Evans in Africa

Pictures!

2010-08-26T02:27:00.002+03:00

Kenya - Summer 2010

Videos from Kenya

2010-08-26T02:26:00.001+03:00

Pictures of Sammy's Church in Salama, Kenya

2010-08-25T02:27:00.000+03:00

Salama

Slowing Down

2010-08-17T19:24:00.000+03:00

Pole Pole - That's Swahili for "Slow Down." (Interesting side note: "pole" - pronounced "poh-lay" - all by itself means "sorry.") It's a great phrase to know when your driver is going to fast for your comfort or someone (usually a Mzungu - foreigner/white person) is trying to push things to move too fast.

Our American culture tends to go much faster than the African cultures I've experienced. Whereas we try to "take time" to do something, they "hold time" in order to get things done. I can definitely feel my pace of life having slowed down as a result of my time in Africa... and also the fact that there is so much to do in so little time, with getting ready for my exegesis ord exam at the end of the month, getting our community house together and gearing up to speed at the church.

It's times like these where I hear a voice whisper in my ear, "pole pole." The challenge is trust that the voice is right, and that what will be done, will be done.

Constitution: The Aftermath

2010-08-11T21:28:00.000+03:00

I'm pleased to report that there has been virtually no violence and complete transparency in voting in the aftermath of the referendum on the proposed new Constitution in Kenya! After thousands died in the violence following the Dec 2007 presidential elections due to massive fraud, this is great news.

The Yes vote garnered over 2/3rds of the vote, and all sides are calling for peaceful understanding and reconciliation. The No vote would love to make some amendments to the constitution before it goes into full effect in 2012, but I doubt with only 30% of the voters they will be able to get much changed.

I read the constitution and it is full of progressive measures that ensure human rights, encourage sustainable development, and helps diversify and spread out a suitable balance of power between the branches of government. They've reserved 47 seats for female representation in the national assembly, as well as two spots (male & female) for the youth (18-35 yrs) and another two to represent those with disabilities.

On August 20th Kenya will host a signing ceremony where government leaders will pledge to uphold the new constitution. I am hopeful and cautiously confident that Kenya's worst days are behind them, and the best days lie ahead.

Kenya thus far

2010-08-06T13:02:00.000+03:00

I've thoroughly enjoyed my time in Kenya... visiting all kinds of friends all over Nairobi, and then going to Kitale in Western Kenya to help a group build an orphanage with Transformation International. So much to tell and so little time. I look forward to updating once I return on Aug 9th to the States. For now, there are lots of projects to consider and pray about, as well as my host family to see tonight. Kenya is such a wonderful place full of wonderful people - I am blessed to be here and to be with them once more.

Constitution

2010-08-02T21:57:00.000+03:00

Kenya retains the constitution left to it by the British. On August 4th they vote for the 2nd time on a new constitution. Funny enough, i was here for the first vote in 2005.
Polls have the Yes vote, whose color is green, ahead with 65% of the vote, over the No vote, whose color is red. The current president Kibaki is for the new constitution, but the former president Moi is campaigning against the new constitution... not something we would see in America. KTN, a local Kenyan TV station, stated: "Where we stand is a battle between presidents that may be unconstitutional but is about the constitution."
As my former boss Dan told me, "It all depends on the people behind the paper." Otherwise it's just words and more words. Even today a Pentacostal pastor was convicted of bribing a local official with $25,000 to erase the margin of victory of her opponent!
Kenyan politics: always entertaining.
Sent from my iPhone

Karibu Kenya!

2010-07-30T15:17:00.000+03:00

Nimefika Kenya! (I've arrived in Kenya). It feels good and a bit surreal to be back. The roads are much better. The traffic is worse. The hawkers (street sellers) are still out and about, though this time they're selling even crazier stuff (like blow-up pool tools of Tellatubbies!)... I'm connecting with friends and trying to see and visit as many people as possible. Sammy Mutua is graciously hosting me. I'm here until Aug 8th, and am flying out to Kitale in Western Kenya mid-week next week to help with the building of an orphanage. Right now I'm back in my old office at CWS; I'll keep you updated as best I can, though I'm not sure when and how I'll have internet!

Nyumbani

2010-07-30T14:54:00.002+03:00

Nyumbani, or "at home," at Sam's place relaxing and enjoying my first Tusker (Kenya's beer). :-)

Driving in Kenya

2010-07-30T14:26:00.001+03:00

I'm driving through Nairobi with my friend Sammy. Traffic is as bad as ever but the roads are paved quite nicely. Still, Sam says, "If you miss a bump, you're not in Kenya." I noticed we were running on empty so i asked Sam if we need gas. He said no, Kenyans keep the tank close to empty so in case the car is stolen the thieves can't go far.
Sam then related a story of a guy who was carjacked and put in the boot (trunk). He then kicked out his tail lights, not so the police would stop the car, but so he could stick his arm out and get people's attention. He had to go through several roadside checkpoints before the police flattened the tires. The car rolled several times but the man was OK.
"This is why you should fix up your boot," Sam says, laughing, "in case you find yourself there with no water, food or blanket!". This is the Kenyan way: take something serious and joke about it, because what else can you do?
Sent from my iPhone

Early Birthday

2010-07-30T14:05:00.002+03:00

We celebrated my birthday early (actually Aug 6th) at a local Indian restaurant here in Kigali. They went all out: lights out, entire staff, mixed music, even got me up dancing! Video and more pics forthcoming. And yes, they let me keep the hat.

Primus v. Turbo King

2010-07-28T21:58:00.001+03:00

The battle for primacy is ON! Rwanda v Congo beer, light v dark, pilsner v lager... Who will reign supreme?
As long as I remain undecided, there's room for both!

By the Grace of God

2010-07-27T21:18:00.000+03:00

Driving back to Kigali from Goma, I talked with our Rwandan driver, Deo. Apparently we were driving through his home region. I asked him if any of his family still lived in the area, since he now lives in Kigali. He said no, going on to say his father and all six of his siblings were murdered during the genocide. After a moment of silence, I asked him how he had survived. He replied, "By the grace of God."
The people who came to kill his family also attacked him, taking a swipe at his head. "This one, he is dead," they said, leaving him to die with the rest of his family. I didn't get the details of how he survived since then, but for 4 years the government and militia fought each other back and forth through his home region. Deo didn't feel safe until 1998, four years after the genocide, when the gov't troops finally pushed the militias back into Congo.
Deo now has a wife and three kids: two girls ages 6 and 3, and a 2 year old boy. He keeps his hair cut very short, as a large scar atop his head keeps hair from growing. He's a careful driver, vary gracious and a wonderful person. I feel blessed to have met him and heard a small portion of his story.
I always thought the phrase "There but for the grace of God go I" still retained some sense of personal choice, some blessing bestowed on us that we were given by God. Deo's story reminds me that I could have been born anywhere, that his story could be my story, that all of those living can say, "By the grace of God, here I am."
Sent from my iPhone

Praying

2010-07-26T10:40:00.003+03:00

To read more about the Goma Experience, please visit the Goma Team's Blog.'

This morning, like all Monday mornings, I joined the pastoral team to spread out and pray for various persons throughout the hospital. I think these have been my first pastoral visits in a hospital setting - ever. Quite a place to start!

I went around the orthopedics rooms with three other pastors, and when I spoke one of them translated. I've been able to speak a little Swahili, but even English words are hard to muster when facing so much suffering. Many persons were in casts and a few had lost limbs. Some were full of life, even when they couldn't move, and a few had that 1,000 yard stare. We spent the time praying for them, offering words of encouragement and greeting them with a handshake and blessing.

Experiences like these are most humbling. I feel like I can't DO anything. Yet it's precisely this realization that I can't do anything that is transformative, that reminds me of our dependence on the power and grace of God. We are all connected to each other and to God's Spirit, but sometimes during our independent streaks we forget this.

May you be reminded of your dependence on God and others today. May this realization not cause you worry or anxiety. And may your soul find a peace deeper than your understanding.

Preaching

2010-07-25T11:45:00.002+03:00

To read more about the Goma Experience, please visit the Goma Team's Blog.'

It's so amazing to be among a different place and a different people, and yet still there is so much in common!

