Done Her Proud

If you've been reading my posts, you might remember me talking about my good friend, Mama Rose. Mama Rose is just that. She has assumed the role as our "African Mama" and prides herself on such. She's given her "pale children" all kinds of tips and pointers for living in Kenya and regularly checks up with me to see if I'm putting her recipes to use (for the benefit of my husband).

Sometimes I make her proud, sometimes not so much. She's trying hard to raise an African daughter; and sometimes it's just flat out a challenge.

But today I think I might have just earned my right of passage into African womanhood--at least in her book.

Let me paint the picture for you:

Every so often the Pope comes into town. Well...probably not the pope that you might be thinking: I'm talking Mr. Pope not El Papa. But, believe me, we are a lot more excited about the Pope's anticipated visits than the Czechs are.

Mr. Pope is somewhat of a legend here in Kenya. Mr. Pope's name is Louis. And Louis is something like Santa Claus (who, I guess in some cultures, kind of looks like the Pope). Someday I'm going to write an entire blogography on Mr. Louis Pope. He's really that interesting...almost magical, really.

Anyway, I digress.

So...as I said, every so often the Pope comes to town. And when the Pope comes to town, he likes to have his car to drive--which happens to be the same car that we normally drive. So. In short, we hoof it or take matatus for a few (or several) days while he's here. No big deal. Keeps us humble.

Well...last week, we unfortunately didn't make it to the bank before it closed for the weekend, and we only had enough cash on hand to buy some food for Sunday, drinking water for the weekend and make it to work on Monday. So, we went to the local Nakumatt, bought ourselves the targeted items and figured there was no other way home but to walk the 2 point something miles to our apartment. No big deal. Humility's a virtue, and I need the exercise.

Many of you might not know, but several years ago, I fell off of a four-wheeler while foolishly trying to impress...who was it?...my sister on back? Anyway, stupid move, and I ended up hurting my lower back. Sometimes physical exertion aggravates it and apparently, carrying a single grocery sack full of food was over-exertion. (Yes, I'm embarrassingly that out of shape.)

I couldn't pawn it off to Aaron because he was actually carrying the heavy stuff, as any proper husband should do. So I figured I'd be a hard core, and act like an African woman:

Photo Credit

Yes, that is correct. I carried my groceries home on my head.

I walked like I was just released from the hospital after breaking my neck. My husband thought I was a geek. People called at Aaron from the street telling him to find a real African wife. And one motorbike driver took pity on us and gave us a free ride--for a block.

But, can I just say? Today, as I recounted that experience to Mama Rose at work, I gained the respect of a real African woman. And that might be one of my greatest accomplishments yet.