Trading My Shirt

(from Eric)

Clothing from all over the world makes its way to Burundi.  This may not be a perfect system (imagine trying to start a textile industry in a country whose markets are flooded by cheap, second-hand clothes), but it does make for some fun randomness.  It seems pretty clear that American clothes top the list in Africa.  I don't know if this is because A) Americans produce more clothes, B) Americans give more old clothes to Africa, or C) Americans are the mostly likely to fill their shirts with words and logos, and thus make them more noticeable.

Thus, it is not uncommon to be walking around an African city (or village) and to see a shirt from your home state in the US, though the wearer neither knows nor cares about the origin.  The fact that the clothes are 100% context-less is part of the humor, like the grown man wearing a bright pink sorority hoodie, or the young woman in the hospital wearing a t-shirt reminding me to "Stay Calm.  Kill Zombies."  It is, each time, like a little private inside joke between me and the other person.  Except that the other person isn't in on the joke.

One of my favorite moments is finding someone with a University of Michigan shirt (or pants, as I saw this morning).  It comes up fairly frequently, and I'm convinced that UM apparel is among the most common in the world.  Here is one example from 2015.  One of John's post-op patients was sporting this shirt, and it matches my residency white coat.  So I asked for a picture.

There was one unforgettable time in Kenya, when this 6 foot + Maasai warrior guy was in the lab waiting to donate blood for a family member.  He was decked out in traditional garb, with a red blanket wrapped over his shoulder and some nice dilated ear lobes.  The only thing that didn't fit (or maybe it fit the best!) was his UM beanie.  I was so excited, but at that time, I didn't have a phone with a camera, and by the time I returned after lunch, I couldn't find him.

A few weeks ago, we were out on the frisbee field playing on a Sunday afternoon.  The usual crowd was standing around watching.  While running by one side of the field, I noticed that a spectator had a UM shirt.  Nothing that special in that, but on my second pass, I noticed the words "National Champions."  I started to think of the last national championship that UM had won in a sport that would print t-shirts.  It seemed a while ago, which piqued my interest.  How old was this shirt?

I got close enough to see that it was, in fact, a 2018 NCAA Division 1 basketball championship shirt. Except that UM didn't win that.  They went to the finals and went down to Villanova.

Of course, when the buzzer goes off, and the winning team immediately sports their championship apparel, one has to wonder whether the other team's apparel goes.  Off to Africa, I suppose.  

Well, this got me excited, but once again I didn't have my phone.  I went home, hoping that the reason he was out at the frisbee field was that he had some business at the hospital.

As it turns out, he did.  The next day, I saw him waiting in line at the cashier.  He was waiting with a family member who was hospitalized for an arm fracture.  I wasn't going to lose another chance.  I asked a friend of mine nearby by to ask him if I could take a picture with him.  He seemed amused by it.

I figured I may as well press my luck.  I asked him if he happened to like my shirt, and if he wanted to trade.  My shirt was from the Gap, a hand-me-down from my brother-in-law, but it fit me a bit snug anyways.  He said he liked my shirt very much, and that he'd gladly trade.  He had been given that shirt for free.

Everyone was laughing at this point.  But how were to make this trade?  I told him that I'd come to his hospital bed before I left, and since I had an undershirt, that I'd trade with him.  

That's what we did.  And for the next week, I'd see him around the hospital wearing my shirt, and this time the inside joke was shared by two.

Hail to the victors.  I can't wait to wear this in Ann Arbor.  "Where'd you get that?!"  

"Burundi, of course."

Wedding Clothes: A Cultural Window

(from Eric)

One of the wonderful things about crossing cultures is the window it can provide into your existing world.  The world around us now can sometimes be different in just the right way for you to look at your home world with a new light.  Rachel wrote about this years ago in terms of reading the Bible in a foreign language.  A few days ago, in hospital devotions, I had a similar moment.

Pastor Luc was reading from Revelation 19:7-8.  It is a classic passage which describes the church, or the unified group of believers in Jesus, as a bride prepared for a wedding where Jesus (here referred to as "the Lamb") himself is the groom.  It reads:  

"Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and his Bride has made herself ready; it was granted her to cloth herself with fine linen, bright and pure - for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints."

