I had a Bizarre Encounter With a Woman this Weekend...

I’m an avid rugby fan.  Growing up my dad tweaked my interest in the sport from a young age, and I remember him watching a few of the games of the 1995 rugby world cup on pay per view.  It wasn’t until we moved back to South Africa in 1999 that I grew to really love the sport.  Dad and I would go over to a friend’s house to utilize their cable TV to watch our province play.  Since then, I’ve been hooked.  One of my favorite viewing places here in Kenya is a sports bar about 25 minutes away via public transport.  They have loads of TVs and pretty good food. 

Saturday night I went to watch one of our South African teams play a New Zealand team.  Almost immediately after I sat down, I Kenyan gal came and sat in the spot next to me.  I was quite sure that she would be being flirtatious the rest of the evening.  I was right.  Although, I’m not actively on the Smirnoff Ice downing lady market at the moment.  We began to talk about different things, and she learned that I have been here teaching at ANU.  She had grown up in the church and attended the Nazarene church for a while.  Since then she’s gone through a period of doubt in her faith.  I asked her why, and she told me it’s because God hasn’t answered her prayers.  I told her, “You know God doesn’t always answer our prayers positively, and I think there are times when God doesn’t answer our prayers because we ask them selfishly.”  The crux of her message was that she really felt like God had failed her in this situation.  She told me she’d done all the ‘right things’ growing up.  She’d gone to church, to Sunday School, etc.  But there was something that Caroline was lacking, and I think its something that a lot of nominal Christians struggle with.  

Sunday put a lot of things in perspective for me.  I was teaching a Sunday School class at church on John 10.  One of the lines from that passage says: “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, 15  just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep.”  This knowing is something that takes some action on our part.  I think about what it means to know someone.  I can know someone’s name, but that doesn’t mean I know them.  To know someone, you have to spend time with them, you have to interact with them, you have to live intentionally desiring to become closer to that individual.  Because Jesus knows us and we know him, he lays down his life for us.  That’s commitment!  That’s a depth of knowledge that is incredibly tough to comprehend.  Amazingly, one of the people in attendance in Sunday School was a an actual shepherd from the community.  He shared that if he lost a sheep, he'd go after it out of the love he feels for it.  Do we have that same love for God?

Our relationship with God isn’t about doing the right things, but living in right relationship with him.  Our of that right relationship with God flows the rest.  Caroline was lacking the commitment.  It’s something we all struggle with, and I’ve struggled with, but something we are promised in scripture time and time again, is that if we abide in Christ, he will remain with us.  Still, God won’t answer our prayers the way we always want, maybe it seems like he won’t even answer them, yet that presence, that knowledge of God is what sustains us.  

I didn't know that I'd be undesirably hit on for two and half hours by a tipsy gal, and yet end up having a deep talk with her about God.  Strange how things happen sometimes.  Caroline had quite a lot to drink, and ironically lives relatively close to me, so I paid for her matatu ride home and we parted ways.  

What I'll Miss About Kenya...

Kenya has once again become my home.  For those of you who didn't know, I attended boarding school here in Kenya for all of high school.  I left in 2005 and returned last September for a program through my graduate school, Nazarene Theological Seminary, called 365m.  365m sends students all over the world for practicul intercultural experience and to continue taking classes online through our school.  I've been based at Africa Nazarene University and have loved (or come to love) every second of it.  Here are some of the top things I'll miss:

