It's official; Djibouti is next on the schedule beginning in January.  Mid-February for me; via Ethiopia, too.


Yep, that's a camel in the middle of the road there.  You get used to it.

Sunny and warm; the weather in the city today is perhaps typical for New Year's day in the region.  Out in the desert, it'll be a bit different, of course.  By February, I'll have had plenty of winter; Africa will be a pleasant change.

It's a difficult place.  Crime is a problem.  Violence is common.  Refugees from Somalia have overtaxed local resources.  Work is scarce for all with national unemployment above 50%.  It's even higher out here on the edge of the city.  This is Balbala in the photo where some of our friends live.  You can see power lines in the area, but they don't serve the residents.  Few here can afford it.

Many who do have work are just day workers.  A friend of mine is a driver; if there's a load to deliver, he works today and gets paid.  It's hard to provide for your family.  Sweet folks, though, most of them. 

Email yesterday from Balbala; a young man I met a few years ago is married now and has a new baby.  We'd lost track of each other since '09 but will have a chance to reconnect this year.

This is the Horn of Africa where the famine has placed millions at risk.  The port here in Djibouti is where most aid shipments for the area arrive.  It's a harsh place.  God give us a better new year for these dear people.

... the one less traveled

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

                                    ~ Robert Frost

Salma is in her wheelchair with Joseph pushing; 
Helen, Oliver, and Joel escort me back to the

 road to say goodbye.  It's perhaps half a 
mile, a gesture of affection that they 
would make the trek.  I've been in 
Mombasa for only a few days, 
but we had time together.
Now it's time to leave.

From our world 
to theirs       
and back.  
What a journey.

OK, this is way too sober and serious.  So for a counterpoint, here's my brother Samuel.  He made the trip up to Guruguru to visit the kids we've been helping to stay in school.  He threw a little Christmas celebration with them just to let them know they're loved.
We're hoping to build a church/preschool/community center there sometime soon.

He wants to be a doctor

On my last day in Kenya, the boys escort me along the path back to my hotel. It's Monday, and they're not in school, one because his uniform is worn out and they won't let him attend until he has a new one.

I wired a little money to Salma after I got home; she took him to the shop for a new uniform, black shoes, and book materials. She called excitedly to tell me it was all resolved, and he got on the phone to say thanks, with everybody celebrating and laughing a lot in the background. His name is Tomas, and he wants to be a doctor.

There are six children in the extended family.  The costs associated with keeping them in school are difficult for families to manage.  They do their best with their little kiosk where they resell vegetables and dried fish, and they're building a chicken coop.  Mostly, the income goes to feeding the family.  Medical care is inexpensive, but medicines can cost half the family's income when malaria flares up in one or another.

A little help goes a long way in Kenya.

Salma and the family struggle to keep a straight face for a photo (right).  I didn't help matters by making faces while they tried to look serious. 


With my buddy Anderson (left), the family and I sit and talk about the practical matters of work and school and future goals.   Anderson battles with malaria.  

They're doing their best.  Salma's brother Joseph works as a safari guide when he can get the opportunity and in construction when jobs are available.  In his early 20's, Joseph is an impressive gentleman.  Big voice, big heart, good, hardworking fellow.  Salma manages the chickens and the kiosk and the kids at home.

Salma and Joseph and I are trying to pull together a plan to keep the family healthy and ensure the six children get to stay in school. 

Wanna join in the fun?  Ask me.