Set in Stone: Part 1

(Why do manual labor if you can get the robots to do it?)

I don't do manual labor. I have always been of the mind that it is best to just pay a professional whenever possible....cut the grass, scrub the toilet, wash the car. I can't even bother to put my own grades into the computer. Isn't that what T.A's are for? My laziness knows no bounds, really. It's a curse.

If work is absolutely inevitable, the speed with which I can come up with an excuse is almost legendary.

Aside from my overwhelming laziness, there is one other reason why I try to steer clear of any job that is actually labor intensive. I am a huge, HUGE klutz. However, if there is one thing I have learned from traveling, logical or not, hard work or easy, klutzy help or none, local people will make 'it' work. No. Matter. What. Where as, Americans would probably call it a day and wait until the 'proper' resources/machinery arrived. 

One Memorial day in Mexico, A group of macho men in a minivan drove onto the beach to bbq carne asada with their families. About halfway to their desired munching spot they got out and scratched their heads at the fact that all four tires of their not-so four wheel drive minivan were buried up to the axle. Then, in the type of Spanish that I have only heard during fights at soccer tournaments, and when my students think I can't hear them, they wondered aloud about how on earth their plan for a fun filled family day at the beach had been foiled. Then, they just set up the bbq right where they were and got to grilling

I sat back and realized that this is precisely why we have laws and regulations about driving on the beach in America.

In Costa Rica, we rode horses to the top of a regularly active volcano and then flung our bodies across the top of the canopy, totally logical activities that would certainly be kosher in the states...or not.

(You know you are going green when your transportation freaking breathes and stops to crap at will.)

After that, I watched a group of tourists sit on a “Crocodile Tour” boat with two local Tican men. One was in possession of all four of his extremities. The other, however, seemed to be one limb short from the four that God gave him. Just as my brain was verifying what my eyes were in fact seeing, Uni-Arm hopped out to the front of the boat and slapped a headless fish on the top of the water. Theoretically, I suppose, the blood and scent would be spread throughout the water....thus attracting crocodiles (and Heaven only knows what else). Just as he went to slap the dead fish on the water one last time, a crocodile, that was fifteen feet long if it was an inch, jumped out of the water and snatched the fish carcass.....narrowly missing the single remaining arm of the fearless tour leader

I sat back and realized that this is precisely why the fine folks at OSHA have their jobs.

Then, I went to Africa. (insert dramatic and ominous music here)

I still marvel that I made it out alive.

Seriously...It's no small wonder that I didn't end up head first off a rooftop while tying rebar, buried in cement in the middle of the night, or eaten by a pair of lions disturbed mid- coitus.

At Isaac's school, where I spent the majority of my work time, we built a roof over a previously open area. Then, once we left, they continued and built a classroom on top of it. Sounds simple enough....if you have ready access to power and machinery.

Not so much the case, here. We had a motley crew of Americans, 8 year olds and boat loads of good intention.

(As a side bar, I have it on good authority that the walls are up and painted and ready for a whole new group of students. Yay for expansion! And electricity is just days away. . .it's amazing what can be accomplished when diverse groups of people come together to fight the good fight. And I can't think of a better fight than educating children so they can work their way out of the slums.)

The day started out simple enough, straighten out a couple (million) pieces of rebar....what could go wrong with that?


Well....considering we were in a narrow street, passing one end of a wobbly and sharp iron rod over our heads as it flailed about at random, while someone else stood on the 'stationary end,' there were plenty of things that could have gone wrong. Next, the lucky chump du jour would have to jump on the bend in the center, to hopefully straighten it out a bit.

Inevitably, the Fundi would swoop in with some new-fancy-fandangled tool and straighten, in two seconds, what we had spent hours trying to do.

Keep in mind that this was going on right outside the school, where children were passing through constantly, running up and down the street during recess. Cars and people would pass by at random, and sometimes a herd of baby goats would stop to check things out. (This made me particularly uncomfortable as I have a long running , and painful, history with goats. They really are horrible animals....but so dang cute when they are babies.) There were many an eye that could have been lost that day. And my colorful imagination pictured how every single one of those situations played out. Luckily, by the grace of God, Buddha, Mohammad, and Elohim, no one lost an eye or was skured on this particular watch. But that's not to say we didn't flirt with disaster with each and every piece of iron tossed. I'm fairly certain that many prayers were thrown to the heavens during this process, "Dear Sweet Jesus....." was how mine usually started.

