“Heading west from Voi town
along the road to Taveta on the
Tanzanian border,
east of Mount Kilimanjaro, you'd be
forgiven for thinking
that the entirety of Taita-Taveta
District . . .
is merely flat and featureless
scrubland,
dominated by dusty orange sand,
a few clumps of thorn trees, and not
much else.
Yet if you turn right at Mwaktau, 25km
west of Voi,
a switchback tarmac road to the
district capital of Wundanyi
begins a rapid ascent into [the Taita
Hills,]
a surprisingly fertile, . . . beautiful
land, replete with
vertiginous cliffs, rushing rivulets
and waterfalls.
Beautiful in its own right,
the contrast with the dreary
semi-desertic plains below
is astonishing.” (Jens Finke)
The beautiful Taita Hills are more than
hills—they’re mountains, some of which are close to 7,000 feet. During the
final stage of our orientation course, Dave and I lived in a sparsely populated area high in those lush mountains.
And the day came when we needed to wash
our laundry.
Bwana Mwakodi said he’d show us the
nearest water source. We followed him down a steep, meandering path through the
forest, descending about five hundred feet.
At the bottom, he led us through dense
undergrowth to a spring. Clear, fresh water! What a treat after that stream in Maasai-land.
Bwana hiked back up the hill while we
scrubbed, rinsed, and wrung out our laundry. My husband Dave’s participation no
doubt caused gossip to echo back and forth among the hills. I could imagine the
voices, “A man doing women’s work!”
Afterward, we began the hike back up
the very steep hill with our heavy wet laundry and a couple of water jugs. Dave
held one side of the basin and I held the other but, to our surprise, we really
struggled. That basin was heavy and that hill seemed almost vertical. I suppose
the elevation had something to do with our difficulty.
An elderly man and a couple of women
hiked up behind us. They greeted us in Swahili and visited like Africans always
do, and then they reached for our laundry basin and water jugs.
We objected, but they kindly insisted.
One of them, a petite woman, lifted the
basin to the top of her head, balanced it perfectly, and, without effort,
scurried up the hill. We were stunned at her strength.
Dave and I huffed and puffed up the
path behind them.
When we arrived back at the Mwakodis’
place, sweaty and breathless, we gave our new friends a few shillings to thank
them for their labor.
They would have carried our water and basin even without getting paid, but no doubt appreciated the money and we were grateful for their help—but even more, in them I glimpsed God
Himself. In Psalm 68:19, David said that God bears our burdens, and those dear
people came alongside us that day and, like God, helped us bear our heavy
loads.
Once again, I was overwhelmed by people’s kindness—
over and over again, and
recalling how Bwana and Mama Mwakodi bought—for
us—
groceries they couldn’t afford.
Nothing could have prepared me for the Taita people’s generosity.
We strung a clothesline between The Pearl and a tree and soon we had clean, dry clothes. Sweet!
Only later did we learn
that hanging one’s underwear where
everyone can see it
is a no-no in Kenyan culture.
Aaargh!
