In Doolin. Cliffs of Moher are unreal. Beanz is better.

We've gotten a chance to rest up and take it easy for a day in Doolin. Evidently Guinness is good for a bad sore throught. With that in mind, last night we went to a pub for dinner and had Guinness and a stew that was a Guinness-beef-broth base, potatoes, and more beef. We're both feeling pretty good at this point. The scenery is increadible, and the B&B that Jenna found for us is a gem. These guys that run it are the real-deal when it comes to cooking, so breakfast was looking out on Shire-like farms of cobblestone fences with horses or sheep or cows, a surreal drizzle which has sun peeking under a thin layer of clouds, and that kind of food that just makes you giggle after you take a bite. Not too shabby.
All that being said, there is one thing that trumps it all. His name is Beanz.

He is a golden retreiver. He is one of my favorite animals. When we drove up to the B&B, I opened my cardoor and kicked my foot over the car door only to discover a very friendly snout poking almost in the car to say hello. That was Beanz. He ushered us into his house to check in. When we woke up this morning, Beans was laying in front of our door. He didn't move as we crept around him to go down for breakfast, but beat his tail on the ground to let us know he was glad we woke up and now needed to be pet. We abliged him, and so he followed us down stairs. When we got back from breakfast, he was again waiting at our door and again too tired to stir, except for his tail and very expressive eyebrows. After we gave Beanz a scratch, we opened our door and he snapped up with surprising speed and pranced into our room. Beans is one of our favorite animals in the world. We love you Beanz!

We're in Ireland!

We are officially in Ireland but we are both feeling a little under the weather. It's nothing serious, just some sore throat and fatigue sort of symptoms (Bryan thinks it's pretty much from little sleept+ lots of work+ foreign bacteria+ foreign climate= really tuckered out). Now that we're in Ireland, there is actually some humidity and comfort and plenty of Guiness. We landed today in London and it took more than an hour and a half to pass through customs and security but suprisingly we made our flight to Dublin. With all that said, please accept a few pictures in leu of a more detailed post, and tomorrow we'll get more written.

More classroom fun

Over the weekend the teacher that Bryan had been subbing for finally was able to pass through Zambia to get into Namibia. Ray is really a funny guy and it’s plain to tell that the kids really respect him, so it’s very good to have him back in the school community. The teachers still wanted a chance to see how to teach literature classes, so I (Bryan) continued to cover Pinocchio and The Apple and the Arrow (and no, I never shot and students… though Jenna did have to talk me out of trying to throw knives at them).
This Sunday (the 26th) is our sponsor child’s birthday, so we got to celebrate with the school yesterday.
Balbina is our sponsor child’s name, and when Jenna asked what she wanted for a birthday present she confidently said, “A horse!” I then asked her if it would be alright if we got her a unicorn instead. She had never heard of a unicorn. Jenna then proceeded to find a horse in a coloring book and spent copious hours making it beautiful. This horse happened to be in a coloring book detailing how the Vikings lived… so we ended up with a beautifully colored horse with a fierce Viking riding atop it (the Viking was left black and white to deemphasize him). I then took the drawing and put in a rainbow colored horn out of the horse’s forehead.
It was really fun teaching the Apple and the Arrow though. As we came into the school to start out the whole trip, the fifth and sixth grades are notorious for their bad behavior and poor performance. After about five minutes in the classroom with them, it was apparent that this was not just a rumor, but also painstakingly clear that these kids were just being age-appropriate and testing boundaries that they’d grown up with. What was fun about teaching the Apple and the Arrow with them was that they really were given a chance to act their age and read about a guy that pushed away bad authority. One kid, Alberto, was just a terror the first few days with the 5th/6th graders and really made the whole class get off track. Another was Theodore, who simply could not go five minutes without cracking some sort of joke (and usually a pretty good one, so it was hard not to give him positive feedback from it). Sharon was like the boss of them all, commanding attention at any time she deemed necessary. But the thing is, these kids just needed and outlet to move, talk, and lead the class. They took charge of discussions, if the questions were important to them, so when the book provides fodder to ask, “When is it OK to go against authority” they jumped at the chance to talk. Sharon could really sink her teeth into that, and Alberto would actually smile at me and give appropriate feedback (even do the stereotypical grunting and whining with his hand wriggling in the air like it might fall off to answer a question). And Theodore could joke about the characters in the book and provide some really good insight about why the characters could not agree. These kids are really bright, and I think they could provide some hope to the community around them to recognize how the city of Windhoek is really oppressive.
Again, we’ll talk to the Hunters today and see if we can provide a little more insight into who these kids are outside of class, so the next time we blog will be in Ireland and hopefully we can share a little about what life is like at home for these kids.

