October Newsletter

October has come and gone, yet no leaves have fallen here in Kenya. The purple blossoms of the Jacaranda tree blanket the streets, somewhat filling in the pothole-ridden pavement. And if I’m not careful, I will twist my ankle in these hidden holes. The beauty of this country is undeniable, but neither is her pain hidden underneath.

I climb once more into the back of the Toyota Landcruiser, before Andrew takes our small team through the dust and down the dirt ‘road’ back to Nairobi. We have just finished visiting another community project. I wave good-bye to the community members sending us off and the children who stare agape as our vehicle bounces by.

My colleagues are abuzz with new ideas from another inspiring visit. Certainly things seem to be going much better for the community: they have a new water tank and soon will be able to pipe the plentiful water to their homes. But I can’t help from wondering about the many questions left unanswered: Will what we started last? How do these people view us and what we’re doing? Will they be empowered for lasting change? Have we really ‘helped’ them? And how will I convey all of this to the people back home?

At the beginning of the month I began working at Church World Service, specifically in their East Africa Regional office in Nairobi. So far my primary duty has been putting together a newsletter covering all of our various community development projects. I’m really enjoying my colleagues and feel extremely blessed to be doing this type of development work.

My own desires to serve have been challenged with the enormous need here in Kenya. What can I possibly do to ‘help’ these people? Do they even need or want my ‘help’? If not, then why am I here?

Since it’s dangerous to go out at night in Nairobi, I have had plenty of time to either reflect or distract myself from these issues. I was particularly struck by a passage in Ministry at the Margins by Anthony Gittins. He compares the moral obligation to give with the social obligation to receive. When we receive, we empower the giver in the relationship.

The goal of my organization is to empower the communities we aim to serve. Yet in light of these words, we should be receiving – or allowing them to give to us – if we truly want to empower them.

So what can a ‘poor’ person give? I have found that they can offer me hospitality with a wooden stool and chai, Kenya’s milky tea. They can give a warm smile, showing a genuine desire to receive me as one of their own. They have gifts in the forms of story, if I’m willing to listen.

One of my coworkers, Sammy, describes CWS as a “facilitating organization” versus one which implements projects. What I think he means is that we partner with communities to hear their ideas and aspirations before we assist them, either financially or with words of advice or encouragement.

Many people I meet here are in need, and not just in these communities. My friend wants to go to electrical engineering school but doesn’t have the $700 to pay for it. A coworker struggles to pay for his daughter’s school fees. Another friend has lost his mother and father to AIDS.

I don’t think these people are asking me for my ‘help.’ Rather, I believe they’re asking me first and foremost to listen. And in the exchange of giving and receiving, I trust God is forming lasting relationships and healing community. Where we go from there I leave to the Lord. At least now we’ll be traveling together.

Greeting the Guards

After reading Tom Kidder’s Mountains Beyond Mountains about the life of Paul Farmer, I’ve been inspired in numerous ways. One of those ways is to really greet people by name and get to know them. I feel like I’ve done a fairly good job of this with my coworkers, but I have neglected a group of people that I pass by every day: the guards.

Everywhere in Kenya there are guards at the entrances of various complexes, both for security and as another source of employment. They are around 24/7, and I think often miss human interaction as most people pass thru in cars. As I walk everywhere on foot, I have ample opportunity to greet them in a personal way.

So today I decided to learn the guards’ names, beginning with my apartment complex, in an effort to more personally great them and to treat them more as equals (like my coworkers). Swallowing my pride – of the awkwardness of asking someone’s name who you’ve seen and greeted for weeks – I’m pleased say that Oliver is the first guard I’ve met. Hopefully I will get to know him better as I learn the other guard’s names.

Of Women, Field Hockey and Aviators

I went over to Parklands Sports Club today to watch my friends Cathy and Jeri play field hockey. Even though they lost 3-1, it was an exciting game. To be a little more honest, I had imagined Emily out there playing, as I never particularly enjoyed watching the game (perhaps because I’ve never played?) and never got to see her play.

A weird coincidence: I met a guy in the stands named Ali, and he invited me to play field hockey with them at the university. Apparently it didn’t matter that I wasn’t a student, hadd never played before or didn’t have the equipment. Later that night I saw him on TV, settling some sort of dispute in a game that had occurred early that day. Looks like I just missed being on Kenyan TV. Maybe next time.

Later on I treated Cathy and Jeri to a small bite to eat by the poolside. We were in an enclosed, country club-esque area similar to the United States, and here I was treating two girls to a late lunch. Things I never thought would happen in Kenya do. We (OK, so they) were talking mainly in Kiswahili, and I enjoyed picking up on their witty dialogue as much as I could. Jeri was sitting in the sun, so I offered my Aviator sunglasses to her. Somehow in the miscommunication that followed she ended up thanking me for giving her the sunglasses (for keeps). Luckily I have another pair, though I really don’t mind seeing another woman in Aviators, as my girlfriend is fond of wearing them.