I had the opportunity to preach and teach the other day at a training of community leaders who are a part of the Nehemiah Commmittees organized by HEAL Africa. These committees often function as the sole or one of few community governance organizations. They help resolve disputes in the community, organize microfinance opportunities, distribute school fees for needy children, and more. It was an honor to meet them and be with them for 2 days in Monrovia, about 1.5 hours from Goma around the lake and just over the border with South Kivu Province.

I shared with them some of my thoughts on Nehemiah; the efforts and sacrifices he went through to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem after the Babylon exile. He listened to the cry of his people, prayed to God, asked for resources, and then inspired the entire community to chip into the rebuilding process. I encouraged them to do the same, working together with other people in the community when the burden was too great for them alone.

The next day I preached on "Practicing Resurrection." The focus was on Acts 14, where the story begins with Paul telling a lame person to stand up in the name of Jesus, and at the end of the story Paul himself struggles to stand up after being stoned. I acted the story out, myself getting on the ground and causing much amazement from the crowd, who are very careful to keep their clothes clean (esp. in a professional setting).

Today, Sunday, I preached on Matthew 11:28-30, on the invitation of Jesus to all who have worked until exhaustion, to translate literally from the Greek. The message was similar: The world is an overwhelming place. Sometimes we pray for others, sometimes we ourselves need prayer. In all that we do, let us practice resurrection, relying on the Spirit of Christ to uplift of spirits, minds and bodies.

Sometimes I wonder if my own theological or worldview is coming across to strongly. I desire to be a vessel of God's Spirit, being filled with the grace and truth of the gospel. Yet sometimes I become self-conscious and wonder if it's my own good news that I'm sharing, and not God's. Once again I turn in prayer to God, that my words and actions be a reflection of God's love and not just my own thoughts and perceptions.

Arrived in Goma... A New Beginning

2010-07-20T11:31:00.000+03:00

To read more about the Goma Experience, please visit the Goma Team's Blog.'

We've made it! After 5 days of traveling, we're on the ground in Goma in the Democratic Republic of Congo. We're working at HEAL Africa in various capacities: we've got a water engineer on the team, a lawyer for human rights, several pastors, an accountant, a language school director, a teacher and a public health and policy person who specializes in rural areas! Oh, and then there's me, who will be 'consulting' with the media department about writing stories on the various projects and persons assisted by HEAL Africa.

Being back in Africa is both wonderfully familiar and somehow new and exciting. Of course I've never been to Rwanda or the DRC, so there's newness there for sure. But then there's the familiar smells, the dust on the horrifically bumpy roads (although Rwanda's roads rival that of South Africa's and our own!), the African people carrying all sorts of odds and ends, and the beautiful children shouting "Mzungu!" as we drive by (takes a little getting used to, but really is a sign of endearment).

I've been feeling quite tired lately, due of course to the long travel time, but also in trying to catch as many words as possible in Kiswahili and French, and then trying to form my own sentences! There's also been a flood of memories from my past experience in Kenya as I interpret my surroundings, and at the same time I'm trying hard to let this experience stand on its own - not a difficult thing to do. For instance, in Kenya I was hosting teams from the US from time to time. I find myself falling back into this role with the Goma Team, when in fact I'm actually part of the team! So even as I'm in charge of the money, receipts and water, supporting the team in many ways, I'm also very much a part of it. I hope that I will continue to fully integrate into the team dynamic, and not build any invisible barriers to other team members or the group as a whole.

More updates to come! So far my schedule looks like I'll be around today and tomorrow working with the media department, then Thursday and Friday I will be in a rural place a few hours away for a pastoral training of local police (!), then back again on Saturday to go to a futbol/soccer game with some local street youth that are receiving training through CAMME, a partner of HEAL Africa.

Blessings!

Delayed

2010-07-15T20:07:00.000+03:00

We arrived at SFO at 6:30am only to leave at 6:30pm due to a mechanical problem. They finally just got us a new plane! As one of my teammates remarked, this is good training for us to get on African time! We'll end up spending a night in Chicago, a night on the plane and a night in Brussels before finally arriving in Kigali 48 hrs later than planned. All's well that ends well... But it's not over yet!

Returning to Africa!

2010-07-13T02:46:00.000+03:00

I'm going back to Africa this month, and couldn't be more excited. I will be joining a missions team from my church, First Pres Berkeley, as they partner with H.E.A.L. Africa, a hospital that aids those who have suffered so much these past years during the conflict in the Congo. We will also be in Rwanda for a few days. Visit our blog for more updates about the group's experience.

I will also spend 12 extra days in Kenya, visiting friends, colleagues and my host family. I'm looking forward to this blessed time of reunion and reconnection.

Schedule:
July 14th: Depart Bay area
July 15th-17th: Kigali, Rwanda
July 17th-28th: Goma, DRC
July 28th-29th: Kigali, Rwanda
July 29th-Aug 8th: Nairobi, Kenya (with a possible trip to Kitale 2nd-5th)
Aug 8th-9th: Return to Bay Area

Homestays in East Africa

2010-07-13T02:06:00.003+03:00

My good friend David Wakogy has begun coordinating homestays in East Africa - check his website out!

http://www.eastafricanhomestay.com/

UPDATE: Links are now working!

Want to Volunteer in Kenya?

2008-10-16T02:17:00.004+03:00

Since my experience, I have had several friends contact me about my time in Kenya and who are interested in volunteering... So if you would like a "Kenyan" experience in whatever, be it non-profit, self-development, NGO or faith-based field, email me (evmcgowan@gmail.com) and let's talk about some options! I have many contacts I could share with you, depending on your interests... even if it's just for travel or safari!

New Blog

2007-08-23T00:55:00.000+03:00

Please visit my Seminary Blog to find more current updates of my life: evansinseminary.blogspot.com

My "Final" Newsletter

2006-10-15T02:08:00.000+03:00

I Am Not Harry Potter – Adjusting to the Ordinary

Hello there! Ever since I returned to the States about one month ago, I’ve been busy putting my life together. It’s been a wild ride of late nights and even later mornings, surfing jobs online speckled with informational interviews, watching movies and perusing books – the majority geared towards those of us in our mid-20’s, and just wondering what on earth am I doing, or should be doing.

It’s weird being back. I have a lot of pent-up frustration, and I don’t really know why. There’s certainly a lot of stress with moving and not having a job. It’s like I’m looking for some unique purpose for being here, and while that mindset may have worked as a missionary in Kenya, it only exacerbates the frustration of an unemployed college graduate.

I don’t really know what I want to do, and that’s the most frustrating thing about it. I’m not content to just sit around and enjoy my free time. I want to do something meaningful and worthwhile… I also want to make money and support myself.

In times of self-doubt, I watch movies and read books to identify with heroes. One such recently popular (an oxymoron?) hero is Harry Potter. His ‘exceptionalism’ sets him apart from his peers, yet also creates exceptions for him in the minds of others. Whatever Harry Potter does is OK precisely because he is Harry Potter. We see this time and time again, with characters such as James Bond 007, Jack Bauer (of TV series 24) and Sydney Bristow (of Alias).

I think this idea of ‘exceptionalism’ is a lie, a fantasy we often live vicariously through our heroes but rarely in our own lives. ‘Exceptionalism’ makes for great stories, drama and conflict, all a far cry from our perennial puttering of today. And if I begin to take exception to living as others do, of trying to be different and set myself apart in my own culture, I foment the flames of frustration as my fantasy world collides with reality.

Being in Africa was ‘enough,’ perhaps simply because there’s something special about being there to live for a year. Whenever I don’t know a song on the radio or who were the best sports teams last season, I can use the excuse, “Oh, well, I was in Africa.” People understand without really understanding.

But being in Charlotte is like a weak excuse, or should I say the easy choice, as I decide what it is I really want to do. There’s nothing special about being here, about driving a car, going grocery shopping, being white and middle-class – most people around me are (or at least appear to be) the same. Do any of us really know what we really want to do?

There’s a Buddhist saying, “Wherever you go there you are.” In other words, you determine your own happiness by meditating on your own state of mind, and praying through the thought-walls in order to feel the warm flowing softness of God’s love.

