Freedom

she’s been searching
wandering
longing
seeking a destination called freedom
freedom to know the joy of life
hear a still voice silence the harmattan

photo courtesy Lusha Zhou

dry her heart
blow
chaff
make teardrops
fall like drops of rain
drench the pain 

freedom is behind her
around her
cloaking her
coaxing her 

freedom to be free
free to feel the wind kiss her cheeks
free to feel pain yet live
free to heal
to walk
to run
to glance upon the vastness of the ocean
and see love
only love…

Glinda

The voices in my head began shouting louder as soon as I stepped out of the taxi and rolled my luggage into Boston Logan Airport. I know the voices well; they often come to plague me when I travel around, when I need a passport, and I cringe when I think of how weak my Kenyan passport is; how I am allowed to travel to relatively fewer countries. This time, the voice began scowling about what I considered inequality of the highest level: I need a visa to go to South Africa but South Africans don’t need a visa to come to Kenya. Kenyan government, why?

The voice visited me last three months ago, before I met her. Glinda.

By the time she walked up to me, I had already been daydreaming about angels—perhaps a young swanky man or woman professional (sex didn’t really matter) who would walk up to me and swipe a credit card. Or maybe an older citizen, more likely a greying old lady with a walking stick who would take pity on me, and grant me a portion of her inheritance upon seeing my tears. I never imagined the angel as Glinda — big-boned, bob-cut permed hair, traces of a grey testosterone-induced beard, and a drawling Jamaican accent, the kind that makes you daydream about eating banana fritters and sipping on coconut juice under the shade of a palm in a Kingston beach, the kind that makes you lull about as if to a reggae beat by Gramps Morgan, a tune like Wash Away the Tears, a voice to still your soul.

“May I sit here?” she asked me, training her gaze to the seat next to me. “Of-course, I answered quickly.”

And when she had sat down, she began.

-Are you African?-

-Yes-

-Where from?-

-Kenya-

-You live in Nairobi-

-Yes, I do-

-Do you like it there?-

-No I don’t. I prefer the countryside but my parents work there-

-I’ve come today to make reservations to go to Ghana-

-Oh wow, what are you doing there?-

-Art. I’m going for the artwork-

-Wonderful, so you’re an artist?-

-Yes, I am-

The conversation went along as she told me about her own Jamaican background, how she came to the US to study but ended up staying, working, starting a family, befriending Africans, and teaching high school English. She talked unceasingly, and with each word, I began thinking less about my predicament, the fact that I needed $1000 for a ticket change as a result of missing one of my connecting flights due to weather conditions. We walked over to the ticketing counter at four o’clock, as soon as the British airways counter opened up for business. An Indian man went before us, and we remained second in line, behind the same cart, like mother and daughter. But the Indian man took an insanely long time, and patience began to wane. Glinda began tapping her foot, looking right and left for other attendants who might rescue us from the three-hour wait for the counter to open, and then the arduous wait for service.

“This is the worst service ever,” she said to me.

“Mmmh...” I muttered under my breath. At high-pressure times like those, I often resort to my best behaviour, my sweet voice, and humility at its best. Surely, if someone sees tears tracing my eyelids, they’d be more merciful, right?

“Excuse me lady, we be waiting here a long time with nobody to help us!” she accused the manager overseeing the operations. I was shocked, betrayed, Glinda had messed up the plan, the one where we look helpless and offer the agents a chance to redeem themselves through us.

But Glinda seemed to have instituted a paradigm shift. Visibly shaken, the manager found another agent to cater to us. I chuckled under my breath as I imagined the manager interpreting Glinda’s words as, “I’ll rearrange your face if you make us wait a minute longer”.

