Out into the bush where the natives are restless at night

Well I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that I had absolutely the coolest, most culturally eye-opening experience I've had since I've been here, maybe in my life, and overall had a fantastic day on Saturday. The bad news is I forgot my camera, so I have no pictures of it, which is a shame because I think a lot of what I saw were things that are very rare for outsiders to see. I might be able to go back and have a chance to take some pictures, but either way it kind of colored the whole day with a tinge of frustration and regret that I couldn't take pictures of everything I was seeing. On Friday night we had received the troubling news that Patrick's dad and some of his brothers that were traveling with the coffin from Nairobi to Kisumu got in a wreck on the way, so Patrick's mom and some of the other relatives from here took off to go check on them. I didn't realize until the next day how bad of a wreck it was, but no one had more than minor injuries and they decided to go ahead with the funeral as planned. Let me also mention that I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep because of all the mosquitoes. I put on bug spray before bed as I always did in Nairobi, but they still were buzzing around so I ended up getting up and spraying on bug spray again two more times, so I wasn't sleeping very well to start, but then I heard lions start bellowing and if I was having trouble before that, I was really having trouble after that. What I realized in the morning was that it made sense to hear the lions because of the animal sanctuary just a little ways down the street, but that was still something of a rattling experience. I got up and explored down the road toward Lake Victoria on my run, and was rewarded by finding a dirt road maybe two hundred yards off the lake that occasionally gave great views out across the lake. Definitely my coolest run of the trip so far. I was told we'd take off at 10, and true to Kenyan form, we took off a little after 11, with no one seeming to be in a terrible hurry. We headed into town and took a matatu from there out of town for the funeral. I believe we set a new record for me for most people I have shared a matatu with, which I believe our highest count was 23, which we achieved putting about four across every row with a couple of kids on laps and about 3 guys hanging out the door. We went a ways out of town, maybe 10 miles, to the most rural area I've been in yet. As much of an oddity as I am in the city, I'm even more exotic the farther I get out into the country.

We went to somebody's house, I believe Patrick's Uncle Timothy, his mom's youngest brother, and met Patrick's mom and some other family there. We ate lunch there and talked for a little while then all packed into their old station wagon, I thought to go back to town. Maybe the funeral was there, or maybe it wasn't happening; by this point I don't even try to keep track of the plan because either way for the most part I'm just along for the ride. We stopped at a gas station and picked up a spare tire, then headed farther away from town out on the main highway. We turned off on a rough dirt heading up into the hills, and continued on that for a while, taking several turnoffs onto smaller and rougher roads, past the point that I would be comfortable taking our old station wagon, onto some roads that looked like prime four wheeling territory, then onto what I would call a wide motorcycle track. With each turn I became more intrigued with where we could possibly be heading. If I get a chance to go back I'll show you pictures of the roads we were on, but they would definitely be considered four wheel drive only, with about a foot of space on either side of the car. We pulled off into a clearing that was part of what I found out was a traditional Luo homestead (Luo is the name of the tribe Patrick's family comes from. I believe I heard there are 42 tribes in Kenya). There were several simple mud buildings with corrugated metal roofs, although some of the homes we had seen on the way in had the more traditional looking grass roofs. Cows roamed around the houses grazing, most of them looking downright emaciated by American standards. To put it in the eloquent words of Nate Thompson, we were surely "out into the bush, where the natives are restless at night" (an aside here: if you don't know the song that line is from and don't mind doing something you'll probably regret ask Dave or Dale Hamilton to sing you that song, I promise they'll be more than happy to oblige. It will change your perspective on global missions, most likely for the worse). To my ever increasing intrigue and amazement, once the car was parked everyone piled out and we continued walking down the rough, rocky path.