One of my goals in Kenya was, and is now, to build my character. To me, building character means becoming a more patient, knowledgeable and poised person. Yet character is shaped by the community around us, as the sociologist James Hunter notes in A Death of Character. We form and learn character in the society we were brought up in.

Emily recently came to Monroe, LA, with me to visit my grandparents and relatives. We had a fabulous time being hosted by the finest of Southern hospitality, and Em got a brief peek into my early upbringing. Just as Monroe and her people had an effect on my life, so do my surrounding circumstances build or break my character today.

Character building is the active pursuit of reconciling our souls with our circumstance; what’s happening inside our self with what’s going on outside. We must remain true to ourselves as well as what is true in the reality around us. To pursue this integrity, we must walk not simply by sight and with a growing sense of faith.

As long as we’re looking for exceptions, we will have trouble focusing on community. Let us look for commonality rather than ‘exceptionalism,’ seeking humility before pride.

October has arrived and I have a job working part-time with EQV Development doing site acquisition and zoning for cell phone towers. I took the job due to its flexibility and because I’d like to work in urban planning, in both the physical and political design of our communities to promote what they should be: a community of interacting persons.

I feel refocused in my graduate pursuit. I remain interested in development, from both the third and first world perspective. I would like to work with communities and churches here in conjunction and in context with communities in the developing world, working together in mutual partnership so that both sides benefit… and sacrifice to make this world a better place.

There is a hero of mine who had nothing exceptional about him. He lived as others lived, eating and drinking with the poorest of the poor. When he did do something extraordinary, like restoring sight to the blind or raising the dead, he told others not to make mention of his deed. I want to be more like this hero, this person, this Jesus.

So as I go about my day-to-day life, I trust God to give me the eyes to see and ears to hear the peaceful beauty of the ordinary.

Walking Together with Integrity

2006-10-08T01:13:00.000+03:00

[This text has been taken from a sermon with the same title. I had been invited to preach at my grandmother's church, First Presbyterian, in Monroe, LA, and this is what I had to say. Scripture: Psalm 26, Hebrews 2:5-12]

The last time I read these words in Psalm 26 was during a devotion in late February. I was staying in a classy hotel in Uganda, relaxing after a day in the field. After taking a quick swim in the pool and surfing channels via satellite, I suddenly stopped to remember the days events. I had led a group of American visitors to a traditional African village, complete with mud huts and bare-naked babies, showing them how their money as donors and fundraisers had gone to improve the lives of these communities. Yet sitting here in on my bed in the hotel room, I felt a world away.

Where was I? Today I had been in a place where the closest water source was miles away. This evening I was in a place with so much water I could dance in gallons of it. I had been in a place where children’s infectious stomachs bulged and hunger dulled curious minds. Tonight I was surrounded by kids laughing and throwing French fries at one another. The women THERE stooped under the weight of wood and water. The women HERE had porters to carry their bags. Where was I?

I knew that in this world there were dissimilarities. I knew that in this world people lived differently from one another, that there was disparity. I knew when I returned to the U.S. most people would have cars, be employed and send their kids to school. Not so for most here in Africa. Yet I wasn’t ready to see these two worlds within one country, let alone one day. Where was I?

If I were going to walk with integrity with these people, both African and American, I needed to be truthful to who I was as well as where I was. So where was I?

To start from the beginning, I was in Nairobi, Kenya, near the Horn of Africa on the Eastern side of the continent, serving for one year as a PC(USA) Young Adult Volunteer. I came over to Kenya with six other volunteers, from a group of about 50 spread over ten countries. Hundreds of churches throughout the US, including First Presbyterian of Monroe, support and send out these volunteers each year.

I worked in cooperation with Church World Service, a faith-based, non-profit American organization working in community development throughout the world. My job was to visit various community projects using funds to build a dam, drill a borehole, teach HIV/AIDS awareness, improve agricultural techniques, ETC. There I would interview family members before returning to the office to write a story incorporating their wtory with the larger community project.

My life was full of COMBINING contrasts. In Sudan, I took notes on a computer while the participants of a peace seminar took notes with pens and paper… that we had provided. In Tanzania, I flew over islands of fisherman using wooden boats to eek out a living. In Kenya, I would lug a water bottle to a site only to meet a woman who had carried a 5 gallon jug 10 kilometers to cook for her family that day. In Uganda, I would take visitors into an African village only to relax in a hotel in the evening. At every turn and in every place, my integrity was put to the test.

In the Psalm we read today, David exhorts God, shouting, “Prove me, O Lord, and try me; test my heart and my mind.” David is determined for God to test his heart and thus prove the integrity of his faith. And so am I determined to match what I saw with my mind with movement in my heart. Oswald Chambers wrote, “I must reduce myself until I am a mere conscious man.” Notice he did not say a more conscious but a mere conscious person.

I wonder: Have we ever asked God to test our integrity? Do we match what’s on our hearts with what’s on our minds, and with what’s on our minds with what’s on our plates. In other words, having integrity means matching one’s faith with one’s actions.

God so loved us that he gave the world over to our care. So testifies the Psalmist as quoted by Paul in Hebrews:

“What are human beings that you are mindful of them,
Or mortals, that you care for them?”

Matthew Henry states that a Christian “walk in his [or her] integrity, yet trusting wholly in the grace of God.”

In Hebrews verse ten, we see God’s love “bringing many children to glory” under one parent, Abba. And For this reason Jesus is not ashamed, yet in fact delights, in calling US his brother and sisters, saying, ‘I will proclaim your name in the midst of the congregation, I will praise you.’ “

So who, and not what, are you praising today? Who are you proclaiming in front of everyone? Perhaps it’s your mother, father, son or daughter. Perhaps it’s someone living or someone no longer with us. Whoever this person is, however, is someone you know, with whom you have a relationship. Only by knowing someone can we truly walk with them in integrity.

So how was I doing? I’d written some stories on the good work being done by our partners with Church World Service. With the help of some friends back home, I had sponsored a few Kenyans in getting further education. I even donated some books to a local vocational school for AIDS Children in Uganda.

Yet now that I have returned from Africa, I don’t remember the places or things I did as much as I remember the people I met. I remember Oliver, a security guard at my apartment, who is also 24 years old. He had moved to the city after his parents died of AIDS, and now lives in the slums and commutes by walking 5 miles each day for a 12-hour shift to support his two younger brothers. I remember Sam, a colleague and close friend of mine who showed me how to turn the yearnings of my heart into thoughtful and worthwhile proposals to help the entire community. I remember Joyce, whose smile always brightened my day and whose warmth reminded me of god’s love here in Kenya even as I missed my family and friends back home.

And that’s the beauty of relationships: they don’t break down into an expense sheet or payroll. A name brings up memories of special moments, not simply a name to whom a check should be written. Relationships are more about what is unseen than what is seen. And after all, we live and walk by faith, not by sight.

When I was younger I read Dale Carnegie’s “How to Win Friends and Influence People.” The book is quite interesting in getting people to do what you want, but true friendships are always a blessing from God. We don’t have control over who specifically becomes our friend or our foe. However, we can choose with whom we spend our time.

How are you spending your time? And with WHOM are you spending time? Is it in personal connections or with personal computers? Are most of your friends like-minded on “the issues” or well-minded of others’ concerns? Are we giving of our time as well as our talents?

One thing I’ll never forget about Africa is the walking. Once we were in the community, we walked side-by-side with our partners and community members to see the good work they had strived to accomplish. I remember we were standing outside one household, listening to the project coordinator Grace, a Ugandan, explain how this family was benefiting from a goat-rearing program. Another woman hobbled over, an infection swelling her foot and causing her to stumble. Her husband had died of AIDS, but not before infecting her and leaving her two children. Now with this foot infection she was not able to go to the market to sell her vegetables, and she could not afford surgery. Her name was Mercy. Lord, have Mercy.

Where is the Mercy in your life? Where is the Grace?