Another week in Africa

Bryan’s update on teaching elementary school:
After one week of teaching math and literature for 4th, 5th, and 6th graders, my students and I can report the following things:
1. Parallel lines will never touch, therefore they will never go out on a date.
2. Based off of #1, guys will now be turned down by girls in the following way “There’s NO WAY we could ever go out, we’re like parallel lines.”
3. Parallelograms are a group of complete and total losers.

Unfortunately, on the test at the end of the week over new geometry terms, more than one student wrote that the name for lines that intersect are “those lines that don’t go out.”… Oh well, at least they get the idea?

Also in the misadventures of Mr. Aukerman’s classes, the 5th and 6th graders started a book called “The Apple and the Arrow.” In this book the protagonist stands up against evil tyrants in the 1300’s who charge excessive taxes and demand people work for them as slaves. The symbolism of this frivolous oppression is that the subjects had to bow down to the ruler’s hat. In order to help kids understand symbolism in this sense, I had them start out class saying the pledge of allegiance, only they pledged allegiance to my right shoe. It started out, “I pledge allegiance to Mr. Aukerman’s shoe, which was on his right foot and smells awesome. And to the classroom for which he rules…” etc. They all got a kick out of it until I told them that to show their true allegiance, they would all now smell my shoe. I only made one student actually smell it, but the rest got the idea after seeing that kids face. They then understood how pledging to a shoe or bowing to a hat would make a person feel mighty small.
One last thing, then I’ll give the computer over to Jenna: because the book is about William Tell (the guy who shot an apple off of his son’s head) I brought in an apple, and an arrow. I asked for a volunteer to come to the front of the class. One good thing about elementary schoolers is that nobody is “too cool” yet (at least most people), so EVERYBODY’s hand shot up. I picked one of the kids who is usually a pretty big loudmouth, and had him come up to the front of the room as I handed him the apple and arrow. He smiled and asked what he was supposed to do with them. I told him to feel the tip of the arrow (this was one of John Hunter’s big-game arrows), and he looked a little nervous holding onto it when he realized we weren’t kidding around with the arrow. I then told him to go around the classroom and let the rest of the student verify that this was really an honest-to-god arrow, and I’d be right back (Jenna was in there to make sure nobody was impaled by the arrow). When I returned, I had John’s large compound-bow with me. My volunteer went about two shades paler than he was before and the rest of the class erupted into Oo’s and Ah’s. Once they all quieted down, my volunteer then had to go to the front of the class and put the apple on top of his head, as I walked to the back of the room and I notched the arrow, over exaggerating how heavy the bow was.

As I put the student in the bow’s sights, the volunteer asked in a very high-pitched voice, “Have you done this before Mr. Aukermans?”
“Mr. Hunter taught me how to do this last night.” I stuttered back, very unassuringly.
At this point, the class was teeming with laughter. Then, hand still on the arrow and student still in the front, I had them turn to the page in their book where there was an illustration of William Tell aiming his cross-bow at his son. Once they looked this up, I let the student take the apple from his head and sit back down—much to dismay of every other student in the class. My volunteer, however, may or may not have wet his pants a little.
In any case, I think it’s safe to say that this week has been a new experience for both myself (as a high school teacher trying to teach elementary ages), as well as for the kids (I don’t think they had been physically threatened by pain of death AND pledged allegiance to footwear in class before). This blog has been more about the activities that have take place, but I’d like to write more about some students individually. Before I take the liberty to do that, I’m going to ask the Hunters if they’re OK with me commenting on their students. But fear not! News of the actual kids should be coming soon. Alright, here’s Jenna.

I (Jenna) fortunately had the joy of sitting in on this apple/arrow demonstration with “Mr. Aukermans”. I don’t think I’ve ever seen kids that excited and nervous to see one of their classmates possibly get skewered by the teacher. It was a good class.
Ok, interesting cultural observation #1: (this goes out to Rod especially) I helped out in the school kitchen for a day last week. When I went in to report for duty, the head cook was busy – get ready – cutting fresh vegetables. Yes, fresh vegetables. And fresh organic meat (hunted by John recently) was cooking on the stove. And I noticed that the noodles and bread here are usually made out of straight wheat flour with maybe a little salt added. No processed anything, no high fructose corn syrup, no loads and loads of sugar or fat in any of it. I couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that these kids, in extreme poverty, eat better quality food at this school than 90% of American children.
Interesting cultural observation #2: Kids will play with anything here. I seriously mean anything. A frequent game during their break time involves only a wad of used plastic grocery bags. Or when there are no soccer balls in the morning before school, an old plastic pop bottle substitutes quite well for a game. And they all are having some serious fun.
Interesting cultural observation #3: The kids here speak at least 3 languages. For most of them their native language is Damara (which kind of sounds like a strain of Portuguese but with lots of clicks), Afrikaans, and English. I’m impressed.

