Jell-O Jiggles

When we lived in Kenya, some of my favorite moments came from being in a Masai boma, surrounded by fellow missionaries and Maasai pastors. Life there moved at a different pace—slower, simpler—and I almost always had my camera in my hand.

Over time, the villagers grew used to me, used to the quiet click of the shutter as I tried to capture pieces of their world.

One day, a group of American visitors arrived from a church back in the States. They came bearing gifts—bags of candy—and before long, laughter filled the air as they handed it out to anyone within reach. Children crowded around, adults joined in, and for a while, the whole village shared in the simple joy of something sweet.

But off to the side, I noticed a young girl standing alone.

She kept her distance, watching everything unfold, too shy to approach the wasungu—the foreigners. She knew me, though. So, I walked over, handed her a piece of candy, and stepped back. As she slowly accepted it, her face softened into a quiet, genuine smile. I lifted my camera and captured the moment—one I would later turn into this digital painting.

In my years in Africa, I learned something that crosses every cultural line: people are people. And one thing we all seem to share is a sweet tooth.

That didn’t mean everything translated so easily.

My Masai friends loved to tease me when it came to food. They would offer traditional dishes—some of them… challenging to my American palate—and watch closely to see how I’d respond. They knew exactly which buttons to push.

Among the Maasai, very little of a goat goes to waste. One of their favorites is boiled goat innards and brains.

I never quite developed a taste for that. They knew it, and they enjoyed reminding me.

But one day, the tables turned. We were having lunch at a friend’s home near a Maasai village, and this time the menu looked much more familiar to me—ham, turkey, beans, corn, salad… and, of course, a classic American staple: green Jell-O topped with a swirl of whipped cream.

Our Maasai friends were polite, as always. They tried a little of everything—or at least appeared to. But one dish sat untouched across the table.

The Jell-O. Not a single person would eat it.

Curious, we finally asked why.

The answer was simple—and unforgettable. “It moves.”

They couldn’t get past the way it jiggled on the plate. Food, in their experience, wasn’t supposed to do that. To them, it wasn’t just unfamiliar—it was unnatural. No amount of politeness could overcome that.

But red candy? That was a different story entirely.

As I look back at that shy girl’s smile, it reminds me of something simple but profound: no matter how different our worlds may seem, there will always be things that connect us—and things that don’t.

There will always be “Jell-O” in life… and then, there will always be red candy.