a quick note.

I am back in Golden, Colorado. I do not yet have a cell phone, home phone, or internet; but beware because as soon as I have the means I will be hunting you down one by one.

Mezzo Travelling

In what consists of the silent majority of my trip:
I left Kenya on Feb. 25 and I arrived in Uzbek on March 13. Today is
March 15th and I am sitting among Ben's Newspaper class (yes, I
stick out a little bit among the seventh graders). The question for this
blog is: what the frick was I doing from the 25th to the 13th. Well, you got a
taste of my Oxford experience with the last posting. After chilling in
Oxford for about a week Timm went to Portugal and I went to Norway (and then
Sweden, then back to Norway, then back to London). Scandinavia was
beautiful; I had a pretty phenomenal time, and I met some pretty phenomenal
people. At first (in England) I couldn't bring myself to do much of anything, I was stuck asking myself what the hell am I doing? I either want to be back in Africa
or in the states; the reason I left Africa was to come to the states...so
what am I doing hanging around in England waiting for a visa to go to
Uzbek? It was not until I picked myself up by the bootstraps, and began
to confess that this weird in between time is, in fact, in *time - *it is
not something I can just wait out; it is something I should be taking
advantage of and living the life I want to live, not merely waiting for
something eventful to happen. Thus, I bought a next-day plane ticket to
Norway.
My thoughts during this straddling of Kenya and Uzbek were a bit like this (this is an entry from my moleskin):
:
I sit now, as I have many times before, in the basement of the Ashmolean museum - my hands cold, my sense of time muddled, and my chest feeling tight, as if the bones were trying to crush the heart.
The coldness in my hands is a result of walking. Slow and impatiently I proceed to drift along the streets with my travelling companion: Timm. The walking is tedious because it lacks direction or even purpose, and i'm in a hurry to acquire both. I want to walk faster when I am with Timm just so I can be done with it, as if the faster I get it done the faster I will be done with it and ready to move on to something else. However, as is apparent in my step, I only feel this urge and uneasiness when I walk with someone other than myself. As a solitary walker I step with ease, sloth, and wonder; I stroll. Why am I so different walking with someone else, as opposed to walking alone? Easy. When I am with another I think of the other: their well-being, intention, desire; alone I think only of myself and the strangers around me. I Cater to no one, but use the time for perfect reflection. Walking alone is one my favorite things to do.
My sense of time is muddled. I think Dali was right in his surrealist assertion of the constant, inseparable flux of space and time. A cavity filling may take an eternity, while an all-night conversation with an old friend may flash by in the wink of an eye. Time is what you make it, and I have made mine a capricious mess. Living in the space/time between Kenya and the future has been nothing short of a depression: depressing ideas, emotions, senses, and, in the end, my entire life. The depression though is a self-fulfilling prophecy based on a myth. I claimed that I was living in the margins between Africa (the past) and Uzbek (the future) giving it no credence itself. The myth is that one can live apart from the past and the future. (I don't mention anything about the present here because I assume that those reading are aware that one, in fact, always lives presently unable to access past or future, save the imagination). So, living in this created non-time I have tricked everything into moving very slowly in no particular direction, like entropy, believing that somewhere other than the place I am is where I should be - on every level. It's like looking in some direction and saying: "there is where I am".
It's a funny thing when certain parts of your body wage war on others, I guess I don't know, or can't really explain why my bones are pressing my herat. I can tell you it hurts. I think I could quite easily extrapolate some lesson from it, or posit some analogy that propounds a northern, developed, consumerist suffocation of the raw, beautiful, charged humanity inside me (the bones are the conventional life and the heart is..um...the heart). But I think I will just leave it at: my chest hurts, with my best guest being last nights fish n' chips.
But. Things are changing. I am now turning a corner. I no longer want to live in a muddle: depressed, confused, self-obsessed. To look at the future lifts me; the future calls me to live - the future in the past. When I look back on my history in Africa it points me to the future. Before today I saw the past as only the past: flat, still, static. I sliced it into information, superimposing some odd metaphysical structure. When I thought about my history in Africa I dehistoricized it; that is to say, I took the time (the historical thing) out of it. When I look back now I remember that I lived then, and the people that were in my life also were living toward the future. We were living toward something. Looking back into the past realizing that those people were, or are, looking to the future as rich and dynamic people. As I look to the past it turns me to the future; looking back gives me hope. "[history] It turns you around in your turn" (Moltman). As I turn to the past the past pushes me to the future.
I guess, basically, what I am talking about is: hope; I am talking about the Eschaton, I am talking about living a missional life; I am talking about being one sent out into the world.
I feel myself moving, turning a corner, not because of some arbitrary act of volition, but because I am growing more, I am beginning to see my past time in Africa as eschatology. But, most importantly I am feeling movement. In this awkward stage, in this particular flux of space and time, I don't feel stuck in a fold of "non-time" but rather I am living in the reality of the kingdom of God.
:
So, I just picked up and flew to Norway. I literally knew nothing about the
place except that I have always wanted to go there, I haven't seen snow yet
this year, and the plane ticket is super cheap. Well, I end up meeting a
stellar, kind-hearted student of the U of Oslo on the flight over. I end up
staying with him for my entire time in Norway. Man, did I have a good time
in Norway; not only did I see all the sights in Oslo, but I also got to
spend some quality frolicking-time in lot's and lot's of snow. I loved it.
One could even say I fell in Love with Norway. It's funny though...I thought
I was going to do some quality reflecting/processing-of-Africa while I was
there, especially during the hikes. You know...solo hiking, nature, ipod,
moleskin...how could I not? However, the truth is: I just flat out had fun.
I mean, I just hiked around listening to Joni Mitchell, sliding down sledding
hills playing in the snow. It is hard to describe...It is like when a
little kid wakes and discovers the first snow of the season on his window
ledge. It just felt good. I just hiked and played; my mind wasn't troubled
by any ominous issues beyond my capabilities (the usual). HOwever, when I got
to Sweden that all changed. I hunkered down (in the way Amy Bethka would
hunker down in Alaska with tea and family after sledding) in a little coffee
shop in the island, old-city of Stockholm and began to write. I wrote and
wrote, for hours. I spent the rest of that day walking (seeing what
Stockholm was all about) and 'thinking progressive thoughts.' That evening I
met up with some Swed's, hooked up some sweet dancing, and crashed at one of
their places - it was a lot of fun.
I guess for all the thinking time I have had since the last blog I have not
made much progress as it applies to America. I am still fearful of coming
back. I am attempting to work through this now, but being in Uzbekistan is
actually making that process, what seems to be, more difficult. I have only
been here for a couple days, but it is more like Africa (in a much, much
different way) than England, Norway, or Sweden. The poverty here is so
different from Africa, I don't know what to make of it yet. It is not
exactly up front, but it is still present. PLease pray that as I begin to
transition back to America that I would not be motivated to take actions
out of fear, but rather out of love -love for those in my life, love for the
image of God in myself, love for the people I have been with during this
time.

