Yup, we’ve arrived in Nairobi! Hopefully our household goods will follow shortly… Below is a not-so-brief glance at life here, or you can skip to the end for things like holiday greetings and our address information. Enjoy!

In some ways it’s not unlike anywhere in the western world, full of people trying to eek out a living day-to-day. Oh, the roads aren’t the best, and a maze of potholes combines with frequent and unmarked speed bumps to keep traffic slow. Only the wealthy few even have cars to dodge potholes, but trucks, busses, matatus* and pikis** are rampant, mixed with bikes piled six feet high with crated goods destined for roadside shops and four-foot square wheel-barrow-like carts pulled by a person in lanes of traffic.

We avoid the rush of exhaust-belching vehicles by running before sunrise. This morning, as I ran, the solid line of walking commuters faded into the dim haze down Riara Road. We like Riara Road because its street lamps are often lit. Other times, long sections of its straight mile-and-a-half are very dark, or suddenly go very dark as we run. Dark would be fine, were it not for the aforementioned speed bumps and potholes, which disappear in the darkness, much like the commuters do in their muted, formal work clothes…

From time to time I’m reminded that I’m in Kenya, home of very strong runners: commuters carrying umbrellas for the frequent rains, often pass me as I trot along at my top speed, dog in tow. Chili accompanies me on these runs, since we’ve heard that she’s a better protection for me than pepper spray or mace, and so far she’s worked great – dogs here are either guard dogs or rabid. Consequently, most people (including us!) wisely fear them. Chili’s excellent company, too, except when we happen upon the occasional herd of goats or cows grazing on the few grassy patches alongside random roads even here, in the middle of the city.

As dawn advances later in the run, we sometimes slide over onto the dirt sidewalk for softer footing, which my aging joints and Zoe’s little sibling inside me appreciate. That is, if it hasn’t rained in the last few days, which transforms the uneven sidewalks into slippery web of mud rivers. On a good day, I don’t have to bathe Chili after a run, but she’s coming to accept the frequent leg washes.

All told, Nairobi is just another international city, with nuances like any city and much in common with other places where cultures from around the world collide and blend over time. That being said, we both escaped city life as teenagers and eagerly anticipate doing so again, despite the many conveniences of Nairobi.

*Matatus have a life of their own, lending humor and excitement to the otherwise painfully chaotic city traffic. Comprising about a fourth of road-bound vehicles, these small vans carry up to 14 passengers legally (many more in reality) and form the spine of Kenyan public transport. Like taxis elsewhere, they are the fearless masters of the road, weaving through traffic, often starting a third lane in the center of the unmarked strips of shoddy asphalt called major avenues. This third lane starts and stops at unpredictable intervals in either direction, though for some unspoken reason, rarely in both at the same time. Pre-scraped and dented, matatus edge into the slightest space between crawling cars, block traffic for one another (or occasionally charitably for someone else), and nose out into oncoming traffic forming impossible gridlocks. When lines of pollution-producers pack so densely onto the road that traffic stops altogether, a regular rush-hour occurrence, they can be seen bouncing along undeterred on the muddy “sidewalks”, taking advantage of their high clearance to cut back into the fray further up the road. Surprisingly these apparent rogues run regular routes, indicated by a small, square number posted in the windshield or held out by the driver’s helper, who operates the door, often while hanging out of it much of the time. Unfazed by conditions we call crazy, men behind the matatu steering wheels can often be seen smiling or laughing as they play their life-sized game called driving in Nairobi.

**Pikis are motorcycles, though most here are small, lightweight and very dingy. They flow smoothly through drudging traffic, weaving between the center “lane,” the curb and occasionally the sidewalk. Slick loves the fact that a piki can transform a four-hour traffic jam into a ten-minute maze, but dreads trucks and busses because of the opaque clouds of black they belch out whenever they inch forward.

We wish you all the best for Christmas and the New Year!

In His grip -

Donna

PS: Our US address has not changed: 431 Radcliffe St, Wyckoff, NJ 07481. My parents tell us what arrives there (their home) and we pick it up when we can. We can receive LETTERS ONLY here in Nairobi: PO Box 21171, Nairobi, Kenya 00505. If you decide to send anything larger than a normal, flat envelope, please include a $50 bill so we can pay the customs fees J.

PPS: See pictures from our time here so far: http://www.flickr.com/photos/donnadouglass/sets/72157627853188048/

In some ways it’s not unlike anywhere in the western world, full of people trying to eek out a living day-to-day. Oh, the roads aren’t the best, and a maze of potholes combines with frequent and unmarked speed bumps to keep traffic slow. Only the wealthy few even have cars to dodge potholes, but trucks, busses, matatus* and pikis** are rampant, mixed with bikes piled six feet high with crated goods destined for roadside shops and four-foot square wheel-barrow-like carts pulled by a person in lanes of traffic.

