Mt. Kenya

For our last hoorah as a group we all headed up to Mount Kenya, Kenya’s highest mountain (what you may be thinking: Kilimanjaro is actually in Tanzania). We actually never saw the mountain, as it was covered in clouds. Today was also Brian’s birthday, and we celebrated by eating a very nice safari club near the base of the mountain. The club was quite picturesque, with swimming pool, bush maze and even a 9-hole golf course. The scene contrasted sharply with the trash-filled dirt roads lined with shacks and unfinished concrete buildings of the neighboring village, Nanyuki. The disparity in wealth extends beyond just the tourists and nationals and into Kenyans themselves: a small well-off upper class versus the poor majority. My ambivalent emotions reflected the dichotomy before my eyes and continued throughout the day.

We also visited a factory where a group shears sheep, then dyes and spins the wool into rather interesting mats. They use their gardens of beautiful flowers to dye the yarn, which is quite impressive even if the colors aren’t as bright as one might expect. A young boy, Kevin, met us there. He has a swollen head due to water that fills his head. The PCEA (Presbyterian Church of East Africa) Women’s Guild is sponsoring his treatment, although his mother still has to take him three hours south to Nairobi to see the neurologist. How does a mother take the time to do this, given her numerous other responsibilities? I wondered.

Furniture Expedition

Today’s objective: Make a dent in the long list of odds ‘n’ ends needed for our unfurnished apartment. A youth and friend at the church, Andrew, met Will and I to show us around town. We walked across town and caught a matatu to another part of town to where the furniture workers are located. Not finding what we wanted, we walked back along the road. I recognized one of the office buildings as my host father’s, and we stopped by to say hello. By the time we made it back into town, it was almost 5 PM and we had nothing but a few bolts for a squeaky bed. We got a quick bite to eat, then did some more shopping without any results. So I did what any frustrated man might do: I bought some tools (a wrench and hammer, to be exact), more out of making myself feel better than necessity. We then tried to catch a matatu back home during rush hour. Just imagine a crowd of Africans standing by the roadside, mobbing any small van or bus that slows down or comes within a few meters. We walked a few more kilometers before we found a promising roadside stop with few people and eventually caught a packed matatu going within 2 kilometers of our house. On our walk back I stopped by a furniture worker I’d met earlier, Daniel, and bought two short stools/tables for the living room for a little over 8 dollars apiece. With stools on our heads and the sun setting to our left, we bought some watermelon slices for twelve cents before trudging home. Never was watermelon so sweet.

In the states, I could have hopped in a car and gone to one or two places, gotten all I could ever want for my apartment, and been back in time for an early lunch. The pace of life here is just very different, and I think I’m slowly adjusting. “Patience is a virtue,” as my Aunt Dee reminded me long ago. I’m still in training.

Stepping Out to Step In

This week has been very different than most. We (the group) usually are on some sort of schedule that has us going to one place or another, or listening to one lecturer or another. This week is full of running around getting random stuff for our living needs/wants (see next day’s entry). All of us need a water filter, broom, dustpan, buckets/tubs for washing, an iron and lots of patience. While it’s been great to be with everyone this first month and having everything catered to us, I’m sensing a big change coming once we’re on our own. I fluctuate from wishing on the future but also enjoying the present as much as I can, knowing the future will turn to present in due time.

I’m reading a very theoretical and interesting book, Ministry at the Margins, by Anthony Gittins. In talking of people’s framework, he describes entering into another culture as beginning to think in a different way. The author describes this as a stepping out process, reminding us that we’re not stepping out into a vacuum but rather stepping in to another way of doing things (58). Being outside of your comfort zone makes you feel vulnerable and ignorant, causing people to either curl up or lash out (to denote extremes). Yet there are other options of risking, trusting and asking for help. I hope I remember this when I am feeling frustrated and angry at this new culture, lack of control, rapid speech in foreign languages, and all the other new experiences causing conflicting emotions.

I came here precisely because it would be hard and not easy, so that God would soften my heart and fortify my spirit as my character is continually challenged. That is my hope; that is my prayer.

Chupatis and Challenges

Our last day of Swahili ended just like any other day here in Kenya. We had one main event (Swahili lesson), followed by a 2 ½ hr. lunch at Java House (the Starbucks of Kenya where all the expats go to eat), then returning to Phyllis’ house for the afternoon to hang out, text others on our cell phones and watch movies (today, Troy), and finally having Joseph take us back to our place, Mountain View, where a short walk to the internet café leads to a five-minute turnaround because the connection is so bad the email page won’t load, so we return to reheat the dinner Phyllis’ helpers had prepared earlier in the day. Whew!

Yet today I decided (with some God-encouragement unbeknownst to me) to make things a little different. Instead of taking my plate into the dining room where the other wazungu were eating, I decided to eat on the island in the kitchen and learn how to make chupatis with the house helper, Dennis. An expert trained by his mother since the age of five, Dennis showed me step-by-step how to make the perfect chupati, which by the way is a thick, wheat-style tortilla eaten with rice and other soupy, bean and meat-like dishes. Soon afterwards Stanley, the other helper of the house, joined us. Somehow we got onto the topic of what it means to be an Israelite, the different ways of baptism, and how one comes to believe in the Word of God and Jesus. What could have been a fifteen minute meal and retreat to my room for playing guitar and cards, or even typing up my blog, turned into a magnificent and enthralling discussion ranging from Kenyan cooking to theological thinking. And I loved it!

