The week that was ... I think

The heat wave is over.  The temperatures will continue to be higher than we are used to but the humidity will be much lower than it has been.  Thank goodness!

Kenya is becoming more and more freaked out by the blasting which was supposed to be finished this past Monday but which, in fact, has continued all week.  Yesterday I couldn't find her when I was setting off to get the mail and I thought she must have gone outside when I hung out laundry.  But no.  She was nowhere to be found.  I called and called.  I went back indoors and called some more.  I went all around the house looking for her.  No Kenya.  I headed off in my car and asked a neighbour if he'd seen her. No, but he would bring her home if he saw her on his way to the village.  I returned and did one more check everywhere ... down at the lake and indoors.

That's when I discovered her curled up under the shelf that holds the water heater and the boiler.  Curled into an impossibly small ball among the tubes that feed the in-floor radiant heating.  A black ball of a dog in a dark spot where she shouldn't have fit.

I am not sure just how the blasting is affecting her physically, but psychologically it is certainly having a deleterious effect.  She is frightened the whole time the workers are across the lake.  She recognizes the horn honking signal that a foundation-shaking blast is imminent.  She doesn't want to be outside or in the lake when the workers are there, and she sticks very close to me whenever she can.

.I wondered if she had been deafened when she didn't respond to my calls.

We went off to Erin's Meat Party after I found her.  The humidity had tripped the power bar  in the barn 

where her freezers are plugged in.  The meat at the bottom was still solidly frozen but the upper layers had started to thaw, so she decided to have a meat party.  Lots of people bearing beer, wine, soft drinks, salads and desserts ... and dogs ... arrived and spilled out onto the deck.  Ed did the barbecuing, and we all feasted.

Kenya was delighted to be surrounded by dog people, and happy to have so many canine buddies. She was particularly popular with the big boys, Jesse, Connor and Cole.  She knew C and C from three years ago when we looked after them.  Their owner, Andrea, brought photos of her new baby ... a nine week old foal.  I think we will go over and visit him soon. 

I am not sure whether it is the blasting or all the swimming without ear plugs, but I have gone deaf in my left ear.  A party is an odd occasion when you cannot hear on one side. Last night I felt a bit as if I were watching a silent movie with a lot of static on the sound track.

This morning  I  treated it with hydrogen peroxide and then with almond oil mixed with tea tree oil .  I hope whatever it is clears up soon.  I don't want to have to see my doctor who is 1 1/2 hours away, and it isn't a medical emergency which could be treated here in the village.

My Swiss student, Sibylle, has headed off to British Columbia for the next stage of her vacation.  I have enjoyed her company, and will miss her.   I have one free week and then I will be spending time with Yoshiko, the 84 year old Japanese artist, the following week or so.  Yoshiko was here last year and amazed all of us with her energy and youthfulness.  She still downhill skiis for goodness sake!

She is in better shape than I am these days ... deaf in one ear ... exhausted by the heat wave ... and swollen up with a reaction to a hornet sting.  A neighbour's son visiting here on the lake this week  has promised to help me blast the two nests I have here: a wasps' nest under the first step from the parking area, and a hornets' nest in the cute little box housing my hydro meter.  Because I reacted so strongly to the hornet's sting I received the other day, I am afraid to try to get rid of them by myself.

Oh ... and before I forget ... for those people who were following the doggy taste test ... I bought a bag of Pedigree Dentabones at Costco the other day. They are made by Mars, the makers of the Natural Defense bones that Kenya loved.  They smell the same but are smaller and are to be fed daily rather than a couple of times a week.  And Kenya loves them too. They cost $18.99 plus tax .

The list of ingredients:

rice
sodium caseinate
rice flour
vegetable oil
tapioca starch
natural poultry flavour
propylene glycol
wheat bran
calcium carbonate

dicalcium phosphate
potassium chloride
sodium tripolyphosphate
microcrystaline cellolose
iodized salt
potassium sorbate
'choline chloride
eucalyptus
zinc oxide
vitamins A, D3 and E
zinc sulphate
iron sulphate
magnesium oxide
d-calcium pantothenate
niacin
copper sulphate
riboflavin
Vitamin B6
Vitamin B1
Folic Acid
Vitamin B12

I will have to find the post I did on Natural Defense but I think this list is longer than the ND one was.  I will check and edit this post.

UPDATE:

Natural Defense definitely had a shorter, and, I suspect,  healthier ingredient list:

Ingredient List:
corn starch
potato starch
glycerin
water
natural flavour
dehydrated myrtle leaf
sodium tripoliphosphate
salt
potassium sorbate
a number of vitamins
rice hulls
chlorophyll
 
What do you think?


Have a great weekend.

Noticing

This morning I was planning a lesson for a writing workshop and decided to use my camera to try something out.  I took photos of the Paw plant, an enormous creature that was a couple of inches high two years ago when it was started from a plant that dated back to a plant grown by someone I loved, now long dead.

The Paw plant has completely taken over my den window, and I have several smaller rootlings started downstairs. A rabbit makes its home in its branches and it is in bloom right now.

The other day Kenya raced over to my bedroom window to bark furiously at the Mergansers that were trespassing.  At that window I have dried wild flowers and grasses.  Her excitement caused the bullrushes to explode into the room and all over her.  By the time I got my camera out, she had shaken off most of her fluffiness, but here is what I managed to capture.

  And here is my sleepy girl this morning.  Most mornings she gets up on my bed for a cuddle before we start our day and she becomes far more interested in sticks, cookies, Sadie and toads than in snuggling with her mom.

