I knew it. I knew that there had to be some knitting needles somewhere in this town. Today I found them, in the Moi Market in Thika. Try googling that, I wonder if it will come up? Who knew? They were in a completely logical place…..an entire road (or aisle as they are called still) of sewing related shops etc. Course the sizes on the needles are way wrong. I tried to explain that the larger the number, the larger the needle was supposed to be, but perhaps these were reject needles from China or somewhere? Can’t complain though, the pair that my househelp found me first cost about a whopping 50 cents, and the other plastic pair I bought cost a little over a buck. And yarn for about 90 cents each. Though no one in Thika seems to have wool yarn, I’ll make due with some acrylic stuff for now I guess. I’m itching (literally) to make Ian one of those sweet baby hoodies that we keep seeing. A picture of that would be about equal to the picture he posted of himself on facebook a while back wearing a Size 2 Toddler shirt..perfect grown man half-shirt material. Here’s a refresher if you didn’t see it the first time. Get your jabs in before Ian sees this and removes the picture!
I also had more women ask to touch my hair. This time they started pulling it up to look at the roots, and them Esther informed them that it was my own hair. No weave here ladies.
The kids are safely back from their all day field trip to the Giraffe Center in Nairobi. They fed the giraffes animal biscuits and Eli demonstrated for me the sweet tongue flick they used to eat the food. No giraffe licks or kisses today though. They are getting along in amazing fashion for being gone from 8am-3pm and not having a nap. Thank goodness for small blessings.
Our counterparts welcomed a baby boy into the world this week, a bit earlier than expected, but welcome, so they have been occupied in the hospital while we hold down the fort here. Another productive week with women and children
….and afterwards I went with several of the women (great women who have been volunteering to help out with all of the clean-up that is involved in feeding close to 200 people..on dishes…without a dishwasher) to see their homes in the Umoja slum next to our place. I feel pretty ok referring to it as a slum as that is what they call it themselves. They are keenly aware that they are the poorest of the poor and that their homes are made of very little. Honestly, if you have a Tuff Shed at your home there in America, or the equivalent, that is about a hundred steps up from what most of these people are living in. It is simply hard to wrap my mind around their living conditions. If you ever saw some of the migrant camps there in Oregon, Idaho etc for the workers….it makes them look pretty luxurious. Still the women were proud to have me over to their places, and our tour through Umoja “Estate” (yeah, it’s really called that) lasted about an hour…and they are clamoring for me to return with my camera and pen to record their stories. “Perhaps then someone will be moved to help us” one woman said.
Truly there is never a shortage of heartwrenching stories here. It is like a slap of reality each day….and yet it is easy to become numb to it all.
We’re doin’ what we can. Little by little. And we’re thankful for all of you who are too. It ALL makes a difference to these people whose names and stories we are learning.