I am continually amazed at how God continues to work in my life and the lives of those around me in intriguing and beautiful ways. Being open to these experiences, and putting myself in the company of others, especially Kenyans, has been a challenged-filled blessing. And I have enjoyed every moment of it. I find that I am most homesick when I am not putting myself out there to be challenged or simply to engage with these amazing people. When I cannot see God at work in myself, I can find God at work in others’ lives… and subsequently my own.

A Prayer Answered

Today our group went to Nairobi Chapel for a refreshing worship experience. The service was held in an old auditorium, and the congregation was actually holding its last worship there before moving to a large tent across town. The place was packed with a mixture of Kenyans and foreigners, with all types of skin tones represented. They used PowerPoint to display the song lyrics, and a marvelous praise band led us from one praise to the next. Many people prayed out loud and led us in dancing, singing and praising. Afterwards, the head minister shared some announcements, tying them directly into scripture. Then a guest pastor spoke, and later the head pastor asked him some more direct and pointed questions about his sermon in order to clarify and bring out some of the more important pieces of the message. The whole thing last about two hours and yet did not seem that long at all.

This Sunday was an answer to prayer. I had decided that morning that I would fast. I had been struggling with what I wanted to do in Kenya; what I wanted to accomplish. I kept looking to my job, or my site-coordinator, or all the friends and people I was meeting to give me purpose and direction. I even had the notion to train and run in the Nairobi Marathon on October 23rd – anything to give me some sort of reason to be here. I emerged from the service refreshed, having fully relaxed into God’s love for me and those around me. I no longer felt like I needed to accomplish something. Rather, I felt enraptured in God’s redeeming grace, set free to live a life of love and gratitude.

That afternoon I went to see Cinderella Man and bawled my eyes out. No longer was I caught up in trying to find purpose or being aware of my surroundings in order to decide how to react. Instead, I was a man freed by grace to be moved by God’s spirit, whether it be in worship or in a movie or walking the streets of Nairobi. Wherever I roam, so does the Spirit, and I amgrateful to have a cleansed heart and renewed perspective.

All-Night Worship

Last night I went with a few friends (two Kenyans and two people from my group) to a truly African experience: AFLEWO, Africa Let’s Worship, an all-night praise service with over 10,000 people. The event was held in a large church just outside of Nairobi in the town of Karen. There were a few white missionaries there in the beginning, but by midnight I was the only white person still around (besides a 64 year-old woman dancing in the choir). We sang songs in both English and Swahili, with lights on and off, dancing and swaying, standing or sitting. I was so thankful to be with so many other (mostly) young people worshipping the Lord in their own unique way.

And yet I could not help but feel out of place. I don’t think it was so much my whiteness- people weren’t staring at me, even though I was horribly off-rhythm. The words we sang were familiar but the tune was different. I was also really tired, semi-sleeping in a sitting position for about four of the nine hours we were there (9pm-6am). For whatever reason, I was not able to feel comfortable and therefore was not able to fully relax and worship.

We were told at one point that many of the worship experiences here would be vastly different from home, and that it was very important to keep up our personal devotions in order to maintain a real and relevant relationship with God. I’m finding that to be all to true as I struggle to find outlets of expressing praise and adoration to the Lord. If I am here as a missionary– to serve these people in whatever way I can, even if it’s only to listen– I feel like I must have a very real and worshipful connection to the one in whose name I come. Is it my own unwillingness to let go into the unknown? Or is something so different about the faith here that I cannot connect? To prayer I go.

Negotiating the Possible

I am reading a book I have long desired to read which my mom gave me not long ago: Beyond the Matrix, by Stephen Faller. It is an in-depth look at the Matrix Trilogy and how its theories and ideas might apply to everyday life. While at Davidson I had attempted to tie in some ideas from the Matrix with a Philosophy class on language and the mind. I was quite proud of the paper and excited with the ideas and connections I had come up with. Even so, my professor did not agree and gave me an F+. Today as a post-grad I am free to explore those ideas without them affecting my GPA.

I was struck by this quote on page 60: “Some people prefer the definite over the possible.” This simple idea has quite profound implications when looking at political debates that polarize nations. In the US we have seen issues such as abortion, affirmative action and discrimination based on sexual orientation divide people with an invisible yet very palpable line. Here in Kenya, one is either in the “yes” or the “no” group on the upcoming referendum on the new constitution. Both leaders of the groups have said the time for discussion is over, even with almost two months left before the election.

Faller is quite indicting of these false dichotomies which paralyze society in debate. Each group frames the issue in a way that makes their position arguably a truth. In this referendum, the “no” group focuses on the excessive powers of the president, while the “yes” group promotes the improvements in women’s and land rights. Both groups argue a good case, but as long as they are set against each other one will have to beat out the other. The other option would be to align the two sides and then negotiate their differences. In the end more people would win and society could move forward, instead of leaving the kindling for debate and have the culture burn with it. Of course, negotiating takes hard work and we have yet to see our (or Kenyan’s) politicians take the hard way.

Along the same vein, I hope to not place Kenyans or myself for that matter in a definite category, but instead strive for the possible. This means not only change in my perspective of me being here but also change in my self to adapt to my newfound surroundings. As long as I keep the door open to new possibilities, willingly inviting them in, I will learn, grow and live. The definite provides more solid ground, yet reeds bend in the wind as trees fall. As the comedian and social commentator Will George?? once said, “You might be on the right track, but you’ll still get run over if you just sit there.”

Dairy Queen!?