Once the rebar was straightened out, as much as was possible for a bunch of mzungu, we had to weave it together and tie it down on the roof. To a normal person, this would probably be no big deal. But to Klutzeltina (yours truly), this was ripe with danger. Rather than catch my toe and send myself head first into the street/gutter/open sewage channel, I chose to do most of this work from a seated position.
Oddly enough, this is how I try to approach most jobs.

Occasionally we would get a piece of rebar that was too long. But with no saw, what were we to do? "Hmmmmm-I bet we can bend it..." Again, what could go wrong with this plan?

Then...THEN CAME THE CEMENT!

(Thank you to Scott for most of the pictures. I just like yours better than mine.)

Wisdom of the Ages

(You are right Scott...I WILL NOT BE CENSORED!)

Before I left for Africa, I had a conversation with a friend/coworker that went a little something like this.

"Did you remember to pack condoms?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Hey- I know you're Mormon and all that, but stranger things have happened."

"Yeah- I'm fairly certain that at no point in this trip will I be in need of condoms. I'd pretty much bet the farm on it." After 31-ish years of rampant Mormonism, there are some things that you do know for certain.

"Whatever...I'm just sayin'."

Little did I know, stranger things did in fact happen. I'm just sayin'.

Okay-fine.....so the picture is apparently 'in bad taste' but you probably need a little more in your life if this is what you choose to get worked up about. How do you suppose we got Simba in the first place! If you want to see more Africa pics along with funny commentary, you should probably be my friend on the great FB. Which you probably should be anyway.....cause everyone needs to see my face a little more often than they do.

T.I.A.

This is Africa.

After the first week working in Africa, which included a veritable baptism by cement (I still can't bring myself to write about cement day, yet), the team headed off on safari and a much needed respite from our labors. Only this break didn't include swanky hotel rooms and room service. It involved tents and driving around the dusty, bumpy savannah, in search of the ever illusive rhino. Okay- so the tent wasn't that bad...



Honestly, I would put my name on the rolls of the hard-core campers if this was the way tent camping normally went. However, this was definitely not like any tent I had ever seen before. And while we never did catch a glimpse of a rhino, we did see all sorts of wild things.


It is quite an experience to see so many animals, so close, and so free. It's what we all imagine when we think of Africa. Scar and Mufasa's eternal and fatal struggle for power over the Pridelands. But it also made me think about whether or not this is really a full and complete picture of Africa. As Brittany and I walked to our 'tent' we commented on how the sky just seemed so much.....more.... than the sky that we see from home. The sunsets are the sort that you normally only see in your dreams. The horizons go on forever. And even the graphic, in your face reminder of exactly how the food chain works is awe inspiring. But if this was our first and only encounter with Africa, we would have gotten just a fraction of what this land holds. Cheated of the most precious and valuable thing that Africa has to offer. Her people.

Even though he may not get sweets often, one little boy unwrapped his candy, took a lick, and passed it along to his friend so that they both could have a treat. Isaac, knew that he could help the children in the slums of Soweto, by giving them a safe place to go to school. Another young man sat on the rooftop of his crudely made home to work on his studies. He had to use the last precious moments of daylight before he had nothing left but the darkness. And then there was the man who happened by a group of overwhelmed wazungu, all of which are nearly enveloped in concrete, and jumped in to help...just because it looked like we needed it.

It's the people that make Africa amazing. They are kind, hard working, thoughtful and self-less. But perhaps my favorite thing about the people is their curiosity and their loving nature. Whether it was the kids sneaking up next to you and softly pinching the skin on your arms, just to check if you feel the same way they do, or the chorus of, "How are you?" as they ran alongside the vans...their smiles and eyes are forever burned into my heart. As cool as the safari and the animals are, they are not what makes Africa great. Not by a long shot.

Expect it to be Everything

Aerodynamically, the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn't know it so it goes on flying anyway.-Mary Kay Ash

Apparently no one told a group of stay at home mom's/wives, students, school teachers, wine distributors, health care professionals, event planners, and children that we couldn't go and build a school. So we went and did it anyway.

Well, we got a good start on it at least. I am sure that past groups felt like they had the best mix of people possible. This year was no different. It felt like we had the perfect storm of volunteers.