So I lived somewhat vicariously today, thinking of Emily often as I shared time with these two Kenyan ladies, and it was fun.

Mt. Longonot

I went up a volcano and down a crater- and somehow managed to return safely. The volcano, Mt. Longonot, lies in the middle of the Rift Valley. The hike up and around the crater rim is about 13 km, but my friend Haron and I added at least another 2 km on the vertical spectrum as we scrambled down and then climbed back up out of the crater. The walls are so steep that I imagined stocking the 4 km across crater with animals, Jurassic Park style, with visitors walking around the rim to view the wildlife below.

Faith, Joseph, Dan, Me & "Pinky"

The best part of the day had to be meeting so many people my age. I went with a group of 20 or youth from St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church. On the way up I got to speak Spanish with Faith, who is training for the tourism industry. My Kiswahili is eating away at my Spanish vocab since they have similar pronunciation, but it was good to see I could still hold my own. I then trekked around and below the crater rim with Haron, and we talked about life in America, life in Kenya and global politics. On the way down I spoke with Joseph, who is heading off to South Africa for six months of missions in January. We talked about the future of the church and congregations who rely too heavily on enigmatic preachers versus strong personal development of faith. I also played Frisbee with Francis & Andrew, got connected with the worship praise band thru John and will be practicing with them next week, and spoke with Linda (friends call her “Pinky” because she is lighter-toned and turns pink in the sun- although certainly not Irish-Pink) about university life (she’s training to be a lawyer).

I write all of this to you both to remind myself of all the good people I met, as well as inform you of the connections I’m making. I really value my time spent with Kenyans, and would be missing out in a huge way if I weren’t able to relate to them as friends.

Welcome to TV World

We recently welcomed in a new roommate direct from China: Haier. All of 21 inches wide, he provides a connection to the outside world and even plays my Kenyan bootleg DVDs. Apparently the factory settings are still in place, since every time we turn him on, he displays, “Welcome to TV World.”

Ah, yes- TV World. Will & I had deliberated almost a month about whether or not to get a TV. We finally caved-in, and I’m having mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, we had very little to do at night except play cards and talk. With a TV we can keep in touch with local and international news, as well as watch the 5-in-1 movies I bought for $4 a piece. Yet now we have an all-too-easy distraction of not-so-good programming at our fingertips. The temptation to veg-out and not read, write, play guitar, talk or just sit, let alone engage each other, is something I need to be aware of.

Technology is neither good nor bad, yet entirely useful for either.

Maasai Land

Today was my first visit to the land of the Maasai in the Great Rift Valley. We drove along the valley floor over two hours on “roads,” passing many Maasai herders. Most of them were men, although many children and women (some with babies on their backs!) shepherded cattle and goats. CWS has partnered with a local community in Narok, Kenya to build and manage some boreholes and sub-surface dams. The group has also run a nationally-recognized literacy campaign and is beginning a micro-credit program. I was overly impressed with the steering committee, and there is much potential for growth.

To Maid or Not to Maid

My colleagues asked me who did my laundry. My reply of doing it myself was quite astounding to them. They suggested I hire out someone to do it. I was somewhat unsettled by their suggestion for two reasons. One, I had never hired someone to do any of my household chores. That simply wasn’t done in my family, both (I think) on principle and affordability. Two, I had begun to see that washing clothes by hand was a Kenyan experience. To ‘cut-out’ on washing my own clothes would be too American of me.

Yet is this really the case? Most Kenyans working in my position earn enough money to employ others for their household chores. And there are other ways to have solidarity with the poor without washing ones own clothes by hand. After some reflection, I think my original obstinacy had more to do with defending my own pride rather than any principle.

Perhaps it’s not a big deal one way or the other. Yet I do want to be conscientious in my choice. And the praying continues…

Do These People Justice

Most of my work thus far has either been writing on the various projects we’re implementing or going to visit them. My job is to put together a newsletter that is both accessible and informative to our partners and donors. Since I’ve only visited a few of the sites, most of the material is second-hand. As a result, I’ve struggled with making the stories and descriptions come to life when I haven’t seen it myself. I can only hope and pray I “do these people justice” as I rely on God’s grace to work through my human words to transform hearts and move mountains. I’ll let God decide if I’m too ambitious.

My Friend Mr. Hawk

I’ve gotten in the habit of packing my lunch and eating outside, taking advantage both of my small budget and the beautiful weather in Kenya. Just as I was finishing, something whooshed by from behind me and snatched my last bite right out of my hand. It was a brown hawk, one of many seen in and around Nairobi. The execution of the precision strike was most astounding; and without even touching my fingers! Well done, hawk. Well done.