Black Sheep and Hermits

From 2-5 today Sound the Alarm will be at the Black Sheep in Wakefield.

It is supposed to be a beautiful afternoon ... great for a drive up to the beautiful little village of Wakefield, so I hope if you are reading this that you will come up to enjoy the music.

For those people who were concerned about Julius and the problems incurred by the death of his son ... all is now resolved. Pat and Deb sent enough money to cover everything. Thank you both.

I am looking forward to getting away from the hermitage for the afternoon and then Tamarak and her Carino are coming for dinner.

I have decided that I need to get out more. Hermits need to get out of their houses and out of themselves occasionally. We all need more portals to the outside world than email and the internet can provide.

This Just In from Julius

Hii babra, I have trasiported the body to my home this monning, although i was not having enough money , But what you sent to me yesterday was helped me to have a total of ksh 13,000 , so i still have their balance of ksh 5,000,But i gave them my land certificate to stand for the balance. so when i get the balance i return my certificate back so i hve written to patrick saying thank you for what he did.I also say thank you for what you did to to make my fineral succeed, tommorow is the burial ,bye bye , from julius.

Update on the Funeral for Julius' Son

The money arrived safely today and Julius is arranging to have him buried either Wednesday or Thursday.

Just an aside ... sending via Western Union is very expensive. Does anyone know of a safe efficient cheap way to send money? Usually I send it to a friend who is in Kenya six months of the year; it is sent to a Canadian address and the friend in Kenya accesses that fund.but this time that was not possible.

I am always concerned about sending money because the Lions' Club sent $500 for a year of a boy's education when school fees were not covered by the government ... through a Lions Club there ... and it disappeared into the banking system. I took the second donation of $1000 to cover two years when I went over and paid the boy's fees.

Sounding the Alarm

Hii babra , i have lost my through the eye cancer , he has been in the hospital for two weeks . now he is dead. so ai now working on how i can transiport the body for burrial, pass my sorry to gerry and the others . Things has gone crazy for now .bye bye .

I received this email yesterday from a Kenyan friend. He was my askari (house guard) when I lived in Kakamega. His life is very typical of African lives. I knew him as an honest, hard working man who cared deeply about his family, who valued education, who worked very hard, and who cared about the welfare of others.

In the photo, Julius' son is the small boy on the left. The other boy is a neighbour.

When this son was just a toddler Julius came to me for help about his eye. Then it was diagnosed simply as an infection that required hospitalization and drugs. Julius took the boy and his grandmother to the hospital and returned to work. His wife had a new baby girl to look after so she couldn't stay with her son at the hospital. In Africa patients require family members to be there with them because there are not enough staff or resources to ensure that they are kept clean.. Even food must be brought in by the family care giver.

Julius was most concerned about the health of his son's eye because he wanted him to have the education he had been denied through poverty. It was important that he see well.

During my time there, Julius came to me occasionally for small loans which he repaid faithfully. The last loan he needed was for seed to plant his field in corn. I remember writing out a contract for that loan. I gave him the money on the Saturday before his Sunday off. (Askaris get one day off every two weeks) He was to pay me back at a set amount per month. On the Monday morning when he came in to work he brought me the full amount. When I asked why, he said his wife had got a job making school uniforms and he didn't need the money.

I didn't see Julius for three years after I left Kenya. We corresponded and I asked him to check on a child being helped at the Daisy Centre for Handicapped Children. He sent regular reports on this child and on other students I knew who were being helped by ACCES where he was working.

When I visited Julius and his family in 2006, the children were happy and healthy and Julius had built a small house on his tiny plot of land. He was working the night shift as an askari and farming by day. His wife was expecting their third child. He introduced me to his neighbours and to their oldest son who was a bright boy who was getting ready to enter high school.Julius was encouraging him and was prepared to help him financially. I left thinking that life was good for Julius and his family.

Over the course of the last two years, Julius lost his job, the new baby died soon after her birth, his wife was killed in a traffic accident, and now this tragedy has befallen his family.

Julius has, with help from Canada (Sound the Alarm), managed to pay the costs for two years of schooling for his young neighbour, and he has somehow cobbled together enough money to bury his infant daughter and his wife and to pay the medical costs associated with his son's eye cancer. All this on a plot of land perhaps 1 acre in size. He stays in touch regularly but seldom asks for anything except help with the school fees.

My experience in Africa is with people like Julius, people who are decent and hard working, people who care about others. They are without exception people who don't give up when life becomes overwhelming and who stretch out their hands to help others whenever they can.

I know there are the scammers from Nigeria but the Africans I know are people like Julius whose lives are fraught with misfortune but who keep on following their own hard working, decent paths.

A Rwandan man I met on this last trip told me that if you pull one African out of a well he has fallen into, he will emerge with 100 others hanging onto him. If you push one African into that well, he will drag 100 along with him.

Sound the Alarm is having a benefit concert at the Black Sheep Inn later this month. Layla and her organization are helping educate young Africans like Julius' neighbour. They have provided funds to improve the lives of children at the Daisy Centre. They have made it possible for a man who makes jewellery to board his teenaged daughter at school so that she will be safer than the girls who must walk long distances in the dark to school. They are helping people like Julius pull children out of the well. I will be attending that concert. I hope to see some of you there too.

Innocence Personified (or caninified) ... this morning

I had a sleepless night, thanks to Kenya who is now snoozing away at 8 a.m.