Each person had their own reasons for taking on the task of helping children in a far off corner of the world. I was hoping for some perspective. I had gotten into the habit of letting circumstances, work and people determine my level of happiness. Those outside forces obviously, weren't very concerned that I stayed on the sunny side of things. So, I left for Africa with a heavy heart. Not because of any one horrible thing...just the sum of many little things. I wasn't particularly happy and wasn't particularly happy with the person that I was becoming. The thing that worried me the most was that I wasn't smiling nearly as much as I used to, and more than a few people had mentioned it. As we left the plane and transferred into the bus that would take us to the Amani Centre, I was worried. Horrified almost. There was exuberant harmonizing of both church songs and boy band songs coming from the back of the bus. I was certain, and fairly upset, that I had unwittingly signed myself up for some coked-up version of EFY-goes international.

That first day brought with it a lot of visits. Visits to schools and orphanages where World of Difference had already been in years past. One school in particular had Gordon B. Hinckley's now famous "Be's" painted throughout the hallways. It was a surreal experience to walk through the halls of an orphanage on the exact opposite side of the world and see the words of the prophets standing as a reminder of how to be just a bit better today than the day before.

The kids came out to sing and dance, as is the Kenyan way, to welcome visitors. It was sweet to see the excitement on the faces of the returning volunteers, and the children in the orphanages, as they were reunited.

But there was no getting past the reality that these sweet kids lived a reality that most of us could not even imagine. Typically each bed slept 3 kids....and they are stacked three high. The conditions of the orphanage certainly left much to be desired if measured by American standards, but the kids at this particular orphanage could not have been happier. They have learned how to play instruments and dance, so that they would have a means to make money...and were as tight as any blood related family I have ever seen.

Laura, one of the women in our group, was talking to a young boy at the orphanage. As they were talking, she wondered about what it must be like for him not to have a mother to run to when he got hurt, or any siblings to conspire and make mischief with.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, than the young boy looked at her with the excitement that only a child can muster and said, "Oh- do you want to meet my brother?"

Of course she went to meet his brother, and it all became clear. This boy was obviously not introducing her to his actual brother...but a fellow orphan who he loved so much, he considered a brother. That feeling seemed to permeate every place we went. They may not have the comforts, luxuries and families that we do....but they have a degree of love, peace and happiness that I can only dream of.

At our first team dinner, we debriefed what happened that day and made a plan for the coming days. Brie, who had a cousin that had been on this trip many times before had been given the advise, "Expect it to be everything." It seemed like a pretty bold statement at the time, but over the course of the next two weeks, I realized that statement was one hundred percent accurate. It was everything. It was exciting, sad, intriguing, healing, exhausting and exhilarating. In the end, I came to wonder who actually benefited more from this trip, the Kenyans who simply needed to expand their schoolhouse, or the Americans who have much more stuff than we need, but still can't manage to find the happiness we desire. I may have come to Kenya with a bit of a heavy heart, but I certainly did not leave that way.



**Being that I lost the memory card from my camera with the first week worth of pictures on it, most of these photos are lovingly stolen from Scott and Brittany

Strokes, Seizures, and Aneurysms. Oh my!

Friends, Romans , Countrymen lend me your ears. We have a Brutus among us. I know. I am as shocked as you are. The only thing is, I didn't get a knife to the back, that would have been too easy. What I got was more of a totally demoralizing, soul hammering, spirit crushing, multiple system attack. It really truly was a beating of the body, the mind, and the soul. After literally weeks of recovery, my body has managed to pull through but I am not sure that my dignity will ever recover.

Since I broke my knee I have been pretty, um, howyousay....sedentary. I'm not proud of it, but whatever. Working out hurts! My knee hurts! I don't like things that hurt. Come to think of it, I have spent the better part of my adult life avoiding things that hurt! (unless you count dating) But there are some problems with this plan. Problem one is that, while I don't like things that hurt, another thing I don't like? Being a fatty bumbalattie. Problem number two, I'm going to Africa very soon. I realize that I don't have to outrun any lions. When it comes down to it, I just may have to outrun the slowest person in my group whilst ALL of us are being chased by lions, or tigers, or cheetahs, oh my! However, at my current fitness level, the slowest person in the group may very well be me. In order to remedy the fatty situation and halt the impending "Jillian vs Christian the Angry Lion Showdown," I started going back to the gym. It sucked just as much as you would expect it to.

I have had multiple friends yammer on about the P90X videos and have seen some pretty remarkable results with my very own chubby eyes. Enter a conversation with the now infamous Jill, heretofore referred to as, Brutus. I thought we were pretty good friends. I mean, what don't we have in common? We lived together in college and for a number of years after. Multiple times in our tenure as roomies one of us would meet someone new and give them our number. When they eventually called and asked for Jill, the conversation would go a little something like this.