Beggar Boys

As I headed for the bus to take me back to Nairobi, a boy beggar approached me, his hand outstretched. Thinking he was obviously wanting some money, I kept my gaze forward, not even breaking stride. He half jogged alongside me, offering to carry one of my bags for me. I said that I was fine and didn’t need his help. After I got situated on the bus, I realized how rude I’d been to this person looking for a small job to stave off his hunger.

I don’t believe in giving handouts (although this doesn’t mean I don’t ever give out money) since I’m doing little to solve the problem and a lot to make myself feel better. While many people beg for a living, few choose to and I had denied one who had even offered to help me. I had missed the point: It wasn’t that I could use the help; it was that he needed the money.

We stopped in another town further on, and another beggar boy approached me for money. I again refused, yet thought of sending him to get me a mandazi, a Kenyan donut. I chickened-out, however, blaming my inability to translate my words into Kiswahili when he most likely knew English anyway.

In the next town we stopped for lunch. Walking out of a small store with food and a soda in hand, I looked directly into the eyes of two small boys standing some distance off on the side of the road. They did not explicitly ask for money or food, but their faces said everything. Still, I could not bring myself to go to them. I thought, “If they approach me, then I’ll give them what I have.” What bullshit! I had already refused two others; what made these any different?

I wish I could tell a story with character development, but life isn’t scripted. I pray that God is moving within me; that I may move boldly as I live more humbly.

Chai Crawl

Kenyans are very, very hospitable. For my last day in Matunda, we went around visited all of Wycliffe’s friends and family. First we had lunch at his friend’s Jessica’s place. Four of us were crammed in a small room that had a bed, four chairs and a stove (her entire living space). Next we went to his friend Kengede’s mother’s house, and she served us chai, Kenyan tea that’s heavy with the milk (I’m growing a healthy addiction).

I had brought my Frisbee, so we decided to throw around some. I don’t think anyone had seen a Frisbee before, and I felt like the Pied Piper as all the children followed me and my disc. When we overthrew, the children would run and pick up the disc, and many made quite impressive throws. I dreamed of bringing a whole bunch of Frisbees to Africa, maybe in conjunction with AIDS or nutritional awareness.

Next we went to his friend Edu’s house (short for Edward) and had chai again. His place was slightly larger with a curtain dividing the living room from his bed chamber (similar to Wycliffe’s house). As it was getting dark, Wycliffe and I paid our last visit to his grandmother. She had apparently been expecting us since 10 AM, and we were late even by African standards. Nonetheless, she warmly welcomed us with a full supper and, of course, chai once more.

We returned via dirt paths underneath a starry African night sky, passing mud homes lit from within by gas lanterns: The surreal epitome of serene.

Kitale

Wycliffe took me into town today. We were planning to check internet and set him up with an email account, but the power for the entire town (and possibly district) was out for the whole day. So instead we went to the local museum to learn about the history of Western Kenya. Wycliffe was an excellent tour guide, showing me all the little nuances of the various tribes in the regions in how they constructed their homes. We explored the museum and its various stuffed animals… it was kind of creepy –and therefore excited the little boy in me greatly– to walk around a dark, deserted museum. One more childhood fantasy checked off the list. Behind the museum there was a small rainforest which we walked and hacked our way through. Both of us mused of returning here with our girlfriends for a little outing and picnic.

Matunda

I arrived in Matunda last night, a small town in Western Kenya in the rolling hills of the Rift Valley. It was quite an adventure getting here, taking one matatu to another, and the person I’m staying with I’d only met once before. His name is Wycliffe, and he is wonderful guy. He, his friend Kengede and I went to a Revival last night. A Ugandan preacher spoke very powerfully and many people were called up to the front and “smat down” by the Spirit in various cleansing acts. I’m still not sure what to make of all of it, but I can say it was interesting.


Today we went hiking. We went up to the top of one hill to find an old quarry filled with water. Apparently the lake never dries up, but the water is too salty or basic to use for drinking. Later on we trucked through some fields and climbed a few rocks to get a gorgeous view of the surrounding countryside.


We had been walking along dirt paths that wove in and around various small plots of farmland. Many people were in the midst of harvesting their crops (mainly corn), although nearly all stopped to look at me as we passed. No one could quite figure out what a white person was doing out here in rural Africa, especially without a car. The three boys in the photo followed us up the rocks and hung out with us for a few hours as we lounged around… even fetching us extremely sour fruit (guavas?) for a mid-afternoon snack.


Being outdoors and with friends, I felt very at home even in an unfamiliar place.

Day and Night

Sighing, I dropped my bags and collapsed on my hotel bed. A cool breeze came in from Lake Victoria, and I lifted my shirt to allow it to come in and evaporate the day's sweat. The day saw us visit a number of different projects, visit people in their home, talk with community members about their needs and successes, and interview project coordinators about the challenges they face. We had been with them the entire day.