Yesterday she moped around all day looking bereft. Her nose and ears were hot. I thought she was running a fever. I wondered if she was missing the other dogs that have been part of her life for the past couple of weeks.

I took her out for a walk and we visited a neighbour who loves dogs. She perked right up and her nose magically became cool and moist.

I relaxed.

We went to bed around 9 and at midnight Kenya was crying in that inimitable way ... part groan ... many variations in tones ... much meaning. It was similar to the "I have a tummy ache and I need to go out" message. I grumbled a bit but I let her out.

She circled the house and brought me a stick to play with. I grumbled more loudly, let her in, dried her off and returned to bed. She put her nose by mine and groaned some more ... high pitched for a groan ... more shades of meaning. I invited her into the bed.

She refused the offer. I thought ... this is the way she behaved when the wind whistled in through the open windows and she thought our home was under attack. This is anxiety. I cuddled her.

Then I helped her get up on the bed so that I could cuddle her without hanging over the side of the bed. She fell asleep for an hour. She woke up and we cuddled again. Another bit of sleep. Another cuddle. This went on most of the night. At 3:45 she took herself off the bed and disappeared. Silently, thank Dog, the dyslexic's deity.

At 6:30 I turned on the radio and she was at my bedside instantly. More cuddles.

I got up and asked if she wanted out. No way, Jose.

She nudged the Dentibone container with her nose. I gave her one.

She rattled her dish while I made tea so I fed her. Then she went to sleep for hours.

I am sure you think I starved her yesterday and she went to bed hungry. Well, those of you who don't know us might believe that nonsense, but in reality she ate more than normal yesterday, not less.

I hope it was her fear of wind and rain; that she doesn't have to be wormed. My vet never just gives her worm medication. She always has to do a stool analysis so worms are expensive.

No Magical Mid-night Moments, but Life is Good

I am getting so little sleep these nights (and days) that I can't seem to be fully awake at any time, let alone truly receptive to magic.

I managed to have fun yesterday afternoon despite exhaustion. Shopping therapy of the best kind. I went to a secondhand store in a local community centre basement and spent $6.50. I got a sweater (possibly for felting), a great cotton shirt to wear with jeans, two books on crafts, and several interesting tins for keeping my craft materials organized. Then I went to Giant Tiger and (for $25) bought a very cheap bookcase with heavy fabric bins in cheerful colours to put into the bookcase with the tins. I am creating a craft corner in my den where I can keep all these bits and pieces organized and cheerful. Today I will pick up two more bookcases so that I can stack one on top of the other horizontally and place one beside those vertically.

I also did the "legwork" acting as a go-between for Layla's Sound the Alarm fund raising and an old friend in Kenya who is putting a neighbour's son through high school. It is never as easy as you hope, but I have established a good network now that makes it possible. I have also learned to navigate the murky waters of self interest and politics so that the money can flow without rancour or malicious gossip.

Layla will be going to Kenya this summer to do her own research into finding where to put the money she raises. She will have to establish all those lines of communication and make her own way through the tangled growth of lies and malice that mark the world of good will in Western Kenya. I hope that my experience can help her as she makes her way.

I would love to go with her to make this first trip easier but I can't figure out a way to raise the airfare and other expenses. And I would love to see my old friends one last time as well. The last time I was there I felt as if I had come home.

Today I will also go to see the ophthalmologist again and hope that he has something to suggest for the side effects of the prednisone.

Here is Chapter 2 of Explosion for anyone interested.


CHAPTER 2 -- TUNA FISH SANDWICHES AND TEA

Alice Johnson looked around the home economics lab after the last grade nine student had hurried through the door. She often thought that it was a pleasant room when it wasn't overrun by clumsy adolescent girls who would rather be anywhere but in a classroom. Even on a grey November day like this one, the cheerful red-checkered cloths on the institutional arborite tables, and the cafe curtains, with their checkered tie-backs that Doreen Hilton had sewn last year, created a cheerful atmosphere. She remembered her mother's kitchen with its startling fire engine red ceiling, the only touch of colour in a scoured white kitchen. It had always pleased her that her mother had, one day, in a whimsical moment, brightened her life in this way.

A shadow crossed Alice's face as she turned to take a crumpled brown paper lunch bag from the refrigerator. She filled the enamel kettle with water for her tea. It was exhausting having to face a new group every term; having to re-establish the rules and teach them things they should have learned at home. What were parents doing with their children these days? Some of these new girls had never boiled an egg, and were quite disinterested in learning the correct procedure. And they never seemed to listen. Even after they had copied a note stating clearly that gentle cooking was necessary to prevent toughening, there were two stations where the heat was turned to high for the entire fifteen minutes. Her mother had made sure she understood the necessity of keeping a decent house long before she'd ever taken a home economics course.

She poured boiling water over the tea bag in the small metal pot and returned the kettle to the stove, giving its already spotless white surface a swipe with a tea towel. Then she removed two wax-paper-wrapped sandwiches from the refrigerator, one tuna, the other cheese, carefully re-folding the bag and putting it into her purse. She seldom varied her lunch menu; it was easier to stay in a routine than to think of something new to eat each day. She'd heard that in Norway, all the teachers in the country opened their lunch bags at 11:00 a.m. and ate bread and brown cheese as they drank coffee in their staff rooms. She seldom ate with the staff, preferring the solitude of her classroom to the discussions about students and the idle chatter she associated with the teachers' lunch room.