"Hey- can I talk to Jill?"

"Which one?"

"The one from California?"

"Okay-which one?"

"The one with a ton of curly brown hair?"

"That doesn't help. Which one?"

"The one that reads a lot?"

"Still no help."

"She's pretty funny, kind of sarcastic."

"I'm going to need more information than that."

"All of her brothers and sisters names start with J."

"I'm about to hang up. Is she tall and skinny or is she....not that tall.....and even less skinny?"

From there it was pretty easy to figure out who was wanted. That has been the major distinction between the two of us. Tall and skinny....or short and squatty. In case you haven't guessed she is the former, I am the latter. It is what it is, but I never thought she would use that difference to try and kill me! We talked and she went on about how I shouldn't get the P90X videos. They were geared toward building strength and muscle. If I wanted cardio, to shed pounds and the endurance to outrun lions in the Serengeti...I needed the Insanity videos. Then she went on to sing the praises of how she lost all of her baby weight, got a super hot swimsuit body, did a triathlon, hobbeldy gobbly googely gook. Whatever- I was sold. I got home, got online and ordered the videos (without watching any of the infomercial nonsense) asap. Where was my soothsayer to warn me to, "Beware the ides of Jill Berdugo."

Needless to say, I got home from work THREE DAYS LATER and the videos were there waiting for me. A brown paper package all tied up with string. I wasn't sure if I should be excited, insulted or concerned at their speedy delivery, but I trust(ed) Jill. I love(d) Jill. I took Jill at her word. This was going to be grrrreat!

I waited to start until Monday. The program is 60 days long and that Monday was exactly 60 days before I left for Africa. Plus- I couldn't really handle looking at the supplied calendar with everything work out week starting on a Thursday. But truth be told-I just needed a little more mental prep time.

Those extra three days did nothing for my mental preparation. They did nothing for my physical preparation. They certainly did nothing to prepare my soul or dignity for the unmitigated misery and suffering they were about to endure.

Three days seem to be a recurrent theme for my experience with these videos. It just so happens that three days is exactly how long I lasted. Let me just get this out of the way now. Those were three of the worst days of my life. I honestly can look back at all of the decisions I have made in my life thus far, and attempting Insanity was one of the worst, by far.

Day one was the 'fitness test.' It should have been my first clue that this was going to go horribly, horribly, wrong. However, I was determined. I gave it the old college try. Day two was the Plyometric Cardio Circuit. I am fairly certain that the plyometric cardio circuit is one of the top three activities on the deck of the cruise ship that circles the innermost ring of hell. Day three was Cardio Power & Resistance *and because I am a lady, I can't tell you what that day was like.

Let me sum up the whole Insanity debacle this way. Horrific. Terrible. No Good and Rotten. I realized, ever since I started the work out, every single day of my life had been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you saw me when I was on the program, that's on the worst day of my life**. It involved blood, sweat, tears and vomit. While I know I am one for a mild overuse of hyperbole.....this is not one of those times. I puked. During the fitness test. THE TEST. Not even the actual workout. This should have been a sign, yet I pressed on. I pressed right on to a bloody nose. I am fairly certain that the tears were the next fluids to spill forth, but the details are all a little fuzzy. Seems as though the tears and the sweat were more likely mingled throughout the workout. These bodily fluids that, (the blood specifically) by definition must remain inside my body for the purposes of maintaining life, spilled forth with each and every workout. Beyond the loss of wildly important bodily fluids; the pain, stabbing, constant and throbbing was another fun little addition to the program. At various points throughout the workout, I was certain that I was experiencing the early stages of a stroke.

When I wasn't busy dealing with the stroke, I was then met with a sharp pain in my brain. Not just in my head, but my actual brain. This led me to believe that I was seconds from an aneurysm. When I decided to lay down and allow the peace of sleep to overcome my battered and bruised body and ego, the seizures came. Twitching, convulsing and uncontrollable shakes are not easy to sleep through. If a workout requires narcotic pain relievers, prescription sleep aids and antidepressants to overcome the emotional battering that they delivered...that is not a plan for me.