Pastor Luc then started to talk about traditional Burundian culture.  Though the tradition has been greatly modified for some of the more modern Burundians, it sounds like this practice is still the case in rural villages, and something like it survives even in the cities.  The wedding dress is picked out by the groom, sight unseen by the bride until the moment comes to put it on (right now, many western ladies are having panic attacks at the thought of their husband donning this responsibility).  In addition, at the time of the wedding, the groom gives his bride an entirely new wardrobe, and the bride gives all of her old clothes to other people.  From this moment on, she is clothed by her husband, with nothing remaining from her pre-married life.

I find this is a compelling image.  There is obviously a strong image of trust.  There is also an image of a shifting of one's identity, a belonging now to someone else.  From the husband's perspective, there is a very public image of his provision for his wife.

Pastor Luc was talking about the church, about us in our relation to God.  "the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints."  A gift.  A gift that calls us to trust in the giver.  A gift that shifts our identity from being those who clothe themselves to those look to God for their provision.  I doubt I'll ever look at the Bible's use of wedding clothes the same again.  For that, I thank Burundi and the God who is work in their culture.

A Fanta to End the Mourning

(by Eric)

Last week I received a text.  It was from our friend Pastor Luc, who is the assistant administrator at our hospital.  It said that he unexpectedly lost his mother that morning.  I was saddened for him, and touched that he would think to text me at a time like that.  Luc is a very solid guy.  When we first arrived, he drove us around to introduce us to the local administrators and the chief of police.  In light of our coming, he convinced them to add two new police officers to the Kibuye campus.  During a rain storm a few weeks ago, I was trying to get an urgent message to him, but the cell connection was cutting out.  Next thing I knew, he was at my door with a big umbrella and some rainboots.

Sunday marked the seventh day since her passing, and we were invited to a traditional gathering to mark the end of the initial mourning period.

An aside:  As I share impressions of Burundian culture, I'm sure that I'm getting things wrong sometimes.  I'm sure I will be able to re-read this in years to come and think "Wow, I really didn't understand that at all."  In a sense, I hope I will, since that will mean that I've grown in my understanding of this world around us.  But I will share it as I understand it, nevertheless.

We drove out in a little caravan of about 5 vehicles at 1pm.  Everyone was in a suit.  We left the tarmac after a few minutes, but the dirt road remained good.  Luc was in the car in front of us, and was frequently stopping to pick up more passengers.  It was obviously getting full up there, so we signaled that we could take some as well.  We arrived at the parish church, which has a gathering area.  A young mentally-handicapped guy came out and immediately hugged the three white guys in suits, and insisted on introducing us to various even-now-unidentified people.  There were a lot of hospital acquaintances there, and so we chatted a bit.  After a while, they showed us to a shaded area, and gave us the benches of honor, to the side of the head table where the family sat.

They passed out your choice of soda: Fanta Lemon, Fanta Orange, Coca Cola, or Schweppes Tonic Water.  We all enjoyed a beverage, and sang a few hymns.  Then Luc made a short speech, as did another guy from the crowd.  Then they passed out the envelopes.

The envelopes are for donations.  The donations, as I understand it, are for the payments of the debts of the person who has passed away.  In a sense that seems harsh, to come knocking for a debt after a death, but in a land of a lot of debt, and no small amount of death, it's probably necessary to have some security in the lending process.  We were told that, for older people, there is usually a second such ceremony during the dry season, since other people will then come from further away to collect further debts.

This is still uncomfortable territory for us, and probably will be for a long time.  As Americans, the purest friendships are void of financial matters.  We just like "being together".  Africans tend to value interdependence and solidarity in lieu of independence and "freedom".  So, being a part of this process assures them that they are integrally linked into the broader community.  That being said, we're still Americans, and so we feel the discomfort.  However, we took an envelope and tried to guess what would be appropriate for our friend, comforted by the fact that his character assures us that he will steward whatever gift well.

People came and brought them up to a little conical basket which is typical of Burundian style.  Then, before we knew it, they were closing the basket, and we three had to rush up and put in our donations before it was too late.  Thus ended our dream of inconspicuously participating in community life.  There was gentle laughter, and we sat down, chatted some more, shook a bunch of hands, and made our way home.

Awkward French Children's Books

by Eric

    

I have read a lot of French children's books this year.  Early on, we paid a few euros to get a library card downtown, which is about a 20 minute walk away from the school, and we go there every couple weeks.  It's a good outing for the kids, they love to read, and it's good language practice for me.

The language is pretty simple, and I've got pictures to help me!  (Though interestingly, French has a unique verb tense reserved for written narratives, so the verbs are always a bit different from what we learn in class.)  