Then the new lady handed me my ticket home, no questions asked, no eyebrows raised, no money solicited. My heart swelled with joy, and the voices left. In between muttering, “You are truly God, You are God”, I braked the cart and looked over at Glinda. She wasn’t just an older caring woman, she was loud. She complained for about the long lines. She set a precedent for me. For those who know me well, you will know that I am non-confrontational, and where possible, I like to keep my peace (unless of course, we are competing, which becomes a different story.) Glinda had stood by me on the line like a mother protecting her young, shouting at the attendants for the worst and most incompetent service she had ever seen. And they were scared.

So when the voices revisit, I remember Glinda. Angel.

Not because I forgot to bring tea from home for her, or that I’m not sure if I’ll ever see her again. Remembering Glinda reminds me that the voices are subject to God, reminds me to be thankful because I’m never alone, even in the midst of my most dramatic travel experiences. (Sigh with me if you know all I'm talking about)

God is truly God over everything, even the little things, like thirty-two pages of an embossed travel document.

When in Rome...A Pictologue

Enjoy a blueberry milkshake with nutella and whipped cream

Get on the rooftop of a tall building overlooking Roma

DRINK SPREMUTA! Freshest, bestest orange juice you will ever enjoy!

Visit the Roman Forum, and wish you knew enough history....what happened there??

Il Colosseo! The Colosseum--one of the 7 wonders of the medieval world, and Gladiator!

Random picture of a cross. Remember who makes life possible!

Fashion for priests....hehe

The National Monument of Victor Emmanuel II, the Altare della Patria.  Thou shalt not liter or sit on the steps

Alas! St. Peter's Basilica! Wait for it.....

Yes! No arms, no thighs! Now you know where the Strathmore dress-code comes from...
I had to buy me a shirt :(

A Swiss guard...this place cries Angels and Demons all over 

The Vatican has to be the most beautiful place, artistically speaking

Yes, that's a painted ceiling by none other than Michaelangelo

I suspect Pope Benedict lives down that drive

What's Italy without some pasta!

And the pizza,

And tiramisu,

And most importantly, GELATO, and the joy of soon-to-be family :)
PS: Eat gelato every single day!! There's something poetic about eating traditional Italian ice-cream in Italy

S.H.A.G.S

It's not a coastal strip, where white sandy beaches and an everlasting sunset caress the edge of the earth. It's not even a snowy mountain peak, or an island of lava and aquifers, where you experience an epiphany, and feel all your life experiences coalesce into a single moment of ecstasy. It's not any of these, because it's more. It's like that unread sonnet, that heart-song yearning to be written. It's where you feel the wind kissing your face, and the sun burning up a halo on your braids. Your shags, undoubtedly the most beautiful unphotographed place in the world.

Shags

You come here to escape the trivialities of your life, to remind yourself of that Someone who gave you a life outside of this paradise. You've had an easy life, and you dare not forget that. And so you look at the surrounding hills. It reminds you of that phrase you read so often in novels "rolling hills". The hills are endless, spiraling in a majestic wave, interrupted only by stony crevasses, whose waters plummet down to the valley, dividing into rivers and brooks, sustaining life in that place so arid, yet oh-so-green. You always wonder about that: how a place can be so hot, so arid, yet unfailingly green. It's a mystery, you conclude. The same mystery that birthed a 500-year old irrigation system, a lineage from pharonic Egypt, Jewish-like traditions, and you.

It's where you first learn how death smells like. It's the smell of the earth, the soil unturned. When you walk through dug out fields, it's inescapable. It's where you first truly know what 'redolent of' means: strongly reminiscent or suggestive of (something), it's a place of opposites, of paradox. Because even if your spirit comes alive, that smell reminds you of those whose spirits reside beyond, your grandparents, your ancestors. And you learn that a place of life can also be a place of death.