Today I took a haul to the local mall, bushwhacked hair and all, to meet a friend in the lunch hall- of Dairy Queen! I had mentioned previously that I had yet to see any American food chain, so I was uber-stoked to check it out (in the lingo of my 16 year sis). As I opened the menu and scanned the dessert section for the various Blizzard flavors, the waiter came over without the little hats they always wear: my first hint that something was awry. To my horror there were no Blizzards to speak of, and upon inquiry all I got was a quizzical look and a hesitant finger pointing to the milkshake section. Needless to say, I didn’t settle for less and went with a chicken sandwich- a heavily-mayonnaised salad with shredded meat of some sort smashed between matza bread. No longer do I wonder why there are no American chains here.

My experience did not ruin lunch, however, as I had a wonderful time with my friend, Hannah Ndung’u. She is a Kenyan who I met at DCPC in Davidson, NC, when she visited the church. She works for ADRA (Adventist Development & Relief Agency) in Somalia, although she is based out of Nairobi due to the security situation. In two weeks she is going to Somalia to scope out a project involving drilling water wells for different communities, as potable water is a problem there. Without a government to work with, she has to negotiate between the various clan elders who now control different sections of Somalia. It sounded very fascinating and I was so close to asking if I could go, but that would have been rude in Kenyan standards and I’d prefer my mother’s blood pressure to remain low.

Other events (oddities) of the day:
- In a sporting goods store I found field hockey sticks; apparently a very popular sport among the Indians and Pakistanis in the area (men)
- I found a local market near our apartment with used books, DVDs and other essentials like produce
- Investigating a small gathering of men I saw a man being carried from a moped to a car to be taken to the hospital. I noticed a red popsicle by his calf tucked into his shoe, and only later after the hand motions of another spectator did I realize it was his bone.
- I nearly got my camera taken away today not by a thief but by a security guard for taking a picture of statue- apparently Kenya has their own Homeland Security

Bushwhacked

There is a reason you haven’t seen any recent pictures of me: I’m in desperate need of a haircut. And not so much because my hair is incredible long, but more so because I don’t do the required upkeep. It’s like watering plants: I’m less of a maintenance/preventative type, and so I prefer just to fix or take care of something all at once. So I don’t suggest you ever have me take care of your plants, or pet for that matter; maybe even fatherhood’s too risky. Now giving birth, that’s something I could do. But I sidetrack…

Regardless, ever since I arrived here our site-coordinator Phyllis has said she would cut my hair. I’ve subsequently made every effort to schedule myself in for an appointment in her busy day, yet she just doesn’t seem to have time to do it. She strikes me as someone who likes to overfill her plate with things to do simply because she likes trying her hand at new things and staying busy (frankly, not entirely unlike yours truly). So last night I couldn’t wait any longer and as a Man of Action I grabbed some scissors and my friend’s beard-trimmer. After an hour of cutting, yanking and bushwhacking, I was midway thru when the power cut out. I’d been going for a crew cut, and so the scissors had been retired in favor of the beard trimmer, and there just was not enough battery to finish the job. The picture I took does not do justice to the horror left sitting on my head by the forces of good and well-made trimmers. The power is still not back in our house, so luckily I brought a small assortment of hats to 'assuage' the damage.

The picture doesn't do justice to the horror.

Racism

Our group participated in a discussion seminar/workshop today led by a local missionary couple, Terry & Lyle Dykstra, on American Racism. While a somewhat peculiar theme to be studying in Kenya, the goal of the exercises were to get in touch with our own prejudices as Americans in a foreign place. We have an African-American and African-Canadian in our group, but the focus was not on inter-group relations and instead concerned the common culture we had grown up in. Although racism is not usually as overt as it was in the past, we still have a long way to go in race relations. During this time we shared our own stories and experiences with racism and being the minority/majority. Racism even exists here in Kenya, although it’s more tribalism among the various ethnic groups here in Kenya (over 40) and mostly played out in political favors.

In fact, color tone matters little here compared to where you’re from. Case in Point: Rachel, an African-American from Chicago, IL, went to the market the other day to buy some flip-flops. The next day Katie, a Caucasian from Alaska, went to the same shop to buy some sandals for herself, and the guy got mixed up between her and Rachel- maybe since they were both from America and only speak English.

The workshop got me thinking. Racism is so much more than just mental prejudice based on skin color. It permeates into all kinds of presuppositions about education, dress, gender, history, accent, language… the list of generalizations and assumptions never ends. Even in naming this website I made a generalization: sure, I’m in Africa, but more specifically I’m in Kenya, in a city called Nairobi (meaning cool place of water, btw). Now I’m expecting to do some traveling around Kenya and possibly some other countries in East Africa, so I was hesitant to title the site “Evans in Kenya,” yet Evans in Africa is so broad. It does sound good, though, and that’s what it came to be.

I had some more profound thoughts, however. How do I view Africans, Kenyans, or specific tribes, like Luos or Kikuyus? Do I view Africans the same way I view African-Americans at home? In what ways am I making certain, unjustified assumptions? Am I already forming generalizations from the few Kenyans I’ve met? Sure I am! And hopefully I’ll keep on revising in order to realize that no person is a word or even a summation of words. I think all of us don’t just fall into one bucket or another as a racist or not, but rather there’s a continuum on how much diversity we have/seek in our lives. I pray I do not slumber in what’s comfortable and knowable to me, but rather seek out new experiences and different groups of people. And not so I can tally up how many different people I’ve met or places I’ve been. Instead, I hope to do it as an adventure that both changes me and my limited perspective on the world.

Not quite the same

Things aren’t quite what they seem here in Kenya. Today I bought a 5 in 1 DVD off the street from some guy. (Early on in our stay in Kenya, a gal in our group - Andrea - said, “Isn’t it funny that all those people on the street are called ‘hookers’?!” referring to all the vendors. We politely informed her that she had misunderstood her informer; they are in fact called “hawkers,” since they float around from car to car looking for a sale.) So I had thought I’d bought a DVD with 5 movies featuring Will Smith, but back home when I took the DVD out of the case it turned out to be some other kind of American mainstream trashy movies. I suppose it serves me right for not checking, but the DVD does work fine. It just plays movies I’d prefer not to waste my time watching.