Every society has a culture to its children's literature (if it produces any), and it's one thing to recognize that, but it's another to not feel weirded-out when you experience the kid's books of another culture.  I mean, I was weaned on the stories of my culture, and so those values are pretty deeply ingrained.

Some French kid's books are awesome, and some are down right beautiful (Le Petit Prince, for example).  However, some are rather strange, and I thought I'd share a few of the categories of "strange".

1.  Animal "Violence".  If there is an animal in a story, then someone is going to die.  American books are largely influenced by Disney and company, where such things are considered too "harsh" for kids, so the chicken in the pasta dish needs to be mentally separated from the chicken in "The Little Red Hen".  For the French, if the protagonist is a chicken, he may end the story by being a yummy dinner.  Even more frequently, the animals eat each other.  In Et pourquoi? Little Red Riding Hood tortures the wolf by repeatedly asking "Pourquoi?" ("why?") until he eats her whole, and then she continues her terrible interrogations from inside his belly.  The story ends by the wolf having had enough, and so he takes a knife and slices his belly open.  He dies, and Red Riding Hood walks out smug and unharmed.  This example is a bit mild, since I never checked out the more violent ones, so I can't remember the titles.

2.  Nudity.  It may in fact be true that, as an American, I'm a bit prudish.  Yet there you have it, so it's a bit weird for me to see kid's cartoons with full frontal nudity.  I quite like the Emile series of  books as seen below.  However, this one is a bit weird.  Emile decides that he has become invisible, and so he can't figure out how his mom can still see him.  Then, epiphany!  It's his clothes!  So, he takes them off, so he can be truly invisible.  The book ends with him walking into the living room to be surprised by a female friend that has come to pay a visit.  Naked Emile, feeling no need to cross his legs, sits down on the couch next to her, relieved that he's invisible, because otherwise this would have been a really awkward moment...

3.  Just Plain Bizarre.  It's difficult for me to know whether some American stories come off as equally strange to a French reader.  However, there are some weird ones out there.  Les Poissons Savent-ils Nager? (Do Fish Know How To Swim?) unfortunately became a favorite of our kids, even finding its way into a prior blog post.  The story, in brief, goes like this:  

One day, the fish will decide to walk out of the ocean and join society.  They will make their fortune hunting shrimp.  The will buy clothes, eat flowers, and otherwise integrate into human society.  The shrimp will get wise and head into the forest to get away.  While hunting for mushrooms, the fish rediscover the shrimp's hiding place.  Shrimp hide in the treetops.  While attending a fish/human wedding on tight-ropes in the forest (not kidding), the shrimp are rediscovered, and subsequently hunted by fish with rifles (see #1).  The fish grow wings, and the flying fish hunt them.  Finally, the shrimp escape underground.  In despair, the humans build a rocket to seek the shrimp in outer space, and the fish build a boat to look on other continents.  Boat sinks, and the fish discover they like living underground.  Meanwhile, the shrimp come out of hiding and take up fishing to feed themselves.  Shrimp and earthworms live in a utopia-like ever-after.

You can probably guess that the language-learner has a lot of "is this really saying what I think it's saying?" moments.

4. Docteur Dog.  This gets a category all its own.  I picked up this book, about a dog who cares for all the maladies of his hygenically-impaired family, thinking that it might be amusing, and I could pick up some medically-relevant vocabulary.  Well, it started off OK, with someone who has a cold and then indigestion.  It explains the popular origin of these diseases (not washing hands, for instance), and then Docteur Dog prescribes a treatment.  

Then, it goes south.  Well, first it goes north, to headlice (with some colorful illustrations), then south, to pinworms.  It proceeds to go from bad to worse, and the finale is grandpa, who has bad gas (from too much beer and beans), having such a forceful episode on the toilet, that he and his porcelain bust out through the ceiling of the house, and go flying through the neighborhood.

Well, Maggie was absolutely terrified, and we never finished it (which is just as well).  I took the book back early, at her request to never see it again.  It's several weeks later, and she still freaks out, with repetitive phrases like "I don't ever want to get worms!" and "I don't want bugs in my hair!"

Not sure how to categorize that, but it's an experience we are not soon to forget.

(Si un de nos amis français lisait cela, j'aimerais beaucoup savoir vos pensées...)