First week in review

As much as I hate to take words from someone else, I’ve got to say that this week could really be summed up in the album title: the Foo Fighters latest album is titled Echoes, Silence, Patience, and Grace.

Echoes: While Namibia is proudly an African country, the South African Afrikaners and heavy German influence has made this culture shock much less shocking. It’s even familiar in many ways. What is shocking is the fierce racism that is rampant in Windhoek. Whites are demeaning to the black tribes, but at least a little more accepting to the “coloreds” (an exceedingly proud sub-culture of Namibia who escaped South African slavery many years ago to settle up north, and then proceeded to fight for their freedom against the German settlers later on in history… pretty B.A. if you ask me). The colored people are less out-right in their dislike for the other tribes, but it’s there, and there’s even a pecking-order in the black tribes (this is all what we’ve been informed about and seen in many instances). In any case, Community Hope works with many of these triply oppressed black cultures. So the kids that Community Hope is based around are the product of this new and still forming culture of Namibia. Regardless of this terribly fascinating culture (and I really do mean terrible) these kids grow up in, I cannot help but see my past student’s faces in the students here in Community Hope. It’s so strange that these circumstances do not mute out the consistency of life, but I think it’s kind of comforting too. Kids are kids, and life is life… but it seems harsher here.

Silence: This trip has been surprisingly quieting. Some times the silence comes because we have no words to react to the poverty but more frequently it’s humbling to realize how much joy there is despite this poverty. We’ve seen more smiles from people on their morning hike back to their tin shacks with loads of branches on their heads than anywhere else in the city of Windhoek. I’m still at a loss for words on that too. But even back at the YWAM (Youth With a Mission) base where we’re staying, we’ve gotten a lot of time to just sit in silence and rediscover living simply. In this way, it has been uncomfortable, humbling, and familiar.

Patience: In school, there needs to be structure and rules so that the elementary kids feel safe, have boundaries, and so things can simply GET DONE. That’s when the teachers need to start “cracking the whip,” so to speak. I (Bryan) had been pretty comfortable doing that at Washington, but both Jenna and I are struggling deciding where there needs to be more patience for these kids in this situation. In the last BLOG entry, you read how sacred this Community Hope School is because it provides a place where these kids get to be children. It’s hard to “crack the whip” when you know that this is the most comfortable place they have all day long… that kind of patience takes a lot out of a person by the end of the school day.

Grace: If nothing else, this whole travel experience has revealed a lot in seeing just how big this world really is. We’ve been on three very different continents over the past week and three days. We’ve heard dialects from the Irish lilt to the German and Africaans’ guttural speech, to the Damara clicks (what the kids speak in when they don’t want to teachers to know what they’re saying), to South African English, and John Hunter’s heavy Texan influence. It’s enough to make a person feel pretty small. It’s enough to have a little more respect for how much earth is turning around in the sky every day. It makes me pretty happy to realize how much falls into place every day, and it makes grace seem like an even more potent balm when you realize just how much grace cuts through.

So there you have it. It’s been a week in Windhoek, and our time here already seems like it’s slipping away. Next week brings some fun new experiences: Bryan will be teaching 4th, 5th, and 6th grade math & literature, Jenna will be running “soccer break” during the school day, and both of us will continue to work in the tutoring room during the rest of the day. It should be pretty fun!

Reflections on school

Katatura: (noun) Cat ah tour a—The title that the white governing bodies gave the part of town where they exiled the blacks because they didn’t want to live around such uneducated people with poor hygiene. Literally translated it means “Place where I don’t live.” Loosely translated it means “Please go suffer somewhere that I cannot see it.”

