we went with bridget again to the matero (city center). we got off the minibus after a 30 minute ride, and began walking down a dirt road, littered with milk cartons and soda cans ground into the dry brown dust. a cool breeze hurled dust into our eyes. we arrived at a weaved straw gate and a woman walked up to greet us.
bridget introduced her as a close friend, gertrude. we chatted with gertude in the small block of dirt, until she disappeared into the house. she peeked back through the door, and invited us in. her husband walked out without a word. we sat down in her living room, an adam sandler movie blaring on the television. we talked about her children, her husband, and her business. along with raising a family, caring for her husband, cooking and cleaning, gertrude designs and makes dresses. she showed us some of her work—a beautiful yellow print dress.
she told us how she met her husband. she was making shirts for a wedding in the village, and one of the men came to examine the shirt—“first a customer, then a husband,” she recalled, laughing. she was 17 at the time.
when her husband returned, we left. as we walked down the streets, we heard shouts of "howAHyuuuu!!!" from the children.
the only english they know: “how are you?”. the children are embarrassed and thrilled with the “muzungu”, or foreigner, replies or shakes their hand.
in the early evening, as the sunset light set the flame trees on fire, i went on a walk around the seminary. a crowd of children were playing in the courtyard. the older children were balancing themselves on black barrels, rolling them across the dirt. they invited me to try. a young boy, simon, held my hand as i tried to jump on the barrel, and keep my balance. i balanced there for about 2 seconds, before falling to the ground to the laughter of the rest of the children. we played football (american soccer) with an empty plastic bottle. when we were tired, we sat on the monkey bars, and sang “humble yourself before the lord.”
bridget and roxie look at photographs of gertrude's children.
gertrude models one of her latest designs for us.
children at the seminary play on empty barrels.
a young boy sings praise songs as he beats on a makeshift drum.
bridget introduced her as a close friend, gertrude. we chatted with gertude in the small block of dirt, until she disappeared into the house. she peeked back through the door, and invited us in. her husband walked out without a word. we sat down in her living room, an adam sandler movie blaring on the television. we talked about her children, her husband, and her business. along with raising a family, caring for her husband, cooking and cleaning, gertrude designs and makes dresses. she showed us some of her work—a beautiful yellow print dress.
she told us how she met her husband. she was making shirts for a wedding in the village, and one of the men came to examine the shirt—“first a customer, then a husband,” she recalled, laughing. she was 17 at the time.
when her husband returned, we left. as we walked down the streets, we heard shouts of "howAHyuuuu!!!" from the children.
the only english they know: “how are you?”. the children are embarrassed and thrilled with the “muzungu”, or foreigner, replies or shakes their hand.
in the early evening, as the sunset light set the flame trees on fire, i went on a walk around the seminary. a crowd of children were playing in the courtyard. the older children were balancing themselves on black barrels, rolling them across the dirt. they invited me to try. a young boy, simon, held my hand as i tried to jump on the barrel, and keep my balance. i balanced there for about 2 seconds, before falling to the ground to the laughter of the rest of the children. we played football (american soccer) with an empty plastic bottle. when we were tired, we sat on the monkey bars, and sang “humble yourself before the lord.”
bridget and roxie look at photographs of gertrude's children.
gertrude models one of her latest designs for us.
children at the seminary play on empty barrels.
a young boy sings praise songs as he beats on a makeshift drum.
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