We crossed a creek and continued walking, until we came into a similar homestead clearing to the one where we had parked, but this one full of people, one big group looking like they were eating a communal meal, and another big group seated under trees and several large tents, most in plastic chairs and some on the ground, listening to one of several preachers in formal clergy robes sitting at the front. We moved over to sit with this group, which was the funeral for Patrick's uncle. I had almost completely forgotten about the funeral because I had sub-consciously been expecting a service in town at a church, similar to an American funeral. This was the homestead where Patrick's father and his siblings had been raised, so they came back here to bury him, as is tradition. We greeted the family sitting near us, some of which I was starting to recognize, and in a couple cases connect names with. Patrick's dad greeted me and I saw that one of his eyes was completely bloodshot and he was moving a little stiffer than usual, both of which I found were products of the crash. It was funny to watch the reactions of some of the kids around, who seemed to me to be first astounded and bewildered as to what a mzungu was doing at the homestead, and then I think confused as to why he was being greeted and treated as family by some of the people there. The service had already started so we said our greeting quietly and sat down to listen to pastor, who I found out later was from the local Anglican church where some of these people went. The service was in the traditional Luo tongue, so I couldn't even try to pick out Swahili words as I usually do in conversation. I still can't tell the difference of when people are speaking Luo and Swahili, because I've found talking with people that they mix Luo into their conversations as much as they mix in English, which I hadn't caught at all. The service didn't seem to me to be a particularly solemn or somber, and a lot of people weren't really paying attention. Several were reading newspapers, several talking quietly, and I saw at least a couple that were asleep. At one point while the pastor was talking we were offered to go get some lunch from the communal gathering that was eating. There were maybe a 80 people total there for the funeral, and probably at least another 50 roaming around or over eating, so it kind of felt more like a family reunion situation than a funeral.

When the eulogy (or at least what I assumed to be the eulogy) was done, they had a time to view the body, which I elected not to because I didn't actually know the man at all and the whole idea of viewing the body kind of gave me the creeps. I realized, especially after talking with Patrick's dad and comparing the funeral customs from home with those here, that I haven't been to many funerals at all, and none of any close relatives or people who I was close to. After everyone had viewed the body we went to a corner of the homestead to bury the body, which happened similar to what I think it is like in the US, but I've actually never seen a coffin actually put in the ground before so this was a completely new experience. Everyone, led by the pastors, sang hymns in Luo, which everyone seemed to know by heart. Still it wasn't the solemn situation that I expected it to be; I was introduced to people and talked with Patrick's dad and his Uncle Bob throughout the burial time. Patrick's dad told me some about the burial customs, and explained to me the layout of the homestead. His father's home was the big one in the middle, and since he was the oldest son his was the home on the left. The next oldest son would have a home on the right, and so on. He said then from his home, his sons would build homes around his. It seems to me if that happened at all now it would surely be only symbolic, because Patrick, Anthony, and Junior don't have any intentions (that I know of) to go live at the homestead, so I kind of doubt that will happen at all. It was really powerful talking with Uncle Bob about the wreck they had been in the day before, because it was one of those situations where it was really an act of God that no one was hurt more than they were. Uncle Bob's perspective on it was very impressive to me. He emphasized that it was a powerful illustration that every day is a gift and that God has a specific purpose for him because by all rights he felt he should have died yesterday. One of the grave diggers was super drunk and periodically would start screaming and seemed to me to spend a lot of time stumbling around rambling when he was shoveling dirt into the whole and overall seemed very disruptive and disrespectful, but no one seemed to be too bothered by him. At one point he came over to me and Patrick's dad and started talking to both of us, reeking of alcohol, and speaking what seemed to me to be about half-coherently and getting uncomfortably close to each of us. Patrick's dad didn't seem terribly bothered by him and still talked to him in his same deliberate, thoughtful manner, which I couldn't tell if it was because this was a standard occurrence and not really frowned on, or if it was just because of Patrick's dad's unflappably calm demeanor. The guy tried talking to me but couldn't real speak much English, at least not in this state, and unlike other conversations I didn't really have any desire to figure out what he was saying, so we just kept shaking hands and he called me "Mister gentleman" a couple of times. I decided if Patrick's dad wasn't concerned by him then I wouldn't be either, and he didn't seem to be doing anything worse than being disruptive. After a minute or two Patrick's mom pulled me away, I think mostly just to get me away from him and go sit down with the rest of the family that we came with. There were a couple other pretty solid drunk guys that raised started yelling from time to time, but no one seemed to perturbed, except for one that Uncle Bob sternly yelled at to go on a get out here. I wonder if that is a regular occurrence here, or at least for funerals.

