(Originally posted on Karibu Kenya, May 28, 2009.)

This morning, several women who utilize Ray of Hope's feeding program and/or HIV support group sang, danced, and performed theatre for us. Elation abounded during the song, as our Glide team members were each called forth to join hands and dance with various women. 

Here, I'm not a "white girl" in the sense that I am in my home of San Francisco, where friends are often shocked that I can dance with soul. In Kawangware, as far as I've seen, dancing and screaming and clapping are a way of life - daily life. Passersby seem to think nothing of a crowd gathered in loud song and dance. Why would they, when that's just what people do?

In Kawangware, I'm a "white girl," all right ... or, more accurately, a "mzungu," the Swahili term for "white person." It is a word I've come to know well, as I hear it repeatedly each time I walk through the Kawangware roads, just before throngs of children run out to see the spectacle that is my white skin and blonde hair, and adults stare and wave. The children almost always say, "How are you?" instead of "hello," and the adults say "hello" and sometimes follow it with, "Asante" - the Swahili word for "thank you."

After today's song, dance, and community theatre production (the women in the HIV support group performed a play to educate the audience about how HIV is spread), each of my Glide team members and I spoke to the women gathered in front of us. We all expressed some variation on the theme that we are blessed to be here with them, celebrating life, and that we love them and feel loved by them as well.

While speaking, I had held a camera in my hand, as my backpack was tucked away upstairs. A beautiful woman from the crowd approached me and placed a strapped, black canvas bag around my neck. She has no money and no food, yet she gave me her bag, and I didn't know why - but I thanked her anyway, as I knew it was one of very few possessions she had.

When I turned around, my teammate and friend Robin said, "Oh, it's because you're the only woman on our team not holding a purse." Upon realizing Robin was right, I quickly placed my camera in my new purse, my heart unable to bear the woman's outrageously kind gesture. I'm not a Bible person, but I do know the one about the woman with only a few pennies, who gave all she had, which also featured a man with lots of gold (or something ... I'm improvising!), who gave nothing. I wouldn't go so far as to compare myself to the gold man, but I will say that my life would be far richer than it is now, if I could only figure out how to bottle this woman's grace and lock it in the black canvas bag.

When I told my teammate and friend Mark the story of the bag, he said, "Oh my god. Did you see what the purse says?" He pointed to a small leather rectangle sewn into the front of the bag. In the rectangle were the words, "Sport good health." My modification on the above-referenced Bible story goes, "A woman in an HIV support group in an African slum, with no money, no work, and no food to eat outside of a medical clinic's feeding program, shared one of her last possessions with a physically healthy American lawyer."

Arrangements may need to be made for this mzungu to move to Nairobi.