Being Spit On

It's not as bad as it sounds. In fact, it was meant as a blessing. But it was still really weird.

We were setting up for another outreach (this time in a slum on the west side of the city) when this little middle-aged lady came up to us. She was a little inebriated, and staggered around from one of us to another while we waited. (There are always numerous friendly drunk people at every outreach, it's an oft-ignored component of the misery of the slums.) Anyway, she came up to me as I was unpacking boxes of condoms for distribution and began to rub her face on my shoulder. It was VERY bizzare. She then mumbled something in Kikuyu (her tribal language) and spit a little on my collarbone. I jumped back, and while I was doing so, she spit down the inside of her shirt, and gave me a big, solemn nod. She grabbed a handful of condoms and staggered off down the road.

The laughter of my friends assured me that this was not a major insult, but it still took a while for me to understand that this was her way of giving me blessings and wishing me peace. Dorcas told me that her Grandmother does this to her every time they meet.

I'm still not certain how I feel about it.

The outreach was much like the one two days ago, except that the place was even poorer. The gutters were backed up with human waste, and the majority of the neighborhood was directly under a series of high-tension powerlines. It was thoroughly depressing.

Less depressing was the response of a bunch of my family's neighbors when I went for a run last night. We had returned from the city early, and I was feeling a little lazy, so I had Jane point me in the right direction and I went out for a few miles. Along the way, I met so many friendly people and curious children that I had to stop numerous times. I also had a school boy and a young woman join me for about a mile each. Everyone was fascinated that I was there and enormously welcoming. All the farmers who I passed stopped their work in the corn fields to watch and wave. A man on a bicycle rode alongside me on the dirt road for five minutes or so encouraging me to run faster and better. It was very refreshing.

In other news, I'm now only 12 days away from leaving for Mombasa, and I'm starting to realize that I have even less of a plan than I did when I first came here. It's also kind of weird that I'm already preparing to move on.

Otherwise, things are good. I'm going to the family's evangelical church on Sunday, which should be very interesting. I'm also meeting with a woman from Maine who now runs an orphanage here. So it should be a good weekend.

Yours,
Chris