Not all of us can go to Africa, but there is a Grace and a Mercy here today. Next week I’ll be walking 5 kilometers in a Crop Walk, helping to raise funds for precisely those people I walked with less than a year ago. In our culture, we’ve lost the art of walking. If I took a quick poll, I would guess 9 out of 10 of you drove in a car to get here, myself included. Yet it’s those who are unable to drive, the elderly and the youth, the poor and the downtrodden, that we should be reaching out to so “they” becomes “we.” So let us get out of cars, out of our fast-paced lives and perhaps errant errands, and find someone to walk with. And may we do so with integrity, getting to know the other person just as God already knows both of us.

Before Christ suffered for all of us, he had dinner with the least of us. He celebrated with the filthy, drank with the intolerable and healed the disease-ridden. And he called them by name: Lazarus, Matthew, Margaret, Zacchaeus, and many others.

This morning, God is calling your name. Won’t you have a relationship with him? Won’t you have a relationship with his children?

PRAYER:

Lord, help us to be grateful in the good times, and grace-FULL in the bad ones. We live by Your Mercy as well as Your Grace. May we share these gifts with others through the challenge of friendship, knowing we are able to love others because you first loved us.

A month in, a month out

2006-10-02T23:20:00.000+03:00

It's been a month at home in Delware and now a month on my own in Charlotte, NC, since I returned from Kenya July 27th. I spent August getting my life together: purchasing a 2003 Toyota Matrix, securing a lease for a house in Charlotte and packing out, packing in for the move down South. Then in September I jumped into the hardly-wonderful world of job-hunting, with a little soul-searching mixed in.

Now it's October, and tomorrow I begin a part-time job with EQV Development, a company that builds cellphone towers. Here's a link to an article about a guy who does what I do, minus the high-wires. I'm hoping the job gives me a good taste of what working in city planning would involve, and if I want to combine my M.Div with some studies in urban development.

It's been a tough month (Sept.), fluctuating from just getting a job to pay the bills (like waiting tables) to really searching for something that might interest me further down the road. Thankfully, I have very supportive friends and family, as well as the finances to spend a month looking around for something that interests me. At times I felt I was a stubborn college-educated American, refusing to work for less than $10/hr. At others I felt I wasn't fully following God's call to do more with my education from Davidon and experience in Africa.

In the midst of these life struggles, I've enjoyed time with friends whom I haven't seen in over a year. I have especially enjoyed living closer to Emily, and our relationship deepens by the day.

In the depths of woe God's graces abound. May it be also with you.

Back Home Soaking

2006-07-30T17:52:00.000+03:00

I've arrived safe 'n' sound back home. It's good to be back. (So far) the transition has been as smooth as American roads, without the bumps, hic-ups or swerves I habitually endured in Kenya, and had come to expect on my return home. I'm sure more thoughts will come, from the profound down to the absurd, and yet I'm content to just go through the motions (for now).

The only thing that's weirded me out is how late it gets here! At the equator, sunrise and sunset change very minimally throughout the year, making a watch quite unnecessary. With days so exorbitantly long, I'm finding rest all the more satisfying.

I've been asked the usual questions, like, "How was it?" "Are you glad to be back?" "Where were you?" "What will you do now?" along with the one-word response to my answers, "Wow." "Geez" "Incredible." "Huh.". So far I and they both have had incredible patience with each other. I think as time passes the memories will soak deeper into my life-sponge, and it will only take a small poke for me to 'leak out' a few tears and words from experience passed yet still present.

For now, I'm soaking in the little things: It's good to have dinner with my family. It's assuring to hold Emily in my arms. It's fun to laugh with an old friend, Andrew. It's wonderful to drive. It's delightful to eat cool food in the summer heat.

Time will tell more of the mystery still hidden.

A Damnned Shame

2006-07-20T08:33:00.000+03:00

This year has been a monumental learning experience, and sometimes I must stress "experience" over the "learning" aspects. I do not understand most of what I see here, from a boy herding pigs through trash-filled streets to government ministers zipping through town in their chic SUVs. I cannot explain it fully, and sometimes as a reporter of sorts, I feel I can only point the camera and click. A picture tells a thousand words, few of which can actually be articulated.

I write this as I see the images of the conflict in Lebanon go on and on, growing worse and worse. I can sympathize and strangely admire the reporters there. As our president nobly uses his FIRST VETO EVER against stem-cell research, presumably in an effort to save the lives of embryos, he is turning around to allow (if not encourage) Israel to 'finish its work' destroying Hezbollah, and with it hundreds of Lebanese lives.

Utter Annihilation (Source: BBC)
Are we as a nation saying an American embryo is more valuable than a Lebanese citizen? What rights are inherent to "us" and not "them"?

It is time we have a consistent ethic that values ALL human life. There is an overwhelming since of powerlessness as I view these images. Yet we are human, too. We have voices. And it's time we spoke up for the voiceless.

A Strong Role Model

2006-07-08T11:35:00.000+03:00

EMAYIAN - Kipeto Maasai Women's Water Project

Today I visited the Kipeto Community in Kajiado, about 55 km from Nairobi in Kajiado District. I was invited there by Maggdalene Esekei, a friend of Jane Cooper's who found this blog a while back and asked me to get in touch with her Maasai sister in Christ.

Maggy met Jane back in the US and has been trying to raise funds for a borehole back in her home community. The community struggles to find water after the rains leave in June and the dams dry up in October. Even using the exposed water of the dams is risky, posing health hazards like the recent malaria outbreak here which killed a mother and child.

My colleague Sam Mutua addresses the women
In meeting with the community, my colleague Sam and I listened to their stories of struggle and small success. Men own and take care of the cattle here, seen as the only source of wealth, leaving the rest of the work to the women (child-rearing, food, water, shelter, etc.) Compounding the problem is that the cattle are the only means of wealth generation, leaving the women entirely dependent on the men to buy anything, from medicine to school fees.

The women here are very skilled in beadwork and before we left presented us with some very nice gifts: a beaded belt and a runga, or beaded staff. Maggy and I have agreed to work together along with Jane to secure funds for a borehole. The women would like to use the borehole to grow vegetables and create a local center around the water in which to sell their vegetables and beadwork. With closer and cleaner water, these women and their families will have more time and resouces to generate income.

Traditionally, the Maasai marry off their women at a young age (as early as 13) for anywhere from five to twenty cows. Returning as an educated woman, Maggy is a role model for her entire community, proving that a woman's education is a longterm yet profitable investment.

A sign of peace and hope

Feeding the Forgotten

2006-07-07T14:16:00.000+03:00

An article I wrote for the PCEA and ACT.

“I have nothing so I leave everything to God,” laments Beatrice “Mbite” Mutisha, holding a bucket of her harvest this year: five ears of maize. Once a proud farmer of seven cows, 30 chickens and 40 goats, only two goats remain due to drought and disease. “If others could see our problems themselves, they would see that we are need and we don’t know what to do.”

While few have seen their predicament, many have heard. Presbyterians in the USA have contributed funds for emergency relief to Ukambani, about four hours from Nairobi, Kenya. The Presbyterian Disaster Assistance (PDA) channels money through Action by Churches Together (ACT) for this food relief. The Presbyterian Church of East Africa (PCEA) coordinates the distribution with the help of Norwegian Church Aid (NCA) and the local community administration.

Although nearby regions flourish with pineapples and rice, rains haven’t fallen here since 1999, creating a pocket of desert winter strangling any hope of respite. Laments Musito, the local agricultural officer, “The soils are very good. The only problem is water.” Women walk up to 20 km a day in search of water for the home.

“If the rains came, we wouldn’t need help,” says Damaris Nduku, in charge of over 25 dependents. Without water, the people are not able to sustain themselves and are losing hope. Gesturing to withered cornstalks, Damaris poignantly asks, “Why should I repair this grain store if my crops look like this?”

Since the vast majority of people are unemployed, many cut down firewood to sell, often burning it to make makaa (charcoal). This region produces 250,000 bags of charcoal each month, the most of any community in Kenya. Hauling 20 liters on her back, Elizabeth makes 5 km trip to town five times a day. By day’s end, she earns enough to barely feed her family of 25 a meal of maize.

The women are left to do most of the work, with many men having died from AIDS or going to the city for work. When Katunge’s grandmother passed on, she says she “lost all hope,” as her brothers left to find work and she bore a daughter out of wedlock. She is fortunate however, finding a job at a local hotel earning less than US $30 per month.

