Visits of the Rural Kind

"C'mon, girls. Get up and wash your faces; then Roe will slaughter."

:rustle:
"What was that?"
"What was that noise?!"
"That rustling?"
"Yeah."
"A snake...?"
"That definitely was not a frog sound."
"Snake?!"
:grab:
"Ahhh!"
"Winney says there's snakes."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SNAKES?!!"
"Can we not talk about the snakes that I can't see in the darkness?"

Walking to the latrine in the blackness, I thought about our day. Some things are too funny. Being jolted along during a bad, 10 kilometer, pot-hole (no, crater) stretch in a hot Matatu up country, I wondered how Rachel could read the lit assignment?! The heat was beginning to be smothering and we had hours to go. Paul looked back at Elizabeth and I sympathetically, wishing he could make it better. We laughed at him and the bumps. Now I knew why Doc Stockley had called Matatu's death traps--they pass four wheelers doing 80. You could tell that Mr. calm, composed Paul was worried about this visit from the moment we left. He hadn't been home in years. He kept shaking his head and laughing in his embarrassed way anytime he'd go over the details. Destination: Torroro District. Village: Iyolwa. Family: Polygamous. Electricity: Negative. We were pumped.

Under the shadow of Torroro rock, the countryside was lush and thick with tropical vegetation and crop fields. Night was coming on, we were super late, and hit the town for supplies. While Paul went around running into long-lost caretakers, Elizabeth, Hazel, Rachel and I introduced ourselves to a Indian toddler girl, Janwee. "We need to get back so they can see your faces!" Down a long bumpy road, we drove past grass huts, and finally pulled up to a cement compound in Iyolwa village. Paul made a weird 'this is like prison' comment and we just looked at one another. Welcoming us were one of Paul's mothers and his elder sister Winafred. She hadn't planned on even being there. She embraced and laced us with very religious, evangelical rhetoric.

Inside the house, we sat in latern light, trying to make out figures and waiting for food to be prepared. We were exhausted, but we were guests so we waited. David, Paul's bro, asked us prying questions about America and laughed mirthlessly at our confusion. "MORE QUERIES. MORE QUERIES," they pressed and...we were just really confused. On the dark stone walls hung many photos of White Jesus. I kept laughing at our situation. After a delicious meal and family prayers, the four of us crammed into a kingside bed, talking/laughing about the latrine, guessing if the sound we were hearing were bats or rats, and taking photos underneath the mosquito net. In the morning, I found a hen warming her eggs in a roasting pot. Irony.
Paul spent the afternoon giving us a tour of his village.

Interesting cultural observances:
*boys move out of the home at 13 to build a grass hut to live in as a sign of independence.
*Women and young girls bow to elders or those they honor as sign of respect.
*Bride price and family involvement in marital arrangement is still a very important to Japadora culture.
*Farming is subsistence, so any extra crops sold on the side of the road is for other necessities (i.e. soap, plates, etc.)
* Women have more responsibilities since husbands are in the city or away at other wives' houses.
*Women have very important, authoritative roles in the rural church.

Who slaughtered the first chicken for dinner? I nominated Hazel....the vegetarian. She stepped on the wings with one foot and the feet with the other and did the deed with a sharp knife. Rachel ran around with disgust and I hid behind Elizabeth and peeked over her shoulder. I was very brave. We spent the night talking about gender equality with Paul, catching fireflies, and laughing under the moonlight while the non-english speaking herdsman taught us Swahili. I couldn't help but think how amazing everything was.

In the morning, Winney came in to wake us up for church and get us ready for the day. "You have tasks now, praise the Lord? C'mon girls, get up and wash your faces; then Roe will slaughter!" Is she kidding? No, I don't think she's kidding. No, I think she's dead serious. Oh god. And she was. And not only was it not a chicken but it was a big rooster. And not only was it awful, but it was gruesome actually. My left hand wasn't strong enough and so (to be graphic) there was a lot of sawing motion, and when I had cut through the neck bone thinking I was done, I realized the throat was still attached and it was kinda still alive! AUGH. The family laughed and gave their support. It was done. I killed an animal. I'm not vegetarian yet, but I do now have a better appreciation about where my food comes from. There's no denying it; :shrug: The rooster tasted really good for dinner.

The conclusion of our time was sad, indeed; we attended a funeral of a mother who died in child birth. She lay there very still and her child, red faced and hungry, laid in a hut a hundred feet from the funeral grounds while her family mourned vocally. The pain was too much to get her on a bicycle and she died from shock. "Challenges of rural life," Paul remarked quietly. I hadn't thought of maternity deaths much before this.....God, be close to the heartbroken. I held the baby's hand and did the only thing I could do: hold on. Our rural visit overall was incredible (none of this prison business) and I wish I was still there now. Our last scene: The sky is open and chickens are scavenging in the front yard. The cattle come in from their grazing and four foreigners drive down the road back towards city hustle.