Yet now it is night and I find myself in a different scene. I have a hot, nutritious meal waiting downstairs for me, whereas they are probably still cooking something basic. I have running water within 5 steps, whereas they must travel 5 Km, pump their water, pay for it and then haul it back. And it's hardly clean. I have a mattress to sleep on all to myself- I can only imagine what their conditions will be. Even for those people employed by the agencies and dressed nicely to see us- I wonder where they are returning to tonight.

How close do we get to those we are trying to assist? How far do we extend the reaching hand, before we too are pulled asunder? As someone blessed with opportunity, there are many bridges. How many will I cross? Will I ever return?

Often I hope- sometimes I fear- I will, and all too easily.

Reforming Families

Day Two of our trip out west landed us in Kisii, a fertile and densely-populated agricultural area near Lake Victoria. There, an organization dubbed BCHOS works with community members to increase their agricultural production. In coordination with CWS, the goal is wealth creation to enable persons to have a sustainable livelihood.

The HIV/AIDS virus has ripped apart many families here. Often only the young and the old are left to fend for themselves as they watch their parents and children whither away. Many efforts are being made to prevent the spread of the disease. However, if people do not have the means to combat their poverty, they will take desparate measures that put them at increased risk. For many young women, this usually means sexually giving themselves to men for pay. Even better or worse, arrangements can be made between a man and a women with children: that for continued sex, the man will support the family. This situation is hardly desireable and barely constitutes a family, but it exemplifies the dire need for economic opportunity for many people in HIV/AIDS-ravaged communities.

BCHOS is training people in agricultural techniques to show them how to increase production on their small plots of land. They provide a seed bank for farmers to buy seed at cheap prices and make it more affordable (and therefore less risky) to try out the new techniques. In addition, they have given a small amount of money to a few groups of women to loan credit to their members for certain business ventures. We had lunch in one of the restaurants one of the women had invested in with her share. The restaurant was little more than a small tin hut with some boards on logs as seating. Yet the woman was making her payments and saving the extra to pay for school fees and further invest in her business.

Hope still survives amidst the devastation, and I believe families will rise once again.

Toiling Together

Our first stop on the "Project West Tour" was outside Nakuru in the Rift Valley part of Kenya. We visited Farming Systems Kenya, a community-based NGO operating since 1981. I was very impressed with the people working for FSK, and their expertise did not overshadow their immense experience in the area of development. As Amos, the CEO, said, "Anyone can build a water tank. The challenge is the politics behind the project. Who owns the water? Who has access? Who collects the money? How are the local people involved?" As a result, FSK personnel find themselves administering fair elections and waiting for groups to find a common vision... when they primarily specialize in agricultural and water-pumping techniques.

The field of development is as broad or as narrow as you make it. One can easily go into a community and build a water tank in a few days. But will that water tank be managed properly, or will the community be requesting funds for repairs in a year or two? FSK, along with CWS, has chosen to toil alongside with the community to solve common problems. They showed me that they were in it for the longhaul, and I was very impressed and challenged by their example.

Road Trip West!

I'm headed out to Western Kenya today to see some CWS-funded projects; some dealing with water, others with micro-finance. I'm excited to see this part of Kenya for the first time, and it won't be my last! I'll either be back and posting pictures Thursday or sometime next week... depending on how long we stay out there. For those of you who can't wait for pictures, check out my other Road Trip West photos (U.S.) from this summer.

Land of the Lorax

Until arriving in Kenya, I had never seen a purple tree outside of Dr. Seuss. Now I see them almost wherever I look. They’re called the Jacaranda tree, and have easily become my favorite tree. Besides looking like they’d be fun to climb (I have yet to try), they are full of bright lavender blossoms. Perhaps most interesting about them is their leaves: small and soft, comparable to that of a fern.

The variety of tree specimens in Kenya is simply amazing. In one shot you can find a palm, jacaranda and evergreen. Unfortunately, much of Kenya’s forests have been deforested due to extensive logging and farming. The people do need a way to survive, and hopefully more sustainable methods will be found.

Photos forthcoming…

Graduation

Jackson, a friend of mine and cousin of the family, invited me to his graduation from architecture school. The actually ceremony was the day before, but he was having another ceremony for the rural folk who couldn’t make it into the city. I went up with some other family members to the house compound where my host father grew up. The houses were situated on top of a hill overlooking a valley below. Apparently there had been a river in the valley below, but since then people had irrigated so much that all you could see were crops. Their land had been subdivided among the six sons of my host grandfather, although my host father is not sure what will become of it since all his brothers save one have moved to the city or out of the country.