Lydia Komu bashes stones to sell as ballast when she’s not throwing at the stones protecting her crops of sorghum from the birds. Even so, she thanks the people who provided her the seed for this drought-resistant crop, praying for them daily.

Looking for more sustainable solutions, PCEA will purchase its own machine to drill community boreholes in the area later this year. There area few shallow wells now, but the salinity is too high for regular human consumption. The European Union is also digging a subsurface-dam to supply water for a local school, which then may sell to the community.

The local chief wrote a letter last month, praising the PCEA’s work in distributing food through the village committees and not discriminating based on religious affiliation. Says David of the PCEA projects department, simply put, “We must go the way the people want.” Working with all community stakeholders, the PCEA won’t leave anyone behind.

No Easy Way Out

2006-07-06T11:57:00.000+03:00

Look at this guy - seems pretty innocent, right? Little does he know that within an hour he'll be in a Kenyan police station.

It all started when I was in the back seat of a car, waiting for a colleague to run in and grab a video cassette. He'd left the engine running, and no sooner was he out of sight then two policemen emerged. After arguing with my other colleague in Swahili, we all piled into the car and headed off to the police station.

The entire way over the cop kept asking, "So what are you saying?" My colleague would respond, "What do you mean, what am I saying? How do I answer what I haven't been asked?" Apparently they were looking for a bribe, probably about 500 Kshs (US$7) each. Considering their salaries are no more than $150 per month, this is not an unusual request.

As my colleague refused by never acknowledging the offer, we found our way into the station. Seeing me, people turned to their neighbors and said something about me but all I caught was mzungu. It was the closest thing to celebrity I've experienced here in Kenya, sending a murmurring wave ahead of me.

Apparently in Kenya you have to post bail for a traffic offense. My colleague posted 5,000 Kshs (US$65) and scheduled his hearing for Monday. And the offense? "Double-parking." He was lucky, though, since another one of his friends was charged five times with, and I quote, "obstruction", "overlapping", "careless driving", "lack of courtesy", and to cap it all off: "driving in a manner likely to annoy".

My failed attempt to take an indiscrete photo inside the station
In the olden days, the rules weren't just funny but potentially deadly. One charge under the Moi Regime was "behaving in a manner likely to suggest ______ " and they'd just fill in the blank. And to even imagine that the President (remember: there's only one in Kenya- all other heads of organizations must use a different title) had been killed, you would be arrested and possibly tortured on charges of treason.

The court system is no longer as dangerous yet still no less cumbersome, with cases backlogged up to 10 years. A police officer's word is usually good enough for your conviction, making a bribe - er, out of court settlement - an attractive alternative. Going to court often demoralizes the accused, exhausting his or her time and resources.

Remarked my colleague: "Justice delayed is justice denied. And if you don't follow the process, you aren't given your rights."

Independence Day

2006-07-04T09:18:00.000+03:00

Back in the US, my fellow Americans are celebrating the 4th of July, our Independence Day. I wanted to take a moment to reflect on today's significance.

First of all, what's in a day? The colonies voted on Declaration of Independence on the 2nd, not all signing it until the 4th. And if it weren't for French support, many historians argue that the American Revolution would have been another colony's devolution. Our stake in independence required our dependence on declarations of freedom and foreign assistance.

Yet haven't we forgotten this lesson, not only in the past with slavery and segregation, but also today in spreading democracy by force? We should be more diligent in standing up for our "freedom rights," especially when it comes to government secrecy and surveillance that chain our independence with falsified information. We find ourselves "going it alone" with the "coalition [or coercion?] of the willing" in Iraq. I pray we Americans remember that we are not the only ones with the right to self-determination.

Today's New York Times front page reveals how independence can be used: in Macedonia nationalist politics promote factionalist candidates, teenagers are discovering long-term effects of binge drinking, and yet another case of an American GI committing inexplicable atrocities in Iraq against her people.

I wonder if non-Americans, and specifically the Iraqi people, are celebrating our independence today? For many, our independence means their dependence, from the fading prisons of Gitmo to the current Doha round of World Trade talks. Patriotism will get us as far as our borders (of mind or nation I leave to you), but humbleness as God's people will take us further than we can ever imagine.

My point is not to lampoon my home country: I am proud of my country's determination to do good in this world, and even more so for her self-effacing nature to correct past and present mistakes. My point is this: We can use our freedom for ill or good will.

As the Apostle Paul warns,
12"Everything is permissible for me" — but not everything is beneficial. "Everything is permissible for me" — but I will not be mastered by anything... 14By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and God will raise us also... 17She who unites herself with the Lord is one with God in spirit. (1 Cor 6)

Sisters and brothers, let us be united today across makeshift national borders and into oneness with Christ. The choices we make today will have ramifications for OUR tomorrow as well as the future God's children. Let us celebrate the freedom we all have to humbly submit to God in all that we do - a God for the people and by the people, of this nation and all creation.

To read more thoughts about today, I recommend this article.

Faith & Politics

2006-07-03T12:26:00.000+03:00

Recently, I sped through God's Politics by Jim Wallis over our final retreat. Upon my return, Emily brought to my attention the Call to Renewal Conference held in DC last week. Barak Obama made a powerful speech to reignite an informed discussion on faith and politics, drawing both from the bible and international events. The ramifications will surely be interesting.

Here in Kenya, many politicians profess a believe in Christianity. Yet these same politicains often engage in public deceipt and mass corruption, eating like cancer in their follower's mind. Many Kenyans are either ashamed of these double-talking politicians or just laugh at the hypocrisy. This isn't to say there aren't any good politicians here. It just shows the danger of believing in the gospel and then working in government: there should be some sort of dynamic cohesion, rather than a private/public split, between the two.

I must say I was quite surprised to read that Bush uses the same daily devotional I use, Oswald Chamber's "My Utmost for His Highest." I think we come to vastly different conclusions each day, and this is exactly my point. An engaged, enlightened discussion of faith and politics brings both morality and practicality to the table, and our public policies need both.

I encourage all of us to re-engage in our faith and how it relates to politics as a form of action. Obama encourages us to go back to our bibles, to be informed internationally, and to make our choices accordingly. Let us humbly step into the discussion of faith and politics, knowing we have a relationship with God as well as God's people.

Final Retreat Pictures

2006-07-01T16:40:00.000+03:00

At the border of Tanzania and Kenya, where the Serenghetti meets the Masai Mara.

Will is bombed by the vultures.

Phyllis' "Happy 70th" Birthday, a prank from us YAVs

Wanna-be Masai During the "Cultural Exchange"

Mara Landscape

2006-06-30T16:15:00.000+03:00

Thanks Brian!

Mara Wildlife

2006-06-29T16:09:00.000+03:00

Pictures courtesy of fellow volunteer Brian Thomas (visit his website here) and a little help from Picasa.

Croc-Daddy

Maybe we shouldn't all face the same way...

I'd rather not smell you

Baboon-Daddy

Final Retreat in the Mara

2006-06-28T15:55:00.000+03:00

This week the other YAVs and I had our final retreat at Keekoroch Lodge in the Masai Mara. It was a relaxing time, as we caught up on our activities, read a few books, welcomed Phyllis back to Kenya after a four-month "missionary tour," and enjoyed the sights and sounds of the Mara wildlife.

The lodge had a safari walk where there were plenty of monkeys and hippos to see. The monkeys even invaded the non-fenced camp and went into my room while I was taking a shower... when I emerged dripping wet and towel-girded, I found Andrea being chased around by a monkey. The two of us were able to reclaim our territory and kick the rest of them out. Apparently they wanted my watermelon but were unsuccessful. I think Andrea was somewhat traumatized by the whole episode, yet I still remain a die-hard monkey fan. Lemurs are still the best, though, but I'll have to visit Madagascar to see them in the wild.

Zebra at Sunrise

Hippo Yawn

Lions on the Lookout

Amboseli Pictures

2006-06-24T14:53:00.000+03:00

These pictures come from Brian and Katie on their trip to Amboseli (near the base of Kilimanjaro) with Brian's parents. I doctored them up a bit and here is the final product below. It doesn't look like I'll get to visit the park myself, so like you I'll just live vicariously through these images.