Another interesting thing about Kenya is that I have yet to run into an American chain of any sort. Instead of McDonald’s we have Steers or Wimpys (yes, I joke not). Instead of Chevys we have Peugots. There are a Shell and Exxon stations, where they pay about the equivalent of $3.75 gallon (are we up there yet?). Even the ketchup here isn’t American ketchup, but more like sweet and sour tomato paste.

Other things are oddly different here. An apartment to rent is called “to let.” We’re thinking of calling our apartment complex, which has a “TO LET” sign out front, the too lay, as a spin-off from the name. Also, when boxing up leftovers from a restaurant or to simply do carry-out, in Kenya it’s called “take away.” Probably my favorite saying oddity is the local television station, NTV: Turning On Kenya. I’m not sure how much the English have influenced the use of the language here in Kenya (there are a bunch of “centres” and “theatres” around here), but it’s enough to give one pause… and a chuckle or two.

Pictures: The Group Part II

Some more group pics.

The group practicing ballet... any other suggestions are welcome as we think of things to do while waiting in Kenya.

Joseph the Dereva and Me

The Group in our own Matatu

Fiona the Princess

Tuanane Baadaya (See you later)

Pictures: The Group

Here are some photos of our group, so you finally get to see some pictures of what we look like.

Andrea Takes a Deep Laugh

Will Bringing Out the Piece

Brian- Wo-huh?

E lookin' cool (or so he thinks)

Rachel Chillin' Out

Pictures: The Apartment (unfurnished)

We ran by my to-be apartment the other day, and I took some pics for y'all's enjoyment. I'll be sharing the place with another volunteer, Will Schmit, who is working on the NEPAD (Africa's New Partnership for Development) sector of the AACC (All-African Council of Churches). I'll be working in the same complex as him, which is only a 10-minute walk from our place. Perhaps more importantly, it's just around the corner from our site coordinator; a wonderful cook with an open invitation to her house. My only question, especially being a Davidson post-grad: are laundry services included?

New Life Home for AIDS Babies

Big Ted & I share some cake.

After our third Kiswahili lesson, we headed out in the afternoon to New Life Homes, a 24-hour daycare center for abandoned infants and toddlers with AIDS. The home has existed here in Nairobi since 1994, with plans to have centers in each of Kenya’s 8 provinces. They take in babies that have been abandoned by their parent(s) in hospitals, trash heaps and even urinal pits. Many of the babies come in as HIV positive but within a few months turn HIV negative (I’m not certain why the change). Many mothers are so desperate in their unwanted and shameful state of being HIV positive that they cannot bear to raise their kid in such an environment. The organizations tries to confront these issues not only by taking in the babies but also educating the women on opportunities, treatment and the misconception that their babies will be condemned with AIDS.

We got to spend time with the kids - two of whom were celebrating a birthday - by playing, holding and walking with them. In the pictures you’ll find Ted & me eating cake (above) and Levin and me and exploring what’s behind the stairs (below). I thoroughly enjoyed the time there and seeing God’s redeeming life and hope in each of these kids’ faces. So many babies come to New Life unresponsive to any outside influence, yet in a few weeks most are crying, laughing and responding to the caretakers. There were tons of volunteers there to take care of and play with the 40 plus babies, and the center draws financial resources from both at home and abroad. As one worker said, the wealthier Kenyans are finally getting the picture that they, too, can donate their time and resources to a worthwhile cause. As my grandmother often reminds me, some of are blessed that we might be a blessing to others. To find out more, go to www.newlifehometrust.org or email info@newlifehometrust.org.

The Ties that Bind? Cultural Christianity

And lectures just keep on coming… Professor Waruta spoke with us today about the history of the Church in Africa, particularly that of Kenya. He spoke of three waves of Christianity to hit Africa. The first five centuries saw the religion spread all along the North African coast, creating a wealth of knowledge and discussion. However, there was much in-fighting over who held onto the purest Christian faith, and the rampant spread of Islam proved no match for a divided belief system. Our professor brought up an interesting point with regards to Constantine, since for the very first time the persecuted faith was now married to authority and later became the persecuting faith. Whose truth are we serving when we persecute others? Certainly not God’s.

The second wave of Christianity coincided with the European Age of Discovery, yet these missions never transferred the faith to the people for two reasons: they never attempted to learn the language of the people, and later many were complicit in the slave trade. The third wave, dubbed Modern Missions, only really took off when converted freed slaves (both from America and in Kenya, from Arab traders) began to share the Gospel. The unwanted children and outcasts of society were the next to become believers en masse, since the missionaries took them in as their own. As they educated and taught them English, they (unknowingly?) prepared them for when the colonials would leave and instate these educated ones in their stead. The great reversal in power, from the least to the greatest, seems to be abused as the persecuted now became the persecutors, using governmental powers for their own ends.

Traditionally, many Africans admire strength in the sense of health, wealth and offspring. If one is weak and does not possess these things, then there is a reason, or as a Christian, a blockage to God’s blessing. I suppose some Scripture reflects the strength of God (Ezek. 34:16, Isa. 35:3, Heb. 12:12-3), although I hadn’t thought of it in this way before. The professor argued that poor persons are intimidated to come into the massive church structures in the city since they do not share in the wealth and prosperity of most of its members, and the message presented is often of the "Prosperity" Gospel. He also seemed to question the rural community churches, wondering if they were coming to service for spiritual healing or for the medicines and other necessities provided by the church. I myself can testify to the faith of the Kenyans I’ve already met- they truly believe in the Lord and yearn to serve God and others each and every day. The professor concluded that Africans should connect to their historical spirituality in order to form a new Christian spirituality that is their own and does not reflect possible colonial values left over from the foreign missionaries. Ideologies are birthed from previous ideologies, not thin air, and we must be grounded in our past in order to live in the present and proceed to the future.