But life powers the cycle of death. And life breathes here, in a church on a hill. Yes, it's a church on a hill, like a cross on a hill, like a Saviour's cross on a mount called Calvary. And so you go there for Sunday service, in that white square building with three rows of pews - for men, for women, for children. You remember it's still the place where your liberalism must stay in check, because your mother taught you well, to do in Rome what the Romans do. So in your skirt and shirt, you breathe that life, and your soul soars in joy, because the old man standing at the front talks about sin, and blessing, and you cry in your heart because in that place, you can still speak the same language - not your mother-tongue - but the language of a Heavenly Father's love for a sinful people, like you. And you wonder if that's what you seek after all, when your heart longs to rest, but your feet yearn to walk..

 One year later

And when shags becomes a memory, when you go back to your fast-paced life, and your books, and blissful anonymity, you pray you will not forget, the story of life and death, the history of struggle. Because Someone lived here once so you would have all you have now, Someone walked all day up and down that valley, looking for salt licks for the cows, Someone slept on a rock, because walking to school was a three-day journey. Someone loved you, loves you, this much. 

Walking in a dark world…

Walking into Heathrow Airport, I was faced once again with one of my least favorite developments in airport security: the seemingly numerous full body security checks. This now normal routine, a result of the increased terrorist activities in this world, also reflected the current happenings back home in Kenya—the now normal security checks before getting into malls, buildings, and now even churches. After getting myself checked and while walking into the transit area, one thought came to my mind to reassure me.

Even as the days of this world grow darker, His grace grows even stronger, His light ever more guiding. 

Just as David must have felt writing the 23rd psalm, echoing how his Lord walked with him in the shadow of the valley of the dead, I experienced the same calm assurance; the same unwavering conviction. In that short walk, I knew that even as before, I never walk alone. I have a wandering heart, and often, the feet of my heart yearn to walk. Even then, I am hidden under the shadow of God’s wings, enveloped in the arms of Christ, and guided by His Holy Spirit. Resting in Him, even as the days of this earth grow ever darker, I know I will walk with Him even to the end of the age. But in the mean time, I will face whatever the world throws at me, using each opportunity to cause God’s name to be glorified, be it through co-operating, smiling at the security officers, saying ‘how do you do?’, you name it. Let your light shine before men, even and especially, when walking in a dark world.

Come Thou Fount: Reflections on my last day in Berlin

What an adventure it's been in this country! I could write loads about it, but that's not the point here. #

Whenever I leave a place, arrive at a place, I sing and reflect on my favorite hymn Come Thou Fount. I absolutely love this hymn, and when I was chapel captain at Alliance Girls, I would try as much as possible (without being considered redundant) to ensure that we sang it on the Sundays I was leading chapel. When I listen to this hymn, I reflect on the far that the Good Lord has brought me, to Alliance Girls, to Dartmouth College, to Germany, to His Kingdom. I love this hymn like no other. Every word speaks to my life. So today, on my last day in Berlin, I sing this hymn. Thank you Lord, for the far that You have brought me. Du bist einfach großartig!

Here are the words of the hymn in the English version I prefer (by E. Margaret Clarkson), and a video of me singing the hymn version in German.

Come thou fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing thy grace
Streams of mercy never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise
Teach me some melodious sonnet
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise His Name I'm fixed upon it
Name of God's redeeming love.

Hither to thy love has blessed me
Thou has brought me to this place
And I know thy hand will bring me
Safely home by thy good grace
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Bought me with His precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor  
Daily I'm constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee:
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here's my heart, O take and seal it;
Seal it for Thy courts above.

Tim und Struppi a.k.a The Adventures of Tintin...A Childhood

one of the tintin comics

A few days ago, I watched the Steven Spielberg directed movie Tim und Struppi, known in the English speaking world as The Adventures of Tintin. Because animations don't rank high up in my movie wish list, I was a bit reluctant about going to watch this on the big screen, but since I wasn't paying for my ticket, I decided to tag along. And meyn am I happy I did. Watching this movie almost made me teary-eyed. It took me right back to my childhood...oh nostalgia.