A Faithful Distribution

2006-06-23T13:54:00.000+03:00

A story I wrote for CWS and ACT.

Mr. Kisu, an elder in the Kenya Evangelical Lutheran Church (KELC), beams a smile as he calls out another name. He is not the only one smiling. A woman rises, presenting her ID before stepping over to the stacks of flour packets. Three women, chosen by the community to distribute the relief food, hand the woman her family’s share.

This week villages across Ukambani district outside Machackos, Kenya, including 800 families today, will receive 24 kilos of corn flour through KELC with funds provided through Action by Churches Together (ACT) and Church World Service. The church targets the neediest families, including orphans, widows, the elderly and poor, regardless of religious affiliation, to ensure the most needy receive food until the rains return.

Pastor Chambi and two church committee members observe the distribution from a distance. With weekly offerings of US$15 or less, he cannot help many people who seek assistance but today is different. Seeing these food donations makes his robust arm movements more expansive, as he emphasizes, “It doesn’t help to just give them something, but to teach them how to use it.”

Originally from Tanzania, Rev. Chambi preaches a self-reliance and communal gospel, where those suffering individually come together to discuss their problems. As he explains, poverty is “bait” to get people thinking about real, long-term solutions. In preparing for the future, he has trained his members to build churches and store grain. By teaching them certain skills, the pastor empowers the people to be self-reliant and fight poverty. Declares Rev. Chambi, “I want to go somewhere, but I don’t want to arrive there alone.”

He watches as another single mother passes, stooping under her received unga (flour). A member of Salvation Army, Sarah Nzuki has five children and walked 3 km today to receive her rations. While the food is only enough for one week, she is happy and extremely grateful to have more time to spend on productive activities such as growing and selling mangoes.

Grace Mumo of KELC also passes by on her way to receive food. She and her daughter Dorcas live alone due to community stigmatization of their HIV positive status. In this area, AIDS is a badge of shame. In “a culture of secrets,” many people die alone with the disease, she says, and the community often tries to silence her when she speaks out. Grace finds support from an ecumenical group living with AIDS and continues to educate others about the disease.

Pastor Chambi with Mama Nzuki
Pastor Chambi is very pleased with distribution, managed in a “natural and relaxed manner with no haggling.” The pastor attributes this to self-selected distribution by women, church reverence, open accountability and specifically targeting the needy. With the food on open display, the community provides an excellent model for the church in working together. Today the church is a source of present and future hope, as the faithful distribute food to those in need.

Sick, Finally!

2006-06-15T19:30:00.000+03:00

Last night I finally had a dose of the fabled traveler’s diarrhea. I’m not sure how I got it, but luckily it passed after a few hours, although I still feel a bit weak and dehydrated.

I’d been waiting to get sick, frankly, as I the only time I’ve been sick this year is on the way back from Sudan… and that was due to motion sickness, where I passed out only to wake up with a good deal of food residue on my shirt.

Many others have gotten sick here, including my roommate (on 5 separate occasions), another volunteer who’s had at least 3 bouts with malaria, and another volunteer friend who must have been sick every other week since he arrived in January.

I like to think I have an iron-stomach. It’s good to know that we all have weaknesses, and I am thankful to be humbled once more.

I also like to think I’m a healthy individual. It’s also good to be reminded that without good health, no one can do much of anything.

I am blessed, to be sick and have recovered. May God bless us everyone.

Fade In, Fade Out... and Away

2006-06-13T19:00:00.000+03:00

I’m not feeling myself, as if I were in a sleepy daze on a Saturday morning. I’m finding myself much more content to stay in and watch football than type up a blog entry. I’m more interested in finishing up watching Season Three of “24” than I am getting in touch with friends. At work, I find myself seeking the next international news story rather developing my own stories here at work.

What happened to my motivation? Did it leave with Emily two weeks ago? Am I content to just cruise through this last month and half? Am I so sluggish because of lack of inspiration, or hope, or just wanting the future now?

Lord, revive me! Revive my soul! Let me wallow not in pits of emptiness, but be filled by your grace and wisdom. Let me not fade out of compassion for those with me now, nor fade away from consciously engaging the experience before me.

African Child

2006-06-12T19:37:00.000+03:00

The All-Africa Conference of Churches organized a radio discussion about the future of the African Child, organized by my roommate Will. I found the discussion to be quite informative and heart-wrenching at times, as the participants were very honest about the future, or rather plight, of the African Child.

From what I heard, one-third of African children are malnourished, and almost that many are subject to child labor. Nearly half of the world’s child-soldiers call Africa their home. At least 200,000 children are trafficked yearly through Africa.

The participants, who included a UNICEF program coordinator, a renowned Kenyan psychiatrist, a social worker and the AACC’s General Secretary, touched upon these issues and others. They discussed the ranges of child abuse, from paddling in school to sexual abuse in and out of the home, and ways society and the church can address these issues.

Some outcomes: Awareness is an essential step towards Action, and yet it is only the beginning step. It takes a community response to a community problem. If we don’t speak for the children, who will?

World Cup Madness

2006-06-09T19:41:00.000+03:00

For those of you in the US, the news of football might not have gone much further than previews of NFL training camps. Here in Kenya, there’s all kinds of hype with the beginning of the World Cup, and its one fever that has no remedy.

Men are going out to buy TVs they can ill-afford. Women are seeking counseling for spousal neglect. Students argue who is the best team (England or Brazil) and player (Rooney or Ronaldhino). While other nations are talked about, England, Brazil and perhaps the host country Germany are the only ones in contention for the title in Kenyan’s minds.

They will, of course, be rooting for one of the five African teams to qualify: Cote d’Ivoire, Angola, Tunisia, Togo and Ghana. None of the traditional African powerhouses made it this year (Senegal, Nigeria or Cameroon), so I’m interested to see if this is a changing of the guard.

My prediction: not a single win by an African team. And still I’ll be rooting for them. [Later turns out I'm wrong: Ghana stunned Czech. Rep. 2-0 June 17th.]

The team to watch: Ecuador. That’s right, folks, you heard it here. While I have some partiality to this small South American country, having lived/studied there for 4 months, they deserve to be rooted for. They’re the only team to have beaten both Brazil (1-0) and Argentina (2-0) during qualifying matches. People say they can only play in their 9,000-ft high city, Quito, but I think they have a shot of causing some chaos in their second World Cup Finals.

With 3 games daily, beginning at 4 PM and lasting until midnight, I won’t be surprised if Kenya’s overall GDP decreases during this period. I know my productive output will…

(Im)practical Education

2006-06-07T19:46:00.000+03:00

It’s an all-too familiar case in Kenya: a promising student passes through free primary education, goes on to secondary (high school) through the support of relatives or donors, receives satisfactory marks that aren’t quite good enough for the university, and eventually finds themselves working as a house servant or estate guard in Nairobi. The bottom line: they could have saved a lot of money by forgoing secondary if this were going to be the end result.

In Kenya, there is an abundance of labor and not enough jobs, leading to massive unemployment and a majority of Nairobi citizens in slums and severe poverty. Where is the hope in education?

I remember writing a paper for IPE (International Political Economy) based on Education as the “Weapon for Mass Development” for the Global South. I argued that education would provide opportunities for people to find the jobs they sought, and create a common language between various industries without borders. If people were going to take advantage of technological and global market advances, they would need to be educated on how to make uses of these emerging opportunities.

Now that I’m here on the ground, away from the theoretical classroom, I see a different picture. As I pass by field after field of corn, I remember studying how the World Bank encouraged a focus on cash crops for export, even as the US continues to subsidize many of these crops, thus reducing world prices as US farmers flood the markets with their product. When I see a USAID box in a school’s kitchen, I know the full meaning of the imprinted tagline, “From the American People”: The US Government bought food from US farmers, shipped the food via US shipping companies, all of which was coordinated by US-based NGOs. There’s a reason the two hands on the logo are both white.

But does the average Kenyan know this or need to know this? If I found myself working in that corn field or that school kitchen, what would this knowledge possibly DO for me?

