My husband went to Africa and all I got was this...

 ... a nativity triptych, a couple dolls, a goat-hair camel, elephants carved from palm wood, a giraffe-necked zebra bowl, soapstone trinket boxes, a scary mask beer opener, and rungu sticks, also known as lion-bashers, also known as dangerous weapons stored on an upper shelf in my closet so that they do not become brother-bashers.

The airport. Note the baggage cart.

My husband posing with the artist who carved the elephants and rungu sticks. These are certifiably hand-carved, unlike the soapstone boxes, which came from the duty-free shop at the international airport (not the one pictured above.)

A baobab tree. Perhaps if you squint you can see a little prince.

Or you might see these millipedes.

A favorite hang-out on the base

The Rat Trap is also a favorite hang-out for the vervet monkeys, which like the Skittles. As you can see, it is easy to identify male vervets.

The RC church. My husband also took a video of the entrance song to show me the difference between this African choir and the way the Notre Dame folk choir sang "Jina la Bwana," the 

 Magnificat in Swahili, but I can't upload it easily.

 

Sunset over Kenya.

Corrections/Additions

Yesterday evening I received a very nice note from Cindy of the butterfly sighting site, Journey North, which gently and with tact questioned whether perhaps what I might have seen was the Gulf Fritillary, which migrates earlier than the Monarch and only goes so far as Florida. After examining the photos she sent (and realizing that the butterflies I saw were heading east), I concede she is correct. The Gulf Fritillary is a Monarch mocker.  Perhaps if I had spent more time helping my brother with his entomology projects in 4th grade, I would've realized, although I'm pretty sure the Gulf Fritillary is not often found in Indiana. This new knowledge hasn't lessened the delight of the experience, but made me realize that although insect identifiers might not receive as much attention from marketers as bird watchers, they still have a fascinating hobby.

Yesterday evening I also talked on the phone to my husband, who is still in Africa. Ramadan has just ended, so the Djiboutian interpreters brought in to the office a meal to share: young roast goat, a salad with tuna, carrots and peas, rice, simosas, fish, bread. A feast. A moment of communion between Muslims and Christians. A small bridge built.

Djibouti

Ugandan cornfield

Ugandan homesMy handsome husband on a small bridge built by Seabees in Uganda

A little boy with miraculous medal enjoying his sweets from the Seabees.

More beautiful photos from Kenya on my sister's other friend's blog.

Africa

My husband has been on a trip to East Africa, a trip I wish I could have gone along on, but found the prospect too daunting because of the short duration and vast logistics of his travel plans.  The base he's visiting has potable water trucked in for drinking and laundry. It's hard to sustain our way of life there; it's easier to live in a grass hut and become resistant to the parasites that live in the water, if you don't perish first. The children beg for sweets, but if you give them too many, then will their teeth rot?

So Africa is still on my list of places to see before I die.  It used to be tops of the list when I was a kid because it had so many animals - one, big, open air zoo, right.  But now I want to witness the scenes where Cry, the Beloved Country, Left to Tell, Out of Africa, and even the Alexander McCall series, are set, although movies like Hotel Rwanda and Last King of Scotland (did I mention it stars James McEvoy?) highlight the dangers.

Last year at a cub scout camp I met a woman whose parents were missionaries in Africa, just like in the Poisonwood Bible, about which I had mixed emotions although it fed my fascination with missionaries and the children of missionaries (Could I embrace deprivation and find the faith/bravado to drop everything and go where we aren't necessarily welcome?). This woman didn't wear shoes until she was sent away to boarding school in about 5th grade.  I didn't get to know her well enough to pry as much as I'd like, but she had mixed emotions about the experience.

But then what kid doesn't have mixed emotions about their parents' way of life?

My sister's friend is living in Africa, in Rwanda, and writes about it here.