They may not be used much anymore, but horse blinders sure came in handy today.  I was trying to explain to my students how they should focus on their work and not become distracted by the other students, the monkey, or the chickens when I used the blinders illustration.  With the kindergartners we even practiced putting our hands up by our eyes.  It seemed to work.

Later I saw one of my kinders putting her hands up by her eyes as she reminded herself to stay focused.   But then she turned her head so she could see the monkey and could not see the schoolwork.  Hmm…maybe the illustration did not work as well as anticipated!

Last night I reread These Happy Golden Years and sympathized with Laura Ingalls Wilder as she hiked through the snow to her first teaching experience.   Then today I faced my own class of five scholars of three different grades all housed in a one room schoolhouse.  I was so extremely excited that my mind hardly had space to be nervous.  But I did manage to have a few nervous moments before school started.

How did it go?  I really can’t say.  Go ask your dad…wait, I think that’s Dr. Seuss!   But seriously, you should ask my students.  They seemed to have learned something by the end of the morning.  Though mostly today we figured out routine and practiced wearing our blinders.

Tomorrow is another day…and my biggest goal is to keep the kindergarterners interested in both Bible and science time while still providing my third and fourth graders with new and grade appropriate information.  I wish I could go watch Laura teach for a day.

Little did I know I was starting a rumor. All I wanted to do was eat coconut for supper, and having never before messed with a fresh coconut I was just experimenting.

The rice with coconut chunks was amazing, but as Ana and I could not finish the meal we shared a plate with our guard. He told Ana that we had done the coconut the wrong way.  I still thought it tasted wonderful, but apparently breaking chunks out of a coconut shell with a knife is not the way to do it.  To properly do coconut you need an umbazi, a sort of coconut grater.  Ok, fine.  Next time I will borrow the umbazi from my neighbor.

A few days later we were visiting with Bron when she commented that the story of our coconut was making the rounds in the neighborhood.  Apparently two white girls doing coconut the wrong way made for quite the funny story, or so everyone else thought.  I thought it was great that we were the talk of the area, but I still was sure that those coconut chunks added to the rice in a way that grated coconut never could!

The next time I wanted to do a coconut we borrowed the umbazi from Agatha.  I cracked the coconut open with the machete (working hard not to chop a finger off), then grated coconut to my heart’s content, all the while snacking on chunks of raw coconut.

That coconut was roasted in the oven, and has now been added to granola, sauces, and anything else we so desire. But somehow I have the feeling that the story of the time we did do coconut the right way is probably not making its rounds in the neighborhood!

Every day there are random people sitting on our porch.  Not people we know.   Not people who have come to see us.  Just people who happen to be passing by and want a rest.  Maybe it’s because the next house with a porch is three houses down.   I don’t mind so much, though it is a bit disconcerting to open the curtain in the morning and see two young men sitting and chatting on my porch!

Yesterday when I got home there was a crowd of children playing around our porch.  They all greeted me excitedly and I sat down on the porch to interact with them.  “Echi kenani?” (“what is this?”) I asked as I pointed to the dirt.  “Musanga.”  several children replied.

A little boy picked up a leaf and prompted me, “Echi kenani?”  I obliged and asked him what it was.  He responded with the Kimwani word.

Immediately several other children caught his idea.  They scattered to pick up random trash lying around, and I was practically mobbed by children wanting to teach me Kimwani words for their items.  The next thirty minutes were full of frantic “echi kenani-ing” as they vied with each other to get my attention.

I was told the words for dirt, tin can, flipflop, plastic bottle, leaves, coconut shell, a broken glass mug, sticks, shoe, bamboo, and a score of other things.  Amidst all this our neighbor girl (about eight years old) came over with her baby brother on her back and I motioned that I wanted to hold him.

There is nothing sweeter than sitting on your porch, looking across the dirt street at a mud hut, holding an extremely cute baby, and having twenty children all trying to talk to you at the same time.  No, I don’t remember all the words they told me.  But the afternoon definitely goes down in my favorite memory file!

Just back from a day preparing for school…the twenty minute walk provides many opportunities to interact with the local people.

“So you’ve really milked a cow?” My fame as a farm girl began with an innocent answer to a simple question.  I haven’t laughed as hard about anything else as I have about the farm questions.

Steve was impressed that I’ve milked a cow.  He wondered how you do it, so I explained the procedure.  The whole family (well, not Sharon!) sat around the lunch table squeezing their hands in practice for milking.   Krista said she wants a cow.  Her parents vetoed that idea, so I said she should come visit our farm in Oregon.

