn’t imagine tears in my eyes over such a gift.

Your pal,
Steve