1. The people.  They are amongst the kindest I’ve met anywhere.  I'll miss walking down to the tuk tuk corner hand in hand with Lucy's kids.  
2. Their hospitality.  The very first weekend I was here some new friends invited me to spend the weekend at their house.  They and others have cooked elaborate meals for me, over which I’ve learned much.  Other times I've been in the middle of town with thousands of people around me when some kind soul comes up and offers to take me where I need to go, and have even paid my bus fares along the way.
3. Church.  The church I’ve been attending is the local Nazarene church on campus.  We’re very diverse with a huge group of students from many countries in Africa.  We also have probably the largest kids group on the East Africa Field for the Nazarene Church.  Our church is vibrant and does some incredible things for the community.  Just today I paused and listened whilst everyone around me sang his or her praises to God.  I got the chills and a couple of tears in my eyes.  Gonna miss Sunday’s here.  
4. The students on campus and their diversity.  Our students come from multiple countries, ethnicities, and tribes.  They speak hundreds of languages (combined).  I have learned so much from our dialogues during and outside of class. 
5. My co-workers in the religion department, especially my office mate Rev. Gift Mtukwa.  He (and the others) has become a great friend.  I’ve learned much about God and how he works in the world. 
6. Incredibly cheap and handy public transport.  Some kind of transport will take you almost anywhere you need to go.  People with cars hate matatus, but for those of us inside them, it’s nice to have them skirt around traffic illegallyJ
7. Wildlife/nature.  I live right next to Nairobi National Park.  97% of the nights I’ve been here I’ve heard hyenas.  I’ve occasionally heard the distant sound of lions.  I’ve also encountered several snakes.  A lengthy Rock Python slithered right between my legs whilst I was mid-stride.  Countless birds chirp starting about 3:30 in the morning till late.  The park provides great scenery for many a run along its borders. 
8. Slow pace of life.  At times I have hated this, but I think the majority of the time I’ve enjoyed it.  You never really have to worry about being late, as it’s not that big of a deal.  You rock up when you can in Kenya.  It’s gonna take some adjusting getting use to a more scheduled life in the States.
9. The food.   The Kenyan staple foods are great.  My favorite is probably chapati.  It’s a flour based bread type of food half way between a tortilla and a crepe in texture.  Kenyan’s used it to pick up other foods like stew and the like.  I’ll also miss the price of food.  Kenyan food from local joints is especially cheap.  There’s a place across the street where I can eat to my heart’s content for just under two bucks.  Non-Kenyan food is also quite cheap.  A relatively classy meal here is way cheaper than the US.
10. The rains.  I’ve written about this elsewhere, but the rains in Kenya and Africa have what seems to me to be a greater significance than I’ve noticed in the other places I’ve lived.  In the US, the places I’ve lived have received moisture all year through rain in the summer and snow in the winter.  Here, there are two seasons: the dry season and the rainy season.  The moment the rainy season begins, life comes back to creation.  Things turn green again, bugs come, animals regain their lost kgs from the dry season, the mud returns, etc.  

There are other things I'll miss as well.  Maybe I'll write a part II with these sometime.  

I'll miss the rains down in Africa

I awoke from a mid-afternoon slumber feeling it was time to attempt some kind of callisthenic.  I’d had a big lunch at a local Indian joint, and I needed to burn off a few kilojoules.  One of my favorite runs goes down on the road which passes along the southern border of Nairobi National Park.  Eventually if you take this route you arrive at Rolf’s place, a critically acclaimed German restaurant built on the side of Leopard Cliffs.  I quickly threw on my running gear and headed outside, knowing that it’s best to get a run in before it turns dark, especially on that road where the rumors of simba passing by after dark abound.  As I stepped outside I noticed large dark clouds forming to the Northwest and to the Northeast.  Normally the clouds come from due west here in Kenya, so I thought I may be able to just miss the normal afternoon deluge which is ever so common during the rainy season.  I exited campus through our main gate and crossed the main road to begin my run on the ever familiar John P. Marangu road.  This is a dirt road that is closed to through traffic, save for the boda boda’s who ferry passengers between a local junction and a small town on the other side of ANU.  After about ¾ of a mile, this road T’s into Maasai Lodge Road.  From here you take a right and are on the road which runs along the Southern side of the park.  As I ran along, the clouds were ever so ominous as they gathered over Nairobi.  They were pregnant with a fierce downpour that makes one miss Africa in incredible ways when away from it.  Over my right shoulder the clouds were beginning to get bigger as well.  But, it still looked like I could go and come back and make my way along the edge of the storm.  This is one of my favorite runs in the world, for you always have a shot of seeing some kind of an animal right along with you.  I gazed over Nairobi National Park in search of some kind of wildlife.  The birds of the African plains chirped as the light was slowly fading from the sky.  Almost everyone was going the opposite direction as me.  It was home time, and they were all trying to get home before the rains.  I reached the iconic Rolf’s place in good time.  The Maasai guard was at his usual post by their gate.  I greeted him in his language, and he greeted me back with a chuckle.  I think his chuckle was because he knew I was about to get stuck in a massive storm, yet I tried to think otherwise.  I turned around and started the run home.  Then I felt the first drop fall from the sky.  Still, I thought it was just the edge of the storm.  Soon more drops gathered with their fallen comrade, and I began to realize it was going to pour.  What had happened was all of the clouds which I had seen around me were converging over my head, and a downpour began.  At first the rain was fierce, hitting my skin with the strength of a small pebble.  Then the rain turned softer, yet still heavy.  Small puddles were forming on my shoulders, my running clothes and shoes now completely soaked.  I gazed up at the heavens, in awe of the beauty of such storms.  I’m quite sure everyone I came across on the last two miles of my run thought I was a crazy man.  They were all decked out in their raincoats, Welly’s, umbrellas, and the like.  Whilst I arrived back at my flat soaked, I was thankful to experience a run in the rains that I’ve come to love so dearly.  In approximately 50 days time I will once again be singing along with Toto of how I miss them as I fly out of the city of my birth with my parents on our way back to the United States.