One’s education is only so good as one can use it to take advantage of a market-niche: First, there needs to be a market, and second, one needs to specially trained to take advantage of that market.

A secondary education is just too general: everyone has one. Yet many people are unable to afford higher education, and even if they do, they often end up leaving the country for higher wages and/or living standards (a.k.a. the arguable Brain Drain). Still the economy remains largely undeveloped, with huge potential for growth… but how?

Perhaps education should be more practical; for instance, vocational training in industries such as carpentry, tailoring or construction. In many of our micro-financing projects, CWS trains single-mothers in simple and specific skills so that they can make a living. In one of our programs that sponsors students, a high school graduate is out looking for work, whereas a trained-mechanic is now taking care of his mother. There is no overnight success, yet the small steps forward are lasting ones.

Development is a process, arguably a good or bad one. Yet like any process, there is a good way and a better way to go about achieving the same results. Here’s one more idea.

A Miracle Job

2006-06-06T12:50:00.000+03:00

An article written by Toya Richards Hill, appearing in the June/July 2006 issue of Presbyterians Today Magazine.

Learning how it feels to be a minority: Evans McGowan, who stands out among the people he works with in Kenya

Evans McGowan dreamed of living for an extended time outside the United States. And he believed a faith-based endeavor would be the backdrop for this experience.

Through the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) Young Adult Volunteer program he found the "perfect fit" for his dream: a one-year mission adventure in Kenya.

Working with Church World Service (CWS)—a U.S.-based relief and development agency in partnership with community-based organizations around the world—McGowan chronicles various programs and initiatives in the East African country. The goal: to build awareness and generate more donor funds.

Through a mix of traveling in the field to see projects up close and personal, and listening to updates from CWS workers and various grassroots organizations, McGowan gathers stories for a Web site and newsletters detailing how people's lives are being changed. His base is Nairobi.

"It really is a miracle job," says McGowan, 23, who calls Wilmington, Del., home and whose mother is a pastor at Westminster Presbyterian Church there. "What's wonderful is to see development work in practice, as opposed to just knowing of it in theory," he says.

Since arriving in Kenya last August, McGowan has witnessed everything from dairy goat farming and beekeeping to water system development and micro-financing efforts. And the 2005 Davidson (N.C.) College political science graduate has made a connection with the people of Kenya.

McGowan's time there also has resulted in personal growth and introspection. The experience of being away from family and friends has brought him closer to God.

There came a time when "I just suddenly realized I didn't have any of my close friends," he says. "That feeling of loneliness just hit."

Yet that same feeling of separation has been crucial to his Christian walk, which includes practices such as daily devotions and journaling. "Really getting in touch with God has been very key to me," McGowan says.

Being a minority—a white male in a majority black African world—also has been "challenging," he says. "It's really opened my eyes" to the feelings of segregation and discrimination."

"It's been humbling for me, and that's been a good thing," he says.

Ultimately, McGowan is hoping the overall experience of this year will help shape his future. He returns to the United States in August, after which he plans to take a year off before entering San Francisco Theological Seminary's Master of Divinity program.

"I really feel called to lead people to combine community action with their faith," says McGowan, "so they can put their faith in action."

The Islands of Lake Victoria

2006-06-01T15:48:00.000+03:00

The last place Emily and I visited was Lake Victoria on the Tanzania side. Africa's largest lake is also home to one of the largest fishing industries in the world. There are over 200 islands on the lake, many of which have a small fishing camp. People come from the mainland to these camps to earn money in fishing (men) or hospitality/prostitution (women).

Flying over a fishing camp
These camps are really put-together slums to take advantage of the money inflow of the fishermen. At night the camps turn into one big party with young persons participating in all sorts of illicit activity. This troubling situation creates a "Hot-Zone" for the AIDS virus and other diseases, where the disease is readily transmitted, infecting many persons. When the people start showing symptoms they return to their villages on the mainlands, often infecting their loved ones and neighbors.

My Dream Come True: Getting to Fly with Captain Hamilton
The missionary couple we visited, the Hamiltons, work with the African Inland Church to plant churches and improve the dire health situation of these islanders. Dale is a pilot and has (what he claims, I have no way of verifying) the only float plane in sub-Saharan Africa. His wife Chris is a registered nurse and has trained many community health evangelists to promote the life of Christ with responsible living.

Emily and I on a hill above the Hamilton's Place
I felt very challenged to be surrounded by such natural beauty and created ugliness. I also felt blessed to see what good can come out of such an incredible partnership the Hamiltons have with the local people. They have been there for 18 years, and their impact is most telling in the relationships they have formed. We met many members of the small church and were greatly encouraged to see their hope in a seemingly hopeless situation.

Children gather around to see the visitors
Still, there is much work to be done. My colleague Sam Mutua visited shortly after we left, and is working with the Hamiltons on a proposal that would fund a sustainable project to bring much-needed medicine and health training to these often-overlooked areas. God-willing, we will find funding for the program.

Of Faith and Choices

2006-05-31T16:51:00.000+03:00

This month I had a very special visitor: my girlfriend, Emily. Being with her for two and half weeks reminded me of the past, jarred me awake to the present and catapulted my thoughts into the future. How would all three coalesce into one coherent perspective?

So much of our lives are made up of choices based on faith. Yet before I jump to faith, let me dwell first on fortune. How fortunate to have my girlfriend here in Kenya with me! How fortunate for me to be taking a year to volunteer in Africa!

And yet what do I see through these fortunate eyes? A young gal from West Pokot, no more than 13, taken by an older man of 50 or 60 to be his third wife. A young boy from Ikuza, an island in Lake Victoria, who ran away from his abusive stepfather to live a life fishing for 16 hours and partying the other eight. A man graduating from the university with an engineering degree only to see his family live in the slums as he struggles to find work.

Outside a fishing camp on Ikuza Island, Lake Victoria
As an American I revel in having the freedom to choose. Emily had the option of visiting me in Africa. Together we had the opportunity to visit rural parts of Kenya, fly around the islands of Lake Victoria and walk through the slums of Nairobi; past some of the very persons I mentioned above. And we had the choice to return, she to her home in the US and me to my apartment in Nairobi… and soon back to the US. Most of the people we visited would be unable to leave their present circumstance, if they so chose.

A coworker remarked the other day, “Evans has seen more parts of Africa than me!” I’ve been here 10 months, and she’s lived in Kenya her entire life. Even in the same office, there is a wide spectrum of opportunity.

How much faith do I have if I can just get up and leave when things become too tough? Is there a point in life when having choices overwhelms any need of faith? With the ability to choose, do we begin to live by sight rather than by faith?

As Emily returns, so do my thoughts with her: Where will I live when I return? What will I do? How will I have changed? I plead with God to give me certain things: a comfortable place to live, an interesting job, meaningful friends. But how many of the people I just met can make requests like I can?

Emily and I flying around Lake Victoria
Oswald Chambers astutely notes that if we’re asking for things which we can see, then we’re asking out of our lust and not from the cry of our hearts. Sometimes we want God to show up on special days or dress in certain ways. Perhaps this is ingrained in us culturally, wanting a selection to choose from.

With my thoughts all jumbled about what is to happen in the next stage of life, I think I have no choices, for I want to act on things to come when I all I (ever) have is the present. And then I realize that on some level I can relate to these Africans without choice or fortune, feeling stuck in the drudgery of today. We can say we are bounded by limited choices, or we can choose to have faith that God is moving and will move in our lives, as well as others.

And change does come. The West Pokot girl Sheila is blessed to go to school and then return to teach her younger sisters. The young fisherman Peus (left) accepts Christ into his life, giving up the partying lifestyle and his job, too, and now lives by faith that the morrow will be better. The man Andrew can rest a little longer knowing his wife received a small loan to expand her business and pay for their children’s school fees.

The quality and quantity of choices available often distracts us from faithfully focusing on God’s movements in the Now. We thrive in the present hope, not waiting for change in order to live abundantly, but living in light of what is promised.

If you didn’t know anything is better out there for you, would you search for it? I find belief in God gives me hope in today with possibility for tomorrow. I do not know what is to come, yet I believe God will be present wherever, whenever. May all of us be prayerfully aware of the Spirit’s movement, in all places and at all times.

