Meeting Moi

I approached the dessert table, lined with all kinds of delectable pastries and fresh fruit. I found a rather slender gal obstructing my prey, managing two plates in one hand as she tried to douse her captured booty in brandy sauce. I couldn’t help but chide her, saying, “Hey, that’s not allowed– unless one of those is for me.” She tried to give me some lame excuse that it was for someone else, but I wasn’t fooled.

We carried on a light chit-chat as we returned to her table, where –after a slight pause– she asked, “So, are you here by yourself?” Eyebrows raised as if she had suddenly asked me about my mother, I thought maybe the kanga (a skirt-like wrap) I was wearing was giving the wrong impression. “What I mean is, would you care to join us?” Silence suddenly seized her table of eight, as all eyes fell on me. To these unfamiliar faces I replied, “Well, um, actually I’m with those people over there, but I would love to sit with y’all if that’s all right.”

So began a long evening of conversation, laughter and good food with newfound friends. They were a group from North Avenue Presbyterian Church in Atlanta, GA, making a visit to Kenya to build a theological, spiritual and accreditation partnership with Thegoto Seminary in Kikuyu. We carried on our own private conversations, and those around me found my work as a volunteer with Church World Service very interesting. It was like in the movies when the main character stumbles into a dinner party of beautiful people and is dumbfounded by the warm greeting and intense interest these people have in him.

But the main event was still to come. The leader of the group, Rev. Scott Weimer, interrupted my conversation with two ladies about my age discussing things Kenyan, to invite me to a meeting the next morning. Before I could respond, he told me with who they would be meeting: Former Kenyan President Moi. I was flabbergasted, my mouth opening and closing like I was fish breathing underwater. He said that due to security reasons, I probably shouldn’t mention this to anyone else and he looked forward to seeing me at six the next morning.

Mumbling words of thanks and acceptance, I set out to find a shirt and tie for such an occasion. I asked Peter, the sole remaining member of our group, what his wardrobe was looking like on his last night in Kenya. After describing what I need without explaining what is was for, he said he had the perfect thing. A little while later he returned with what he described as a “cowboy” shirt: a pink, blue and green flannel shirt. Surprised once again with the evening’s unfolding of events, I exclaimed, “Oh, Moi would love this!” “What?” I said, “Oh boy, I’d love to wear this!”

I borrowed a disposable razor from another member, Kathy, to shave my haggard beard, only to have the blade break off after tapping it in the sink. Undeterred, I grabbed the blade and shaved man-ually, with two hands stroking my face, positioned as if I were putting on a band-aid. I fell into restless sleep, finally getting up to fumble around in the dark, wake up my driver Andrew sleeping in the bed next to me, and stumble out the door with my luggage.

I joined my newfound friends in a van and we were off. We went outside of town to a military barracks of some sort, walking through the gate, onto a neatly trimmed lan in the middle of a cul-de-sac, and shaking hands with a lone mzee (elderly man) before making our way to a plush living room that had obviously never been lived in [gasp]. I think half of our group didn’t realize who had just greeted us, and maybe more didn’t realize how unique this opportunity was. I whispered to Katherine next to me, “That was Moi!”

I thought that might have been it, but after being served tea and waiting half an hour or so, Moi entered and we rose. With all of us seated back down, he apologized for delaying our precious time. He had unexpected visitors from southern Sudan, where he has played an integral role through the Moi Institute in brokering peace there after more than 20 years of war. After general introductions, we seemed to have no other purpose than to greet him and pray for him and the country. He said he would appreciate prayers for the youth, specifically with respect to the responsible use of freedoms and having an informed view of the world. Others also offered their prayers and praises for the church in Kenya, the economy, the warm joy in the people they’d been meeting, and continued partnership between our two countries.

Then we prayed. I secretly wanted to take a photo of this formidable man praying, a man whose reign in power was controversial to say the least. I instead stole a glance: his head bowed, Moi rested his elbows on his knees, solemnly laying his hands on the low coffee table as if he were praying over it. Afterwards we had a photo shoot, and I felt incredibly awesome in my cowboy shirt and hiking boots among so many black jackets and polished shoes. The photo below is courtesy of Katherine, whose chance encounter led to me shaking hands with Moi.



Thank you, Katherine, Scott, Moi, and you, God. Occasionally our God emerges to orchestrate a symphony out of the usual cacophony. May God work wonders in your life, too, focusing your ears on awe-inspiring symphonies of small delight, immense wonder… and chance encounter.