Once the burial was finished everyone seemed to form small circles and sit down to talk and relax for the afternoon, again reminding me of a family reunion back home. It was an absolutely perfect place to relax for the afternoon with a view over much of the surrounding forest and homesteads and with corn fields, banana and mango trees, and ground nut (peanut) fields immediately surrounding the homestead (the whole time we were sitting there I was kicking myself for not having my camera, because the views and scenes of traditional life were really great). Patrick's dad had told me that these people grow pretty much everything they need here so they are essentially subsistence farmers, or close to it. To my astonishment, I noticed a Toyota Corrola parked along the side of the clearing. Before we left a couple of people piled into it a rumbled up what I had considered a footpath that we came in on. How they were able to make it up some of the rougher sections of the path in was a profound mystery to me. It was a sunny day, and the high elevation breezes kept the temperature pleasant. I would guess we were above 7000 feet elevation, because we'd climbed quite a ways off the valley floor, which I know is somewhere over 6000. One of the guys climbed into a couple of the mango trees that were in the clearing and knocked a bunch of mangoes there, which were collected, some by a couple of little kids scurrying around and some adults gathering them up to be stored or distributed to the groups sitting there. Maybe my favorite moment of the afternoon was sitting around eating a fresh mango, admiring the scenery, and watching everyone interact and talk. We sat around talking for most of the afternoon, which seemed to me the way things go out here. It seems to me that this is where the sense of African time originates, because out here everyone is here, so you just get to things as you need to, you don't really worry about appointments and deadlines. There's almost no vehicles out here, all the homesteads are connected with trails, and everyone travels on foot. I realized that in some ways this represents a kind of utopia for me, away from technology, living off the land, just like I've dreamed of doing back home. At the same time, as the sun started to go down and we cleaned up and left, the more I thought about staying for the night in the homestead, I was happy to be heading back into town to sleep. Throughout the afternoon, and as we said goodbye, everyone was very happy that I was there. I didn't sense any animosity or suspicion from anyone about being an outsider who'd entered their community, everyone seemed very happy and welcoming that I was there, and very eager to share everything they could about their community with me. One of the pastors who had performed the funeral came by to talk with Patrick's dad, who introduced me to him. He was an old man with what struck me as a funny facial expression who had been to the States back in the '70s if I remember right. He made a funny comment about how people in the States were amazed with how much he would walk, because they were so used to driving in their vehicles. As we walked back out of the village we ran into a couple a group of cows that were being herded along the path, and Patrick's mom pointed out different fields of crops that were cleared out of the surrounding forest. We walked out right at sunset, which made for an absolutely gorgeous walk (yet another time I was mad to not have the camera), which brought back my utopian feeling about this place. Being in these surroundings with these people gave me an incredible sense of relaxation and peace. At the risk of sounding a little too Pocahontas, it just seemed to me that they were living life the way it was supposed to be lived: with family, out interacting with nature, living off the land. It makes me wonder how envious they are of my life, being able to talk with people around the world and travel to see different places, compared to living their whole lives in that close-knit family community. I was so happy to be able to see that traditional side of Kenyan life, because I think there are some things that make more sense here seeing that that is the culture their society has come from and is based off of.

I headed back to Kisumu with Flo and Grace, and we hung around for a couple hours then, as they had promised, we headed out for a night of clubbing. I wasn't particularly excited about going clubbing, mostly because I didn't really enjoy the one time I went clubbing in the US, but I thought either way this would be a cultural experience of a completely different type from most of what I had experienced so far. The clubbing was similar to the US in that the main things that happened were consuming alcohol, trying to talk with music going so loud you just about have to shout, and dancing, none of which I'm a real big fan of. However, I really liked the Kenyan clubbing crowd. They reminded me of Patrick and Mark and Elijah and Ken (If you don't know them, those are Patrick and some of his Kenyan buddies that all live in the Rainier Valley and go to the same church), forming dance circles and pulling off goofy dance moves, and yelling and jumping when a song came on that they liked. It seemed to me a really good natured crowd, and I got several fist bumps and handshakes for being the awkward American making a feeble attempt to join in the festivities. For the most part I did what I've done for most of the trip, which is to sit back and quietly watch everything going on around me. I was ready to go a couple hours before the others, who seemed to me to be tireless in their dancing efforts. We finally left around 4 am, with me sitting at a table trying not to fall asleep. Reflecting back, it was a fascinating day, spending the day learning about and experiencing life at a traditional Luo homestead all day, then spending the night in the clubs of Kisumu. I felt like I'd experienced opposite ends of Kenyan culture, and I'm grateful for the overall breadth of the experience I've had so far.