We avoid the rush of exhaust-belching vehicles by running before sunrise. This morning, as I ran, the solid line of walking commuters faded into the dim haze down Riara Road. We like Riara Road because its street lamps are often lit. Other times, long sections of its straight mile-and-a-half are very dark, or suddenly go very dark as we run. Dark would be fine, were it not for the aforementioned speed bumps and potholes, which disappear in the darkness, much like the commuters do in their muted, formal work clothes…

From time to time I’m reminded that I’m in Kenya, home of very strong runners: commuters carrying umbrellas for the frequent rains, often pass me as I trot along at my top speed, dog in tow. Chili accompanies me on these runs, since we’ve heard that she’s a better protection for me than pepper spray or mace, and so far she’s worked great – dogs here are either guard dogs or rabid. Consequently, most people (including us!) wisely fear them. Chili’s excellent company, too, except when we happen upon the occasional herd of goats or cows grazing on the few grassy patches alongside random roads even here, in the middle of the city.

As dawn advances later in the run, we sometimes slide over onto the dirt sidewalk for softer footing, which my aging joints and Zoe’s little sibling inside me appreciate. That is, if it hasn’t rained in the last few days, which transforms the uneven sidewalks into slippery web of mud rivers. On a good day, I don’t have to bathe Chili after a run, but she’s coming to accept the frequent leg washes.

All told, Nairobi is just another international city, with nuances like any city and much in common with other places where cultures from around the world collide and blend over time. That being said, we both escaped city life as teenagers and eagerly anticipate doing so again, despite the many conveniences of Nairobi.

*Matatus have a life of their own, lending humor and excitement to the otherwise painfully chaotic city traffic. Comprising about a fourth of road-bound vehicles, these small vans carry up to 14 passengers legally (many more in reality) and form the spine of Kenyan public transport. Like taxis elsewhere, they are the fearless masters of the road, weaving through traffic, often starting a third lane in the center of the unmarked strips of shoddy asphalt called major avenues. This third lane starts and stops at unpredictable intervals in either direction, though for some unspoken reason, rarely in both at the same time. Pre-scraped and dented, matatus edge into the slightest space between crawling cars, block traffic for one another (or occasionally charitably for someone else), and nose out into oncoming traffic forming impossible gridlocks. When lines of pollution-producers pack so densely onto the road that traffic stops altogether, a regular rush-hour occurrence, they can be seen bouncing along undeterred on the muddy “sidewalks”, taking advantage of their high clearance to cut back into the fray further up the road. Surprisingly these apparent rogues run regular routes, indicated by a small, square number posted in the windshield or held out by the driver’s helper, who operates the door, often while hanging out of it much of the time. Unfazed by conditions we call crazy, men behind the matatu steering wheels can often be seen smiling or laughing as they play their life-sized game called driving in Nairobi.

**Pikis are motorcycles, though most here are small, lightweight and very dingy. They flow smoothly through drudging traffic, weaving between the center “lane,” the curb and occasionally the sidewalk. Slick loves the fact that a piki can transform a four-hour traffic jam into a ten-minute maze, but dreads trucks and busses because of the opaque clouds of black they belch out whenever they inch forward.

Today begins the next phase of our lives. For the last four years, Slick and I have been preparing, first in seminary then in language school, with flying training sprinkled in between other classes. God’s also presented us other learning opportunities of His own, preparing us through a myriad of situations that have cropped up. For example, sharing stories through email both refines Donna’s writing and increasingly opens our eyes to the hand of God moving in response to prayer.

The toughest part has been near-constant travel; the high points: the pure fun of learning to fly sea planes and the side-effect of travel: getting to reconnect with many friends.

So now, adequately proficient at French, current in flying, officially healthy according to the doctors, and chock full of immunization, we depart for Africa. Even Chili gets to come along this time, though her ticket cost more in time and money than all our other tickets combined!

In stark contrast, “Peanut” has caused no trouble at all, and gets to travel in the greatest comfort, curled up inside Mommy’s warm belly: a peanut-sized oval with a heartbeat due to arrive in late April, in a country yet to be determined. We see Peanut as God’s confirmation of Donna’s decision to leave the flying up to Slick for at least the next couple years while she focuses on teaching little ones and doing some writing.

So, off we go to the next phase, looking forward to something slightly different that we initially thought but eagerly anticipating all the blessing God has in store, which is beyond all we can ask or even imagine sometimes!

“Gut check!” Standing on the high dive many years ago, I reflected deep within myself to evaluate whether I had what it takes to do this dive. When the verdict came back more than 50% positive, I stepped out and “went for it” (gave it my all).

Now again, we stand on the brink. We’re about to “go for it” and move everything to Africa. What confidence it brings whenever we reflect on the past and deep inside us both, that it is God who has asked us to do this. And what He asks of us, He has all the power and resources necessary to bring it to pass. In this case, it doesn’t rely at all on our “guts,” but rather on the capability and will of the Creator of all.

Two other families of missionaries recently faced similar decisions. Would they obey God’s leading in totally new directions for ministry? Or would they stay where it was familiar and comfortable? Dr Henry Blackaby would call it a “crisis of belief” – can God really accomplish what He’s asking me to do? But each family has chosen to act on their confidence that God has what it takes and that He will enable them as they move forward beyond the familiar and easily done.

As we set out, we are encouraged to be in the company of those who testify to Who their God is by their very lives. And as we make each decision in our own lives, we pray that we might, by His grace, do the same.