For the first few years, Alice had attended staff functions, thinking it politic to do so. She recalled vividly the Christmas party five years ago which had ended her reluctant participation.

They'd all gathered in the staffroom at four. The room, decorated by Elsie Maxwell's art class looked a little gaudy, but no matter; it was the thought that counted. Elsie had collected her accolades with a great beaming smile and the words,"It was all the children's doing, really."

Stuff and nonsense, of course. The students would never have thought of the idea on their own, let alone executed it. It was a good way to get out of the last class before the Christmas holiday, that's what it was. But Alice had said nothing.

The food was all laid out near the kitchenette area ... cookies, cakes, dainty sandwiches, and Alice's Christmas mints. A punch bowl with little cups hanging on the rim sat at one end of the table. Doreen Hilton said cheerfully, "There are only eight punch cups, I'm afraid, so after that we'll have to use paper." Grace Hanson had asked, her thin scarlet lips pursed, whether there was alcohol in the punch, and Doreen had laughed and said, "No fear, Grace. Mr. Harris warned me that the school board would look askance if I added the usual rum."

Grace had sniffed and whispered later to Alice, "I've no doubt she'd have put it in if she thought she could get away with it. In our day, Alice, young women wouldn't have thought of drinking alcohol."

She'd looked at Grace thinking that their day had been a hundred years ago, and wondered if the librarian had ever been young, but she'd said merely, "Times change, Grace," and had walked over to the food table.

Doug Adams and Helen Brown were filling their plates."What in God's name are these things?" Doug had asked pointing to the pastel mints.

"They're Alice Johnson's mints, Doug," Helen had replied. "I'm sure they're very good."

"Probably as sour as she is," he responded, and passed them by.

"Don't be cruel," Helen had said softly, and then had looked up and seen Alice. She had reddened, dropped her paper plate, and attempted to cover her confusion with a
mishmash of French and English apologies for her clumsiness. Doug had simply walked away from the scene.

When Helen had asked Alice to join her and some of the other women, Alice had been unable to think of an excuse and had joined them on the sofa. Margaret Cole, a first year teacher, and terribly keen, was expounding on how wonderful her students were. To hear her talk, one would think that she was teaching saints, not teenagers. Helen Brown asked how she managed to control them so well, and admitted to having problems with discipline. Margaret said that the students' natural interest in stories and writing was half the battle, and Helen said she wished there were even a smidgen of natural interest in learning French. "There are tricks to discipline just as there are to anything else," a bombastic health teacher had said. "You have to look at the problem in a clear headed detached way and figure out the solution. It doesn't work to try and solve it in the middle of a classroom riot." The animated conversation had continued long after Alice had excused herself.

She found herself stuck in between Jim Sullivan and Bill Stevens, both social studies teachers, but as far apart in age, experience and attitude as two men could be. Jim had come back into teaching after the war. His ideas had been rigid when he left, but were absolutely calcified by the time he came home. Now he expected students to behave like little soldiers who never questioned their commanding officer, and who spat back his own words verbatim on every test. Bill, a first year teacher, was trying to explain the importance of getting students to think for themselves, to work with facts to reach conclusions. "Ridiculous to expect a fourteen year old to come up with anything intelligent, man," Bill had stated unequivocally. Jim had said something about how discussion among students kindled good ideas, and been given a tongue lashing that ended with the words, "Garbage in, garbage out. Keep on with that kind of sloppy thinking, young man, and we might as well kiss standards goodbye."

By five thirty, Alice had said perhaps ten words, and had heard thousands more than she wanted to hear. It seemed as if there were two camps: those who were completely out of touch with students and those who were completely out of touch with reality. She knew her students would place her in the first category, but in truth she belonged nowhere.

She was about to leave when Mr. Harris arrived dressed as Santa, and asked that June Wallace, the music teacher, go ahead with her surprise. Several teachers got up, left the staffroom and returned dressed in green tunics wearing jaunty elves' caps on the heads. June blew into her pitch pipe, and the group burst into song, performing a Christmas medley. When they asked the remaining staff members to join them in some carols at the end, Alice had not opened her mouth. Why hadn't they asked her if she wanted to be part of the choir? Because she wouldn't have looked good in the outfit? Or because no one even stopped to think that she might have something to offer? She'd left before the applause and hadn't gone into the staffroom voluntarily since.

Just as she was pouring her tea, there was a knock at the door. Who's forgotten something, this time? she wondered, as she made her way to respond. "Oh, hello, Sir. What can I do for you?" she asked, and wondered what in heaven's name Mr. Harris was doing here. "I've just seen Kate Hennigan, and wanted to let you know how I handled the situation."

"Insolent little piece of baggage, isn't she? The first day of class and already in trouble. Late, unprepared, talking to her partner, and then rude, to boot."

Mr. Harris' eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, but he said calmly, "I've told her to apologize and to behave herself from now on. She'll be in after school to serve her detention with you. She's a good student and I'm sure things will be fine from now on." Before she had a chance to say anything, she found herself looking at Mr. Harris' broad back as he hurried down the hall in the direction of the teachers' lunch room. He never knew how his words affected Alice.

As she closed the door, Alice's reddened face crumpled and angry tears began to flow down her pocked cheeks. She blew noisily into a clean white handkerchief, a pink monogram, AMJ, embroidered in one corner. You get no support in this school at all. They're always taking sides with the students, and not just the office; the other teachers too. They're all going soft. I can imagine the time I'm going to have with that one now. She'll think she can get away with murder. Well, I'm certainly not going to put up with any nonsense from her. What was it my father always used to say? Spare the rod and spoil the child.