No sooner had I arrived than I was offered goat meat straight off the grill. I was handed a rib, and from what I could tell it looked like it had just be pried from the living animal. The taste was rather interesting, and the difference reminded of the difference between cow’s milk and goat’s milk. I was honored to be offered this piece of meat, however, since no one else ate for another 3 hours. We ate around 3 pm or so, then the ceremony began. First the minister spoke, then a woman outdid him praying, then an elder, aunt, both parents, colleagues and finally Jackson spoke. The entire service lasted about 3 hours and was in Kikuyu. I understood three words: “Jack”, “graduation” and “thengu” (Kikuyu form of “thank you”). The experience was fascinating, if only since there were enough people for a family reunion in the states – about 70 or so people.

Graduating here is a big deal, as I witnessed in the ceremony, but it doesn’t mean the same thing as it used to. According to my host father, more and more people have gotten degrees, yet many of them go unemployed and end up finding work in “unskilled” labor. Even when they do find jobs, there is only a minimal difference in income. Most successful persons seem to make money in various businesses, such as Ben, Jack’s uncle, who imports second-hand shoes from Canada. Nonetheless, the entire family was still very proud of Jackson and what he represented. Currently, he as an interim job with the UN on neighborhood design in poor areas.

Murang'a School

This morning started like any other at work: back to my computer and putting together the newsletter updating our donors on various projects I’d only read about. Then it came: the invitation to go see one of our pilot project schools under the Safe School Zone (SSZ) initiative. I had time to grab my jacket and camera before we were off: Andrew (driver), Enoch (project analyst), Jane (project director), Mary (project chair), and me (volunteer?). When we left, I was under the impression we were going for a visit and would only be gone an hour. An hour later we arrived at the school in the town of Murang’a. We met with the district education minister in an impromptu (though highly successful meeting), before heading to a meeting with teachers and parents from the 3 schools in the area involved in the project.

The meeting was designed to assess how the project had been going since its incepting on 2 years ago. From what I can tell, the project promotes overall school safety in order to improve the mentality and work ethic of the administration, staff and students. What that looks like so far is putting up a barbwire fence around the school and a very nice concrete gate at the entrance. I think they have also introduced new curriculum. Hopefully I’ll find out more; the meeting was conducted mostly in Kiswahili and Kikuyu. We returned at 6:15pm, and surprisingly there were still people in the office. Evidently the work ethic had inspired not only the students but the project implementators as well.

This was posted in the District Education Office, and I found it of note:

Seven Deadly Sins

Wealth without Work
Pleasure without Conscience
Knowledge without Character
Business without Morality
Science without Humanity
Worship without Sacrifice
Politics without Principle

~ Mahatma Ghandi

Growing Up, African Style

A worthwhile investment?

This [non-working] TV came from Phyllis, our site coordinator. Even though the TV's older than me, I actually knew how to scan for channels using the little dials- thanks to my parents who didn't buy a new TV until I left for college (and a 60-inch projection at that!). No, I'm not still bitter. Yes, the TV's turned on.

Things never seem quite to work like they should here. This TV, for instance. Things always seem to take longer here, too. For instance, the other day I went with my host siblings to visit a cousin of theirs. We were only planning to stay an hour, but three hours later found us watching some lame movie on TV. A trip to the grocery store means taking a 5 minute matatu ride or walking over 2 kilometers, getting what we need and returning. Today I went on some errands with Andrew, the driver here for CWS. His, like many Kenyan's, subiri kidogo, translates directly to "wait a little," but 'little' means not 'a few minutes' but rather '15 or 20.' It's akin to going grocery shopping with my mom or dad when I was younger (five or fifteen, take your pick): I didn't fully understand why things took so long. As I grow up here in Kenya, I'm learning little by little why things are take longer than in the US: poor road infrastructure, more intentional greetings, crazy Nairobi traffic... yet perhaps Will, my roommate, put it best. After returning from what we'd expected to be a nice outing - but instead was a long and arduous journey - he commented, "It's like the story of this country's life."

We're quickly getting over ourselves.

Will in our "dying" room watching TV fizzle rock

In Pursuit of Happiness

I received a repair invoice for my laptop, Ms. Daisy, today. It's going to cost 12,500 Kshs (~$170) to replace the hard drive. The quote certainly gave me pause as I reconsidered having a laptop. While I was going over my options, I thought about all the other life amenities I'd brought from home: my guitar, mp3 player, books, journal, letters from Emily, USB card reader, camera, frisbee... All these things function differently yet had served one general purpose: make/keep me happy. And as one can tell from reading my September Newsletter, they didn't work.

But nor could they. As much as I could argue the utility of these things, they aren't necessary to my happiness. We Americans are told to pursue happiness, that it's our right, yet what does that mean? Does the search ever end? Maybe happiness is wanting what we already have... In searching for others' thoughts on happiness, I came across this quote by C.P. Snow: "The pursuit of happiness is a most ridiculous phrase: if you pursue happiness you'll never find it."

