Surprised by goodness...

 

My pal, Nyokolaci

Have you ever been shocked into silence by others loving kindness?  Humbled by a youngster’s generosity?  Surprised by goodness?

I have.

I recently discovered that sweet potato starters are something of a Didinga hidden treasure. 

Running over to the local Home Depot, isn’t really an option in these here parts.  

For the past few weeks, I have been asking most anyone who would listen where I could collect a batch of my own starters.  Yet, try as I might, all of my attempts proved to be futile.

That is until, last week.

Ducking out of Joyce’s hut I found her, Nyokolaci and a pile of sweet potato starters lying on the ground.

Excited by Joyce’s good-fortune in securing her own starters, I exclaimed in Didinga something close to, ”Wowsers!  Where in the world did you get those starters?  You lucky dog, you!”

Matching my enthusiasm, Joyce looked at the starters and then up at me with a huge smile on her face and explained that they weren’t hers, but mine.

Confused, as I so often am here in Didinga, I asked her again where she got her starters.

Simultaneously raising her chin, eyebrows and lips in unison towards Nyokolaci, the local equivalent to pointing, Joyce said, “Ngaherung (my Didinga name) the starters are all yours.  They are a gift from Nyokolaci.”

Nyokolaci, Joyce’s nephew, a small and quiet boy of ten, has assumed the role, as so many Didinga children do, of live-in nanny for Joyce.  Caring daily for her two small girls, Poi and Yaya, he is fed and allowed to attend school, an option he would not be afforded in his home village.

Though he is rough and tumble, hates to bathe and loves to race his motorcycle (two carved sticks) through the mud, he is also responsible and loving, patient, self-sacrificing and kind.

Earlier this past month, Nyokolaci slashed by hand our compound’s tall grass, a task that took him more than three days.  In exchange for all of his hard work he was given a used, long-sleeved t-shirt.  He was thrilled with the arrangement, proud of a job well done and his new t-shirt.  However, that very afternoon I saw Joyce wearing his new shirt.

The following day, sitting on our porch, watching the rain fall I asked Nyokolaci why he wasn’t wearing his new, warm shirt.  Quietly, with downcast eyes, he told me what I already knew, that Joyce had taken the shirt from him.

Just as quietly, I asked him if he was mad at her for taking what he had earned.  With a surprised kind of grin he turned to me and said, “Ngaherung, being mad at others is not good.  God does not like it.”  I told him that he was right.

Though I have come to teach, I am so often taught.

I am thankful tonight for a little, rough and tumble ten year-old boy named, Nyokolaci.

Dominic and Nyokolaci

Planting my sweet potato plants with a few of my favorite kiddos.

 

A cow ate my pants!!!

Throughout my years here in Didinga, I have endured my fair share of thievery.

I am continually learning what it means to hold loosely to the treasures of this world.

Late last night, a black, sodium deficient, brand name seeking cow broke into our yard and onto our porch, where my clothes were drying.   After chewing significant holes into my Smartwool long-johns and my blue Patagonia dry-fit shirt, a shirt which has been a Didinga clothing staple since 2008, this pesky cow moved onto dessert.  He (I mean she…) must be a party animal because she completely devoured (as in, not a trace remains) my black Patagonia dress.    

Now, it should be mentioned that this high-falooting, brand snob of a cow completely ignored the rest of the clothesline.  My faded sweatpants, stretched out Gap t-shirt from 1999, the multitude of holey, stained hand-me-downs, cast off from former missionaries and the lovely second-hand wardrobe I have picked up overtime at the street market in Nairboi, were all hanging on the line unscathed this morning. 

Go figure!

The many joys of cross cultural living!

I never quite got around to uploading this particular blog.  

Please note that it was written last month...

I have been busy this week practicing language with Joyce and her sweet girls…

The Didinga calendar claims that we are smack dab in middle of rainy season, however our empty water barrel tells of a different story.

Needing to bathe and wash our dinner dishes, Abbi and I set off for the stream yesterday evening.  We met our friend Eliza on the way, who quickly grew annoyed with us upon reaching the stream when Abbi accidentally stepped in and, then later, touched her jerry-can down in the upper portion of the stream, inadvertently muddying the water two separate times, a major Didinga no no.

After filling our jerry-cans and lifting them onto our heads we all started the half-mile journey back up the hill for home. 

Halfway home, Abbi’s precariously perched jerry-can toppled.  Eliza and I had our own loads balancing on our heads, which meant that we were unable to assist Abbi with hers.  Most Didinga women can lift a full jerry-can (which weighs 44 pounds) onto their head without assistance; however, Abbi and I are simply not strong enough to do it on our own. 

After insisting that a now thoroughly exasperated Eliza leave us and our water hauling problems behind, we slowly resumed our now exceedingly slow trudge up the hill.  Abbi was now carrying her load by hand - a task so hard and slow it is, in my opinion, not worth doing.  Eventually we, quite literally, crossed paths with a helpful youngster who lifted Abbi’s jerry-can back into place.

Moments after this lad had disappeared down the trail, Abbi again lost her balance on the uneven trail.  Falling this time completely into the mud she lost most almost all of her water.

Seeing Abbi lying there muddy and wet, exhausted, but now with very little water to show for all of her toil, I couldn’t help but laugh.   

Hearing my uncontrolled giggles, an elderly neighbor woman asked what was going on.  Attempting to use one of my new Didinga phrases I blurted out, “Uduti Abbi maam.” - “Abbi spilled her water.”

Hearing these words the old woman nodded, muttered something under her breath and walked back into her mudhut.

Late last night, while I was waiting for my bath water to heat, I reviewed my latest language phrases and with a strong dose or horror and a healthy spoonful of amusement, I realized that I hadn’t told that nosey old woman that Abbi spilled her water, but rather that Abbi was drunk!!! 

Now, don’t judge… the phrases are so very similar.

Drunk – uduti (oo-dew-ti, pronounced by drawing out the dew sound)

Spilled – uduti (oo-dew-ti, pronounced with a shortened dew sound)

Cross cultural living, you’ve just got to love it!