So here goes…my first blog and my official launch into the technology age. I hope you will all indulge me a bit as I struggle to find my voice in such a public space. I guess I don’t know exactly how much to censor. I’ve read about people who make careers of blogging and don’t censor a thing! I’m tempted. I love the idea of actually baring it all and just seeing what that feels like. Africa is a bit raw so perhaps it is an appropriate opportunity to allow my own thoughts to be less refined.

It’s been 20 years since I lived in Kenya for a year, and 14 years since I first took Ned there on a magical, but crazy safari. On that trip, our guides packed a revolver in the glove compartment of our jeep which got stuck in the mud almost daily. We had no reservations anywhere and just showed up at lodges here and there or made camp and slept in tents. One night during Hanukkah we played dreidel with our guides who got so drunk that they fell asleep and left all our food out so we woke up to hyenas brushing against the walls of our tent and nothing to eat for breakfast. Needless to say, it is a totally different experience contemplating taking our children there.

For years I’ve been telling the kids stories about my year in Africa; about being chased by a monkey and falling backwards into a thorn bush during my first safari because it never occurred to me that I shouldn’t walk from the dining tent to my sleeping tent with a bunch of bananas in my arms. They learned about the tragic death of my African father, Robert Ouko, the kind and wonderful foreign minister of Kenya who was assassinated. They heard about my diet of cashew nuts and bananas and how I took baths in a tin tub while water was poured over my body from a kettle. They know I rafted in crocodile infested rivers and how I suffered through altitude sickness with no meds to climb the almost 20,000 feet of Kilimanjaro. They have heard my stories about all the vaccinations I had to get before I traveled and how I ended up in Africa because I followed my old boyfriend who wanted to be a flying doctor. He never went.

I never imagined that my adventure stories would induce fear in my children when I announced our intended trip to Africa. Instead of focusing on the humor and learning engendered by the stories, they saw the danger and the number of vaccines that would be coming their way.   And although Ned and I knew that we wanted to take the kids to Africa at some point, we never really thought it would be while they were so young. Zac is only seven and most safari companies are leery of taking a child so young. Nevertheless, the trip developed a life of its own when it became clear that the Ouko Library was on its way to completion and would be dedicated with his entire family present. Because I feel like part of the family, I wanted to help.

So we began our preparations for the trip and, to be honest, there were many nights that I didn’t sleep. I wanted to reach down and find that part of myself that could take on the unknown and turn it into a life-changing adventure. I have often experienced that State Department warnings and travel advisories appear more ominous when you are sitting in your living room in the United States than they reveal themselves to be when you are “in country.” But this risk-assessment felt different. We weren’t just planning a safari on the tourist circuit. To help build the library and work with the children in the village we would have to drive 5 hours outside of Nairobi and there wouldn’t be a tourist in site.   We and the kids would be the only non-Africans for miles and we would be bringing electronics and supplies. Would that make us a target? Would the drive be safe? Would the kids remember to stay close and not put their hands in their mouths? Would Zac get bitten by a snake while working construction and digging holes? How would I get to Nairobi for anti-venom? Would my cell phone work to call for help? What was I thinking?? So, I lay awake at night and wondered, am I crazy to push through all the reasons not to go? I need a sign….The danger, the expense, the time, the opportunity cost…and the vaccines: 3 Rabies shots, Meningitis, 2 shots of Hep A, Tetnus, Yellow Fever, Typhoid! And although I found a travel medicine specialist who made house calls so that we wouldn’t have to take the kids out of school on three separate days to get vaccines we had three nights of screaming and anxiety, kids hiding in corners and me wanting to slit my wrists. Finally and still ahead, there is the malaria medicine challenge – once a day pills for the entire stay and a week afterwards, and you can’t screw it up because you are then at risk for the entire trip. Oh and by the way, Isabel can’t swallow a pill. Does anyone hear the call of Cape Cod??

And with all these challenges I began to wonder what in fact I would even teach in the school where we were volunteering and even started questioning whether I had anything to teach at all. That led me to an inkling of a mid-life crisis that read something like – I have so much but I have nothing to offer and no skills or talents of any kind that are really valuable other than making a good strawberry rhubarb pie – but they don’t have strawberries there! The Gordon kids were way ahead of me organizing marathons, offering to forgo birthday presents to raise funds for the library and creating a project to collect pencils for the school children in the village.   I just couldn’t get beyond all my fears about pushing too hard to make this trip work in the face of so many concerns and I couldn’t figure out how to connect with the village.