Outhouses Around the World

I didn't receive a single response to my Alice in Wonderland outhouse story ... so I thought perhaps I would tell you an outhouse story from Africa.

In Kenya, there are two kinds of traditional toilets: the long drop and the pit latrine. The long drop requires a very deep hole and is the nicer of the options because the contents are further away from your bottom. The more common pit latrine is really just a ditch covered by a board on which one balances to do what must be done. Flush toilets are rarities and plumbers are unaccustomed to them, so they usually malfunction regularly, making the traditional solutions more palatable in the long run. Unless of course you happen to be old or infirm.

My first story is about the grandfather of one of the employees at ACCES. Anna phoned me to say that she would not be coming to work because her grandfather had fallen into the pit. All morning my mind kept returning to the awful scene. Imagine drowning in feces.

Then, at 11 she called to say she would be in that afternoon.

"What about your grandfather?" I asked.

"He's fine," she replied. "The villagers managed to get him out."

My mind still continues to play with the concept of NOT drowning in feces. Imagine having to help him out. Imagine going under for the third time.

I'd rather play in the imaginary world of Alice ...

In the Mongolian countryside the toilet facilities are even more primitive and less sanitary. I have a story from there too. Let me know if you would like me to tell you that one.

Nomadic Travels #1

June 30, 2008
Ready! Steady! Go!

Kenya knows something is different ... but she goes into her usual "go to sleep till it's over" mode, so she is not a problem.

I am testing the laptop on this piece to decide whether I need to take a keyboard with me. If I find I am spending more time correcting mistakes than writing, I will, because that interferes with my thinking process. This is a brag piece about Kenya.

Kenya has her faults (don't we all?) But she is generally an easy companion and she works well with the dogs I board. She establishes herself as the pack leader and then she enforces my rules ... and dogs generally respond better to admonitions from other dogs than they do from new people, so she is a real partner in my dog sitting enterprise.

There are two dogs which she takes a back seat to: Shea and Nina. She met both when she was a puppy and they established their dominance then.

I have three stories about Kenya's recent behaviour that show just how wonderful this dog is ... well maybe they don't all prove that, but they do show why I find her interesting and lovable, and all are about pack behaviour in well socialized dogs.

1. There was the story of her telling us that Remi needed help. I posted about this the other day. She behaved very strangely and was deliberately disobedient and badly behaved, and wouldn't quit until we began to look after Remi. Remi is "her" puppy and a member of her pack. She had a responsibility to look after his welfare. I learned from this experience to pay attention when she acts out of character because it probably means she is trying to tell me something important.

2. The second story is about an error in judgment she made when Shea was here. Kenya firmly believes that all sticks belong to her. One of the dogs had placed a pile of three sticks on the ground. Shea went to get them. Kenya defended "her" property with a snarl. Shea growled back. Then both dogs stood stock still for four minutes, their bodies turned away from one another, their heads averted, and only their eyes revealed that they were not sure what to do now. Kenya had done something no pack leader could accept and both of them knew the rules, but neither wanted to act on them. Finally Shea picked up the sticks and Kenya acted as if it were his right.

3. The third story occurred a few days ago. Kenya had been out playing in the light cast by the solar lights till quite late one evening. I let her stay outside because she was having such a good time chasing toads and fireflies and took the dried liver cookie upstairs with me. I read for a while., the cookie sitting on my dream journal. Later I went down and brought Kenya in, gave her a new cookie, and we went to bed. The next morning I was at the computer in another room and I heard an anguished wail. I went to see what the problem was. She was sitting with her nose on the dream journal which was somewhat damp from her drool. But the cookie had not been touched. I don't know many dogs who could have resisted that temptation.


So three stories about Kenya's awareness of pack order. In the hierarchy I stand above her. Shea stands above her. Remi stands below her. But when Remi is hurt, he comes first. I have noticed that she backs off and lets me handle things if there is a dispute between dogs she knows well ... between Shea and Remi for example. She acts as if she is upset and confused ... because she doesn't know where her loyalties lie.

Try applying all of this to human behaviour ... it is an interesting exercise.

This ‘n that on another rainy day ...

This has got to be the rainiest June I can remember. It comes after a winter with near record snowfall, and the gardens are thriving. I have planted one hill with mint and it loves the rain, and the ferns and other forest growth are beginning to remind me of the lushness of a rain forest.

I have a fire going downstairs and have spent my morning making phone calls, responding to email, combing Kenya's tangled undercoat over her tail bone ... the part she can't reach, and reading The Book of Negroes by Laurence Hill.

I received a note from "The Perfect Man" ... the one who was just TOOO perfect. He said he really liked me but got the impression last year that I was not interested. But then he decided to try again. Oh dear.

Someone emailed me to tell me that one of the victims in the tragic fire in Labrador was the twenty year old niece of a former colleague. Suddenly the news reports became more meaningful. That shouldn't happen, but it does all the time, to most of us. We feel sorry when we hear bad news but we keep our hearts at a distance.

Only the massive destruction of lives in a 9-11, a tsunami in Thailand or an earthquake in China ... natural or manmade disasters that attract the attention of the whole world seem to make us empathise.

We feel the pain of the victims because the media inundates us with their images and tells us their stories. We cannot ignore the fact that we are all human and that the tragedy belongs to all of us. Paul Coelho would say that we are suffering with them because we are all part of the Soul of the World.

