You Could Be Al-Qaeda!

The "Dick" Effect has become a given on any riding trip that Caleb and his father, Dick, take together. Inevitably, if Dick goes along, they are bound to encounter some kind of hassle--police officers exerting authority, immigration officials harping on technicalities. This past weekend was no exception. Caleb and Dick took a Sunday afternoon ride to Kokoro, a town not far across the Kenyan border. Caleb has a good relationship with the border guards at the Kenyan border, and he often crosses the border a few miles into Kenya with their permission. Someone forgot to inform the police in Kokoro of Caleb's special relationship.

Once in Kokoro, Caleb and Dick were detained by a Kenyan police officer. His command of English being poor and his manner resembling a ranting lunatic, Caleb at one point leaned over to his father and asked quietly, "Is he drunk?" "Drunk", it turns out, is one word the officer did know, and so was none too pleased at the observation. He railed at Dick and Caleb for travelling into Kenya without proper identification and without a letter from the border post granting permission to travel--all wise suggestions, especially in the face of the officer's reasoning--"You could be anyone and we would not know...You could be Al-Qaeda!"

Thankfully, one of the officers and also the village chief--a friendly man named Ezra carrying a tent pole as his official stick--intervened and explained to Caleb and Dick that although their colleague's manner was suspect, all he was trying to say was that next time they come, it'd be a good idea to carry some identification.

Al-Qaeda? Doubtful. Travelling again to Kokoro without identification? Definitely not.

Meeting Obama

I met Obama this morning. He was round, a beautiful caramel brown, wrapped in a pink blanket, wearing a cross necklace around his chubby little neck.

I went to do clinic about 45 minutes from our house and about half-way to the middle of nowhere. Obviously, though, despite being rather far from any local American voting district, Obama fever has travelled the airwaves and someone in Libumket must have a radio.

Play

What is the saying--art imitates life? (Or is it life imitates art? I always forget) Anyways...I know those of you with kids know that their play often imitates life. (How many times have you heard something come out of their mouth that could have only come from your own?) Here are some things I've heard come out of my kids' mouths the last few weeks:

Elsa: "I need BCG!" (She and Ezra play as though they are babies being brought to clinic and need TB immunization)

Ezra: "Ouch, scorpion bite me!" (Playing doctor and bandaging up scorpion and snake bites)

Elsa: "Quick, get out of the river, the big crocodile is going to get us!" (Taking dips in the river with Caleb--keeping the swim short so as to keep the risk minimized)

Elsa: "I'm going to Paradise" (Playing that she's taking a trip to Arba Minch, the town half-way between our home and Addis Ababa, we stay in a hotel called Paradise)

Ezra: "Where Daddy? Really really want ride broom-broom!" (This is Ezra sleep-talking--dreaming about riding motorcycles with his daddy)

Ezra: "Really want dung beetle ball" (Dung beetles make great toys--they're huge and they don't fly very high or very far, so you can chase them down and hit them out of the air. Note to mothers: wash hands after play)

(Alternative titles for this blog: Things Your Kids Probably Don't Say or What Have We Done To Our Kids?)

Happy 2nd Birthday Ezra!

Ezra's 1st birthday.

Ezra is born!

Happy 3rd Birthday Elsa!

Elsa's 2nd birthday

Elsa's 1st birthday

Elsa is born

Bad Habits

Caleb: "Elsa, stop chewing your fingernails."

Elsa: "Daddy, don't worry, I'm just licking off the boogers."

Back to Dirt?

I'm sure by now you all have given me up as hopeless as a blogger, but I beg extentuating experience. We've been unable to communicate for nearly the last month (first travelling for meetings and then our email was down for over 2 weeks), so you can't JUST blame my lazy fingertips and uninspired mind. You really wouldn't believe how many blogs get written in my head on a weekly basis...well, at least the titles.

We are in the hot and dusty time of year here at Omo. You know it is bad when a two year old notices that it is dirty. A couple of weeks ago we were gone from home for about 10 days. First we travelled to a town about 13 hours from here called Awassa, attending a gathering of our SIM South Team. We left from there to go on to Addis to meet with our RCA Africa Director, who was in country, and to do some supply shopping. After travelling home another two days, we were on our last day of driving when we told Elsa, "You finally get to go home today!" And she replied, "to HQ (our headquarters in Addis)?" We said, "No, home!" She wasn't quite getting it, kept thinking of Awassa and Paradise (our stop in Arba Minch, the half-way town), so finally we started saying, "Back home, to Bauer and to your toys and your bed and your house..." She thought for a minute and said, "Back to dirt?"

Yes, it is extremely dusty, and hot. A few weeks ago we had 107 in the kitchen and 131 outside in the direct sun. At Omo you always trade one thing for another--right now the river is at its lowest, so is running clear out of our sinks and showers (so nice!). But with that comes the heat and dust. Come late spring, rains will fall in other parts of Ethiopia, causing our river to rise and turn muddy, flowing thick and brown from our faucets. But with that comes somewhat of a break from the intense heat and rains often settle the dust.

I've heard Caleb's grandma say that sweeping is therapeutic. My emotional health must be off the charts at this rate!