Today, Suzanne took us around Windhoek to the tin-shack village on the perimeter of the city. It was upsetting. We drove by this little encampment when all the school in Windhoek get out (about 1:00). All the kids were going home; walking along the shoulder and edge of the highway in school uniforms. There’s a famous African poet that wrote “Dry your tears Africa, your children return home to you…” and this was the most horrific bastardization of what the beautiful poem intended. These kids weren’t going home to anything. They didn’t go to school to get anything but a demeaning, terminal public babysitting that provides no nutrition or education that will help them reach their potential. They were going “home” in their home-land to the poorest housing and sanitation that Windhoek has to offer. It was upsetting, but some of the kids walking home were smiling, and many were poking fun at one another to pass the time on the hot walk home. Kids are kids, no matter what latitude they live on.
We passed through this scene as Suzanne explained that those kids were from the families in the area that could find the money to pay for uniforms, underwear, and books so they could go to school. Once we got to the more stable housing, but still Katatura chic, there were tall fences made out of purely barbed wire around anything business oriented.
It was poverty with emaciated concrete skin, slathered in thin layers of cracked paint and old coca-cola signs. Then we pulled into Community Hope.
I didn’t recognize it until I saw kids running around the recess area with the uniforms on. These kids were beaming. Jenna and I got out our bags of books and toys to deliver from the trunk. Two fourth graders ran up to the car immediately and Suzanne asked if they wanted to help. They were elated to help Suzanne with anything, so we stacked their arms full of books from one of the large duffle bags. Once that was emptied, I (Bryan) had a messenger bag full of heavy books and a large duffle of lighter toys and yarn. Jenna asked what she could carry so I handed her the large duffle—mind you it was at most equal in weight or lighter. One of the little girls who was watching the whole scene charged up to me, “No-no-no. You do not give the big heavy bag to the woman!” She scolded.
“Oh, no?!” I shot back. She was not used to new-comers being so forward and stepped back. “You want to hold my little, light bag?”
She held her hand out and I dropped the full weight of the messenger bag stuffed with hark-cover books on her. She almost fell over, laughing all the way. “What is in here?!”
I think Jenna and I made a friend very quickly, but she still insisted on at least helping Jenna take the big “heavy” bag. We didn’t get to say very long today, but we got a chance to play with some other kids and talk with some of the staff. I think we’ll get along well here.
While we were there it was extremely clear that we were in a poverty stricken community, and that at about 1:30 these kids would hang up their childhood on the gate as they left, returning to something you and I would not consider childhood. That part of Community Hope I realized the entire time I was there. Right up until we left, right before I got in the car and looked back at the school-yard of gravel in a whirlwind of dust from playing, that I remembered that many of these kids’ parents were dead from AIDS or this was a looming possibility. That was a moment of recognizing this school as a part of the Kingdom: offering these kids at least half of their day that they could just be kids, to have adults whose entire reason for being there is to love and care for them. Please don’t get me wrong, I am positive that many of these kids have parents or guardians who love them more than a school staff ever could, but many of them do not. Any way, these kids get to have this experience to just be a kid rather than having to grow up a lot faster than a first or third or fifth grader really should. More than that, this school is equipping them to be able to grow up and get a job rather than continue the cycle of oppression and poverty. I think that’s a pretty good thing.

On Safari but wanting to be at school...

We’ve just spent the past two days wondering around a nature preserve with a missionary couple named John and Suzanne Hunter. John likes to hunt in his free time (what a non-misleading name, right?) and so has a vast knowledge and story base about every creature we see. It makes the experience much more interesting when you hear about not only how to tell which animal is the male or female (aside from the obvious “balls” which Suzanne took great pleasure in pointing out) but also which animals taste the best. We are told that Etosha is about the same size as England, and as we drove from waterhole to waterhole we had time to spot beasts, discuss their theology, their school’s educational philosophy, and come to see these people that it would be so easy to lock into a box as “missionaries” become people that are just a vulnerable, mischievous, and human as the rest of us.
One of most interesting things to talk about were the extremely different but many cultures that make us Windhoek. It’s at least as diverse as the waterhole I’m sitting at as I write; Three main indigenous tribes with their own various sub-groups within them (ranging from cultures that still refuse to convert to wearing cloths all the way to cultures that have yielded wealthy politicians) and three white tribes (the oldest being the German settlers, then Dutch colonists, then English colonists, and so on). Socially, this place reminds me a lot of a dryer, more abusive version of Atlanta, Georgia. The rich (almost exclusively white German or Afrikaans folks have legally ostracized the native cultures while the local people seem to be put into the inescapable, lower cast. 50% of the blacks are unemployed in Windhoek. It will remain this way because the schools in black neighborhoods are incapable of teaching what is necessary to pass the nationalized graduation exams, never mind the usually failed 10th grade exam. This is where John (our host), would stop and say “Funny…” but not really mean it.
So, we’re getting all of this information as we cruise around the largest national park in the country, passing wealthy German tourists or Afrikaners. I just want to scream. I want to yell! It is so backwards to me that Jenna and I came to Africa (all the way to freakin’ Namibia) at the cost of my job, major risks to Jenna’s business, and most of the stability that we once had in our lives to learn more about and help reverse this travesty. But I cannot help but feel like we’re feeding into it. The least I could do is cause a big hullabaloo in the middle of this schmaltzy resort, right? But screaming won’t fix anything (Jenna assures me). It will only piss off the Euro-tourists who want to enjoy this odd, reverse-zoo—in silence.
So what the hell can we do? We’ve been here three days and I’m only less sure that there is a good answer to that question. Here’s a few facts I am sure of at this point, staring out at the waterhole:

