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This was not a legendary trip to Marsabit, but it was a good trip. No stuck vehicles or flat tires or going deep into the desert. But we were able to make it to Marsabit town, which was cut off to us by flooded roads on our last trip. There will be more about this trip later, but for now I wanted to share two photos of smiles I shared. This woman was so full of life -I hope her smile pulls you in too.

Can I say: Coke ad? Not posed, just captured. Always fun when life presents something that other people work to create.

I love the textures found in daily life in Africa. The homes are a never-ending source of these textures for me – and, yes, you will continue to see more mud brick homes throughout future travels! This home was on the outskirts of Bangui, CAR.

This week I had my first taste of the Central African Republic (CAR). This was a quicker trip than anticipated (I arrived Wednesday at 9am and was on a plane Saturday at 9am) and I did not make it further than the outskirts of Bangui, the capital of CAR. While admittedly a brief first visit, it did provide a taste-test of CAR that has left me hoping for more. Here are a few thoughts and images:

• French and Sango mixed with French. Sango is the main local language, a language of trading, and in the capital is heavily mixed with French. And so every time a conversation started up, my ears and mind would come alive with the thought,”I can understand.” But, I could not, and I desperately wished I could simply switch my brain off.
• Dirt roads and incomprehensible traffic. Every African country has a lot of dirt roads, but their prevalence where paved roads often are in the capital is a reminder why CAR is one of the lowest on the development scale. The traffic was not heavy (that would require more cars), but HELLO – it was every man for himself as far as side of the road and traffic laws. Maybe I lie… people tended to stay on their side of the road – it is just that ‘their’ side typically amounted to about three quarters of the road, as did ours.
• “Ranch” style homes. The tall buildings in the small downtown were two or maybe three stories tall. Everything else is one story, and outside of the nicer homes, they are mud brick. We can argue the durability of mud brick, but I love the texture and shape it gives a land.

• Life outside. Like many warm places, houses are not used for much besides sleeping (there is typically a separate kitchen or cooking house). This includes a choir practice that we happened upon one day.
• African fabrics. They were everywhere I turned. I simply love seeing people dressed in these vibrant, sometimes wild fabrics. The traditional dress for women seemed similar to Benin – a loose fitting shirt and wrap-around skirt.
• Warmth and humidity. Reminded me of my summers spent in Benin where a shower before bed was a necessity.
• Remembering Benin. Benin was on my mind as there seemed to be reminders left and right including the French, the pronunciation of my name (three syllables: Pam – E – la), the clothes, and the heart of the people I met.
• Bread. Baguettes in baskets on street corners and in markets and in stores.

• Open people with big smiles. Sometimes we say this is classic Africa. I think each time I come across this, my heart is warmed because it does exist and not every place is so inviting. This picture was taken after an interview with Marceline (on my right) and her junior sister… I am sure you will hear about them more later in the year.
• People who love the work they do. I was visiting Blood:Water partner ICDI and was so impressed with everyone I met. They were people who loved what they did, loved how they could help make a difference. And they had visions to do more, reach more people.
• So much more. There is so much more to see. There are rainforests and rural village and pygmies and wild animals. And most of all, there are more people to meet who all have stories to share. I hope to be back next year.

My family together after Grandma Laura’s funeral. One of those few times we are all together and looking good all at the same time.

Me with four generation of Crane boys, and not one of them was tickling me.

“You have heard the stories of The Little House on the Prairie. [Laughter.] This is real life – these are the true stories.”

That is how our morning with Jewel began. My two great aunts had been discussing (and arguing) about their childhoods – had it been a hard or an easy life on the Lewis homestead? Jewel, an old classmate and collector of stories, was at grandma’s funeral, and they invited her over the next morning. The sisters planned to have Jewel settle the argument, but Jewel had her own plan, and I think storytellers generally get their own way.

Jewel has collected stories from people in town and has made themed story quilts to go along with them. Saturday morning she brought her ‘Homestead’ quilt and shared its stories. Just a few were gathered around in the beginning, but before long she had drawn us all in. I wish I had a summer to record and transcribe Jewel telling stories – they truly capture life from a different time. Here are just two snippets from that morning (the first a comment about my grandma’s family, the second about another family in town).

