Turkeys and Pineapples and Five Hours of Church
November 12, 2005. Saturday, 10:11pm.
The Yes (banana) team had a rally today in my village, a No (orange) stronghold. Even last night people had set the podium on fire that the Yes team erected for today’s rally. Last week when I heard about plans for today’s rally, I told my co-workers that I didn’t want to be anywhere near it, so Hillary suggested that I spend the day in his village, about 5 km away.
That’s how I ended up in church today. I guess Seventh-Day Adventists aren’t so strict about a woman wearing trousers when she contributes money to their harambee, which is basically a community fundraiser. I realized today that the reason I don’t go to church is not because I don’t agree with Christian ideology, but because I fear dying of boredom. I actually read the entire book of Matthew, plus half of Ephesians and random passages from Luke, Acts, Revelations, Romans and John, just to pass the time during the sermon. And also because I didn’t feel comfortable pulling out the book I actually wanted to read, entitled “Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs” in large letters on the cover. I mean, it took five hours for the pastor to read and reflect on ten verses, and I nearly got through the entire New Testament on my own. The opening passages of Matthew tells the story of Christ’s miraculous conception in the womb of the virgin Mary, and how Joseph doubted it at first but was eventually convinced of his fiancee’s purity. It made me think of a Chris Rock monologue (I think) where he says, “Man, Joseph was the biggest sucker!” I laughed out loud right in the middle of the service. Because, really.
I miss knowing how to make people laugh. I’m sure Kenyans are funny to each other, but I still haven’t figured out what makes Kenyans laugh. It’s not deadpan sarcasm, I learned. My co-worker asked last week if I was for the orange or banana team. Since Peace Corps volunteers aren’t allowed to be political in their host country, I said, “I’m on the pineapple team.” He looked at me for a long time, then said slowly so that I wouldn’t get confused, “There-is-no-pineapple-team. There-is-only-orange-and-banana.” Maybe a one-woman pineapple team isn’t the most hilarious concept, but come on. Work with me!
A fellow PCV sent me an sms today saying Kenya was starting to get on her nerves. We all have our bad days, after all. I wrote back, “Why would Kenya get on your nerves? It’s not like people stare at you as if you’re an animal at the zoo, treat you like you’re here to pass out free money, scream racist names at you, pester you to accept Jesus Christ as your savior, assume that you can get them a U.S. visa, or talk about you as if you can’t hear them. Oh, wait.”
Anyway, I’m back in my village, safe in my house, and the Yes team has cleared town. I am planning a pre-Thanksgiving dinner with some PCVs next weekend, before the official lockdown and week-long moratorium on travel. There won’t be a turkey, but there are rumors of lasagna, Mexican food and ice cream. I invited some friends in my village to celebrate Thanksgiving Thursday with me, on the condition that someone else slaughters the turkey. They are all excited to try American cooking, and I am, too, as I’m not sure how to roast a turkey over a charcoal stove and without a turkey baster. Also I don’t think cranberries, celery or giant marshmallows are available locally, so I may have to improvise with pineapple sauce, kale in the stuffing, and a light dusting of powdered sugar on the yams.
A few days ago I was reading an issue of the New Yorker (Thanks, Pat!) when one of those subscription cards fell out of it. It was printed with a shimmery silver-blue holly-leaf border for Christmas, and I started missing the holidays in the U.S. I’m definitely not missing the Christmas commercials that must already be airing, or the holiday music in an endless loop everywhere you go, but I’m going to miss seeing my friends and family for all our usual holiday habits – eating good food, drinking good wine, gossiping, counting how many of my friends already have kids, catching up on movies, getting in a fight with my family. Ahh, fond times. Actually, I *will* kind of miss the holiday music in an endless loop, but at least this year I can still play the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas over and over on my iPod. So as everyone gears up for the holidays, be sure to send warm holiday greetings my way, and think of me in Africa as I tap all my connections to find a Thanksgiving turkey (as of yet unlocated) and wonder if I’ll actually get my act together to spend Christmas in Mombasa.
