Some people like to be at the forefront of a trend. Since this is scientifically impossible for me, I am more inclined to celebrate the end of a trend. In the states, there was a radio ad playing right before we returned to Africa in which a young child earnestly yelled, “Ovaltine rocks!” I think it is safe to say that the expression “That rocks” has passed out of cool.

In the same spirit, I wish to announce the end of the goatee. I started growing one last week. Since it has come in Santa white, it has already solicited kindly remarks like “it makes you look even older,” which I’m sure will be the death knell for that look.

A few weeks before we came out to Africa, someone called us and asked if we wanted to be on his container of items going to Africa. He was shipping a container by boat, and it was 90% full, and he wanted to fill it up. Until to that point, we hadn’t considered doing one, but that made the price affordable.

The biggest thing we wanted to ship was our mattresses. You can’t buy a real mattress in Kenya; you can get a foam pad, and that is fine for young Turks, but not for someone with a white beard. What we discovered is ten percent of a container is a lot; we were able to get lots and lots of stuff on it. We had kind friends who helped us pack and drove down a truck to Houston where it shipped out to go by boat to Africa.

We received an email that the container had arrived, and that we should be there for the opening. I went into town and we arrived at the yard. Hundreds of containers, as large as a rail car, spread out for several miles. It was a two-mile walk just to get to our container.

The procedure is: your shipping company has the lock. You go there to unlock and witness customs inspecting the container, to make sure nothing gets stolen. And we were ready to do it, except that when we opened the container, there was a large piece of lumber that sealed the container.

The Kenyans’ limited tools were no match for the machine driven nails. After an hour, there was no real progress. I took a crow bar and pried the top enough to get a hand grip, and I pulled myself up to the top and stood on the plywood, hoping my weight would cause it to buckle. After several minutes, two Kenyan men jumped up there with me.

It became evident that it would work, but it would take some time. What does one do when you are in the middle of a shipping yard in Kenya, standing with two other men trying to break down plywood?

In an odd way, it sort of seemed like surfing. Because I was in Kenya and wanted to be culturally sensitive, I knew I had to sing the perfect surfing song: “Surfing Safari.”

Since I have been back in Kenya, teaching two non-English speaking Africans to sing the refrain “Surfing Safari, yeah Surfing Safari” while standing atop of a huge container must be the most surreal moment to date. After about ten minutes and two “Sing again,” the wood finally gave and we were able to get into the container.

We then hauled out about twenty pieces of the container. Almost 40 different people came by to look, to ask questions, or most likely, to hope to hear more singing. After almost three hours, we were told to return the pieces to the container.

While we were waiting, I spent some time with a young man named Moses. He is a newlywed, and makes a fair living, but lives in one of the worst slums in Kenya. It has almost one million people in it according to some estimates, and I am going to visit him in December when school is out if we have a vehicle. I asked him why he lived there.

Kenyans revere family life. Because he is the eldest son, it is his duty to help his younger brothers and sisters get educated. Because he was educating his younger brother, he could not afford any housing except the slum. I’ve driven by that place, and it is truly horrible. To choose to live there to help your brother is one of the most remarkable sacrifices I know of.

They delivered everything to our home on Friday. Everything, that is, but the mattresses. We don’t know if they are on a container, or someone is having a very good night’s sleep that shouldn’t, but it is one of the wonders of being in Kenya.

The one thing that arrived was our music. We brought over lots of CDs this time. I’ve told all my Kenyan friends: I will learn your customs and attempt to learn your language, but by the time I am done with you, you will know Motown well. By the time I leave Kenya, I have high expectations that all my Kenyan friends will know the difference between Martha Reeves and the Vandells and Junior Walker and the All Stars.

It’s the least I could do.

Your pal,
Steve