There were two homesteads I wanted to be a part of – one was the Lewis homestead. They were so aristocratic. They held themselves just so when they walked and they always had custard pie. Not everyone had custard pie.

He won the farm in a poker game. After he and his wife moved out to the farm, she asked him what she could do to make his day better. He said, “You know those red high heels? If you could wear just those when you make my breakfast, I would be left with the best images in my mind while I worked all day.” Well, she knew how to negotiate, so she replied, “You know how the bacon splatters. If you make breakfast, I will sit at the table in nothing but those red high heels.” And that is how their mornings went.

These are my grandma’s two older sister, Emma (87 years old) and Sally (91 years old). There is some impressive longevity in the women on both sides of my family… I am happily hopeful for a good, long life.

My dad and nephew enjoying some quality time together in front of Grandma Laura’s house.

In a few hours, we will attend my Grandma Lauara’s celebration service, or funeral. Her body will not be there – viewings were yesterday and today she will be cremated – and her being or spirit is in heaven. Today we will celebrate her life.

This week has been filled with loud family gathering in my mom’s childhood home – including Grandma’s two older sisters who are still laughing, telling stories, and cracking jokes. Today will not be that different. The celebration will start at Grandma’s church, continue into the fellowship hall and then just move a few blocks away to her home. This is the way it works in small farm towns on the prairies. Someday maybe I’ll take a few moments to share some of the stories about the old days – when my great grandparents homesteaded out here. For today, I wanted to share with you a couple pictures (including when my Grandma was downright foxy) and what I will read at today’s service – these are my mom’s words and memories written after my Grandma died that I edited to share with everyone. I hope they make you smile.

HERE is a link to her obituary.

In the voice of my mother, Nancy Kay (Neil) Crane:

Laura Mae Lewis Neil, mom.

As I thought about what to say today, I remembered meeting one of mom’s high school friends who said she had never met a nicer person in all her life. Mom had so many good qualities, but she could also alienate many of those she was closest to by fixating on a something that was part true and part fabrication. That part of mom was not easy, but let’s lay that aside and look at mom’s beautiful qualities – qualities that made her someone that if I could be a quarter of what she was, I would be proud.

Mom was fun. Making tents as kids or playing army in the garden – it was all ok with Mom. Growing up we floated the river, we did whatever sounded good and she was right there, glad that we’d have fun. She enjoyed a good movie and even more a good laugh. My children remember Mom roasting marshmallows over a candle in the kitchen  – just because it was fun. Or telling Steve, “Go get some wood for the fireplace, these kids need to make S’mores.” Her love of a good time and easy laugh was her personality that was well watered by growing up on the farm with the Bergers nearby.

And because mom loved fun, messes created didn’t bother her. As kids, Mom never complained about coming into a house in a disarray from our cooking or a sewing or building projects. There was never a selfish, “Oh, I was saving that” of any item we were using in a project. Instead she delighted in what we were doing and admired our cleverness. She loved to tell the story of Jake getting Hilda Sletten’s sugar cookie recipe when he was just 5 years old. He came home and made them up all on his own. After years of hearing that remarkable story I finally asked, “Did he clean it up too?“ “Oh, no. But can you imagine that he got the recipe and made them entirely on his own!”  Now isn’t that having your priorities right?! I want to be just like that!

Mom was inclusive – she would never leave someone out. She didn’t want anyone to feel on the outside. If we kids brought friends home from school – Mom didn’t mind. I think I had girlfriends over weekly in high school for parties and Mom never minded a bit. Extra people for dinner – not a problem. If we invited others to stay at her home, she welcomed them. She has even had several people stay with her long term.  Sometimes that got to be difficult but it seemed to wear on her much more slowly than it would have worn on me. One time I was home visiting and Mom was suggesting I invite my in-laws for dinner. I was angry at Mryt but Mom had suffered from her even more. Still she encouraged me to let go of it and have them over – she didn’t want them hurt by us not having them over. May we all be so inclusive.

