love your toddler as yourself: a "normal" day

Today, loving the Lord my God with all my heart and soul and strength, and loving my neighbour as myself, here in rural Tanzania, looked like answering an emergency phone call at seven am; getting up and changing diapers instead of the hoped-for sleeping in; making a care package of blankets, clothes, bottles, formula and supplements for a friend struggling to feed her newborn twins; hanging long lines of laundry in the hot sun; answering questions like “what happens to spiders after they run away” and “if I get in the bath, will my hair melt?” while answering the door and answering emails; scouring books and websites and messaging friends for ways to help a neighbour who has chronic stomach troubles; paying school fees for clusters of shy and bashful students who come to our door hoping for help; reading through the Psalms on the couch, bible in my lap, while my boys sit next to me and watch a video about cows (and another about gravity); tying Kai to my back while standing over the stove and stirring caramel; problem-solving for Visible Grace from the small screen of my iPhone; fielding requests from maintenance workers on the back porch while Abram meets with a fellow teacher on the front porch; practicing David’s memory verse with him over a lunch of chicken and sweet potatoes; nursing consecutive babies while chatting with two of our college students; filling water bottles and charging phones for neighbours and workers without electricity; sending Kai to the clinic with our nanny to be tested for malaria, and sending David, James, and James’s baby doll along as well, because they want to "go bye bye"; laughing with joy when Mary reports that, at James’s request, the nurse gave his doll a malaria test, too; talking to our lawyer and social work about potentially adopting Kai; planning a certain four year old’s birthday party and inviting our neighbours; planning backup childcare for tomorrow because Abram is preaching and I cannot handle four young children by myself for four hours; and lying in my hammock with David during naptime. 

(I wrote this a couple weeks ago on a particularly busy day- so busy I didn't even have time to post it. Today, everything looks similar, but different.) 

PS- David turned four!

PPS- I have a few pictures that won't upload, and I am running out of time, and if I don't post this now, I never will, so here it is. I'll try to post pictures another time. Grr. 

A day in the life

I have wanted for a while now to give you guys a glimpse of our daily life. But it's so hard! It's hard to find time. It's hard to explain to people who haven't been here. It's hard to strike a balance between "real" and "readable".

First of all, life here can be really heavy. There are funerals in our village at least once a week. People come to our door asking for work or loans, or selling their chickens or produce. People are hungry. The rains are always late, or not enough, and harvests are small. The economy is slow and work is scarce. Or they ask for medicine and medical advice (thanks, webMD!), or a ride to the hospital, or help paying a doctor's bill. We give protein and supplements to nursing mothers, cough medicine to sick babies (we have a full supply thanks to David's cough-a-thon last year), bandages and clean cloths for cut fingers, drinking water to whoever knocks on our door.

David sharing a cup of soup with some of his favourites

But there's so much that isn't said in that paragraph. "Drinking water" sounds so simple and can be taken for granted, but the people coming to our door often don't have running water, and even if they do, it has to be boiled, filtered and cooled before it is drinkable. "Harvests are small" means almost nothing to people who buy the bulk of their food at a grocery store, as I did when I lived in the States, but our friends and neighbours live off of what they can grow, and there is no grocery store in our village. A doctor's bill is often $5 or less, but if you don't have an income, it might as well be $500. A bus ticket into Mwanza, where the bigger hospitals are, is about $4. But the average daily wage is $2. Imagine if it cost you $150 to get to the hospital.

The weird thing about life being hard here is that most of this isn't happening to our family. Thank God we have our health and our finances are stable. We don't lack food. We have a car and can drive to the hospital if we need to. These things aren't happening to us, but happening around us. But when you live in a close-knit community, when you really love your neighbours "as yourselves", then their problems become yours; your burdens are theirs. (We are so grateful for our neighbours and friends when one of us- any of us- is sick and we need an extra hand around the house!)

So. As I said. Life here can be heavy. Just living here is a full-time job. I thank God every day for the two women who help me around the house, washing dishes and diapers (BY HAND), and watching David in the evenings while I cook dinner. I don't know what I would do without them, and they in turn are grateful for an income to support their families. Even with help, getting through the day is a full-time job: cooking all our meals from scratch (90% of our diet is perishable and local!), changing diapers, nursing James, trying to keep David busy, and answering the door a dozen times a day.

Essentially, that's my day: cooking, playing with the boys, and answering the door.