"It looked and felt like 'hell on earth'"

Some of us runners running through the desert.

My good friend Robert Congdon described the area around Lake Magadi, Kenya this way during a conversation with him last week as I prepared to travel down to Oloika, in Southern Kenya, for a half-marathon.  My friend Matt Hall, a fellow volunteer here at ANU, and I decided we'd like to give this race a shot a couple of months ago when seeing it online.  We purchased the race + tented camp option for the Saturday and Sunday.  Included in our journey were transport down and lunch, dinner and breakfast.  Those of you who know the African scene will recognize the phrase tented camp.  Lately that has come to mean a relatively luxurious way to spend a night at a game park or the like.  Thinking of this phrase, I thought something similar.  I was quite excited for the weekend.  Oloika is down close to the Shompole Wildlife Conservancy, a posh game park and lodge near by.  I figured we'd be staying in something similar.  I did some research on the area last week and discovered some pretty interesting facts.  We'd be running part of our race through the salt flats on Lake Magadi, which is the world's largest producer of soda.  Flamingos flock to the lake to snack on whatever flamingos snack on.  Natural hot springs feed the lake with 40 degree Celsius water.  From what I was discovering and from what Robert told me, I was beginning to second-guess my hypothesis about the tented camp.  

Saturday came along and Matt and I ventured to our designated meeting place where we'd hitch a ride down with the race organizers and others who had bought the package.  We had a multicultural van.  People from seven nations hopped into the safari van and headed down to Oloika just on the southern tip of Lake Magadi.  As we made the trip, we dropped roughly 4,000 feet in elevation from the elevation here on campus.  The scenery was actually rustically beautiful.  It was a chance to see vegetation you don't normally see around Nairobi.  As we travelled we passed through little Maasai town after little Maasai town.  Each of them looking like a scene straight out of the movie The First Grader, which I highly recommend by the way.  

Finally we turn a corner out of the mountains to see a glimpse of the soda factory.  We scurried along the road a little further until we happened upon the town.  This is a public highway mind you, yet to get in and through the town you have to go through a security stop.  We passed over the railway line, which must surely ferry the soda from Magadi to Nairobi where it is sold or distributed.  Magadi is a fascinatingly strange town.  There is no real vegetation to speak of, save for some acacia trees.  The ground is basically covered in the natural for the area, gravel.  There are a series of apartment buildings painted a clay color that must house the factory workers.  There is a public pool in the town, which would have felt very nice.  There are also these signs scattered through the town for 'assembly points'.  I'm not sure when they would assemble there?  A true mystery.  

We pulled into the local sports/country club.  The race organizers had sent down a couple of ladies to have lunch prepared for us there.  The shade of the thatch roof umbrella-shaped roofs provided an escape from the heat.  At the sports club they had a basketball court and volleyball/tennis court outside.  These were made of gravel, so I'm not entirely sure how effectively you could play any of the aforementioned sports.  Inside the club they did have a nice badminton court.  We had a delicious meal of rice, chicken, beans, cabbage, and chapattis. Definitely good food for pre race day.  