The Yes (banana) team had a rally today in my village, a No (orange) stronghold. Even last night people had set the podium on fire that the Yes team erected for today’s rally. Last week when I heard about plans for today’s rally, I told my co-workers that I didn’t want to be anywhere near it, so Hillary suggested that I spend the day in his village, about 5 km away.
That’s how I ended up in church today. I guess Seventh-Day Adventists aren’t so strict about a woman wearing trousers when she contributes money to their harambee, which is basically a community fundraiser. I realized today that the reason I don’t go to church is not because I don’t agree with Christian ideology, but because I fear dying of boredom. I actually read the entire book of Matthew, plus half of Ephesians and random passages from Luke, Acts, Revelations, Romans and John, just to pass the time during the sermon. And also because I didn’t feel comfortable pulling out the book I actually wanted to read, entitled “Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs” in large letters on the cover. I mean, it took five hours for the pastor to read and reflect on ten verses, and I nearly got through the entire New Testament on my own. The opening passages of Matthew tells the story of Christ’s miraculous conception in the womb of the virgin Mary, and how Joseph doubted it at first but was eventually convinced of his fiancee’s purity. It made me think of a Chris Rock monologue (I think) where he says, “Man, Joseph was the biggest sucker!” I laughed out loud right in the middle of the service. Because, really.
I miss knowing how to make people laugh. I’m sure Kenyans are funny to each other, but I still haven’t figured out what makes Kenyans laugh. It’s not deadpan sarcasm, I learned. My co-worker asked last week if I was for the orange or banana team. Since Peace Corps volunteers aren’t allowed to be political in their host country, I said, “I’m on the pineapple team.” He looked at me for a long time, then said slowly so that I wouldn’t get confused, “There-is-no-pineapple-team. There-is-only-orange-and-banana.” Maybe a one-woman pineapple team isn’t the most hilarious concept, but come on. Work with me!
A fellow PCV sent me an sms today saying Kenya was starting to get on her nerves. We all have our bad days, after all. I wrote back, “Why would Kenya get on your nerves? It’s not like people stare at you as if you’re an animal at the zoo, treat you like you’re here to pass out free money, scream racist names at you, pester you to accept Jesus Christ as your savior, assume that you can get them a U.S. visa, or talk about you as if you can’t hear them. Oh, wait.”
Anyway, I’m back in my village, safe in my house, and the Yes team has cleared town. I am planning a pre-Thanksgiving dinner with some PCVs next weekend, before the official lockdown and week-long moratorium on travel. There won’t be a turkey, but there are rumors of lasagna, Mexican food and ice cream. I invited some friends in my village to celebrate Thanksgiving Thursday with me, on the condition that someone else slaughters the turkey. They are all excited to try American cooking, and I am, too, as I’m not sure how to roast a turkey over a charcoal stove and without a turkey baster. Also I don’t think cranberries, celery or giant marshmallows are available locally, so I may have to improvise with pineapple sauce, kale in the stuffing, and a light dusting of powdered sugar on the yams.
A few days ago I was reading an issue of the New Yorker (Thanks, Pat!) when one of those subscription cards fell out of it. It was printed with a shimmery silver-blue holly-leaf border for Christmas, and I started missing the holidays in the U.S. I’m definitely not missing the Christmas commercials that must already be airing, or the holiday music in an endless loop everywhere you go, but I’m going to miss seeing my friends and family for all our usual holiday habits – eating good food, drinking good wine, gossiping, counting how many of my friends already have kids, catching up on movies, getting in a fight with my family. Ahh, fond times. Actually, I *will* kind of miss the holiday music in an endless loop, but at least this year I can still play the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas over and over on my iPod. So as everyone gears up for the holidays, be sure to send warm holiday greetings my way, and think of me in Africa as I tap all my connections to find a Thanksgiving turkey (as of yet unlocated) and wonder if I’ll actually get my act together to spend Christmas in Mombasa.
posted by Justina at 12:25 PM
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