Welp, I suppose that's all for now.

Buku Love.

Paul: I'm in one.

Deja: Your quote reminds me of Mark three: when Jesus takes his anger (or being greatly distressed) and heals a man's deformed hand. It is not that we should not get angry, but it is what we do with that anger that matters. I can't get over that when Jesus gets pissed off he heals someone...
Thank you for your prayers and excitement. The whirlwind has continued, but it is rapidly coming to an end. Please pray that I wouldn't fear the united states. Oh, and I am glad that you are making use of that pile of dusty pages that I have the audacity to keep around. I am glad someone is gaining something from those books. And, no worries on the card catalog system - it pretty much consists of me not having any idea where my books are (I only notice when books are missing when I want to read them, so..it is super easy to steal the ones I don't use anymore).

Steph: Frick steph, it so stinken good to hear from you! I could not agree with you more on so many different levels. I agree with you about the Mercy ship; that is to say, it sounds absolutely incredible. I was very close to hopping on that ship this past fall myself (doing menial, unskilled labor of course). It sounds phenomenal, I am so excited for you. Ah..just thinking about you doing that makes me gitty. I too agree with you about our current community, or lack thereof. I find myself telling a lot of people in my life about this super cool girl I know in Austin without having any intention on talking to you myself. Gosh, when I think about it, it makes me feel kinda dumb. I concur with you and propose that we began to open the lines of communication again - whatever that looks like.

Tay: Thank you for your words. I think of you and bill quite a bit often wondering what your lives look like: you being pregnant, bill being a youth pastor, you guys living in a house, living/working amongst such an elite class of people... I hope things are moving swimmingly for the two of you. My travels are rapidly closing, and a time is coming when I will find myself in the states. I am still not sure when I will be in Michigan, but I don't foresee it being far off. Much love.

Kell: The word is in, moreover I am in. I am here, and don't worry I will write about the uzbek soon. Take care.

Hahnamonster: frick.

J$: You went to Isanbul again!! Crazy! I hope it was as amazing has your past visits. I am so excited to hear all about it. How long were you there? Who did you go with this time? I guess I will have to ask you about it soon when I get home. I heard the story about Christina from Laurel awhile ago, that stuff is so crazy. Your story is amazing, especially b/c it involves things like: caribou, ram's horn, and the ghost and the darkness. Welp, much love to you man. I will be back in the states in just over two days...and soon after that I am sure I will make my way to Michigan...

notes from Oxford.