Stephen Lewis reminded us during the tsunami that there are people whose suffering is hidden away, people whose suffering is no longer news, and we must not forget them either.

Our humanity is what connects us to all human beings ... our souls to the Soul of the World.

An Utterly Peaceful Day

Yesterday was one of those perfect days, a day when the air feels invisibly light against your skin; a day in which things are in balance and there is no pressure. I had fun with Kenya and spoke briefly to two neighbours, but it was a day when everything I needed was all within me and my place.

It helped that the weather was perfect and the bugs unobtrusive. One storm rumbled about behind dark clouds but moved out without dropping any of its precipitation.

Any attempt to list the highlights will make us all (myself included) wonder how that could constitute a perfect day. After all not much happened between 6 a.m. and 10 p.m.

I used to be a Type A person who had to accomplish three days' work every single day. I almost never took holidays, even when I thought I was doing so. A day without work, without accomplishing something, was a day wasted. One of the blessings bestowed upon me by ageing has been the ability to enjoy leisure time.

What I did on my perfect day:

1. ... walked around the lake with Kenya to try to take more photos of nesting turtles. I didn't see any adult turtle mommies, but saw three nests of shell fragments and hope that means the turtles hatched. I also spoke to Rosemary who was gardening and we walked over to see the hydro pole that had burst into flames when the tree fell on the wires on Friday.

2. ... wrote a Father's Day piece for my blog and answered emails.

3. ... hung the hanging basket of petunias Erin brought for me yesterday.

4. ... moved all the pieces of the raised garden down to the spot I wanted to use for a garden this year, put them together in a half-assed fashion and poured in the soil I had brought down from the car. I started with the wheelbarrow and then hefted each one onto my shoulders and moved them singly down the last flight of steps.

5. ... exhausted and sweating, I took a break and went swimming with Kenya. We swam to a neighbour's cottage and I spoke briefly to them from the water.

6. ... still not ready to go back up to do the planting, I went out for a kayak ride with Kenya alternately swimming alongside and scrambling along the shore.

7. ... planted tomatoes.

8. ... re-potted the peace lily and took it inside. (It was getting sunburned outside)

9. ... had a sandwich and apple juice lunch down on the deck, read my book and threw sticks for Kenya.

10. ... had an afternoon nap.

11. ... brushed Kenya and bagged her undercoat hair for Rosemary's garden (it discourages groundhogs and raccoons)

12. ... made a pasta salad and barbecued ham slice dinner for myself, listened to Sara McLaughlan, and ate dinner with a very nice Italian wine.

13. ... curled up on the couch with Kenya and watched The Painted Veil.

14. ... took a lovely leisurely bath scented with some kind of evergreen, maybe balsam.

15. ... and went to bed where I slept soundly the entire night.

It was a wonderful day.

May 17th ...

May 17th: I was married 51 years ago today. I was 16.

May 17th: Tonight I will be going with Tammy and Carlos to say a final good bye to Anne- Marie, a wonderfully vibrant woman who lived surrounded by art and friends, and died too soon. Tonight's party will be a celebration of a life well lived.

May 17th: Marie confirmed that the photo of Linda in my blog entry a few days ago ( A Morning Fresh with Possibility ) is indeed the Linda who is being helped by Layla's Gala funds. I was hoping it was. She seemed in the short time I spent in her company a couple of years ago to be a peaceful strong young woman.

Yesterday I worked hard physically all day ... vaccuuming, washing all the floors, transplanting lilies ... Kenya and I went to bed at 7. Except for a phone call from Kerry and a couple of times that I listened to the loons and the whipporwill, I slept almost 12 hours. They too seemed more at peace last night.

The second roofer is coming this morning to examine the roof.

And so my day begins.

A Morning Fresh with Possibility

I feel good this mid-May morning!

Everywhere the trilliums are glistening with dew, the birds are making the woods a noisy busy place, and one of my plants has burst forth with a flower that is all seed pod. A Canada goose is almost drowning out the birdsong with his honking. My day's plan is to continue to transplant day lilies, and get my knees all muddy again. Calvin says that "if your knees aren't green by the end of the day, you ought to seriously re-examine your life."

Yesterday I had my car in for its spring tune-up. It cost $700 but Grant, the local mechanic, told me that it is a solid little car and I should get 300,000 kilometres out of it. It is 10 ½ years old and has just over half that kilometrage, so the Corolla, Kenya and I may all just make it to the end of my ten years here at the lake.

I got the names of qualified roofers from James up in Kaz and will call them today. While I was there I noticed that the baby finger on James' left hand looked just like mine. I asked him about it and discovered that he'd had his set two years ago at the Hull Hospital. I wonder if the orthopaedic surgeons at that hospital think baby fingers looks better that way!

Last night I fell asleep listening to the rain on the tin roof and my bed became Avonlea. I was certainly glad that watching Anne of Green Gables had been a stronger influence than watching The Last King of Scotland. It was much calmer spending the night in Avonlea than it would have been in Idi Amin's Uganda. 300,000 people were slaughtered during his rule. The movie made clear that his political opposition was wiped out, but when I was in Uganda learning to whitewater kayak, my friend Tim told me that he got rid of anyone who was educated because he feared them. Tim lost his school teacher father during that period.

Such terrible things have happened in Africa.

But some of the most heart rending and uplifting stories also originate there.

Yesterday Marie sent me a letter about a young girl, and asked if Layla's Gala money might be able to help her. Layla immediately responded and said that the $1500 raised at the Gala and whatever money is raised at Philemon's fashion show (likely another $400) may be used to help Linda.