We were then off to Oloika.  On the way out of Magadi we passed the Magadi Golf Course.  Any avid golf fan, or simply anyone who has seen a golf course before would laugh at this place.  It too seems to be made of the indigenous gravel/dirt.  Frames of wood designated the t-boxes.  I never once spotted any greens, or anything green for that matter.  I had a good chuckle at this place.  We made it through town and rounded the southern edge of the lake.  Around a corner we saw hundreds of the flamingoes feeding.  That was quite the sight.  There are several such flamingo havens in the area, but I believe that was the first time I've seen them in their natural habitat.  We got out to take some pictures.  The dudes went and felt the salt/soda material.  It matched its name in texture.  

Back in the van and off we were to Oloika.  We soon began to drive over salt flats and across the edge of the lakebed.  Reminded me of what people say of the Salt Flats in Utah.  We began to see chalk shaped into numbers on the lakebed.  We guessed correctly these were markings for the race the next day.  We drove up a series of small hills to a plateau.  We'd arrived at Oloika.  We pulled into a complex for the Oloika guest lodge.  There was a lone, small house that was the guesthouse.  We got out and asked where we were supposed to be.  Across the way was the 'tented camp'.  It was a campsite.  We all gazed at each other with that look of, what have we gotten ourselves into.  On the journey down we could feel it getting hotter and hotter.  My guess was that it was at least 100 degrees.  We were given the royal tour of the tented camp, and we all settled into our tents.  This place was by no means similar to the memories of my tented camp experience on the shores of the Shire River in Malawi.  In fact it was just about as opposite as you could get.  This wasn't really that much of a damper; it was just adjusting to the fact that this is where we were staying.  

Matt and I went and registered.  We were given our race numbers.  They were probably the highest numbers either of us has ever had.  Matt had 34 and I had 35.  Our friends who were running the 10k had numbers 1 and 2.  We unpacked out things into our tents, which were at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and then gathered under the shade of a thatched roof structure.  We stayed here in shock with our fellow travelers for a little while.  Matt and I then went and explored Oloika.  It didn't take much time to explore it.  Metal houses, churches, and businesses were strewn about.  We practiced our best Maasai and Swahili with the townsfolk.  All of them are Maasai or have Maasai heritage.  Most of the people were in their traditional garb.  We explored until the kiddies runs.  There was a 5km race and a 1km or so race for them.  A Kenyan kid won the 5km race.  In the smaller race, there were some very young kids!  One of the girls looked about 3.  Cute stuff!  Matt and I cheered them on with a group of kids from the town.  They were inquisitive as usual.  Some spoke broken English and a few had learned to be almost fluent from their school in Magadi.  We talked about various things with them.  We asked what their favorite classes were, etc.  Some kids said math, which Matt enjoyed (having a doctorate in the subject) and others said CRE (Christian Religious Education), which I enjoyed.  The one kid was incredibly knowledgeable about the Bible because of this, and we quizzed each other on various Biblical things.  I asked him if he knew what sport his t-shirt was from (it was a Cubs shirt) and he said it’s from the sport where they throw a ball to one another.  I also asked him where all the dads were as I'd only seen a few in the whole town.  He said they are shepherds, which I figured and had told Matt previously.  We then said goodbye and it was time for dinner. 

Dinner was pretty similar to lunch, but very tasty.  As it began to grow dark, more and more campers arrived. After dinner I called it a night, for I knew we'd have an early start with the 7 o'clock race start time. Unfortunately, the temps hadn't cooled down all that much, if at all.  The sweat was still dripping off of me even in my briefs.  It was very windy outside, so I tried to figure out how to open the windows in my tent.  They were covered with a thick netting to keep bugs out, which hadn't arrived yet.  I therefore just opened up the tent door.  When the winds died down, I heard the faint wine of mosquitoes grow closer and closer.  Attracted to the scent of my body, hundreds gathered around my tent.  I managed to get the tent door close with only a few entering my tent.  They were enough to give me about a dozen bites.  I tossed and turned in my sweatiness till about 1am when I finally dozed off.  I woke up a couple of times during the night to use the choo (Swahili for bathroom/toilet).  Thankfully, they actually had toilets installed in outhouse looking buildings.  They just had no seats.  During one such usage, I lost my left contact.  I was thankful for the spares in my backpack.  

Morning came, and I was thankful for the rest.  I downed some water first thing to give it a chance to get a decent way through my system before race time.  