The Impossible Loads of Africa

This has been circulating around, but if you haven't seen it, then our blog is delighted to bring it to you (click on the title:

Ten Impossible Loads Made Possible Via African Transport

French Culture: A Study of Comparisons

(by Eric)

I asked a question on facebook:  If I say "Swiss", you could follow with "cheese, chocolate, army knives, banks..."  If I say "French", what comes to mind?

The responses were interesting and varied.  The most frequent answer was probably "kiss", and I won't endeavor to provide a cultural exposition of that at this time.  Other notables included Braid, Onion Soup, Silk Pie, Fries, Revolution, Tips, Cuisine, Horn and Dip.

A few such answers make for a good comparison, or can use some background information.

pain perdu

1.  French Toast:  This was a very popular answer.  From what I have thus far seen, the American version of this is not so very different from the reality in France.  One might ask the question:  "They obviously don't call it 'French Toast', so what do they call it?  They don't call it 'le toast', right?"  Good question.  The French term for this is pain perdu or literally "lost bread", referring to how it is used for bread that have gone stale.  It's a fairly nice redemptive picture, actually.  Which brings us to...

2.  French Bread:  We picture a long, crusty white roll, thicker than a baguette, with a nice fluffy inside.  And though there are many varieties available, this is indeed the classic.  And indeed, one just calls it pain or "bread".  Just like that.  You walk into the store and ask for "two breads", and you can get two such delicious batons.  

La Mie Caline, a popular bakery

The French are quite hardcore on their bread.  There are labor laws restricting which businesses are allowed to be open on Sundays, and bakeries are one of the exceptions (along with pharmacies and hospitals, but not usually grocery stores).  It is remarkable how delicious French Bread is on day 1, and how quickly it goes stale, so I guess I can't argue with them.

3.  French Mustard:  I enjoy mustard, and I like dijon in particular.  Some of you may know that Dijon is actually a city in France.  Thus we look here for the authentic.  And what we find is very good, and amazingly strong (!) dijon.  And it is used for many things.  It is a bit of a challenge to find mayonnaise that does not have dijon added to it.  And it seems to be a frequent favorite for a salad dressing ingredient.

the real deal

4.  French Press or French Roast:  I haven't yet figured out all the coffee lingo.  Generally speaking, you "take" a coffee at the end of a meal, and that is referring to a small cup of espresso without milk, +/- sugar.  Cafe au lait (coffee with milk) seems to be treated as an utterly different beverage, rather than a variation of the above, and is usually taken with breakfast, in a bowl (bol) not a cup (tasse).

5.  French Dressing:  Cards on the table, I have never much liked this stuff.  And I'm not sure what it is, and I'm pretty certain the French don't recognize it either.  Salad dressing here is nothing like American "French" dressing, but usually an extremely tasty vinaigrette, often with a hint of dijon, as mentioned above.  In my experience, salads are simpler, often just lettuce with dressing, but somehow amazingly good.

How much do you weigh?

Our family has spent the last 3 weeks at Mission Training International (MTI) outside Colorado Springs. We have learned a number of really helpful things about working cross-culturally. Our class topics included cross-cultural differences, conflict resolution, major transitions, stress management, grief and loss, cultural integration, healthy families, third culture kids, and resting in God, among other things.

We have also enjoyed a lot of time for introspection and retrospection. Most of the retrospection has been reflecting on experiences/interactions that we had at Tenwek these last two years. It is not unlike watching a recording of a football game that I just played in to identify what I did well and what I did not-so-well so that I can improve in the future. This whole process has been immensely helpful, and I am glad that all the McCropders will be going through this "missions boot camp" of sorts this year.

Some of what we have done here is identify our own expectations of cultural norms which may not be universal. For example, the instructor called up two young, healthy ladies the other day and in front of the whole group asked one of the women how much she weighs. No reply. He asked again. She flat out refused to give her weight. As did the other lady. Then the instructor asked those in the audience as well as their husbands to guess at their weight. Nobody dared, until one of the husbands suggested 95 lbs. as a good guess (the women probably weighed at least 135 lbs each, but don't tell them I said that).

How strange it is, really, that weight is such a taboo subject in the American culture. And yet there are certain situations where the ladies would divulge their weight (a doctor's office). And then there are situations where women would write their weight down, but the written number could easily be 10 lbs less than what they really weigh (on a driver's license). And the women were obviously flattered that someone under guessed their weight. But that would be an offense in many cultures where a certain amount of meat on one's bones indicates health and even wealth. In those cultures, the husband should have guessed 190 or 200 lbs, just to be safe and to compliment his wife. All that, and then there are some women who will readily give you their weight. Hmmm.

