Well, that was quite the adventure. Just a little week bitten out of ordinary life to pop across the Atlantic, and then to come back again. The kids are all asleep and don’t know I’m back yet.
Didn’t take many pictures. Just when I happened to be holding my phone texting everyone, and then looking up to realize a picture would be in order.
Here is the view from the hospital balcony. One afternoon I stood and watched a young man methodically weed the entire walk, interrupted only by a mid afternoon tea break. Envied him.
My mother is in the way of daily feeding eleven cats and one dog. But, she assures me, it’s fine, because one of the cats isn’t hers. Wherever you go in her gracious house and garden, there is a cat yelling at you because it’s Bowl is empty.
One night a cat, probably named Mindy, kept crawling up my mosquito net so I hauled it into my bed and played with it for what seemed like eternity. In this way, coupled with a battle of wits against the mosquito that insisted on also being inside the net, I managed to keep myself from adjusting to Nairobi time. I should, therefore, experience no jet lag and be more than ready for Daylight Savings.
Stood in this orange hallway with flesh colored doors lit by the low office lighting of hell listening to my dad being tortured with electric shocks by someone self identifying as a neurologist. Teetered on the cliff of becoming a nihilist, God denying atheist. Slowly backed away from the ledge by composing a blogpost, now lost in the mists of my mind, about the crucifixion. Truly, one of the lower moments of my adult life.
Discovered this funny note on the wall of my dad’s hospital room. Wanted him to scratch his name next to it, “So was Robert,” but sense prevailed and we left it alone.
Lunch at Java House the last day included watching a mama cat and three kittens lounging in the shrubbery. This one wandered away from the other two and had a nap in this spot while the mother came round for bits of hamburger. She seemed well off, refusing the offer of a french fry. I mean, really.
St. Francis Church has a troop of monkeys that dwell, in heights inaccessible, in the tops of the trees. They come down to say hello, and to gaze upon those going to church. I hear that occassionlally they can be found perched along the altar rail inside. And some people say animals can’t go to heaven. Pshaw.
My dad hasn’t had the wherewithal to stand up long enough to shave, so a friend of theirs came one afternoon to scrape several days worth of stubble away. “He shaved others,” I whispered to myself, “himself he could not shave.” Go and learn what this means.
Here is my mother warming up before the 8am service at St. Francis. She enjoys this organ very much and the choir that sings along with her. In fact, every Saturday morning the whole choir comes to her house to practice and she feeds them cake. Tried to imagine what would happen I tried to get the 8 o’clock at Good Shepherd to have music, let alone a choir. Couldn’t.
Arrived home late from the hospital one cold evening and had our supper in front of the fire. This is the essence of the kind of life my parents carve in Africa, and why I always want to go ‘home.’ Whether in Mali or in Kenya my mother always has the soul of that capacious tea table from which all of Africa recedes–that’s not right. How does the line go? Which book is that?
Also, the people. Africa is filled with the loveliest people who are so gracious and kind. I had just enough of a sip of that rich cup to make me thoroughly homesick once more.
Had a mixed tea and a croissant at the Art Cafe. If you can get down the road without being killed, you get this kind of reward for your efforts.
And here is me in the Kenya airport, relieved that the fit to fly was signed off on and we were going to be able to check in.
And here we are in Amsterdam, with plenty of time to get to the next flight.
And you’ll have to wait for a Binghamton selfie for me to wipe off the grime and wander around in a circle searching through my suitcase for a toothbrush.
Next big step, when my dad has had a good sleep, is to take him to the Guthrie Clinic and get the ball rolling there. Your prayers have been an amazing strength and support. I’m so grateful.
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