The story goes as follows:
With no time to lose I dashed out of my seat at the ole' Internet cafe in the quasi-slums of Nairobi, haveing just finished my last entry to you, I grabbed Timm, Genesis (my african friend), and my borrowed rucksack and headed for a hooptie of sorts. I made it to Nanyuki (the town closest to mt. kenya), waded through the mob of hassle, found an old hotel, and slept. Arose at five a.m., taxied to the base and Timm and I were off. We hiked an epic hike - a hike, which was possibly the best hike of my life. Against all recommendations we went with borrowed (ancient) gear (we got it the day before from a random guy who runs a safari lodge in the maasai mara), no guides, no porters, and...we were both sick with head-colds. We hiked straight to the second camp (only getting lost once...where we found out that my compass[the same one from my boy scouting days] no longer knows North), made a quick fire, and slept. We made that second camp at about 5pm, after fire/spaghetti we set up our tent and slept until midnight. (oh, by the by, mt. kenya...yeah, its real cold). We then woke up, packed up, and hiked until 5am. At 5am we made it to the summit base camp. For that leg of the journey we relied on the moon, and our ability of listening to a distant river. We were only on the "trail" (a loose term on mt. kenya) for about 1/20th of that second leg of the journey. We slept from 5am to 9am. We then woke up, and against every fiber of my climbing knowledge/experience, we headed for the summit. (you're really supposed to summit high mountains around sunrise and get down before the afternoon b/c that's when storms happen...but...we were like a tenth of a latitude line off the equator, what's going to happen). We hit summit around 12:30pm, rock the kasbah! It was a phenomenal hike. We proceeded to stay on the summit for about 8seconds, as clouds enveloped us faster than J.J. from 'good times' could say: dyn-o-mite! We scurried off the mountain like lemmings, and slid about 2,000 vertical feet down scree toward base camp. Man, what a summit. We took some tea, relaxed, and then decided to book it off the mountain. We packed our tent, and by 3pm we were off and running; however, once again we got lost; this time it was severe. We were trying to get back down to the place we camped the first time, but ended up skirting around it by about a mile. We found some fresh tracks (an eclectic group timm quickly identified by shoe style), and began to follow by way of headlamp. And, between my map-skills, and timm's tracking-skills (chicks love guys with skills), and my bow-staff skills we made it to the first camp (the one we skipped on the way up) by about 8:30pm. We made ramen, pitched the tent, and slept...hardcore. The next morning we peaced that mountain.

On the way home our hooptie broke down, and as I was sitting at a "gas station" in the middle of nowhere waiting for a ride when a man handed me a copy of the Nation (kenyan newspaper) and said, "isn't that your country?". I proceeded to read a story of how my vice president shot someone in the face while quail hunting....sweet.

I got back to Nairobi did some washing (in record time mind you), took care of some business, and packed a bag to go to the coast. The next morning I went to Mombassa (the place everyone and their sister has told me to go since being in Kenya). I caught a buss at about 8:30am, and a hop-skip-and-a-eight-hours-later I was in Mombassa. The ride was actually amazing. I got to see the side of Kenya I had not seen, and you know what it is filled with....c'mon guess...Baobab trees! These things are the most beautifully stupid things I have ever seen; it is like God planted these trees upside down - I adore them. Too, we stopped in Tsavo. I didn't even know it was going to happen...but we stopped in the village that is home to the beasts: the Ghost and the Darkness...after all these years of bearing through Val Kilmer I finally got to see the place. It was cool, and it was also surprisingly fun to see the railroad that Patterson built and the old huts they lived in while buidling it.
I stayed in a hostel my first night in mombassa (on the wrong side of the tracks), and on the second day I made it all the way out to the most southern island of Kenya: Wasini Island. What a crazy place. There I: snorkeled through a coral reef, chilled with dolphins, ate food (that was good at the time but made me sick later), saw a coral reef that is now on land, and met a Belgian dude who is part of something called, "clowns without borders". The stay was much needed. Oh, also, I went sailing on an ole catamaran that sunk (and was rescued by the coastguard) ealier that day. (i'm sure timm's blog will have an account of this story, as it was, i think, the best moment of his life). Oh, a word to the wise...if you are ever in the situation to buy coconut wine for the guy that you are sailing home with make sure you know how much you are buying for him to drink with 100shillings ($1.50).
The next day was a travelling day. I was super sick. We woke up early and proceeded to travel by boat, hooptie, bus, and taxi. We, despite its stellar paint job, ended up on a less than awesome bus to take us back to nairobi. The bus to Mombasa took 8hours, and this trip took 12; meanwhile, I am in the backseat spasming and throwing up out the back window/on myself trying not to get decapitated by oncoming traffic - it was awesome...i learned a lot about patience and the different shades of yellow.
We finally made it into downtown Nairobi at around midnight (i guess), and after dealing with some punks and a bunch of prostitutes (which did not help my sickened state), we found a decent taxi back to the slum/our home.