All this to say that if there are so many unwritten rules and potential for harm around such a small issue of asking a woman how much she weighs, how many other such stigmas are there on unpredictable issues in the cultures we are going to? And it is not that discussing one's weight is a moral or theological or political issue - it is just the way it is in this culture. The point, obviously, is that I will need to adapt to the cultural posture on any number of issues as we enter a new culture in France, and then Burundi.

By the way, is that your real hair color?

"Africa" in Texas

As many of you know, I have been collecting the awesome signs of Kenya.  Click here for the collection.  We are in the midst of a long road-trip from Nashville to Phoenix, and day #7, we pulled into Amarillo, Texas.  Now, there is not a whole lot in Amarillo, save hotels, "Free-if-you-can-eat-it" 72 oz steaks, and a flatness that is majestic, yet easily wearisome.

However, on pulling into town, we discovered the "Jesus Christ is Lord Travel Center".  That's the name.  And the theme carries through their decorating.

Now the merits of such forms of Christian expression are certainly a good topic for debate, but the whole thing warmed my heart for a very different reason:  It reminded me of Kenya.  Not just the overtly Christian business name.  But the giant signs, and the generally wordy nature of everything.  And thus I had an excuse to share some more signs with you.  Witness the "Hossana Cosmetics and Salon":

And one of my all-time favorites, the "Jesus the Fountain of Life Church Total Transformation Centre The House of Worship".  Thank you, Kenya.  Thank you, Texas.

Obamania Lives On in Kenya

Sorry for the post lapse.  We've all been down in North Carolina for an excellent conference (more later), except the Cropseys, who have been otherwise occupied (more later).

For those who don't remember "Strawberry-Flavoured Magic Obama Chewing Gum", I really can't blame you, because it was quite a while ago.  But lest you think the lack of Obama posting means that Kenya has bailed on their presidential enthusiasm, we have a follow-up for you.  Obamania in Kenya has waned somewhat, but overall they remain strongly behind the American President.

One of my favorite manifestations of this is the Obama belt-buckle.  There are many of them, manufactured in China and imported with impunity, with seeming disdain for the American phenomenon in which the Obama fans and the Belt-Buckle fans don't really overlap that much.  My favorite one is one where you can see the President, but if you rotate it slightly, an image of the first family is reflected.

At any rate, about a month before we were leaving, I told all our guy interns that I would pay double for an Obama belt-buckle.  One of them graciously took me up on it, and actually gave it to me as a gift.  The accessory is actually too shiny to photograph very easily, but you can see me sporting it below.  I still have it, so ask to see it any time.

One day in the hospital, someone passed me this (below).  That's right, a $1,000,000 US bill with Obama's picture.  But it gets better, because this is actually an evangelistic tract, if you magnify the print on the back of the bill.  I looked up the company that made them, and it's an American company, so I guess they manufacture these for use in Kenya.

One of our Kenyan friends shared this picture with us, which is a sign in a Kenyan village, that apparently was the ancestral home of President Obama's family, complete with genealogical lineage.

Kenya does have a unique claim on Obama, but the spirit of East African unity means that Obamania is far from limited to Kenya (as seen in John's eye trips to Tanzania and Sudan).  Here is a snapshot of "Obama Shop" (a.k.a. Obama-rama) taken in Burundi, so we have more to look forward to.  (Note: if you look closely, you can see a woman behind the glass motioning for the photographer not to take this picture.)

Kenyan Pregnancy Taboos

(A Kenyan doctor friend Mike comes up to Rachel and says congratulations, with a gesture towards the baby bump.)

Wait a second, Mike. I had heard that Kenyans never acknowledge a pregnancy until the baby comes.

That's totally true. You can't mention it, even when she is almost ready to deliver. But you're a Westerner, and everyone knows that you guys don't mind, so we can say it to you.

Well, what if we went out to a rural village, and saw a very pregnant lady, and said, "Congratulations, mama! When is your baby due?"

Oh, that would be fine, because even in the remote areas, they know that Westerners are different on this. But, if I were with you and said the same thing, they would be very offended.

But there's an indirect way that you can ask, right? You can say, "When will you be inviting us over for tea, or lunch (implied: to see the new baby)?"

