Almost nightly now I visit the clusters of houses near the Guest House. We sit outside until after dark and inevitably I am invited in for the evening meal. One cannot refuse. I have probably already eaten in the guesthouse, but no matter. To refuse would be rude to the grandmother. The kids know my dilemma - having eaten and faced with yet another large plate of ugali. They whisper to me "Ed, just a bite." On Thanksgiving I was served rice and a cup of water. Tonight, the meal is my least favorite, sukuma and ugali. But I managed to eat a good portion. Ugali is eaten with the hands. Actually just about everything is eaten without utensils. As I leave and stumble with my Kamba language goodbyes, the children look at the grandmother who smiles and says, in English "Gud night Ed" Just her attempt to use English is a first and an honor. I have come to love this family so much. There are 4 of her "blood" grandchildren and 4 others who are blended from other families. To blend families is not African and a bit of a strain sometimes. But here in this household, it is working. All the children have the common denominator of being poor, destitute, double orphaned.
I also went to dinner at a house in Cluster 4 last week. Mary, the grandmother to whom I have become closest, said in her Kamba language "Tuesday you will come and we will have chicken." Now the household has two chickens and one is for Christmas. The other is for me and my leaving. I came to the house early and there were preparations underway for chapati, rice, sukuma, and the chicken. It was a great feast and I brought some biscuits (cookies) and some syrup to flavor the water strawberry. This was a taste they had never had and I am not sure if they liked it - but drank it all the same. I was able to shoot some video of the evening, complete with Charles Darwin reading scripture and the grandmother laughing at my attempts to speak her language. a great night.
I spent as much time with these folks as I could before I left. Ben had grown silent. The others more reserved. African men do not cry and I was determined not to cry this time. After all, I am coming back someday. We got through the leaving with few tears but only sad eyes. I got a call today from one of the kids. "I am missing you big." The older kids find someone with a cell phone and "flash" you, letting the phone ring on my end one time. My job is to return the call to them on my "dime." They call wishing me "safe journey" and "make sure to greet America for us, greet Obama."