Colors of Africa
Early today a visitor read this haiku and post from August 2015. Today is February 1, the first day of Black History Month here in the USA, and the first day of the month I lost my mother (1999) and my sister Diane (2006). This post reflected a bit on where I was geographically and in my spirit during fall 1999. It reads as though I wrote it yesterday. A beautiful, sad combination of sorrow and sweet memory. I pray for you a day of sweet memories. Elouise
red ochre seeps
through thin young veins
* * *
In Fall 1999 I went with D to a seminary near Nairobi, Kenya, for my fall sabbatical. D has a long history with the seminary. I’d been once before. This was my first longer-term visit.
Mom had died in February that year, 78 years old. I was still grieving, shaky and uncertain about my identity without Mom present in my life.
My teaching load was light. I facilitated my favorite seminar ever–how to reflect theologically on biblical narrative–attended seminary functions, did a little speaking and a lot of listening and travel.
Just after we arrived, we went to the fall faculty retreat at a conference center outside of Nairobi, near Mt. Kenya. D took this photo on our way back to Nairobi.
The area around and north of Nairobi is a riot of colors and lush greenery. At the very base of everything, though, is
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