The next day was full of stuff, and the day after that we said our once-and-for-all goodbyes and caught a plane. Oh, by the by, Timm and I were both sick that day. Timm actually passed out between the two security checks in the Nairobi airport.
We flew to London, and met up with a good friend of mine who attends LSE (london school of economics). We chilled in london Saturday and Sunday, then we applied for our uzbeki visa's on monday morning. On tuesday morning we hopped a bus to Oxford, which is where I am now writing you this.

We are staying at Brasenose College (part of Oxford U.) through a random hook-up/connection, and are currently waiting to hear back from the Uzbeki embassy. I must say it has been amazing being back in Oxford. I have already met up with some of my old friends, shown Timm many of my favorite spots, acquired bikes for Timm and I, and have a full schedule of lectures, events, and meetings for tomorrow. I love Oxford so much.
I am feeling very at home write now...that is, I am sitting at a random computer in the library of the college at midnight typing a long document...man, I miss college.

Welp, this is definitely the most story I have ever given you guys. I hope it is enjoyable, but you are not getting away without me sharing a little bit about the inner journey...
Grappling with the unknown is hard. It is hard to not know what you are doing the next day. Travelling changes you so much. I am now trying to process "Africa". How do you do that? how do I process the completely 'other' and gut-wrenching (both in good and bad ways) things I have experienced? I am so grateful for my experience, so...grateful. And I am so glad it happen the way it did. I am happy that the beginning was this ridiculous adventure from working concrete in the Mara to riding in the back of a pick up across most of Kenya to hiking in a 'rain-forest' to four-wheeling to lake turkana in 140degrees to camping in a dried river bed in the middle of nowhere for four/five days playing horseshoes and shooting glocks to ...the list goes on. Then, settling down in the densest slum in the world, and teaching Christian Religious Education to African high-schooler's/doing a million other things. Then, placing the other bookend of adventure, hiking mt. Kenya and travelling to an island where you can see Tanzania. I am soo grateful for my experience in Africa, but I am soo scared it will be for not. I know that it has changed me, and I have learned/seen things that will alter the way I will live/am living, but I can't go back to living the life I was living. I am so scared that when I get back to Golden, and things are familiar/comfortable again, I will let it get in the way of pursuing my dreams/God (isn't kinda wierd and a bit uneasy how those get equated so much in my thoughts). I am so scared that my experience in Africa will end. I don't want to stop thinking about it, I don't want to stop learning from it, I want to do something tangible with it. As Timm so pointedly described in his previous blog: the time that we left was odd. It was extremely hard to leave (however, I would like to note that it was our choice to leave, we were not forced to). I have been wrestling with what to do with my experience. Where is God taking me next? what do I do with Kenya? Last night, I stayed up most of the night brainstorming crazy ideas on how to continue to help, via Kenya, in the resurrection and reconciling of the world God is enacting. Man, I don't know I just want to be a part of it, I feel like I was a part of it (just a little) while I was in Africa, and I don't want to give it up. I desperately want to help change the world in huge, i'm-22-and-can-change-the-world sort of ways. I feel so strongly about it, and I feel so much like the community of people I know and love back in the states is where that begins. One of the most important things in the entire world to to me is the community (you guys) in my life. I have been thinking about it a lot, and am finding more and more how much I need you in my life, and how sneaky I can be in evading real community. Man, community is so fricken important. I feel like it is so important that I don't feel, right now, that it would be okay for me to move away from it again.
Okay, I am definitely rambling at this point, and this blog is fricken long so I will peace out.
I love you all tremendously. I want to tack on some stuff to pray for...am I allowed to think of that right at the end of my blog and then just tack it on? let me know if I can't do that...
Please pray that Timm and I get visas, we find a place to sleep as we wait out our time to visit Ben (if we get our visas), and that (and most importantly), in this wurl-wind of travel, that I would have the perseverance to seek out the quiet voice (that I am currently avoiding) that will enable me to sort-out "Africa" and not be so scared of returning to the states.

In hopes of incorruptible love,
phil.

COMMENTS:
OKAY. so I attempted to start responding to comments in my normal fashion when...I got utterly confused. So...unlike normal protocol I have actually gone back through the old (past 3) blog posting and posted a comment at the end of each of the comment lists. This way you will actually know what I am responding to, as many of you have posted more than once since the last time I responded. So go back to the blog you commented on and find my comment. see you there. (oh, and, I have only managed responding to the oldest of the three, with any luck I will get to the other two tommorow, it is 2am and i cant see straight).