All of these thoughts are quite simple and somewhat blunt, and they do not convey all of the complexities hidden within the broader issues. I’m left with these questions: So what is our cultural baggage we bring to our faith? Where do we draw the line on sacraments/beliefs? Where does the cultural meet the religion, traditional rites personal faith? What can/will be compromised? Is there such a thing as true (pure) Christianity, or rather a continuing, dynamic growth? Should we be leaving a small room for God to work in our lives, or subject our entire faith to be moved by God? Does being a Christian mean believing in the way we see our faith, or others? With few answers, I turn to God, the Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer of my faith.

Economizing Culture

A professor of archaeology visited us today from the University of Nairobi to discuss the various cultural influences of modern Kenya. He was very smart yet extremely humble when offering his views, believing in the archaeological adage, "Every time someone goes to the field, the story changes." As he spoke of the various tribes of Africa, and the remaining heritage of each, I was lost in a world of possible explanation and the unsaid sections of the stories of these people. I desired to know more about each culture, their views on life and the unique expression of story in their lives. At the same time, the professor was pointing out the general transformation in thinking of the area: the Economizing of Culture.

Many traditional rites, dances and cultural nuances are being lost as people’s focus has shifted away from their own group to the outside world. The primary way most of these people relate to the outside community is through the market, and therefore they ask themselves, "What can I ‘commodify’ to exchange for these things currently beyond my reach?" Certainly this line of thinking is not new since people have been trading for centuries, but globalization’s ‘flattening of the world’ (Thomas Friedman) has made the ‘other’ that much closer. People think more about the larger picture only in how it affects them; they must survive on a daily basis, and therefore make decisions less on the aggregate and more on the immediate. In Ecuador, I saw many cultural traditions only practiced when tourists visited the communities, bringing with them their money in exchange for the ‘spectacle.’ If it doesn’t make economic sense, then does it become nonsense? What ‘olive trees’ are we losing in aspiration for the next ‘lexus’?

Pangani Girl's School

Today we visited the Pangani Lutheran Children’s Center. Located in the middle of a vast slum in Nairobi, the center started as a place for young street girls to come and receive a meal, education and medical treatment. The center provides some housing to a few gals, but mostly just come for the day. They are all required to have uniforms like the public schools, but the school helps out when the parents are unable or unwilling. Giving gals training in various trades is another part of the program, and we witnessed one young woman, Monica, use a loom to weave a kikoi, a shawl-like sarong. The young gals sang to us as we ate lunch.



I was greatly encouraged to see such good work being done for those who most need it. Meeting both the girls and the instructors was a great inspiration as I prepare to begin hopefully meaningful work of my own at the end of the month. Still, I could not get past the sickening feeling of what these girls had to return to at night. As we drove through the slums, a two-vehicle convoy of privilege surrounded by vast quantities of the malnourished and underprivileged, the contrast was almost too much for me. How do these people survive, let alone live, like this? What is my response when confronted with such extreme need? My heart doing somersaults, I fall into prayer.

A Brief Political History of Kenya

Today we had a professor from the University of Nairobi come in to speak to us about Kenya’s political culture. The colonial period had a drastic effect on the Kenyan populace, as the British destroyed local authority and replaced it with their own system, as well as established arbitrary boundaries for administrative purposes. As traditional leadership and authority lost its power to the occupying force, the young in the British schools became the new leaders in government since they spoke English and were accustomed to the ways of the British. To be employed by the government gave one special privileges and wealth, and this view of the state has largely carried over to today.

Since independence (uhuru)in 1963, Kenya has had only three presidents: Kenyatta, Moi and Kibaki. The next elections are in 2007, and already people are in a hubbub about the constitutional referendum set for a public vote November 21st. The current constitution is largely left over from the British, with a few minor changes by the Moi government. The proposed constitution makes substantial changes in land inheritance and the rights of women, but does little to change the powers of the president (the original intent for the draft). The political climate is quite divisive so far, and I hope they postpone the vote until changes in the draft can be made to provide for a better, more popular consensus.

People seem to be largely dissatisfied with the current Kibaki government. During the 2002 campaign, Kibaki’s people promised a substantial improvement in job creation, universal primary education, improved security, less government corruption and a new constitution with 100 days of taking office. So far only universal primary education has been delivered. Kibaki has been suffering from ill-health and his approval rating was as low as 23% last year. For better or worse, this upcoming vote on the constitution may well turn into a vote of no-confidence for the current government.

As I think of the Iraqi people going to the polls in October, I am thankful that things here are not nearly so politically violent. There are many different tribes in Kenya (some 40 plus), and they all seem to get along in everyday affairs. However, political parties and favors often follow tribal ties, leading those in power to corruptively grant favorable positions to friends. I cannot say our government is much better, but I fear Kenya will never be able to look outward as long as there is so much governmental in-fighting. They, as well as the Iraqis, will be in my prayers as the people voice their opinion of their leaders as well as make important decisions for the future of their respective nation.