Frankly, I don't think even God offers to make us happy. In Christ, we're offered a more abundant life, a life full of challenge, blessing, love, laughter, crying- a life in the fullest sense. Yet we constantly settle for the ordinary, for the things which we can see, for we think this will make us content. The unseen is rather unsettling, after all. But to go beyond oneself and reach into the unknown requires taking God's hand and trusting not in one's own understanding.

I am thankful to have less distractions here in Kenya. I feel God is taking some things away from me, and it's painful since I've relied on them to satisfy me in some way. Yet I'm also learning that these things aren't necessary to my well-being. I thought I knew that, but returning to simplicity means re-learning a lot about yourself. Sure, I understand, but do I believe it? Do I practice it?

That said, I think I am going to pay for my computer repair, keeping in mind my new perspective. I no longer seek happiness from these things but instead look forward to seeing how God will blessfully challenge me and others through it... if indeed that is in the gameplan.

Moi Day BBQ Disaster

Today is Moi Day, a holiday in honor of Kenya's former pseudo-elected president of more than 20 years. Although Kenya has been independent for over forty years, it has had only 3 presidents. To my understanding Moi himself created the holiday, and he was not well-liked during or after his time in office. Under the proposed constitution, to be voted upon on November 21st, the holiday will be eliminated.

With possibly our last and only chance to celebrate this newly beloved holiday, we did what any American would do: We had a barbeque. After taking a matatu and walking over a kilometer, we (Will, Andrea and I) found the supermarket and bought the ground beef , corn-on-the-cob and condiments. (Point of Clarification for NC Folk: Pork just isn't the same here and the closest thing to bbq sauce is something called "Peptang." Just so you know what I was working with.) I had suggested we get some lighter fluid, since really, you can't go wrong without it (right guys?), but Andrea (repeating what she'd been told) assured me all we needed was food. We returned to her place to find the grill filled with old burnt wood- aka Kenyan charcoal. After about half an hour and with the help of some dry grass, the day's newspaper and Rhino matches, I finally got the coals to light. Stepping back, hands blackened and eyes smoke-teared, I admired my handiwork.

That's about the time it started to rain. Now, just so you appreciate the irony of the situation, we've had beautiful weather every day here in Kenya. We're talking 73 degrees and sunny, no lie. So you can imagine my surprise when the first few drops fell. Incredulous, I figured it wouldn't last very long and continued blowing on the embers. At that point the clouds unleashed, water pouring down and rushing into my eyes, nose and mouth, lungs collapsing as they filled with charred, smokey water (to be a bit melodramatic). Plans dashed, we too retreated inside and watched our little fire that could slowly whimper out under the torrential onslaught. Grudgingly, I sat defeated on the couch as Will and Andrea prepared a meal. Of course, the beef was so lean it didn't stay together and the corn here just doesn't cook in the microwave. My word to describe today: meager.

Like many things in Kenya, it just wasn't the same.

Any Given Sunday

Like any given Sunday, I went to church with my sister and mother. Mom gave the sermon, and made us stand up so the congregation could see her children. Yet now I found myself in Kenya, surrounded by parishners from Kuriambani, a slum of Nairobi. My host mom preached from Ezekiel 9, reading mainly from the text as she gave modern day examples of how people are ignoring the painful sin and tragic occurences of everyday life as they go about their business. As chairperson of the Woman's Guild, she had seen Kenya's worst. And she had listened to the victims' stories. Eleven-year old girls are being betrothed to men over 60. Young women are being raped by men in their community. Mothers and fathers cannot find work and are forced to steal or prostitute themselves so their children won't go hungry. More youth fall into the drug world daily. These are the cries of help, she said.

And then she asked earnestly, her voice cracking with the force of pain: Why aren't we listening? Why are we not mourning? Why are we not responding to such tragedy? Are we too busy to hear God's children? In order to help, we must first listen. And to listen we must give ear to those who hurt. In doing so we risk hurting ourselves, yet in our common anguish and pain we find renewed hope and fervent prayer. We are called to the margins of our community, to reach out to the marginalized and feel their pain. Only once we become marginalized ourselves do we find common course with those who suffer, working together for a better future.

Are we willing to listen?

Paradise Lost

My brother and I went to a nearby park on the outskirts of Nairobi today. Dubbed "Paradise Lost," it's 54 acres of primary forest in the middle of land cleardd for farming. After paying the entry fee of 200 Kshs (roughly $3), we drove over a hill to discover a small lake in the valley below. On our side the lush jungle snaked its way down to the lakeshore. There was a small farm on the other side, naked of trees except by the lake where women washed clothes and children swam. The natually pristine kissed the ruggedly developed. I longed to jump in the water but remembered the warnings from orientation; about all kinds of water parasites that burrow into the skin. Instead my brother and I went exploring the maze of paths in the small forest, eventually coming to a large waterfall. Behind the cascade was a small cave with passages that extended about 30 meters or so into the cliff. The kid in me was quickly awakened and we had a wonderful time exploring the caverns and admiring the waterfall. As we emerged from the forest I sensed the city's air stifle the ancient bucolic aroma. Paradise wasn't quite lost; just tucked away in a hidden enclave of beautiful sylvan mystery.