I've read all of the Tintin comics. I honestly don't know if other Kenyan kids did too. Unlike the Hardy Boys and Famous Five--also detective like children's books--Tintin had a special place in my heart. You see, my mother read Tintin to us. To this day, I still remember how she would change her voice, expressing shock, anxiety, suspense and the best part...her Indian accent. I would curl up at the crook of her feet, earnestly listening to Tintin and Snowy nab the bad guy...it was truly epic...

About three years ago, my siblings and I bought the entire collection of Tintin books. Over the years, we had kept losing our comics, and when we got the chance to replace all of our comics, we didn't hesitate. But still, it's not the same. I can't curl up at my mother's feet, I can't go back to being truly enthralled by Tintin through my mother. I miss those days, the Tintin days, the childhood days...

On the other hand, watch the movie if you haven't yet.

Diese Stadt ist soo seltsam...3 Photos von Prague

Thai Massages

Cannabis

Seltsame alkoholische Getränke...ja, drin sind Würmer (worms)

Kultur: Dein größter Einfluss

Vorher hatte ich vor, dieses Post auf Englisch zu schreiben. Aber dann habe ich mich entschieden, dass es kein Sinn macht, mein Englisch anstatt mein Deutsch zu üben. Ich möchte die deutsche Sprache beherrschen. Deswegen soll ich bereit sein, mich völlig zu bemühen.

Ich interessiere mich für Anthropologie, und wie unsere Kulturen uns anders beinflussen. Um meine Meinung gut auszudrücken, möchte ich meine eigene Erfahrungen verwenden: Meine Kleidung.

Wenn ich im Ausland bin, bin ich nie schick gekleidet. Ich trage nur Jeans, ein T-shirt und meine Turnschuhe. Für mich ist Bequemlichkeit wichtiger als ein gutes Aussehen. Aber wenn ich in Kenia bin, habe ich immer Probleme bei der Wahl eines Kleids. Ich kann nicht leicht auswählen, was ich trage. Ich will immer schick gekleidet sein...du weißt nicht, wer dich anguckt. Vielleicht gibt es ein Junge, der an dir interessiert ist. Die Gründe sind riesig. Ich kann nicht gut verstehen, warum ich mir immer Gedanken über mein Aussehen mache. Aber ich vermute, dass die Antwort in der Kultur liegt.

Jede Person hat eine Kultur, in der sie erzogen wurde. Jeder will die Ideale seiner Kultur erreichen. Dieser Prozess ist immer unbewusst. Wir können ihn nicht erkennen. Deshalb bin ich nicht gespannt, dass ich im Ausland nicht schick gekleidet bin. Auch strebe ich danach nicht, Aufmerksamkeit im Ausland zu erfassen. Meine Heimat ist Kenia. Nur in dieser Heimat kann ich fühlen, dass ich etwas falsches gemacht habe, dass ich mein Potenzial nicht ausgeschöpft habe.

Ich weiß nicht, ob meine Theorie für alle gilt. Vielleicht bin ich die Einzige, die auf die Erwartungen anderer Kulturen nicht achte. Allerdings ist es wichtig, unsere kulturelle Erwartungen wahrzunehmen. Daher können wir unsere eigene Entschiedungen ohne aüßere Einflusse treffen. Wir können uns befreien, wenn wir andere Kulturen betrachten, um die versteckte Erwartungen auszugraben. Ich kann meine Träume verfolgen, ohne die "wichtige Karriere" auszuüben. Darum kann ich mich erinnern, dass die Ansicht Gottes am Ende meines Lebens die höchste Priorität erhält!

Wie mein Schreiben irgendwie mit Gott verbunden ist!

Deutscher Fußball!