I found a Daisy photo of a girl called Linda. I wonder if she is the same Linda.

Here is Marie's letter, and Linda's story:

I saw a girl today who I think some of the funds for Daisy might help. She is a student at Mukumu Girls High School. When she was in primary school she fell while carrying water and broke her Right lower leg. Her grandmother refused to take her to the hospital -saying she was just trying to get out of going toschool. When she finally did get treatment she had osteomylitis in the leg. She spent four years (yes 4) at Kakamega General Hospital because her family said she was dead and refused to consider taking her home. A Social Worker at the hospital finally helped her go to Daisy to complete her primary education.

She passed well and was taken at Mukumu. She has been taken today as a CHES student (they had extra money)but she has a very badly contracted leg and must use crutches to get around.

Because of the infection in the bone she has a huge open wound on her shin from knee to ankle which must hurt like hell.

Now comes the good part. She is number one in a class of 386. To top it off she is a cheerful smiling girl who helps others by encouraging them when they get down! I would like to send her to Kijabe Hospital near Nairobi - they are a mission hospital specializing in orthopedics and they might be able to help her. They have a staff of doctors from the USA and other countries who come for short periods. They are not that expensive but we have no source of money for this kind of thing. Do you think some of the Daisy money could go for this? I can't think of a more deserving person to spend it on.

Just a small endnote:

Kakamega Hospital is a forbidding grey building with minimal facilities. Outside its gates the coffin makers line the road. It is a place in which to die - a terrible place for a young girl to spend 4 years.

The Daisy Centre is a cheerful boarding school for disabled children and AIDS orphans in Kakamega.

CHES is a Canadian organization which sends very bright poor girls to high school in a couple of places. They have an office in Kakamega and another in Tanzania. They provide all fees, boarding costs, school uniforms and books for the girls. It is not easy to get acceptance by CHES. They are deluged with requests at the beginning of each school year. Only the very best candidates can be accepted and provided with the four years of high school education. If they are successful they are then given ACCES scholarships to continue their education.

a voice from the past ...

Everlyne just got in touch after a long silence.

It was Everlyne who was the biggest help to me as I attempted to help desperate high school students get their high school education. She combined a big heart, a wise head and great practicality, and, as a result, performed what seemed to me to be miracles.

She was diagnosed as HIV+ while pregnant with her second child and dismissed by the Canadian NGO she had worked for since graduation from college. The reason given: excessive absenteeism. Most people I know, who were connected with this NGO when I was, were, like me, horrified that a Canadian organization which espoused the right beliefs about living positively, would do this to a longtime employee.

The last time I saw Everlyne, the organization was harassing her and making her life hell. She and many other good people were frightened for their jobs. While I was visiting Kenya two years ago, Jeff, an older man looking after two orphaned baby grand daughters, was fired in his last year before retirement. Two other old friends of mine, Virginia and Julius, were fearful that they would be next. The new administration seemed to fear the employees who had been around since the inception of the NGO.


When I saw the heading of the email, I was afraid that something terrible had occurred, but ... Everlyne had good news!

Here is what she wrote:

Dear Bar, Greetings from Kakamega. I am fine together with the children. I wish to let you know that I got a job with an NGO dealing with street children. They do support them those who are at the age of going to school to pursue education. You had a dream and may be if you team up with this group you can realize yur dream. The main donors are from Uk and we have a lady who is in charge of fund raising who is very sharp and smart. Please let me know if you get this mail so that I can give yu more information about the organization. Thanks Ever

NB I met Jeff yesterday. He told me the little girls have gone to school now.


People who don't know Africans often think that the odds facing them are too great for any successful outcomes , but the one great truth I learned in Africa is that the people are indomitable. There is hope for the continent.


Imagine! She remembered my dream ... when I had almost forgotten it. I will definitely follow this up.

Just a photo or three ... from Western Kenya

The WONDERFUL news is that Kenya has finally decided to eliminate school fees for high school students. They will still have to buy books and uniforms and pay other fees ... but at least now they have a chance.

The woman on the right is a care giver for AIDS orphans in Mumias. The chicken is how she manages to to help. The chicken is provided by SAIPEH which is funded by the Stephen Lewis Foundation.

These kids are from Kakamega and are attending primary school.

And I am not sure what the future holds for this baby from Shianda ....

Hermits do not make good public speakers ...

Layla has asked me to speak at the dinner celebrating their official status as an NGO raising money for the Daisy Centre in Kakamega. I am terrified. I am not sure I am still capable of speaking in public. This life of the hermit really does cause the voice box to rust from disuse. Living with dogs has changed my communication style. I have a smaller vocabulary, use shorter sentences, and bark out orders or communicate non-verbally rather than holding intelligent conversations. The very thought of agreeing to speak freezes my vocal cords.

I wish I could just show the faces of the children and field questions, tell the story of why I chose Daisy for Layla's group.

I could use their photos as they use their crutches.

Most of the photos remind me of the happiness I saw at Daisy.

Moses reminds of how caring the staff is, and of how important every donation is.

Two Tough Movies

I've just finished watching two very tough movies: Shake Hands With the Devil; and Hotel Rwanda. The first is Romeo Dallaire's story of his return to Rwanda and to sanity after the genocide which he was unable to prevent. The second is the story of a Hutu hotel manager who protects Tutsis during the genocide in Rwanda.

I couldn't watch either straight through. I needed sanity breaks.