Matt and I went to breakfast and had a couple of bananas.  Then, we all began to gather for the race.  We all found it quite comical to watch a man approach the start shirtless (he was the only one) and puffing away on a cigarette.  Surely he didn't need one last puff right before the start?  The race director showed us a hand drawn map of the route.  It looked relatively simple to follow.  There would also be marshals stationed through the race directing us and giving us water bottles.  We started in a flash.  Mr. Smoker/Shirtless man was out to a fast start with a pretty speedy lady.  Matt and I were in the following pack.  There were several parts to the route that weren't on the map.  The main three things were three u-turns which threw us all for a loop.  We began by running off the plateau of Oloika down to the left.  U-turn number one was there.  We came back to town and then went straight from where we had started.  Matt and I were in the following pack for most of the race.  Even though this place was so hot and desolate, there was a real beauty to it.  The course took us pass small settlements outside of town.  Maasai kids and adults alike greeted us as we went.  At around km 8 or 9 we made our way down to the salt flats.  We spent a good amount of time running on them.  Another thing that wasn't on the map was that there was no bridge across a river area.  Instead we had to run through it.  After the salt flats/lake bed, we got to the final hilly section.  This is where most of us really faced the music.  In the conditions, those hills seemed like killers.  After about 20 minutes in this section a saw a man waiting for his wife.  He offered the hope that the end was near.  It was.  Right over the next bend was Oloika.  I crossed the line in 1hr 52 mins and in 7th place.  I feel like were it not for the conditions, I could have faced the hills stronger and finished around 1hr 38 mins.  I'd kept a pretty good pace with a Frenchmen a few hundred meters ahead up until that point.  

After the race, everyone was in search of soda or maji (water) baridi (cold).  There wasn't a single fridge in Oloika.  Matt and I found some relatively less than warm sodas.  I'd also brought down some Gatorade/energy type drinks, which were warm, but replenishing to Matt and I.  For the weekend, I'd also brought down 4 litres of my own water, and consumed another litre and a half of water from the race organizers.  My backpack was way lighter on the journey back.  The journey back was good.  I'd suggested to the driver we stop off at the Magadi Sports Club again to get some soda baridi, since all of us wazungus were craving a cold beverage. That was a pleasant refresher.

Matt and I will surely never forget the experience of this race.  In many ways it looked like Arizona.  The drive felt like driving down into Death Valley.  It was great to get out of Nairobi and experience some of the Maasai culture.  This was the 4th annual Shompole Marathon.  A few of the people had done it last year.  If I was still living in Kenya this time next year, I'm not sure whether I'd return.  Though, I probably would in order to try and conquer those last few hills better than this year.  I'd probably do some training up on the Ngong Hills to prepare better like my Maasai friend Jack I'd seen up there in November.  It was a journey, and an unforgettable experience.  It would have been nice if someone came into my tent and said April Fools as I was preparing to sleep in my sweat, sadly no one appeared.  

A Crazy Matatu Ride

Most Kenyans or people who live here in Kenya will laugh at that title and respond with something like, “Aren’t they all?” The truth is, yes, they are all quite an adventure in the make up. Matatus assume in many cases that they have the right of way in Kenya. Often times you will be traveling in a Matatu and they will pass another car even with head on traffic coming directly at you. Last Friday I was trying to get up to RVA for the weekend to see some old friends and watch the soccer teams participate in a tournament with other local schools. I’ll tell you more about this in my next post. But for now all focus on the Matatu ride and journey to Kijabe.