The farm now comes up in almost every conversation with Steve.  He loves to joke about things, and apparently my background is the perfect grounds for teasing me.  When quizzing us on our favorite restaurants he wondered if my favorite was the barn, “I’ll have some fresh milk and a freshly laid egg.”  No, Steve, not quite.

Then today we each shared our favorite thing to do on a free Saturday.  I dreamed big, “Go flying around in a small plane!”  (I added that more realistically I would grab a book and read all day).  You guessed it, Steve saw a way to tie this into farm life.

“Flying around over the beautiful Oregon coast?  Or, better yet, flying over farms and looking at all those nice cows. ‘That cow looks like a good one to milk.’”   I was laughing so hard I couldn’t respond.  Probably best I couldn’t respond.

Because all I could think of was the time I went flying in Oregon.   We flew over farms.   The times I’ve flown over beautiful Alaskan mountains, caribou, moose, and bear definitely outnumber the times I’ve flown over Oregon farms…but the Oregon farms were suddenly foremost in my memory.  Steve would have loved that response.

Of course, the fact that in a very unguarded moment I added to drinking very fresh milk straight from the cow probably didn’t help my cause any.  I bet that Steve was just grabbing at the most ridiculous farm question he could think of when he asked if I had ever drank milk straight from the cow.   I really don’t think he expected the response he got.  But this girl is a farm girl through and through!

Well, I haven’t actually drank it straight from the cow…but yes, I have tried to squirt it in my mouth.  I figured if cats like to be squirted with milk, why shouldn’t I?   My aim wasn’t very good, though.  But that warm milk straight from the cow is the best thing ever!

When I was little I loved to play pioneers.   If I could have chosen an era in which to live, it would certainly have been the era of Little House on the Prairie. I played, dreamed, and thought about walking behind my covered wagon while watching the world from under a sunbonnet.  What would life be like if there was no electricity or running water and I went to school in a one room schoolhouse?

I remember someone telling me that I should be a missionary in a remote area, where I could be a pioneer.  At the time it sounded cool.  Now it is practically a reality!  Ok, we do have a solar panel.  That’s not quite Little House-ish.  And we do have running water.

But I always wear a skirt…left all my jeans at home.  That’s definitely Little House-ish! And most times when I go outside I wear a headcovering…not quite a sunbonnet, but close.  And the coolest thing about being here is that I teach in a one-room schoolhouse.

My one room schoolhouse is a small building in Steve and Sharon’s yard.  With nice big windows (complete with security bars…this is Africa!) on three walls it has a two tables for my students, two cabinets full of curriculum and supplies, and a small desk for me.

Or that’s what it will look like…hopefully before school starts on August 31.  Right now it is being used as a storage room, but once the sacks of cement, rabbit food, and the bicycles have been moved we will paint and it will begin to look more like a schoolhouse.

But the one thing that makes my one room schoolhouse even beyond cool is Max.  He peeks in the window of the schoolroom and watches me as I work.  His house is a cage outside the window, next to the mama rabbit and her four babies.  Not even Laura Ingalls went to a school that had a monkey peeking in the window!

Last year I wrote the dates in Julie’s plan book.  Then she planned what she was teaching to that third grade class.  This year I have my own plan book.  A plan book that will hold plans for one fourth grader, one third grader, and three kindergartners.

I don’t think I ever realized exactly what teaching these five kids would entail.  Actually, I think I still don’t fully realize what I’ve gotten myself into.   This is going to be the most crazy, fabulous, chaotic, fantastic, creative, and funny year in the history of teaching.  I will definitely learn more than my students.  But isn’t that what teaching is all about?

The last week I’ve sorted through curriculum and supplemental books galore.  I’ve combed bookshelves looking for books like In Grandma’s Attic and The Apple and the Arrow.  Bookshelves that were in a dark room, no less.  I used my handy headlamp (thanks, Miranda!).

I’ve read and reread the Sonlight manual for all three of the grades.   I’ve decided I’ll change this bit, keep that bit, and maybe not use this suggestion at all.  That I’ll use this read-aloud, but not that one.

I’ve combined the third and fourth grade history, trying to figure out how I can use the books we have without leaving huge gaps in the curriculum.  Somehow being in the middle of northern Mozambique means that you can’t just run to the nearest bookstore and find that American history novel you need.

But I’ve had a blast.  I love books.  I think my favorite books are kids’ books.  Last night I read Winnie the Pooh.  If preparing to teach school is this much fun, I know I’m going to love teaching school!

