Keeping the Sabbath Day Holy

is not our strong suit in Africa.
But, family, before you become upset please know that if we hadn’t gone shopping all day yesterday then you would not get any of the sweet presents that we’re bringing home to you.
Think about that when you receive them.
Or don’t. That might make you appreciate them less.

Anyway, our schedule yesterday was this:
In the morning we got up bright and early and put on some Sunday-type clothes. (We seriously looked like homeless people compared to the Kenyans in their white shirts and ties.)
And we drove the hour and a half to Mombassa to go to church. We were joined by three friends who left with Books of Mormon (of course). The Mombasa LDS branch was wonderful. It was comprised mainly by relatively newly-converted Africans and like three white people from Utah.
The talks were very sweet and powerful, and everyone excitedly asked us, “Will you be here next week? Are you here to stay?”
It was disappointing to say no. I like those small tight-knit groups of Mormons. It’s more like what I’m used to.
Afterwards we went to lunch and then out for some mmmmm! authentic and delicious Italian Gelati. It was JUST the thing in all that heat. I got strawberry and coconut and it tasted so fruity and sweet.
We spent a few hours after that exploring Mombasa, since it was our only chance (tomorrow is our last day in Kenya! WHAT?!) and bought some really cool things for our family, and (need I say it?) ourselves. I am the best at talking people down from the high prices they ask of us, if I do say so myself.
The trick, as our friend Rajiv so nicely put it: “Do not want the things you are trying to buy.”
Most conversations go like this:
Me: What is the price of this necklace?
Kenyan: 1,500 shillings. (that’s almost 20 US dollars!)
Me: Oh. [put the necklace back]
Kenyan: You do not want it?
Me: No, it costs too much.
Kenyan: It is Sunday, so I give it to you for 1,200 shillings.
Me: No, I can’t pay so much. I can only pay 500.
Kenyan: No, no! 800.
Me: Two for 800?
Kenyan: No, no. One for 800.
Me: That’s okay. I will not buy it. I will look elsewhere.
Kenyan: No, no. 500 shillings.

SCORE!
But 500 shillings for a necklace is still absurd. People were literally giving things away to Peter, saying “Thank you for bringing me customers, rafiki.”
When he asked the price for a necklace like the one I had to fight for they said 300 shillings and he could then fight them down to 200.
That’s less than three times what I paid.
I’m sick of the mzungu-price. Peter often explains (in Swahili) “These are my friends, they are not rich tourists, they are students. They are making a movie for Komaza.” He’s really the best bargainer we have. He can often get them to accept the “Local price,” reserved for Kenyans only.

After a long hot day of haggling (all while wearing clothes, despite my awful sunburn) I got very sick driving home. I went straight to bed, at about 5:30, but had to get up to babysit soon after.
Travis was recording a demo CD for another of our Kenyan drivers, Osito. His whole band was there, including a couple with two small girls. Beatrice, 5 and Abigail whom Beatrice said was 3, but whom I suspect was only 1 or 2.
At first they were very shy and Abigail would cry whenever I or another mzungu looked at or spoke to her. Neither of them spoke English. I haltingly told them my name, and asked theirs. And soon we were playing like with any 5 year-old.
I would chase Beatrice and tickle her and then let her escape and she would laugh and squeal. Then I turned on some music and we danced until I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. (she loved Abba and Beyonce) She sat me down and sang to me in Swahili. She would raise her arms above her head and close her eyes dramatically. Then open them and march and dance around the room singing. It was so much like my own 5 year-old sister Kathryn.
It’s easy to think that I’m different from the Kenyans, but when we play with the kids its SO clear that they’re all just kids, even if they grew up in a mud hut. The kids here are the same as the kids anywhere.
Beatrice also LOVED ice and we had a freezer full. I got myself a cup of ice water and plunked a cube into her glass and after that she was hooked. She pulled out an entire tray of half-frozen ice and (with a spoon) quickly ate every piece.
After that, she would walk sneakily to the freezer every few minutes and pull open the freezer. If I didn’t come help her get a piece of ice she would spend a few minutes touching every cube, trying to pry it out.
I showed her we could take her picture and she was quick to figure out how to use photobooth on my laptop. (Amazing, right? It was like nothing she’d ever seen, but even she totally understood it. Kids blow my mind.)
Later Eve joined us. She is a Kenyan and good friend of Osito’s, but she works for the Government and has very good English and a WAY nicer car than any of our American friends. She stuck a DVD of gospel music videos into my computer and it was hilarious to see Beatrice and Abigail’s reactions. They both knew every single line in every song and stared at the computer screen, singing along and dancing.
They could not be distracted.
It was great. After a while our other roommates came home and our friend Leah came over and we all talked and played. Leah brought some warm, freshly made banana bread and it was delicious! I may or may not have eaten half of it myself.
The Kenyan girls didn’t like it very much, but they were more than happy to eat a bowlful of the spaghetti noodles and lentils that we had for dinner.
And by the end of the evening, Abigail still didn’t want me to hold her, but she happily held my hand when we went to find her Mama after the recording and waved saying “Bye, Bye, Bye!” when they left.
All in all, I was exhausted when I went to bed…
but happy.
It was definitely our best weekend in a long time.