Mom loved her family – including all the photos and gifts they gave her. As soon as she received photos of her grandchildren (and great grandchildren), they were up on the wall framed – that is if they weren’t on her table where she was looking at them. She spoke again and again of how she got such a chuckle out of her latest great-grandchild, Jack. She said that in his newborn photo, he just looked like he had an opinion about things – that he just came out looking like that. And that tickled her so. And her house is full of gifts from her kids and grandkids. There are the vases that Steve and Jake got her in the early 60’s right through to the Christmas nativities that were just too pretty to put away. Whether near or far, her family was her life.

And after her family, mom just loved people. She looked at each person’s character – not their past choices, but where they are today. She delighted in people who turned around and people who were living life well. She didn’t fear people. She did not lock her doors, preferring people to be able to come in at any point rather than keep out a possible burglar. A stranger was a friend she just hadn’t met yet. Every time she flew the outrageous miles to visit us overseas, she’d get off the plane saying the time passed so quickly as she had just met the most interesting person.

Mom didn’t know how to complain.  She could empathize but not complain. We had car trouble a couple times. Once after 6 hours in the car, I was hot and the kids were tired. The car broke down and she pulled out the lawn chairs that she had bought for us that were in the trunk (you know those orange ones that rocked) and said with her laugh, “We can sit here and watch that beautiful sunset.” Another time we were driving in the Dead Sea valley which has a similar climate to Death Valley. Our SUV broke down and I was thinking how miserable it was. Mom, who all my life has repeated the Cut Bank mantra of, “I just can’t stand the heat,” said on that blistering hot day, “You know, it’s not really all that bad.” What an attitude!

Speaking of weather, it didn’t matter what tropical country we were living in, Mom , living back in Cut Bank, swore the temperatures were just about equivalent whether it was winter or summer. Two years ago we were looking for a retirement home in North Carolina and Mom accompanied me as the realtor took us around. Mom compared everything – homes, weather and countryside– to what she knew, Cut Bank. Several days into this search the realtor asked how long she had lived in this interesting place – Cut Bank. Mom started laughing and said, “Well, 80 years!” Really, she should have been hired by the Chamber of Commerce as she promoted Cut Bank to everyone!

She was tough as nails, never really paying much mind to a bad cut or pain. And though she was miserable with hay fever, she never complained. Instead, she’d grab a Kleenex and say it was nothing – feeling much more empathy for someone else she heard who was suffering with the same thing than she ever did for herself. Even with arthritis she weaned herself off of aspirin a number of years back because she didn’t want to be dependent on it, but never complained of the pain – she could bear it.

I’m thankful that she died quickly. She never wanted to move out of her home, or have her driving taken away from her. She was always mobile. Due to her kind neighbors who mowed her lawn, shoveled her snow, got things off the top shelves and checked on her, she could stay in her home. She was always busy with church. I should have realized just how bad off she was on Sunday when she said she didn’t go to church to set up for coffee hour. She and Bev Burrows have done coffee hour for years – and she did it for others. She wanted people to have some place to go after church, instead of heading home. She never complained that there weren’t people who would come to it but rather her concern was that someone might be heading home from church without first having the companionship.

I debated suggesting the meal following this funeral today at her home, but how could it be anywhere beside in the fellowship hall which she enjoyed so much, including decorating it every year for Christmas. The beauty of it pleased Mom – I told you she was fun. She was into candles, Christmas lights, things that sparkled and made people smile. There wasn’t a year that she didn’t put up a full sized Christmas tree. She just enjoyed looking at it so.

Today as we eat one last time in the fellowship hall in honor of mom, Laura, I hope we can all celebrate her life as we share memories and stories with one another. She would simply delight in this reunion.

The video of Northern Kenya that I was talking about is now out. It is so exciting to see the first batch of video I took be molded into a short story about the village of Larachi in Northern Kenya. I will be back in Northern Kenya in a few weeks and am excited to be able to share more stories with you then. Anyway… check the video out HERE.

Friday morning my Grandma Laura died suddenly from a heart attack. My mom no longer has a living parent and I am left with just one living grandparent  – one who’s person is slowly being stolen by Alzheimer’s. It was sudden and she had no history of heart problems and none of her other health problems suggested her time here was drawing to a close. And so there were no goodbyes; this week is filled with sorrow.