Absolutely, that is what you would say. But you can't mention it or even prepare much for it. But younger generations of Kenyans are now having baby showers and things like that. But even them, even at a baby shower, you can't verbally mention it. It's still taboo.

Wait. You're at a baby shower for a pregnant lady, but you can't acknowledge she's pregnant? Then what do you say when you give her a gift of a crib or some baby clothes?

Oh, you just say, "Here, these are for you. I thought maybe you would like them. Just put them away somewhere, and maybe you fill find them useful one day."

So, Mike, I gotta tell you that as an American, I find this pretty strange. Do Kenyans find it equally strange that Westerners would ask freely about a pregnancy?

Oh, of course, they would be like, "Eh, why are you talking about a baby that isn't even born yet?"

--The sobering part of this awesome conversation is that we were in agreement that the likely source of this cultural difference springs from the vastly differing neonatal mortality rates, and the reluctance to expect too much in a society that loses so many babies. Nevertheless, we remain grateful to friends like Dr. Mike to help us navigate the cultural waters.

Favorite Matatu Decals

Most vehicles in Kenya, especially the matatu "taxis", have phenomenal decals, giving a glimpse into the owner's mind. Tangential thinking, one of my specialties. Thus, I, John, have been commissioned to digitally capture as many as possible for the McCropders. I shamelessly photograph other vehicles whenever possible. I rarely drive without myself or shotgun having a camera ready at all times, and matatu stops in large cities are a proverbial gold-mine. Of the top 50+ captured so far, here are just a few of our favorites to wet your appetite.

Driver and the "fare collector" enticing passengers with a handsome pose for the camera. We weren't sure if PACE MAKER is referring to what the matatu does or what is keeping it alive.

It's not an easy job. Right or left, gas or brake, EL-SHEDAI or RIHANNA?

Tough decisions must be made daily by matatu drivers the world over.

AMPHIBIAN ASSAULT: a plague of biblical proportions indeed.

STUNNING LIKE MY DADDY: Who knew a van could look so good?

The Small Lamb (right) takes on the much larger LAPTOP INTERNET on the Mombasa-Nairobi gauntlet.

CRUNK Aint DEAD: Crunk has a special place in our hearts as it was actually used by the McCropder boys. Anyone have any ideas outside of The Emperor's New Groove (Jay's favorite movie), who Crunk might be? This one if for you, Dykstra.

After leaving Crunk, we then boarded Baby Face with 30+ passengers (official counts all concur, 30+) for the last leg of our journey that day. A picture of Baby Face and Fader was a must.

OBAMA, NIKE swoosh. Yes we can. Just do it!

ISRAEL VIBRATION: Perhaps this is the feeling one gets when alignment gets neglected for too many years. Luckily, this guy has four spares on the roof when all four wheels go simultaneously. Interestingly, there is an ISRAEL VIBRATION JR., but he has been illusive to capture on film.

Speaking of JR's, here's TORMENTA 2. Appropriately named. This will be anyone's fate who dares book a ticket to ride. (Below the windshield says in silver, blood-dripping letters NO PHOTOGRAPHY). It had to be done.

The sheer energy and money that went into this paint job is mind boggling. She does look like a comfy ride though.

Many thanks to Scotch and Baby Face for their contributions to the collection. If you want more, let me know. This is just the tip of the burg, baby.

Yours Truly,

Crops

Favourite Signs of Kenya

One of the simple joys of life in Africa is the wonderful storefronts and signs that you meet everywhere. I have been keeping a photo file of some of my favorites, and they are here for your enjoyment. I plan to keep this as a link on the sidebar, and update it whenever I feel I have found another hall-of-famer. Hopefully John will soon post his similar collections of matatu decals.

Vote for your favorite!

Wal-Mart Complex Shopping

For the record, "Moran" is a feared Maasai warrior. But still...

What exactly do you think goes on at this place?

Hilarious Mascot General Stores

Awesome African school names.

Excellent Obama Fashions

Click to enlarge. The fine print is "The Best Nyama Choma (grilled meat) in East & Central Africa & Asia."

Beware the Baboon Menace.

Bipartisanship. McCain's state and Obama's mug.

If they had spelled it "Candy Shoppe", it would have been perfect.

How would you define "Anti-Natal"?

On the Tenwek Hospital grounds

If we only we had his skills, think of the impact!

For sale in the same town as the Lazarus Funeral Home. The misspelling of "arthritis" is maybe my favorite part.

A chicken coop just down the hill