Fact: Oryx are cool… but real jerks at the waterhole.
Fact: Elephants are well endowed.
Fact: Elephants play with their trunks like a supersoaker, and I’m pretty sure they realize how goofy they are. This makes them even more awesome than originally believed.
Fact: Zebras are the middle-schoolers of the animal kingdom.

The two funniest animal notes so far are:

1) Rhinosaurus’ have drinking problems and have an exaggerated cough like something from a Tom and Jerry cartoon.
2) The first time an elephant farted I could not tell what end the noise was coming out of. I asked Jenna and she was also mystified. I started to ask John but then numerous things fell out of its butt (the elephant’s, not John’s). Very funny.

Jenna has encouraged me to relax and enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime experience. I’m still trying to do that. Elephant fart jokes help. The wild beauty of this place is so expansive, it’s hard to realize it all right now. I hope these pictures do it justice.

Well, the last major thing that is the cause of a great deal of confusion is this: the mission’s world-view and my personal Christian understanding. I’ll only speak for myself, and not necessarily Jenna here. I came expecting an extremely non-judgmental, love-centric, geographically (ethnicity) neutral version of evangelism. It would seem that the school has a more American-centric Christ than what I am comfortable with—but really it’s the first time I’ve encountered that philosophy of evangelism. I’m not sure I like it, but that’s not to say that I’m opposed to it… the jury is still out, and it would seem that “innocent until proven guilty” would be an apt euphemism.
At this point, I’m just not sure what to think, because many parts of tribal culture that still majorly influence day-to-day life AND the concept of justice are really genuinely abusive. Case in point: The first night we were camping, the Hunters got an emergency phone-call to let them know a woman that the Hunters know was beaten by her boy-friend. That wasn’t the news, because they already know she was beaten and that had caused her to lose the child she was carrying. The news was that the woman, who had been in critical care until about 6 days ago, had just passed away. The most troubling part was that they didn’t think this was going to make the news or that the boy-friend would even be taken into custody. This culture needs to be changed, for sure, and the corruption of a society that would let this go is disturbing. So for the time being, I’m reserving my judgment on how I feel about the “Americanization” of the gospel.
Here’s one more thing I am sure of. Without a doubt Community Hope and all the people involved LOVE these kids who go to the school. They came here to serve them and make their lives better, and they are doing that. They are providing hope to these kids’ lives and they are certainly some of the most caring, interesting Christians I’ve ever met (Jenna and I are already better for having spent time with them). More than anything, I want to get to Katatura and get to know those kids. Jenna and I are both ready to be present and hear what God would have us learn from all this.