The Rwandan genocide was one of the greatest crimes in recent history ... yes, of course the atrocities committed by the Hutus against the Tutsis, but just as horrifying, the developed world's failure to act, to believe, to care enough, to see that African deaths are just as important as those of white people.

Three pieces of literature that have helped to clarify the situation for me have been these two films and and the novel, Sunday Afternoon at the Pool in Kigali.

Shortly after that blood bath, a nun from Uganda visited my cottage with a mutual friend, a Malawian. She told me about the rivers running red and clogged by bodies floating downstream, and how her younger brother just "had to see for himself". He was sixteen. He didn't sleep for months after seeing the carnage. On an emotional level I could certainly understand without having to see for myself, even if I had trouble distinguishing intellectually between Hutus and Tutsis. The details were raw and horrifying enough.

On this last trip to Kenya I met two young Rwandans who helped me understand a little more.

One had been a Tutsi child at the time. Every night he would stuff cotton into his nostrils in an attempt to stretch them so that he would look more Hutu than Tutsi ... so that he wouldn't have to face the bullying in school ... so that when the genocide finally occurred he would be indistinguishable.

The other man, half Hutu-half Tutsi, told me about watching his Tutsi mother run away to Uganda leaving the children behind. She was terrified that the machetes would be turned on her next. I guess she hoped that the children might be safe. In this case they survived. In too many cases they did not.

What we are seeing in Kenya is very different, but in both countries, unfair distribution of power is at the root. In Rwanda, the Belgians favoured the Tutsis, likely because they looked more European than the Hutus. When they handed over power to Rwandans, the Hutu majority had built up a tremendous resentment against the Tutsi minority which had been given all the plum positions during the colonial period. In Kenya, the Kikuyu have been the favoured tribe ever since Independence. Jomo Kenyatta did not distribute power or land fairly. In both countries the minority was resented by the majority.

In Rwanda, the Hutu head of state was killed when his plane was shot down right after a peace accord had been signed. Rule of law abruptly disappeared. In such a situation anything can happen. Total disorder and emotions running amok, and a plan already in place to kill off the Tutsis.

Kenya has been a stable country for a long time. In Kenya, tribalism is far more diffuse ... far more tribes for one thing. There has never been a plan to rid Kenya of Kikuyu. In Kenya the anger stems from the fact that the election was not fought or counted fairly. That anger has spilled over from anger with Kibaki to anger against his tribe ... the tribe that has generally been better educated, richer, and more powerful politically. And it is poor young men who can be manipulated who are doing most of the fighting, poor young men who feel they have been cheated all their lives.

I watched these two films trying to get a sense of what must be happening on a far smaller scale (1000, not 800,000 killed), and I wept ... for the Tutsis of Rwanda ... and for Kenyans.

I have been reading comments on Yahoo about the Kenyan news reports that make me want to weep for us here in Canada. One 63 year old man who calls himself the Jokester would like us to ship container loads of machetes to Kenya so that they can finish each other off.

In one scene in Shake Hands With the Devil, Dallaire speaks to Rwandan university students ten years after the genocide, and he says that the western countries believed something very like what the Jokester expressed, and that is why they let Rwanda down in its hour of greatest need. They didn't see black Africans as fully human. That is why the UN ignored Dallaire's pleas for help; why individual countries ignored the news footage that international journalists were sending them.

That was thirteen years ago.

I read the Jokester's comments yesterday and feared that it could happen again, perhaps not in Kenya, but somewhere in Africa. The west might very well turn a blind eye and choose not to help because Africa doesn't matter; because Africans are not as fully human as North Americans or Europeans.

Just how far have we evolved?

Layla and the Daisy Connection

I met Layla Farhat just over two years ago. She was in grade 10 at Philemon Wright High School and her guidance counsellor asked if I could speak to her about my work overseas; told me that she wanted to raise money for kids in the developing world; said she was an amazing kid. We met, she made her connections at her brother's elementary school where she intended to raise a large sum of money, and gave me a packet of letters to take with me when I returned to Kenya in January. My task was to find her a worthwhile project.

Finding needy children in Western Kenya is all too easy, but I wanted to find a project which would be sustainable. Again, there were several, but they had steady sources of funding. Then I discovered Daisy.

The Daisy Centre in Kakamega is a school for mentally and/or physically disabled children, and, more recently, for AIDS orphans. It is a happy place run by a physically challenged headmaster and a committed kind staff of teachers and care givers. In 2006 they were building badly needed dormitories. I decided that Layla's money would be well spent here.



Layla, her older sister Naj, and her younger brother have all been involved in Layla's fund raising projects, as have her friends, and now their group, Sound the Alarm, has been granted official non-profit status. To celebrate they are holding a formal gala at the Best Western Cartier March 14, 2008. All proceeds will go to the Daisy Centre. I will be posting more details later.

When Layla first told me about this, I thought, "What a great way to have fun and do some good," and I thought about the new kitchen Daisy needs, and about the workshops for vocational training.

Then reality hit. Kenya is in crisis. The first and most important need for vulnerable children in Kenya is not better facilities in which to cook food; it is food itself.

The news I am receiving from Kenyan and Canadian friends in Kakamega and the surrounding area is not good. Bullets and tear gas, arson and looting, store closings and fear have become part of daily life. The road between Kakamega and the airport in Kisumu is under siege. The shilling has plummeted and food prices are soaring. The Daisy children need even more help to survive now.

Thank heavens for Layla and the young people she has inspired.