Experiencing an ordeal alone together

A few of my own thoughts, of a more philosophical nature, from our visit to the grocery store this morning (see Sarah’s blog entry before this one):

It was good to get out of the house because I was going a bit stir-crazy at home. It was good to see our neighborhood, at least the main road we travel often, still intact. And it was good to see other people, even though we didn’t know any of them.

But as we all stood in line, almost silently, to go through the checkout, it occurred to me that we had all been through a terrible ordeal. What had happened here yesterday affected all of us perhaps in different ways, but in one common way, we were all probably trapped in our homes yesterday, getting stir-crazy like me, and needing something very basic, very human – food. So we had all come out this morning to restock our food supplies at the same place. But because we were strangers, we couldn’t talk to each other about these experiences, about the terrible ordeal the neighborhood, city and country had been through. And we especially couldn’t talk about it because the topic was politics and it was political. Any conversations that might have taken place might have led to people asking each other, “Whom do you support?” or “Whom did you vote for?” This country is so divided along political party lines and tribal lines.

Perhaps lingering tension in the air prevented us from talking to each other as well. But it was strange – all of us having gone through something together, the aftermath of the same event, yet separated in our own homes, and having come together for a common purpose and because of a common need – to get more food in our kitchens again quickly. Yet we couldn’t name or talk to each other about what was happening. This must be the same feeling of having gone through a terrible ordeal together as communities that have experienced natural disasters or in something like the L.A. riots.

There was the basic, usual level of civility at the grocery store this morning. The store was very crowded, but people managed to get what they needed in an orderly way. There seemed to be a prevailing feeling that all people were there to do was their weekly shopping, which they weren’t able to do over the weekend because the stores were closed. In this type of situation, especially with continued uncertainty about the situation this week – if the unrest will continue while the situation remains unresolved – I would expect people to have a hoarding mentality. I sort of had it myself. The uncertainty and apprehension I was feeling was pushing me to buy a lot more to stock extra food in case I got trapped in the house again. But people didn’t seem to be doing this, so I didn’t either.

Christmas and election fever

It has been strange to arrive in Kenya in late November in time to experience the full Christmas season. I had spent one Christmas in Africa before - in Zimbabwe when I was an exchange student there. That was a strange Christmas too, and I knew a bit what to expect this time. The strangest part is the weather. Moving here during the northern hemisphere's winter months and being dropped into a tropical climate is bizarre. I think I have worn short sleeves and sandals every day since our arrival here and have enjoyed the warm air and sun. But to me, Christmas means cold and winter - Christmas is defined by that season. So it has been hard to get in the Christmas mood.

However, the stores have been filled with Christmas sights and sounds for several weeks. There have been a lot of sales. We attended the Christmas party a few weeks ago for the staff of Sarah's office. And we bought at a craft market a small nativity set made of banana leaves and put it up on our mantle. So, aside from the weather, there are certainly signs of the season.

We went back to Nairobi International Lutheran Church for the second time on Sunday for a joint service of the English- and Swahili-speaking congregations, although the service was 95 percent in English. But the real reason we went back was to see their annual live nativity, which is supposedly the only one in all of Kenya. After chai (tea) and Christmas cake following the service, we all trotted out to the busy road that runs in front of the church for this display. The organizers had borrowed a couple of goats, a cow and even two handsome camels. Members of the congregations dressed in robes to play all the parts of the people. There was even a choir of angels (with tinsel halos) of a good 35 or 40 people. Those of us not in the display stood on the sidelines and helped to sing Christmas carols. The congregation uses this as a witness to the community.

Today we will go over to the Methodist Guest House near us, a popular spot for church meetings here, where they will have a barbecue and short program. We bought tickets for this lunch, of course. They are also opening their pool for lunch guests to use. Another part of a strange Christmas - having an outdoor barbecue lunch and going swimming on Christmas Day.

Later, we will listen to the annual Christmas Day message of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, on the BBC website. Now that we live in a former British colony and a member of the Commonwealth, we are subjects of the queen and will dutifully listen to what our sovereign has to say.

Last night for Christmas Eve, we attended the 6:00 p.m. service of lessons and carols at the Anglican cathedral downtown. To me, nobody "does" Christmas better than the Anglicans (specifically the Church of England, so the Kenyan Anglicans weren't absolutely everything I like). Unlike Sunday mornings, when we've attended worship a couple of times at the cathedral, the congregation was mostly mhuzungus (white people) last night. It seems most of the white community here are Christmas and Easter Christians. This will be a topic for a future blog post (living in the minority). The choir sang quite a few songs, most of them English and American ones.

However, it seems that the Christmas ambiance is all overshadowed this year in Kenya by a different kind of fever. On Thursday and Friday this week, the election for the country's president will be held. Since we have arrived, the newspapers have been filled with all sorts of tracking of the campaign. Everywhere you go, there are posters and billboards hung for all the major candidates. We hear and see vans and large trucks driving around all the major roads blaring out campaign messages for particular candidates. And there have been rallies around town.

Just to show you how important this election is and how it is foremost on people's minds: Last week, on Friday morning, I went to meet with the bishop of the Kenya Evangelical Lutheran Church about doing some communications work for the church starting in January. The bishop himself had suggested I come to meet him on Friday morning, even though it was a shorter work day for him with the office closing for the holidays at noon. We kept our meeting short and agreed to speak again next month. I asked him a question or two about himself then indicated I should get going, saying I recognized their shorter work day and the importance of their upcoming break to celebrate Christmas. The bishop then proceeded to tell me that Christmas wasn't as important to them (the church) as the election was. He said they are concerned about the peace and further development in the country.

The U.S. embassy has warned Americans to be careful and vigilant during the election days, but don't worry about us - we're escaping to a remote area and visiting a couple game parks, so we shouldn't be exposed to any election violence.