First off, I left the ANU school grounds about 2:30 pm. I climbed aboard a tuk tuk with five other ANU students. Four of us were crammed into the back seat. Tuk Tuk seats are way smaller than car seats. It was a squish! We made it to the junction with the main road called Magadi road which then takes you to Langata road and then from Langata road you can get to many places in town. The matatus at the junction will take you all the way to one of the main Matatu depots in town which is based at the Nairobi Railway Station. Everything was normal until a spot which is normally about 6 minutes from the depot. All of the sudden traffic was at a standstill (I later found out that some were stuck in this jam for five hours). So our Matatu driver looked ahead and took the last turn possible before the jam. Off we went on a road that took us in a big circle around southern Nairobi. The problem was that we weren’t the only ones doing this. The normal ten to fifteen minute drive to Railways, as they tend to call it here, took about an hour and half. I had gone to this depot in good trust after a friend here told me I could get a matatu to Kijabe from there. I should have known by the look on his face he had no idea what he was talking about! I got to the depot and asked what number matatu I could take to Kijabe. They told me there were no matatus at the depot that you could take to get there. But they pointed me in the direction of a large green building that had some matatus I could take there. I walked over there hurriedly, for by this time I was already going to be a tad late to Kijabe. When I got to the green building, I found the line of matatus I thought would take me to Kijabe. Unfortunately, they didn’t! A driver pointed me in the direction of a boda boda on the street corner that could however take me to the place where you catch such a matatu to Kijabe. I climbed on back and he held up his helmet inquisitively. He said, “Will you wear this, or do you want me to?” Quickly I responded I would most definitely wear it. I have taken this risky form of transportation often in the more rural area around ANU, but never had I taken it in the city. An ANU student actually died this past year taking this form of transport. The city is full of all of the crazy Kenyan drivers one could desire. I hopped aboard and we dotted in between traffic for about fifteen minutes till we arrived at the correct matatu depot. This depot is not very depotish in nature as it really is only a few matatus at any given time and is designated only for Kijabe and surrounding areas. Many people who need to visit family and friends at the AIC Kijabe Hospital often gather here for a lift. Upon hopping in, I chose a seat in the front of the back cabin, i.e. not up by the driver. The front of the cabin is generally less claustrophobic. I also chose the outside seat by the door so I could get air when I wanted. Kenyans get cold easily. They also consider cold 75 degrees and below, so when matatus get stuffy, I like to have an escape to fresh air. We started out, and immediately I could tell we’d too be part of the crazy Friday afternoon traffic. It was okay though, because soon we’d be to the main road, the A104 which takes you up to Kijabe. Or so I thought.

My first sign that this matatu was worse than most appeared as I saw raindrops begin to fall from the big, dark, clouds which I had spotted as I previously circled through South Nairobi. As the rain drops started, the driver and his compadres up front noticed the windshield wipers weren’t working. What would we do? In the western half of my brain, I figured maybe they would have us all switch matatus since that is rather unsafe. However, the African half of my brain soon began to reason through the brainwaves with the chaps up front. In the traffic jam, one of the passengers up front got out and put the left wiper (in Africa the non-driver’s side wiper) straight out. in other words, pointing directly out like an antenna searching for a signal from the cars, buses, lorries, matatus and others we’d be driving behind. Problem solved! The left one stuck straight out and the right one cleared the drivers side of the windshield. But, after a few minutes of success, the wiper on the right failed to work. The obvious solution? Hit the windshield as hard as you can until it begins to slowly move into normal working order.

Those clouds I had witnessed previously, were as ominous in their contents as they were in their aesthetics. It was a torrential down pour. As we reached a new flyover in town, I began to see the rivers of water flowing down the road. These rivers continued almost until we reached Kijabe. So the next exciting aspect of the trip was found directly stationed to my left. The sliding door to the matatu was not sealed properly, if at all. Every single river or puddle we passed trough meant that I would get splashed. As the rain poured down, our bodies heated the inside of the matatu. The windshield was soon covered with the moist, warm air from our bodies colliding with the cooler air outside. I pretty much feared for my life the entire trip in ways above and beyond the normal fear I feel when in the bounds of a matatu’s shell. However, these drivers are experienced. They have driven through the deluges of of Nairobi and other places in Kenya before. There is a weird faith that I am able to put in them. A faith that I know what they are doing with our lives as we hustle upon the tarmac of Kenya’s roads.

We made it to the turn off at Kijabe. Every time we would stop on the way to release passengers and receive new ones we were inundated with the pervasive crowd of business people at the stops longing for you to purchase some roasted maize, sausage, fruit, vegetables, toys, etc. I would have purchased some maize, for I love that stuff, but I had a big lunch before the journey. Good thing, because it was a long one! We reached Kijabe in the familiar fog that gathers in those high areas in the hills. I thought we’d actually go down to Kijabe, but it was just a stop at the turn off. I’d have to find another means down. Thankfully, Deborah, a teacher at Kijabe Boys High was there to help me coerce the taxi drivers for a cheap ride down to Kijabe itself. We found some fellow travelers and we meandered our way in the taxi down the hill to the infamous school in the clouds. In all, the journey took about four hours to complete, a trip that can take as little as an hour or so, just as it did upon my return Sunday afternoon.

This is Kenya