The first night here in Africa

As Jenna and I lay down to our first night’s sleep in Namibia, I can’t help but think, ‘Its been one of those 48 hour days.’ It started as Jenna and I woke up to a croaking old Irish woman named Eithne who curse sang her way through making our breakfast. Ethnie didn’t warm up to us until she introduced us to her dogs the day before: one was blind and deaf (but liked to sit immediately in front of the doors) and the other was a tiny shi-tsu who had recently been neutered. Once we had been introduced to the rest of the family, there was a new softness to Eithne’s personality, and it was a bit sad to leave her standing in the doorway of her B&B in Dublin. In any case, it was time to track down a bus that could take us to the airport, so we could begin the arduous thirteen hours of flying that lay ahead of us.
We arrived at our bus stop early, but decided to take the first one that showed up en-route for the airport. This, unfortunately, spit us up at the airport a full five hours ahead of schedule, and we needed to wait two hours before we could even be checked in. After this long wait, the plane was delayed a full hour extra. Even as we sat at the terminal we realized that we were in for a brisk run through Heathrow Airport. That run had to be even faster, because the bus that took us from the regular terminal to the international terminal was painfully slow. What made it enjoyable though was a family of Brits who were on their way to Singapore. It was a large family: both parents and four very young girls. The youngest decided that of all the empty seats on the bus (of which there were many) she needed to sit next to me (Bryan). She decided that my hiking backpack looked like a rocket, and I informed here that I could not throw it as far as a rocket could fly, nor did I have any pink unicorns as pretty as her stuffed animal in my bag—suffice to say we quickly became friends. She later asked if Jenna if she had a boyfriend. We let her in on the secret that we were actually married, showing her the rings as proof. In a hushed voice, she asked if that meant that we had kissed. We said yes. In an even louder whisper, she asked if that meant that we had snogged. We couldn’t answer yes or no because we were giggling so much at the fact that our new friend just asked if we’d snogged. I’m still not sure if that means making out or caught somewhere between 2nd or 3rd base (I’d say “the pickle” but I think the context demands a different expression). Anyway, our bus finally arrived at international flights.
Cut to us sprinting as fast as we can up two HUGE escalators, dashing past Hindu folks that were in full white-robe garb as well as proper English folk who were appalled at our mad rush to make our hemisphere crossing flight. We arrived at the terminal in time, as they were boarding the plane itself. Our white robed friends we passed earlier also eventually made it into the same line (I noticed they were far less sweaty than we were), but we made the flight just the same. As I was drenched in sweat, I realized the one Indian gentleman in the white robes had a large white beard that I was very jealous of.
It was a peaceful flight, and we both actually got some pretty good sleep along the way (they offer free wine with dinner, so that didn’t hurt the process). In any case, we’ve landed in Windhoek!!!
Much more to come soon.

Here’s the next prayer list:

1) That we don’t get on the Hunter’s nerves too much as we live in one of the compounds guest houses on the YWAM base. The Hunters are our gracious hosts who also own and operate Community Hope School.
2) That we continue in good health so we can be helping hands for the school here (We DID find out that Bryan can teach at least for a little while in their literature classes… but also some math, and Jenna will help with one-on-one tutoring and or soccer after school)
3) That as we continue to discover more and more about this world that seems so much larger than we could have possibly understood before we got here, we can emotionally bear the load that will come when we visit Katatura (we did just discover that Katatura means “Place We Do Not Live”).

Castles, Coffee, and Guiness

Bryan let me blog today, so I a taking full advantage.
After coffee yesterday, we went and explored Malahide Castle & Malahide village - both of which were pretty amazing. But perhaps the highlight of adventure was a pub we discovered (and which Eithne recommended)called Duffys. After patronizing so many Irish-influenced-American-made pubs in the US, Bryan and I both commented about how our first reaction was the slightly 'cheesy' Irish decorations & crests that littered the bar...until we realized that, of course, they were authentic. (Oh yeah, we're in Ireland.)It was all real, and thankfully, so was the Guinness. Oh the Guinness...we received 2 of the most beautifully poured, incredibly delicious pints we have ever had. (Paired with a couple of 5 Euro burgers & chips made a fabulously cheap night out in Malahide.)

We wondered around the village for a bit, but then made our way back to the B&B through an amazing park around the castle. We stopped so many times to gawk at the thick trunks and stumps and strange mossiness of the forest. The paths were winding, and it reminded me (Bryan) of the portion of The Lord of the Rings where Merry and Pippin meet the Ents in Fangorn forest. I couldn't wrap my mind around the descriptions of Tolkien's forest until I saw such an old woods. Any way, the forest was wonderful, the pub was lovely, and the Guinness was well enjoyed with the pub full of old Irishmen (almost as gnarled as the trees). Now it's time for Africa, and our minds are swimming with thoughts of Community Hope.

One last thing for today: HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMILY!!!

Eithne the loud cursing Irishwoman

We've landed in Ireland and planned in a day in which we'll wait for a day across the atlantic (in case bags didn't make it or flights were postponed). Luckily, all bags arived along with us, all flights were on time (even through O'Hare), and despite the chidings of our cab driver who didn't want to drive away from Dublin we've made it to our one-night stay. We'll give a full post tomorrow morning, but at the moment we're enjoying some Irish brogue and pointing out flowers and birds that neither of us have EVER seen before.

P.S. Eithne (our B&B host) sings awefully but curses wonderfully... and both loudly. Totally awesome!