One Ball Short

Eighty degrees on the sixteenth of December felt amazing against our skin on Sunday. A couple of us forgot sunscreen, but we won’t be doing that again. Kathy’s shoulders could compete with fresh Strawberries for the brightest of reds. Winter white Michigan skin doesn’t fare well under the Kenyan sun for more than a few minutes at a time.

Late this afternoon we were invited to watch soccer practices of the local youth club. Arriving at the field, the junior team was practicing in what we in the States would call a pasture. It is made up of fifty percent dirt, forty percent grass and ten percent goat droppings. Fortunately the larger cow droppings were absent.

As we watched the practice, the senior team arrived for their practice, but now there was a dilemma. There was one ball and two teams who wanted to practice. This was one of those moments when we realize so much is different here in Africa. Back in the States my kids go to their soccer practices with their own ball; then their coaches most often have a bag of team balls slung over their shoulder when arriving at practice.

This is not to suggest judgment one way or the other; it is simply the reality that scarcity is the norm here and abundance is celebrated.

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