Kenya, not Kansas

Today our group was the guest of the Church of the Torch, the first Presbyterian church planted in East Africa (I believe). From what I gather, the name was given in reference to a light in the darkness from Scripture, and perhaps also seeing Africa as traditionally the Dark Continent. Inside this amazing stone church was a full congregation of Kenyans, singing, swaying and clapping to the worship music. Our group presented a musical piece from Ghana and encouraged everyone to participate. It was my largest audience I’ve had so far on the guitar, and I must say it was a very good experience. While we had prepared a presentation for them, we had not been told our other parts in the service. Not ten minutes before we went up front I was asked to give the Intercessory Prayer. With what was happening in the country with the constitutional referendum, the Katrina catastrophe and the 9-11 anniversary, I had plenty to pray for. How often does one come to a foreign place with little talent and know-how, only to be welcomed in and eagerly encouraged to lead worship?

Afterwards we were invited to the Dykstras, a missionary couple with the PC(USA) from Delaware. We had a very nice visit with them and were able to share our stories of how and why we came to Kenya. They have a very nice and quaint home in the midst of a developing campus for theological students. There are also medical services in a nearby hospital and free schooling to children who have lost their parents to AIDS. They were very gracious to us; we felt so at home that when they offered us tea we didn’t feel obligated to have some!

This afternoon I labored over washing my clothes. Very few people have washing machines here, and so most of the washing is done by hand. I took two buckets, one for washing and one for rinsing, and sat outside for well over two hours scrubbing and squeezing. No verdict yet on how well I did since the clothes haven’t finished drying, but let me tell you how lucky you are to have a washing machine! Anything white is a major pain since the stains are hard to get out- I think I’ll use bleach next time. At least my clothes should smell nice even if they now are soiled AND soapy.

Growing Friendships

This morning we had our first Kikuyu lessons. Kikuyu is the largest tribe in Africa and some of us will be working in Kikuyu regions. We learned that the Kikuyu people call Mt. Kenya the "Mountain with the White Ostrich Feathers." Unfortunately, I don’t remember much else, as my brain was overloaded from Swahili the day before. All the languages being thrown at us is a bit overwhelming. When hanging around with Kenyans, you never know when they will switch into one language or another. As one Kenyan friend, Peter, pointed out to me: Kenyans know very many languages but aren’t quite proficient in any of them. That said, I’m gradually adjusting my ear to the Kenyan way of speaking English. The young people also speak an evolving language called shang that not even my host parents can understand.

In the afternoon I played basketball with a few young 20-something Kenyans from the large PCEA church in town, St. Andrews. The court was an old hoop with metal backboard and the remnants of a net in the pothole-ridden church parking lot. I say this only to acknowledge the fact I was not on the top of my game, although I had a great time playing the other guys: Andrew, Dan, Francis and Raphael. I am meeting a ton of youth already from the church, and they’re all close to my age and very friendly. As of yet I have not even made it to an official gathering or service, and I eagerly await for a chance to attend one. Until then, I pray these relationships will grow and develop during my year here.

Afterwards I took a matatu to a local market. I was actually hoping to go to my house just outside the city, but the van never quite made it there. As I was talking to one of the vendors, Katie and Brian (the married couple) walked by. Their light faces where quite easy to spot in the sea of darker faces. [Kenyans do not denote skin color in white and black but rather in tones of light and dark.] We had a good time just walking around enjoying the sights (but not so much the smells) of the Kenyan marketplace, before returning to the house.

African Spirituality

Today we had our first Swahili lesson. I find the language very interesting and quite simple grammatically (at least, so far). Starting to learn a language all over again makes me want to revert to Spanish, although I haven’t been able to find any Spanish speakers in Kenya.

In the afternoon we met with Buri (pronounced Foori), a Kenyan attending Princeton Seminary. He plans to do youth work when he completes his degree in May. We discussed aspects of faith in different cultures, focusing primarily on African spirituality. He said to look for a couple of possible differences in Christianity in Africa versus the West. Note: these are generalities and should not be assumed of every Kenyan, let alone African.

(1) Africans feel closely linked to the spirit of their ancestors, and everything they do relates somehow to the not living. As the saying goes, the dead teach the living. With Christianity, they see God involved in all aspects of their lives, and as a result pray before and sometimes after they do anything: driving, eating, drinking tea, when visitors arrive and leave. Thus far I have found this to be true for the most part.

(2) In a similar light, Africans are very aware of their ancestral past as well as their personal past. Giving one’s personal testimony is much more common for Christians here, and introductions often include a short statement of faith. An example might be, "Hi, my name is John. I am from Nyiri. I praise the Lord each day for my personal savior, Jesus Christ."

(3) Africans tend to see the Christian faith as a fight between good and evil, just as they had believed in good and bad spirits. The main question, as opposed to the West, is not "What happened?" but rather, "Who did it?" Persons will often talk of something as either caused by the devil or by God. Sometimes this is taken to an extreme, but not all bad things are equated with the devil and vice versa for God.

We received these pieces of knowledge as observances from one Kenyan, and our experience may be different. I have noticed that people here are more direct than they tend to be in Latin America and sometimes even the States, especially in their questions. Some may ask you your views on certain political matters or issues of faith. Buri suggested that they are trying to see how Christian you are, or maybe what an American Christian looks like. However, this line of thinking means that to be uncertain or vague about serious matters means something is wrong with you. Either you believe one way or the other. An example would be whether or not one supports the upcoming referendum on the new constitution: it’s a simple yes or no vote.

Whatever the case may be, there will be a unique blend of West (both from missionaries and colonialists) and African influences in the Christian faith. On the surface, much of the worshipping might seem a little sterile, with few drums and no dancing; possibly a Presbyterian influence. But the Spirit is certainly alive and with more time I hope to "uncover" the more African influences.