"Answering the door". I am starting to take this for granted, then a quick chat with my sister reminds me of how different life is in the West, or even in the suburbs. In the US, you could go an entire day without someone coming over to your house, unless they are invited and expected. Give or take a UPS guy or a quick hello from your neighbour, your door is probably closed and quiet. Try to visualise this with me:

Because doors here are often left open all day, and doorbells are nonexistent, people say "hodi" (hoe-dee) when they come to your door- it's essentially the equivalent of saying "knock, knock!". This was, notably, one of David's first words. We get around 15-20 "hodis" a day. The hodis range from friends stopping by, to workers (we try to find work find as many people as we can, doing work for the school, working in our yard, fixing things around the house, watering flowers- anything that helps them provide for their families), people asking for a cup of water, people in the village asking Abram for advice or counsel, people asking to borrow money, people wanting to play with David or hold James, people asking for a ride somewhere, people selling us food (chicken, fish, fruit and veggies), people asking what time it is, students dropping off assignments or asking for help with their work. There are often a few extra people around the table at mealtimes, and mornings can often find Abram in the kitchen, doling out bone broth to whoever stops by...and on and on. And on. Some days it takes me an hour (or more) to do something that should take about 15 minutes. (Though I'm not sure if it's the visitors or David who is to blame...)

These girls ask to hold James almost every day!

Some days, it feels overwhelming. Most days, I really enjoy it and look forward to it. Entire days go by where I don't leave my house (except to weed in the garden, if I'm lucky and James naps!), and being extremely extroverted, I appreciate the chance to talk to people over the age of 2. My Swahili is good enough to talk to them, and I know most of their names and faces by now. David loves the attention. Abram enjoys building relationships with people, but some days make it hard for him to get any work done. Our American neighbour described her life as a "ministry of interruptions", and I am starting to see it that way, too. Imagine yourself at home in the evening, chopping onions, nursing your baby, answering the door, getting someone a drink of water, and chatting with a neighbour, all at the same time. Lovely? Or stressful? Well, both.

A few of our neighbours stopping by for a visit

If we follow Jesus's example in the gospels, there's not a lot of room for privacy. But as a young couple with young kids, we need some family time! It's hard to find a balance, but we are learning and growing, and grateful for the opportunity to develop close relationships with the people in our village. The American church talks often of living authentically and living in community. In the West, "community" is controlled, planned, and safe. Here, it's unscheduled, unpredictable, and at times, inconvenient.

One of the reasons I struggle to write about this is because I don't want to seem like I'm complaining, but I want people to understand how different our life is here. If I mention offhand to someone that we have several visitors a day, I'm not sure they really grasp what I mean. I hope I've been able to paint a bit of a picture for you. We have such an amazing village of people who love David and James and we love sharing our home, our stories and our resources with them...it can be exhausting, but it is so worth it. 

Catching up- November

The school term ended in the third week of November, leaving us with a six week winter break. Just before that, we decided to celebrate Thanksgiving! We had several Americans, a Canadian, a Tanzanian-American, a German, and a Kenyan born, Canadian-American toddler who lives in Tanzania. : )

One of the Americans in our village told me that Thanksgiving was her favourite holiday, so I thought it would be nice to make it as festive and special as possible. We are able to get a lot of traditional Thanksgiving foods in our village, and I even found cranberry sauce at the imported-foods supermarket in Mwanza! We opted on chicken instead of turkey, because turkey would have been over $100, but it was still delicious and thanksgivingy! We also held the dinner almost two weeks before Thanksgiving in America (and a good month late for Canada), because that was when we were all available, but that doesn't matter!

We ended up having a really lovely evening with wonderful people and wonderful food. Everyone pitched in and brought something. I made gluten free dressing and gluten free pumpkin pie, so that Abram, David and I would be sure to get some. (The pie was completely gone by the end of the evening- everyone had some!) And I roasted the chickens. I also set the table, and took care to make it look simple and elegant. I cut leaves out of coloured paper and had fun trying to come up with fall/harvest decorations. (Meaning, I cut leaves out of coloured paper. And then put a candle and some fresh flowers in the centre of the table.) I was pleased with how it turned out, though. I don't know if anyone cares but me- but I was happy with it.

We fit ten people plus David's high chair around our enormous dining room table! 

Thanksgiving isn't my favourite holiday, but this was my first time hosting it, and I found myself looking forward to it all week, searching for perfect chicken roasting recipes on my phone instead of getting work done, and mentally changing the table layout in my head. I really enjoyed the entire thing, and can't wait to celebrate next year!

Chickens here are really small, so we roasted three!

The lineup

Chatting over pie and tea.

On the actual date of (American) Thanksgiving, Abram lit a fire in our fireplace for the first time (rainy season is cold...ish, especially when you have louver windows that never close), and I made gingerbread cookies. We sat on the couch, listening to Christmas music and staring at the fire. It was a really lovely way to kick off the Christmas season.