Later on, my brother and I sat underneath a small pavilion, taking in the view and the cool breeze. I've never had a brother before. His name is Charles Mushogu, but his friends call him "Bobla" for his reggae musical taste (referencing Bob Marley). In some ways we are very similar. We're both 23, enjoy the outdoors, like movies, have girlfriends, dream large, think rather philosophically and aren't sure about what we want to do in life.

Yet things won't be too similar for long: his girlfriend is pregnant and due after the New Year. To support his new family he plans to move out and find well-paying work. He seems remarkably at peace with what is to come. With a distant look in his eyes he quips, "Life goes on." It certainly does. One paradise lost is another gained... or at least there's the potential. Sometimes I don't think we realize what paradise is until we lose it. And even then, maybe it never was paradise.

In a way, I have stepped onto a new path in life by coming here to Kenya. However, I plan to go a different direction when I return to the States. Having a wife and child are decisions that will continue to direct my brother's path. Someday I hope to follow that route. But for now, while our paths are still one, I suggest taking a boat out on the lake. Our muscles flex with the force of our paddles cutting through the water, bodies swaying in rhythm as two brothers press onward to a desired destination unknown.

September Newsletter

“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.”
~ Proverbs 16:9, NKJV

Each day in Nairobi begins rather cold and bleak. The sun remains hidden behind the clouds and dry, sooty air fills my nostrils. As I exit my apartment complex, I give a hardy Hujambo! (How are things?) to our uniformed guard, a man old enough to be my grandfather. His worn face explodes in wrinkles with an emphatic Nzuri sana! (Very well!). And despite the cold, dark morning the joy in his eyes warms my soul.

Africa is not as different as I thought it might be, yet with my new life comes many new challenges.

Electric power is not a given, even in the city. While shaving my head with a beard trimmer (not recommended), the power shut off. I dubbed the resulting shrubbery the “Serengeti,” and finished mowing when the power returned two days later.

Toilet seats don’t necessarily stay where they’re supposed to. Jet lag kept me up my first night here, so 3 AM found me sitting on the toilet lid reading. As I shifted my weight the plastic shattered below, sending me into the latrine and shockwaves throughout the house.

Things don’t work like they’re supposed to. I brought my computer, Daisy, with me to type up blog entries, listen to music and watch DVDs. After her recent crash she’s on critical life support. I may soon have to pull the plug.

I thought I would buy a bike to get around, but instead I find myself walking everywhere. I thought my work would involve traveling to all parts of Africa, but for now I’m working on a newsletter for last year. I expected to be living on my own, rather than finding myself sharing a key with my roommate. I expected loneliness would only come much later, maybe after things became routine; not lurking around every morning and night.

I struggle with these false expectations, these dark shadows in my life. Yet when God turns on the lights I discover I’m wrestling with my Self. Thoughts solidify into expectation, and I hurl these rocks at my newfound reality called Living in Kenya. My heart desires one direction while my steps go another.

I can either fight to stay on the path, striving for what I need or want to accomplish, or I can simply give up. And when I do, I find my God waiting, with arms wide open. My loneliness is no longer a barrier to new life, but a threshold to experiencing God’s grace more abundantly. The reversal of expectation in the story of Christ astounds me. Just when we give up searching, we find what we were looking for. I find purpose when I give over to God my own ambitions and follow the movement of the Spirit.

Thomas Merton, a Catholic monk, writes, “Do not depend on the hope of results… the big results are not in your hands or mine…In the end it is the reality of personal relationships that saves everything.”

By the time I arrive at work, sunrays streak through the cloud cover and the wind brings fresh Kenyan air from the countryside. I open my inbox to read a message from a good friend: “Give some Kenyans a smile and some warmth every day.” I turn and greet the secretary, Esther.

I’ve given up on results, on looking out for what am I going to do here in Kenya. For now, I will let the Spirit flow. I will greet my coworkers. I will smile at the children shouting mzungu! I will laugh at myself. I will cry alone at night.

As God directs my steps, my heart will follow.

Computer Crash

Well, it was bound to happen. My beloved HP, Daisy, rescued from certain death under a junk pile in a Davidson corridor, is mentally maimed. While working on my September newsletter last night, the battery quit on me and she hasn't been the same since. Severely handicapped, she apparently has the equivalent of a 1200 mHz processor and 0 Gb hard drive. Through some miracle I was able to get a few key documents off of her before she was admitted to the Kenyan Rehabilitation and Reformatting Theorapy Center (KRRTC) today. She always had the hiccups. Those who know me best know that I was mostly gentle with her. We're not sure at this point if she has a terminal illness or something's wrong with her genetic make-up. Please be praying for a safe and full recovery.