Buri also suggested to focus on our personal devotions, being flexible to others’ faith while spending alone time with God. Being deliberate about finding ways to share one’s faith will also be important to keep one’s faith and hope alive in a foreign place. I pray to God that as I encounter both the familiar and the unfamiliar that I will have an open mind and listening heart, that my vision of God and for God’s people will be ever-widening.

Transitioning...

My time in Kenya has been one full of transitions; it's hard to believe I've only been here a little over ONE WEEK! On the homefront, transitioning away from my newfound family and back into a group setting has been an adjustment to be redundant... and back to class! We received our books today for Swahili and I will also be studying Kikuyu, the local language of my family and the largest tribe in Kenya. Most likely I will confuse the two, but the people here seem to mix all of the languages together so I think I'll be OK, if not fit right in!

In the news, it's been quite tumultuous. Domestic news has been dominated by the current debate over a proposed new constitution with a yes-no referendum vote set for November 21st. Internationally, we have been hearing much about tropical storms and the devestation wrought by Katrina. Our hearts go out to those who have been affected, and the people of Kenya are well aware of the situation and are praying for those victimized in this tragedy. The images, stories, commentary... it's so hard to grasp the reality of it all.

We drove by my future apartment today. It's conveniently located within a block from our site coordinator (is she trying to keep a close eye on me?!) and a 10-minute walk from my office complex. I didn't get to go inside to check it out, but I'm already getting excited about our Sept. 30th move-in date (approx.).

We also had an uneventful trip to the US Embassy, and they have our contact information in case it's necessary to contact us. Phyllis, our site coordinator who I've dubbed "the Byrd" 'cause of her maiden name, forbade us from using the restrooms there. Three toilet seats and counting... (see last paragraph of Sept. 3rd posting)

Reunion

Today we met back together as a group. It was good to be back together again and to share our family experiences. I’m amazed at how well we seem to bond in such a short time… and we still have at least three more weeks together before going to our sites! Andrea had been very sick over the weekend although was feeling better, and Katie has a cold; otherwise, good health all around so far! I’ll be beginning malaria pills soon, after consulting with a local doctor about all my options. I eagerly await getting our books tomorrow and beginning to learn Swahili. One great blessing here is that the people speak English, making me feel much more like an adult with coherent, meaningful conversations about a variety of topics. And yet there are still much language and culture-isms to be learned/acquired/experienced!

God In Our Midst

Today I drove around the countryside with my host mother, Helen, and younger brother. The terrain here is incredible (I hope to post pictures soon) – Lush acacia trees spring up amidst plots of farmland on rolling hills, with the crops outlined in deep red soil. Utterly astounding!

Later we dropped off B.M. at boarding school, where he’ll be for 3 months. In the Kenyan school system, kids go to school in four month rotations, having the last month off each session. They begin a new school year at this time.

My mother then took me to see Edith Gitata, who owned and operated a dairy farm where evidently people from around the globe come to see as a model of farming. The farm, and Edith for that matter, were quite modest from my perspective, although she has interesting way of taking care of her animals. For instance, she mixes left over barley from the brewing process with molasses and water to make a feed that increases milk productivity and gives the cows a shiny coat.After walking around the livestock (mostly cows and pigs) and learning much about the process, we retired inside for tea. Kenyan tea, known as chai, is quite strong and often served half-n-half with milk.

A year ago Edith’s husband passed away. He had been in Chesapeake Medical Center in Baltimore, and after I mentioned my mother did hospital visits near there they seemed to believe she had probably been by and prayed for him (Mom?). When Edith was denied a visa, he had been able to return to Kenya and spend his last few weeks with his family. Despite all this woman had been through, she still remained strong in the faith. I was asked to pray for our time together, and heartily obliged. That’s probably been the greatest blessing with being with these fellow Christians: we pray before and after just about everything. I really feel God being a part of my experience here as well as in the lives of these people, and these open invitations for God to move in our midst plays an integral role.

City Tour

My host mother took me into town with my younger brother, BM, and his cousin, Bethwel, to get some things for school. Apparently there is some theft at boarding school, and so some of the kids buy metal footlockers to keep their stuff safe. We went into a section of town called Eastlands and to a street where various artisans had set up their wares for sale along the roadside. Most of the shops, or dukas, looked like shacks right up against another, and it wasn’t clear if the workers slept somewhere in back or how they kept their goods secure at night. These workers are called juacali, literally “sun-hot” since they used to work under the hot sun before the government gave them small loans or grants to build tin shacks for shade. My host mom says she likes to shop here since it’s generally cheaper and she’s supporting the local economy.

This city is full of people! Constantly moving, very few are just hanging out and to my surprise I didn’t run into many beggars. There were many hawkers, or young boys/men selling all sorts of random items. This informal economy reflects the high unemployment rates facing many Kenyans. Even so, everyone looks their best on the streets, mostly sporting nice Western attire, despite the seeming overall blanket of dirt on the streets and buildings. A white person, or muzungu, is quite a rare sight, although I do see many Indians (who, incidently, are called Asians since there are very few people from further East here in Kenya, and predominantly live in an area of the city called Parklands).

We also visited the National History Museum (considerably more expensive for non-residents, like many things in Africa). Fortunately, I should be given a temporary one-year visa soon that will qualify me for lower entrance rates.