At my commissioning service it was suggested that as people put on their shoes they should pray for me.  The reasoning behind this was Isaiah 52:7 (“how lovely…are the feet of him who brings good news…who announces salvation”).

I’m sorry to inform you that my feet are not lovely.  But they are happily covered in the dirt and dust of this African village.  It is a little like those summers at home when I would run around all day long bare feet and wash my feet off outside before heading in the house. But somehow better.

Not better because I don’t have to wash my feet off before I go in the house (cement floors, open windows, and dirt roads make for floors that are always dirty anyway, so why wash feet before going inside?), or because you can wear sandals year round.  Not better because I love Mocimboa more than I love Scio. Actually, I’m not really sure why this dirt is better or why my dirty feet feel so fabulous.  But at the end of the day when I’ve walked back and forth through this village and my feet are covered in dust they are very happy dirty feet.

Maybe it does have something to do with Isaiah 52:7 and the fact that I haven’t just spent a summer afternoon in Scio playing house in the old shed, instead I’m here to share the most wonderful news with people who are walking in darkness.  There is something about that fact that goes beyond making my feet feel lovely.  Something that fills me with an incredible sense that God has placed me here for a reason.  He loves the people of Mocimboa.  He wants them to know and love Him.

May I be filled to overflowing with love, compassion, patience, and a desire to communicate that wonderful news of Jesus Christ to these people.  May I put that desire into action and share that good news with others on a daily basis through my actions and my words.   My feet will truly be lovely when I do this. They may not look lovely to you, but take my word for it, they are!

Two weeks ago I walked down Ngong Road, headed to the Muringa Compound where I was going to have dinner with Ryan and Dawn. Three years ago, during my first time in Africa, I’d enjoyed spending time with them and their three boys. Now they had adopted a little girl, and I was excited to meet her and see them all again.

Dawn and I had a lovely visit while she made a chocolate cake rollup. She told me about fun plans they’d made for their upcoming home assignment. Though still eight months away they had already found the perfect missionary housing, and were excited about staying there between their travels.

During supper I enjoyed interacting with Caleb, Levi, Seth, and Chloe. Afterwards, the kids went to bed and us adults enjoyed chocolate cake rollup and visiting. Then Ryan drove me back to the guesthouse where I was staying. On the way through rainy Nairobi we talked about motorcyles.

Then last week there was an AIM AIR plane accident. Now Ryan is home in heaven. It doesn’t seem possible. My heart breaks for Dawn.

Rats never figured in any of my dreams about Mozambique. I did not image I would deal with rats in the kitchen. Mosquitoes, of course. Termites, yes. But rats? Bron and Sharon had warned us about rats. All the houses here have them, especially the dirt houses. But our house is cement, and there was always the possibility that we would escape.

I slept clear through that first night. Woke up feeling wonderful. Then Ana came to my room. She had been awake part of the night…first with noises and a rat hunt (he was walking on the wall above my room), then with a cockroach in her bed. We discovered that the rat had found the tomatoes and flour that we had unwisely left out. They quickly joined everything else which we had placed inside plastic containers. The rumor is that rats will eat everything from clothes to food to money. Oh, wait, I guess it is all food to the rats.

That was yesterday. We bought some rat poison today. I’m hoping we can get a rat trap or two (one local family caught 18 rats in one night), and maybe a cat, too. This evening I got my first glimpse of our friends. I moved a tote in the kitchen, and out of the corner of my eye saw something dash across the floor. I was in shock, but quickly decided action was needed. I put on my shoes (I don’t know why I felt safer with my shoes on…do rats like to bite toes?), grabbed the broom, and closed the door.

I poked around under the counter, but apparently the rat had found another way out of the kitchen. He was gone. I can’t say I was sad that I missed the show-down. Somehow a broom just doesn’t feel like adequate weaponry against a rat. I need a hammer, or a shovel, or a pitchfork.

I’ve now lost count of how many times Ana or I have seen the rats this evening. Or maybe it is just one very active rat. But I’ve decided a hammer or pitchfork is not adequate. Instead, I’d like to just sit here on my bed and pick the rats off with gun as they run along the top of my wall.

Oh, we also just killed a very large spider that was right above my bed. I’m holding out for the rats, though. May we find many lying dead in the morning.

Postscript: We found one dead rat on the kitchen floor. I carred it out to the trash pit. Since then we have faithfully left poison out, but despite the fact that we’ve seen a couple more live rats we have not seen any more dead ones. I need to find a slingshot or hammer.