Amidst the sorrow though, I am thankful. Grandma Laura never wanted to move out of her own home or give up her car – both things we did not have to face with her. She did not want to be in the nursing home or suffer long disease, and she did not. Though we did not get to say our goodbyes, of these things I am thankful.

I am thankful that my parents were able to get on flights out of Khartoum, Sudan, in under 12 hours. I am thankful that I had not yet left for Africa, that I was not in Africa either unreachable or unable to leave. I am thankful that my work only asked what they could do to help and there was no question about my ability to go be with family. I am thankful for travel insurance. I am thankful that both parents are able to come, that all of siblings, and much of my (small) extended family, including my grandmother’s two older sisters, will be there.

Yesterday my forehead muscles were sore. Friday was spent on the phone with family members, booking flights, and working with my travel agent to rearrange my Africa travel. Apparently all of it was done with a furrowed brow using rather unworked muscles. I am thankful my sad muscles are out of shape.

I was looking forward to being back in Africa this week and getting to share with you stories from the field. Instead I am returning to the farm town on the northern Montana prairies where my family homesteaded years ago. It is a beautiful and harsh land, and this week’s story will be one of family. Like all stories, it is one worth telling – the sorrows a well as the joys. Amidst the sorrow, I am thankful for family.

I have signed up to participate in the Clean Water Blogivation campaign. If my blog receives the most votes, I will win an opportunity to join Dr. Greg Allgood on a clean water expedition to Africa and a $15,000 donation to my favorite charity (Blood:Water Mission) tackling water issues.

Please vote  - it just takes 10 seconds, but it is a 2 STEP PROCESS:

1. Enter your email address and click on the ‘vote for this blogger’ button in the box below.
2. Confirm your vote through the link in the email you receive.

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When I ten years old, I lost 10 pounds in 10 days because I was incapable of keeping fluids in, compliments of giardia, a diarrheal disease. When I learned to camp on the Sinai, my family planned and packed every drop of water we would use.

I have long chosen to fight for water. I choose to do so because as a child it was a reality and I believed a place where I could make a difference.  My passion first took me through three degrees and field academic research in Haiti and West Africa, all focused on water. I began to work alongside Africans – serving as a consultant and a friend rather than a leader or boss – something I continue to strive to do.

Now I fight for water through my work with Blood:Water Mission where I am the Africa Field Manager. We have amazing partners in Sub-Saharan Africa who address the water crisis through sustainable community development. I help them build out their programs, challenging them towards excellence in community development through many long conversations and field visits. I capture their stories through words, photos, and video for our fundraisers and advocates who give generously of their time, effort, and money to make it all possible.

If someone told you that nearly a billion people lack access to safe water, would you understand that number? I would not. The most recent number from the World Health Organization is actually 900 million people. I could try to help you understand what 900 million is, but it is too big and abstract. What is not too big and abstract is one person’s story. One story – through words or photo or video – and the number is real. This is what I do; the number becomes real and suddenly both you and I have a reason to fight.

This website is where I share my journey through life. It is the meeting place of where I fight for water, fight to make the numbers become people, and where I simply live.  It is a journey that I hope you find enough value in to follow from time to time. I have not filled this post with stats and stories and photos. I do not need to because this whole blog is filled with them – in the context of people’s stories.

Between now and November I will be spending 8 weeks in Africa blogging all along the way. I invite you to join that journey.  You will learn more along the way and, I hope, the numbers will become real through story.

Please vote for me so that I can give $15,000 to Blood:Water Mission’s water work in Africa. Why them you ask? Because they choose to walk alongside African partners and to dignify individuals through sharing stories of hope rather than despair. Because, through their African partners, people’s water situation is being changed every day – one person, one story at a time.

“It is amazing that there are conditions under which a group of people can be happy to sit under a tarp in a rainstorm.” ~Joel

I love camping because it removes all of the devices that are tethered to me and those with me – in my case phone and computer. It removes and lets us focus on each other, nature, and simply being.

Last weekend we were in the Smoky Mountains at Cosby Campground – a great site that I would highly recommend. We hiked, splashed in a stream, played cards huddled under a tarp, slept in tents, made good food over fires (including homemade tortillas and brownies), played with my nephew (who responds more to his nickname, Thumper, than his name), and talked. And I showered under the stars by the stream. Perfect.