A Day of Rest

Today was a lazy day. We went to the local church, Evergreen, at 10:30am and got out a little before 2pm. Yes, it was over three hours, although partially due the church’s four year anniversary. Its growth was quite impressive, especially given the divisive neighborhood in which it resided. Predominately a rich suburb, the burro has two distinct slum areas where all the day workers live. Somehow they all meet together at church, although everyone dresses up so I could not tell who was from what financial status. In the afternoon I had a very nice talk with my host father, or baba, Samuel. He had a lot of questions about the US, especially concerning African-Americans, and offered some keen insight onto American culture… none of which I can remember offhand, yet I can say I have had many enlightening conversations with Kenyans. I’m finding these people (ni ni) to be quite friendly and direct, which was not quite my experience in Ecuador.

African-America?

Today I spent the day with my younger brother, B.M. We went to Village Market, which might as well be located in America with its shops, movie theater, putt-putt and yes, water park. We walked around for most the afternoon and ran into various people he knew. I in turn learned a bunch of Shwen, a mix of English and Swahili, and the different stages of relationships between the youth. A good friend of the same sex is called a besti. A close friend of the opposite sex is a shintu, and a girl/boyfriend is mazuri, whereas an interest is a ramuru. It reminded me a lot of Latin American culture, and made me think our definitions in America are so crass.

We say Wedding Crashers later that evening, which reminded me of all the things in America I was trying to escape by coming here. Our older brother picked us up afterwards and we went with his girlfriend Joyce and cousin James to a local bar. I thought we were entering a shack as we approached the facility, whose walls were of lashed together bamboo. Needless to say (Allen), I forwent the toilet facilities.

An update on the toilet situation in Africa as relates to foreign nationals– apparently I’m not the only one breaking toilet seats. Andrea, a gal on our program who wants to be a dentist (highly relevant), had a toilet seat break and slide off when we were at our conference center. And another guy on my program, Brian Thomas, whose ID is checked thoroughly every time by airport security since a suspected terrorist has the same name, broke a bolt on his family’s toilet seat and barely caught himself from falling, thus preventing a serious injury. If these people weren’t so darn nice I’d suspect sabatoge…

My New Family

We got to know our way around the city of Nairobi a little better today. Matutus, which are essentially converted VW vans, provide the main public transportation around town and the countryside. We took one into the city and then one out of town in order to get across town. Our destination was Village Market, the chique-est outdoor mall in East Africa and conveniently located near the US Embassy, UN offices and housing for foreign nationals. See Sept. 3rd for more about that.

Later on that afternoon my host mother, Helen Muchogu, picked me up and took me to their house in Runda, as American-like suburb near Village Market. She is the head of the Women’s Guild in the PCEA (Presbyterian Church of East Africa), and conducts numerous conferences and workshops around the region promoting women’s rights and education. Her husband is a chemical engineer who owns his own gas and welding-tool distribution company. They have three children: Bethwel, or B.M., who is 15 and starts boarding his second year of public high school Tuesday; Purity is 19 and applying to US schools for computer technology after finishing 3rd in the nation in testing; and Charles, 22, who is also known as Muchogu (his last name) and Bobla (he really likes Bob Marley). Also living with them are: two cousins, James, who helps around the house, and Jackson, who has a bachelors in Architecture and is doing contracted work with the UN; a helper, Jen; and occasionally Joyce, Charles’s girlfriend or mazuri (literally something good), Wachichi and Bensen, two workers who drive the gas truck around making deliveries. All in all, it’s a full house, yet they still managed to provide me my own bed and bath.

Apparently, most people in Kenya have multiple names, in English, Swahili and their own native tongue. Foreigners are also given names. I have been knighted as “Wanbogo,” which roughly translates as “Macho Man.” Perhaps standing straight paid off after all, Mom.

Tea Farms and Toilet Lids

I'm not one to experience jet lag, although an 8-hr time difference has had quite an effect. After being dead-tired at 11pm last night, I awoke at 2am and couldn't go back to sleep. My roommate had fallen to sleep with his headphones on, and I got tired of guessing the song or wondering how he could still be asleep listening to Foo Fighters. So I got up and went to the bathroom to read. I put the toilet lid down and carefully sat down on top (the seats here are of plastic, not porcelain, and that's if you're lucky). After about half an hour I shifted positions, forgetting where I was sitting. The toilet seat shattered, sending me into the bowl and pieces clanging on the tile floor. The noise reverberated throughout the house, and I froze halfway down the tube. Satisfied that no one would be coming to check on me (for surely they had awakened), I hesitantly gathered the pieces and reassembled the seat next to the tub, where I then did the most sensible thing I could think of: laugh heartedly and then finish my book.

In the morning, I told my "host mother" that there had been accident and explained what had happened. She declined my offer to pay for the lid despite my persistence (I think I'm going to pay for it anyway), saying that the important thing was that I had come to her and stated what was "amiss." I found this very interesting, for in the States we may have been told not to pay and thankfully no one was hurt. However, perhaps in this society it is more honorable to admit one's mistakes and preempt the finding of the broken piece by telling the person whom I had wronged. At least, that's what I came out of it, along with a lot of laughter from my American compadres.

Today we went to a tea farm called Kirabethu, or "Holy Dancing Ground." The owner, Fiona, was third-generation British to be living on the farm, and numerous weddings in her family had been held there. Tea is the largest export for Kenya, followed by coffee (although tourism brings in the second-most revenue). The country jostles with Sri Lanka for number one exporter in the world, I believe. We found out all about the tea making on the 35-acre (formally 350-acre) farm. Kenyan tea, originally from the foothills of the Himalayas in India, is quite strong and must be fully processed from picking to packaging within 24 hours so as not to lose its strength. They had a beautiful garden where I took lots of flower pictures, and had retained six-acres of primary forest where we saw collibus monkeys (black with white manes and trim) and chameleons. An incredible experience, and a place I hope to return to one day.