A New Routine

Who would have thought my first 9-5 job would be in a different country? Here I find myself adjusting to living in a sparsely-furnished apartment, spending the day at work in front of a computer, then returning home in the evening to cook a meal and veg-out. And then I think: I will be doing this for quite sometime. As much as I think I had desired routine after a month of orientation, I'm already scaring myself with "this is my life" thoughts. Yet already I am discovering the little nuances in life, especially with regards to people. We might all be 'routinized', but no conversation or interaction with a human being is routinized (or should be). So as I go about my day, I'm appreciating the little differences and the exchange I have between persons, knowing that my life is bigger than where I am or what I do... thankfully.

First Day of Work

I found my place of work today and am quite impressed! We have our own office building in a complex of other faith-based organizations within close walking distance of my apartment. The staff here was not entirely sure when I was coming, but have been very welcoming and accomodating. Thankfully it's a casual atmosphere and I won't be wearing a tie everyday.

My original job description was Community Development Worker on the general PCEA paperwork. Today I discovered a little more about what I'll be doing in my year in Kenya. The organization I work for, Church World Service (CWS), has its regional Africa office here in Nairobi. I will be working as a facilitator of information, communicating between the donors and those being helped in a way that is engaging and inspirational. As I orientate myself to the job, I'm reading over the various initiatives and program pieces that currently underway and planned through CWS and its partner organizations. My task is somewhat daunting: to make this material more user-friendly and accessible to donors in efforts to encourage giving. I will be traveling to the various sights to 'gather' stories from individuals that have been (hopefully) positively affected by the community-based projects.

In light of what I'll be doing, I'd like to enlist your help. What sort of vision do you have for aiding the people in Africa? Are there stories you would like to hear about a certain region or group of people? What issue is most important to you? Do you seek more ways to be engaged but struggle to find appropiate or desireable methods? What information, story or presentation moves you to give? What other questions should I be asking? Any thoughts would be much appreciated.

Please email me with any ideas, concerns or questions you might have. I greatly appreciate your continued support in whatever way you feel led.

Dr. Menkhaus

You never know who you are going to run into in Kenya. In a downtown supermarket yesterday I ran into Dr. Ken Menkhaus, a political science professor at Davidson specializing in Somalia and East Africa. He was in town as an international observer of the recent elections in Somaliland; a self-proclaimed independent sector of northern Somalia that has yet to be recognized by any other nation. (African nations have fiercely and desperately tried to maintain their colonial borders - established by European countries in the Berlin Conference of 1885 - in an effort to maintain peace and stability. Land is a valuable resource with over 70 percent of the continent dependent on land production for survival. Whether these borders cause more or less civil conflict is debatable.)

Dr. Menkhaus commented that he runs into Davidson students all the time during his travels; a testament to students' engagement of the world beyond the bubble of college life. So who will I run into next in Kenya? Any takers?

The Simple Life

“My instincts tell me it’s time to watch T.V.” Will and I have just moved into our apartment, and certain essentials still remain elusive: a stove (cooker), pillows and a working television. After finishing unpacking, using a bogus phone card to call home and making chicken sandwiches (from group dinner last night), we fiddled our thumbs and pondered over what we should do with ourselves. I did fix the squeaky bed using my new tools (see 9-29 entry). We played some cards, listened to music and even started a quote board (the first of which is Will’s- see above).

Thankfully we had each other; else I would be feeling quite lonely right now. I try not to think about what I would be doing a few months ago in college on a Saturday night. The apartment is so bare, and we don’t have money to buy much more stuff or go out with the friends we don’t have. Frankly, I didn’t think things would slow down this much until I got married, and then there would always be the “romance” feature. Is this post-college mortem? Is this what people do with themselves in a new environment after just moving in? How long will this last?

In orientation we were told about the importance of “simple living” as a missionary. I never thought myself as a materialist, but I’m going through entertainment withdrawal. No T.V., no movies, no friends to call, no money in which to get these things. And really I’m exaggerating a bit: there are things I could buy. In fact, I’ve begun to make a list: puppy, working TV, DVD player, gym membership, mountain bike… I could go on, and this is the point. When does it end? Is it when there’s no more money (or time) to spend? Must I buy things to make myself feel accomplished/satisfied (see 9-29 entry)? My budget doesn’t allow these amenities, even though I have gobs of time. I could dip into my own resources, but then that would be superseding the perfectly adequate stipend I’ve been given to live on.

In times of scarcity, I can either dream of what I don’t have or count the things I do have. What I have taken for granted is now a blessing.