Vor der Stadion

Heute habe ich ein Fußballspiel gesehen, aber das Spiel war ein bisschen langweilig und die Spieler waren nicht so gut. Allerdings habe ich mich vergnügt, besonders als wir gesungen haben. Ich habe auch einen Bratwurst gegessen und Kakao getrunken, und heute Abend gehe ich zur Russendisko! Ich freue ich mich darauf und darüber. Seitdem ich mich entschieden habe, meine Erfahrung hier zu genießen, habe ich im Eifer und Frieden gelebt. Und gestern, dank meiner Schwester, weiß einen Jungen, dass ich ihn mag! Ahhh...die Welt hat nie so gut ausgesehen....♥

Forgetting God...

Keep falsehood and lies far from me;
give me neither poverty nor riches,
but give me only my daily bread.
Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you
and say, ‘Who is the LORD?’
Or I may become poor and steal,
and so dishonor the name of my God. (Proverbs 30:8-9)

'' So what's your name again?''

''Miriam.''

''Miriam..Miriam....that's a Bible name, right?''

''Yes,''

''So, you Christian?''

''Yes''

''Protestant?''

''Yes''

''What church you go to?'' 

''Umm...you don't have it here in Europe..Pentecostal'' (hard to explain my non-denominationality in Germany)

''Ahh, I know it,'' (smile) ''I'm Seventh-Day, do you know them? They have many of them in Africa, right?''

''Yes. Seventh-Day Adventists are quite a number in Kenya.''

''In the US too, but not so many here. My husband is a pastor''

''Wow, that's wonderful!''

''Yes, I work here until Thursday, then I go back home to Poland and I'm in church by Saturday.''

''That's a hectic life...''

''Yes, it is. But I have to earn money. My son is in school, in (mentions town in Poland). Do you know the town?''

''No, sorry.''

''It's near the border to Germany. A big town.''

''So school is not free like here in Germany?''

''No...'' (with bewildered face) ''Very expensive. You include the rent, the food...everything becomes very expensive. In fact, from now I'll start working here every week, not every other week''

''Coming to Germany every week, instead of every two weeks?''

''Yes. I have to support my family.''

Silence

''You know life is very hard in Poland. The people here (Germany) have a lot of money, and then they forget God. I don't want a lot of money. I need my God.''

Why Jesus is the Answer

The question of identity and acceptance torments many people. In my class this fall, I am learning about the Turkish community in Germany, and the general problems that immigrants face while trying to intergrate into the host community. Their challenges mirror the hardships that second-generation African-Americans and second-generation Asians experience when they emigrate to America. It’s the same dilemma that President Obama faced, leading him to author his now famous memoir Dreams from My Father.

In learning about these immigrant issues, I vowed that I would not allow my children to grow up in a foreign country. Since God has given me Kenya, then they must grow up in Kenya, speak Kenyan, ultimately forge a Kenyan identity. I did not see this any other way around. The last thing I wanted was to have my kids growing up unaccepted in a foreign community. But then, something happened.

I attend this amazing little church in Berlin called Christliche Glaubensgemeinde, Berlin (CGG-Berlin). The congregation is international, representing all continents in one small crowd. I love this little place, not just for the Word of God that I receive, but also for the kind of community they have forged. Yes, they have their different cultures, different ideas, but they all share and celebrate one thing—Jesus Christ. And the pastor was very vocal about it, saying how the church loves and celebrates its diversity. And indeed, I have honestly never seen anything as beautiful as the spirit of love and acceptance that flourishes in this church.

I am truly thankful to God for having been at this church at such a time like this. My experience there has reminded me why Jesus must be the answer to the question of identity. When we come together in the Christian faith, we embrace our identities as sons of God. We are co-heirs with Christ, we are part of the Kingdom. It doesn’t matter who we are, or where we come from. Our identities fade in the light of the ultimate identity—that of being seekers of the kingdom, of being men and women after God’s own heart.

When we embrace this identity, we can be more patient with those struggling to understand themselves in a foreign land. If we are struggling with identity, then we will know where to turn to. So ultimately, it won't really matter who we are or where we come from. What matters is that Jesus lives in our hearts. And that is the identity that will really matter at the end of our lives.

Ich liebe dieses Foto!!!!

