The One in Which I Go to the Clinic

After four days of kidney pain, I decide it's time for my first trip to the clinic.

A friend comes to get me from school and we arrive at the clinic around 11:15.

I go to the reception and ask to create a file, she flips through a stack of ripped cardboard 'cards' about the size of a post-it note.  Hands me one with the number 28 and asks me to sit.  

We spot a bench in the back, with just enough space for the two of us to sit and wait.  In front of us are four rows of seats, various sizes and types, with about 5-6 chairs in each row.  Each one filled.  Adjacent to us it's the same picture, creating two groups of chairs with an aisle between.  Behind us, through the wall we lean on are the offices of two doctors.  In front of us is a third doctor's office, the reception, which is right next to the dawa (pharmacy) which is a glassed-in room about 6sq. feet.  

To my left there are windows and a porch where there are more seats, also all filled with people waiting to see the doctor.  We are the only two wazungus in sight.

You.

You, our little bear, bring us more joy than we could have ever imagined, or even hoped for.
Each minute spent with you reveals more of the character God has placed in you.  At the sweet, young age of two and a half we are astounded at the little boy you are already becoming and we simply must document it!

We see your love language developing daily - acts of service and gift giving are your dominant ones right now.
Your endless requests to help us are so sweet and endearing.  "Momma, I help Norwex!"  "Papa, can I mop?"  "Momma, I'm sweeping leaves right now.  I'm not done yet. When I'm done I'll come eat dinner." "Papa, can I help with laundry?"  "Papa, I go get the gate with you." "Momma you need a blanket? I get it."

In Which I Want One… or Seven {but not just yet}

Last week we were headed out of town on a Teacher Excursion with plans to eat at nice restaurants, do some cultural history stuff and some shopping.  On the way out of town Bill prayed over our trip for safety, favor and that 'if there [was] an opportunity for us to minister, let us minister."
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On the way home we sporadically (or not?) visited a baby home about 45 minutes away from our house.  We walked in right around dinner time. (Please pardon image (lack of) quality - armed with only my phone so I could get my hands on the littles and play! (:  )

In Which I Didn't Think I'd Become a Vegetarian

If it has a face, I won't eat it.

No.  Literally.  I was at a wedding a couple months ago, a Tanzanian marrying an American.  As I walked through the buffet line I saw two beady eyes peering at me from around the corner.  They were laying on the table.  It's mouth was half open, frozen.  And there was nothing left of it beyond his neck.  It was Virgil's cousin.  His body was in the large bubbling pot sitting in front of me - stew.  And he was laying there in wait for the presentation of the cake - Goat Cake.  The most prized portion of the goat, and it's eaten. All of it.

No, but really.  It is.


But that's not why we're vegetarians (though that doesn't hurt my case, I'll admit).  I find myself cooking/eating meat, maybe, maybe once a week.  Though it's typically less often than that.  Meat here… well, let me re-phrase that: Quality meat here, is hard to find, and when you do it's not cheap.  Plus it's just easier to go without.  Don't get me wrong, I've bought a slab of beef from the market a time or two, and I get the occasional chicken warm off the butcher block (not even kidding), but more often than not, we opt to skip the meat.