And with that realization...I gave up. I am a quitter and quite frankly, I could not care less. Judge me if you will but I took that dvd out and have not looked back since. That's partly because I didn't have the strength to move my head even if I wanted to. I did, however, call JenniFletch, the other girl that we used to live with. I felt compelled to give her the rundown of my insane soiree into the belly of hell and to give her very strict instructions. The instructions were that that b!tch Brutus is SO not invited to my funeral. Seriously. I am not kidding. She may not come, sing, cry, pray or even mourn at my passing....for she is the vehicle by which death came calling so quickly. Et tu, Jill Berdugo?

By way of a silver lining, this workout plan did do two good things for me. 1-It brought me much closer to God through prayer. Being that as I worked through the videos, there were many prayers tossed out to any deity I thought would listen. Heavenly Father, Dear sweet baby Jesus, Holy Buddha, and the Great Jehovah.....anyone who would be willing to make it stop. And every single one of them answered my prayer and left me with the same impression. "Thus sayith the Lord. Turn that crap off. This ridiculous."

Silver lining number 2- I got reacquainted with an old high school buddy....and she is SUPER excited to buy the videos from me and try them out for herself! (Yay! I get to pawn these stupid things off on some poor unsuspecting soul...and get my $150 bucks back!) A sucker is born every minute;)

Guess there is more than one Brutus amoung us.

*Take notice NONE of those pics or videos are of me,

for obvious reasons

**A la Office Space

The Never Ending Festival of Ridiculous

In case you were wondering what type of ridiculous schenanigans I have been up to lately....know that they are plenty, and painful, and persistent. So there's that.

Let me just paint you a little pic.

A) Your body does in fact fall APART in your 30's...literally.

B) Taking a header down the stairs is an injury that tends to linger. And seldom recovers to 100%

C) Horsing around at work....and maybe kicking a kid in the butt (with all of the love in my childish heart) .....is very, very bad on an already weak ACL.

D) Karma is a cruel, cruel bitch.

E) I probably should be fired.

F) I hope Karma is not that far reaching.

G) Under NO circumstance will I allow this to detour Operation Africa...so, don't worry. You can still donate. (just make sure that you put my name in the memo) There is much left to do! I have been reading about the humble (understatement of the century) conditions where most of these kids live and try to learn. It's heartbreaking, I tell you. But they are so resilient and hopeful, that just reading their short bios makes my heart melt! So anyhow-any little thing can help! We really have so much. (Sally Struthers soap box over)

H) And feel free to pat a buddah belly, shake a chicken bone, rub a rabbits foot, toss out a prayer to whomever you pray to that my knee can be rehabed without surgery! Please please please!

Brilliant Plan, Indeed!

I don't take advice well. Obviously. Especially when it is unsolicited. However, for the past few months the old adage has been bouncing around my head that to forget your own worries, you should help someone else. You know, forget yourself and get to work. It's worked for some pretty notable people in the past, why not me? See, this is a brilliant plan already. Brilliant, indeed!

Instead of the usual summer trip to some far off land where nothing much happens but riding elephants, running from primates and snapping ill-advised photo's in swimsuits, I have decided to set my sights on a trip that serves a much grander purpose. Yeah- that's right. Africa. So yes, this summer may involve riding elephants, running from primates, and certainly, many ill-advised pictures. This time it will be done whilst building a school and helping to train teachers in Kenya! By no means would I classify my level of excitement as, just a little. Unbelievably, insanely, incredibly would all be better choices.

(Photo courtesy of mongabay.com)


The only thing is, and that is where you come in, that I have to raise $3,750 for my portion of the trip and supplies for building the school. As you may have noticed I attached a super easy and convenient PayPal link for you to donate as much, or as little, as you can. (Isn't that nice of me!) Everything is tax deductible, so when you make a donation you will get a happy little note from the folks at World of Difference that tells the mean old tax man to get off your back! You did good things with your money!

*Rest assured, you can count on two things. 1) Further and unabashed begging. 2) A full, detailed account of the schenanigans upon my triumphant return. That alone should be enough to convince you to cough up some cash for Kenya....just to see how this train wreck turns out.

**If this doesn't work, I may resort to whoring myself out. Don't make me do it....it won't be good for anyone.

(You can donate to the general fund at worldofdifferenceonline.org but that doesn't go toward my portion. So do it here first, because you love me, and then with all those extra Benjamin's you have floating around, go ahead and donate there, if you feel so inclined! And if you are anti-PayPal or in some crazy place like Canada or Kathmandu, you can send a check to World of Difference 498 East 10,000 South Salem, UT 84653 Just make sure to put my name in the memo!)

That is all.....thankyouverymuch