Afrikanische Königin!

How I didn’t learn how to ice skate.

I’m really not supposed to write anything in English, but I can’t really express myself as well in the language I’m supposed to be using, plus it will take a lot of time, sweat, energy, and I don’t have enough time for even homework…sigh…

Okay, so ice-skating…

I have never gone to Panari Sky Center to ice-skate, I have never roller-bladed. I don’t know how to move my body in the unnatural way so many people can. But today, miles away from home, I went to ice-skate. And…

I didn’t learn how to ice-skate. I fell on the ice three times. Thank God for my padding because otherwise…but I ended up hurting my elbow and I’m in pain right now :/ I relied on the poor girls who had to drag me along the ice and ‘show’ me how it’s done…but in between the language barrier and the different directions, I never learnt anything.

So why am I even bothering to write?

Because I didn’t get an epiphany about not giving up. Quite the contrary. Today, I learnt that when you get hurt, it’s probably time to take a break, to BREATH, to re-strategize, and then to get back on the ice. I’m gonna let my elbow heal up, I’m gonna relax and let go, and then I’m gonna take a ice-skating class when I get back on campus. Yes, one day, I will learn how to ice-skate. I know, sounds like a don't give up speech, but I just wanted to emphasize on the time factor. It takes time, you don't have to do it all at once, or achieve it all today or even tomorrow. Enjoy the journey...BREATH!

CGG Berlin

Ich habe eine neue Kirche heute besucht. Ich habe jetzt den Mut bekommen, diese Stadt zu entdecken. Hoffentlich werde ich vieles nächste Woche machen. Ich widme alles zum Gott.

eine internationale Kirche

die Kanzel

der Saal

der Saal

eine Plakatte und .....ummhh***

12 Grad

Mir war sehr kalt heute. Das Wetter ist schlecht geworden und es hat auch geregnet. Ich habe viel Zeit in meinem Bett verbracht..für persönliche Grunden und ich habe meine Hausaufgabe noch nicht gemacht. Wie gestern habe ich vergessen, meine Zeitung zu kaufen. Glücklicherweise sind wir spazierengegangen und ich habe dann die Gelegenheit ergreifen, die zu kaufen. Später sind wir ins Kino gegangen, um die anonyme Romatiker zu schauen. Dieser französische Film war sehr witzig. Eigentlich der süßeste Romantik Film, den ich gesehen habe. Ich würde allem empfehlen, den Film zu schauen. 

ein Kanal im Tiergarten

der Tiergarten

An der Berlinschleuse

bei Sonnenuntergang

Der Film

Auf dem Markt, Bücher, Altes Museum...Watu Weusi...usw!

Heute war ich auf dem Markt, in einer Buchhandlung und einem Museum. Alles war sehr toll. Ich habe ein typisch deutsches Essen gegessen-Currywurst mit Pommes. Noch habe ich Angst vor einem Selbstabenteur, um diese Stadt kennenzulernen. Aber ich hoffe darauf, dass ich Mut bekommen werde. Wie gewöhnlich habe ich die heutige Fotos. Schau mal und viel Spaß dabei!

Statuen wie diese sind überall Berlin

Blumen auf dem Markt

Hosen...Ich habe an meine Schwester gedacht!

Mein Mittagsgericht: Currywurst mit Pommes. Mayo passt zu Pommes!!!

die größte Buchhandlung, die ich gesehen habe!

Der bettende Knabe, Altes Museum

Die Griechen mögen nackte Körper

Eine Frau, die als eine Gottin dargestellt ist

eine Sphinx

die Graburne, in denen die Etrusker bestattet wurden

Ein Sarkophag

die Nacktheit

Griechische Liebe

ein trauriger Knabe

Watu Weusi: Kwa mara ya kwanza leo, niliona watu weusi wengi sana, mpaka nikasema singesema hakuna watu weusi huku. Kumbe kunao...hehe...