But the signs began to emerge…they came slowly at first. Every week one of the Oukos would call me or email and breathe oxygen into the journey. In their gentle and inadvertent way they would remind me that life’s lessons are best learned when we wander outside our comfort zone, a place I don’t go very frequently anymore. Susan, the oldest Ouko daughter would say that just by visiting the school we were offering a gift to the children there who have so little. She kept reminding me that whatever we would do would be enough. It is an important life-lesson. Be present. Be there for people. Show up.  The rest will follow and your offering will become apparent. I sometimes feel paralyzed when I cannot envision my offering in advance. I have to remember to trust in the process. I realized that through this trip I would model this lesson for my children.

Then, in late April, Isabel and I began to plan her birthday party. Without a moment’s hesitation she offered that, instead of presents, she would like her friends to help her raise money to buy soccer balls or Kindles for the kids in Koru. We circulated her invitation by email and in a flash we had a donation of 28 soccer balls from the Klein family! In addition, Isabel and her classmates raised $280. We began to get notes from friends and emails of support and enthusiasm and it all served to build our courage. People would pass me in the hallways at school and ask about the trip and share their wish that they could go. It was a sign.

For weeks I procrastinated on the Kindle project. I was nervous about asking friends and family for donations and I couldn’t quite figure out the best way to facilitate the process. I couldn’t get definitive answers on whether we would have cellular, electricity, security and whether the village people would know enough English to make the Kindles useful.   I had to master the technology of a bulk order which is almost unknown in Amazon world, and figure out how to get content on multiple Kindles.   I had what kind of content was appropriate and useful for the village. I called Amazon so many times and just couldn’t seem to connect with anyone who could provide definitive answers. Then there was the challenge of how to get the Kindles from the US to Koru. Friends insisted that I carry them on board and not check them through. I was also a little bit nervous about choosing a project that supplied the library with Kindles instead of continuing to contribute to the bricks and mortar. I had a vision that the Kindles would enable the library and the local schools to catapult themselves into the modern era through access to relevant and current books and periodicals. I loved the idea that new content could be loaded remotely and that the project could live into the future. Finally, out of nowhere ,David Aronoff offered to help me facilitate the donation process and then magically the support started pouring in! Two minutes after I sent the first email asking for donations I received the first gift. It was from my brother in Alaska and I literally burst into tears. Not only did he donate, but his partner whom I never met donated too. Within minutes friends and family showed their support and within a week we raised $15,000, enough to provide Kindles to an entire class of children and their teacher and plenty left over for content! The notes that people sent were so inspiring and supportive and the excitement around the trip began to build. So did my courage. Once the money was in hand I called Amazon again and after 4 hours on the phone and hanging up twice hoping to find a more supportive operator I connected with Kara. She loved the idea of the project and immediately found three of her colleagues to help put 40 books on each of the 46 Kindles. It took them almost two solid days! Word came from the village and the Ouko family that the Kenyan Library Committee is so excited about our project that they are traveling to Koru to greet us when we arrive and to receive the Kindles. They are beyond excited to implement the program and to learn how to transform libraries all over Kenya through e-books! It was a sign.

Finally, I had a chance to sit down with Stepahnie Rotsky, the amazing and unique Social Justice Coordinator at the Rashi School. Stephanie has an incredible ability to help you get your head screwed on straight and to inspire the best in people. Through her connections with friends who had volunteered with Jews in Ethiopia she helped me envision the content for our lesson plans for the village school in Koru. She spent hours with me coming up with ideas and helping me to position my thinking around the value of our mission. Keep it simple,” she repeated. Lists of activities and the supplies necessary to implement them emerged from our time together and the duffle bags began to fill up! I began to remember how simple it is to do good. Another life lesson with which I had lost touch…

Thanks to Stephanie, Zac also created a project that allowed him to connect to the trip in a personal way. Together, Stephanie and Zac wrote a letter to the Rashi School asking for donations of pencils at the end of the year. Stephanie suggested to Zac that this could be his project alone and that he could distribute and collect the bins of pencils at Rashi and then take them to Africa to give to the kids in Koru. Zac predicted he would collect 100 pencils but actually collected over 1000! He was so proud of himself and declared for the first time that he was excited about the trip and eager to do his part. For me, that moment alone was worth every sleepless night.

Non-sequitor- OMG I feel like a blogger now!! (I have to laugh because I’m writing this on board our flight to Nairobi and Isabel is helping the flight attendants serve drinks and snacks which will make my parents laugh because I used to earn wings on every flight for helping the stewardesses and even had a red and blue dress that I used to wear so that I would look like a flight attendant! Izzy just got tipped 10 Pounds by a passenger!)