Conned...?

2006-05-26T18:28:00.000+03:00

“Evans, this is George of NGO Council. You once came to our place looking for Mr. Filbert Obadiah Sila Ngume. Did you later get him?”

Puzzled, I read over the SMS once again. I called this George of the NGO Council, and told him the only name I recognized was Sila, and the only Sila I knew is from a town called Salama. “Well, sir,” he responded, “We believe Mr. Sila conned you, and we are holding him in custody.”

Rewind a few months. I met a man on the street who introduced himself as Sila. Usually I’m asked for money for bus fares or tea, but this man was at a loss as how to pay for his daughter’s school fees. We met a couple of times thereafter, and during that time I determined he was telling the truth. I gave him a check for his daughter’s tuition so she could sit her last examination.

A month or two later, I visited Sila and his daughter at her school (LINK). I spoke with the headmistress and the school accountant, both of whom confirmed they had deposited my check and gave me a receipt. I heard from Sila a week later, who was stuck in Nairobi after his friend died in a car accident. I gave him $3 for bus fare and that was the last I heard of him.

Until now. “No, sir,” I emphatically stated over the crackly connection, “Sila did NOT con me.” “You’re saying he did not take advantage of you?” “Yes, he is a good man. Please release him from jail.” “OK, thank you sir.”

[Nearly a month later and I still do not know what the NGO Council is or the whereabouts of Sila. I hope for the best in a troublingly-odd situation.]

Gichobo Water Project

2006-05-25T15:38:00.000+03:00

Emily and I visited a water project in Gichobo, outside of Nakuru, today. Here is the story I wrote for CWS and our partners, FSK.

The Gichobo community is well on their way to building a piping system that will greatly reduce the time community members spend to fetch water, releasing them to pursue other income-generating activities.

As part of the project managed by Farming Systems Kenya in partnership with Church World Service, Fundi James Murethi is paid to supervise community volunteers over the laying of pipes. There is already a pump attendant, paid by the water committee, at the borehole to distribute water at 3 Kshs/20L. A second pump attendant is paid by the Ministry of Water. They work together from 8am until 6pm everyday day, allowing one to leave the kiosk to make repairs or solve other distribution problems.

This farming community is only able to produce food for consumption and not for marketing, due to the lack of water and consistent seasonal rains. The resulting economic instability prevents members from paying dues consistently. However, all are able to afford to pay for the water, since it will support income generating activities like selling cow’s milk.

While currently well underway, the project has faced several delays. The community had free and fair elections last year. The newly elected leaders, nine men and two women, had to adjust to their appointments and build relations with FSK and the Ministry of Water. There have also been some tribal clashes over land, and the insecurity was a strain on community resources until last month. The community was also busy in recent months cultivating their own crops, unable to volunteer their time to dig trenches and lay piping until recently.

The water committee’s secretary, Sammy, believes the community will benefit greatly from the piped water. With less distance to travel for cleaner water, “the farmers will have more time to cultivate their crops and possibly go to town to look for extra work.” He also added that the farmers can now spend more time gathering grass for their animals and investing in livestock.

While the borehole is a significant improvement, it will only be sufficient for domestic and livestock use. They hope to have the system up and running by mid-June. Another borehole and more storage tanks would be needed for irrigating crops, a community dream now closer to reality.

Em's Visit!

2006-05-23T12:03:00.000+03:00

I've had a wonderful few days with a special guest from the U.S.: my girlfirend, Emily. We are traveling out to Nakuru, Nyeri and then on to Lake Victoria in Tanzania to visit friends, see wildlife and experience the joys (and possibly a few challenges) of life in Kenya/East Africa!

The Arrival

Elephant Orphanage

Stop cheating on me!

Who's cuter?

"Touring" Kibera

2006-05-22T18:13:00.000+03:00

Emily and I had the fortune of walking through Kibera today with my friend, Jackson Kago. Jackson works with UNHABITAT in their Safer Cities Program, where Nairobi is in the initial piloting phase. Two privileged white people walking through an all-black slum made for a disparate time, leaving no real answers about reconciliation or rehabilitation. And yet I was grateful for the challenging experience.

The policy of UNHABITAT is not to provide direct funding but to play a more advisory role in helping cities develop their infrastructure. Unfortunately, the population has grown faster than the planning. Already over half of Nairobi’s 3 million persons live in the slums, or former squatter communities that have established a permanent presence. People have been born, lived and died here. These communities are made of mud, wood and tin, and little hope holds them together.

We walked through one part of Kibera, called Soweto West after the infamous ghetto in Johannesburg, South Africa. I was surprised to see how orderly things were, with wooden structures forming a line along a straight dirt-packed street. There were even ditches for draining in some places and water lines to collection points.

Even so, life here is hard, with no city infrastructure to speak of. Many children walked around barefoot, playing amidst the filth and trash. People sell all kinds of odds and ends to make a living, often setting up shop wherever there’s an open spot. Most of the houses aren’t owned but rented out, not by the owner of land (technically the government) but by whoever got there first and built a structure for those who followed.

There is great innovation here. Kids play with toys made from discarded wire and rubber. Women lay out lint to dry in the sun, later to sell as stuffing for mattresses and pillows. Men set up “movie theaters” to show bootlegs of Bruce Lee.

Remnants of various projects lie amidst the rubble. A concrete bridge rises a good 10 feet above the “streets” it was supposed to connect. A faggot of pipes, disconnected from the mainline, are buried along the road, a failed (or still ongoing?) World Bank project. The only concrete building in sight is a seat of government, locked and heavily fortified.

If a project like safer cities is going to succeed, the program will need outside funding and inside backing. That is, it will need infrastructure from an outside funding source like the World Bank while also soliciting the support of the community. They have formed their own identity, and together they stand or together they go… even as each fights individually to survive on a day-to-day basis.

Jackson is well aware of the need for community approval and participation. Let us hope we can all work together for a safer, better tomorrow; if not for our sake, then for our children’s.

Soccer Tournament

2006-05-21T17:58:00.000+03:00

Today Emily and I went to a soccer tournament, organized by some of my friends, David and Julius. Their idea was to get a trophy and balls and host a tournament with some local schools. Each school would have a team compete for the trophy, winning some balls and some pride in the process. Hopefully events like this would keep kids coming to school and interested in furthering their education (let alone sports ability). With some money given to me by a few friends in the US, I paid for the trophy and balls. It turned out to be a tremendous success and Emily and I thoroughly enjoyed being with the kids on this day of celebration.

Some of the Soccer Fans & Players

A Happy Mzungu Couple

Emily Gets Her Groove On

Trophy Presentation:
Myself, Julius, and the winning captains

Kikuyu Hospitality

2006-05-21T08:22:00.000+03:00

Emily and I were fortunate enough to be well-hosted this weekend by a number of folks. From friends our age to older co-workers and even missionaries, the hospitality of Kikuyu goes unsurpassed. Plus, it just makes me look good in front of my girlfriend. Thanks, y'all!

Myself, our friend David Wakogi, and Emily

Kiragu's niece and Emily make faces at each other

Hosted by my colleague and friend Kiragu and his wife Naomi

Terry & Lyle Dykstra, a missionary couple from my hometown area

Football Tournament

2006-05-20T18:42:00.000+03:00

Man Down: Will Someone Please Stand Up?

2006-05-14T09:57:00.000+03:00

Will and I returned from church down a road filled with pot-holes and puddles; a typical Nairobi street this time of year. No sooner had we navigated across the tarmac river than we heard a loud krada-thump!. Spinning around I saw a man falling to the ground as a green BMW sped by. The man hung in the air a split second before falling listlessly to the ground.

Dumbfounded, I took two steps toward him before turning back to see the car hesitate, pausing to consider God-knows-what, before speeding off with a broken side mirror. I looked back at the man, sitting up as if waking up from a nightmare. He scooted himself off the asphalt, clutching his left leg just above the knee. I went over and got his sweater out of the street.

I asked if he was all right. His response was to lay down and cover his face, grimacing in pain. By now some other people has stopped and were watching events unfold, living statues of silent witness. A man walked over and talked to the man in Swahili. He asked if we had gotten the license plate of the car. The one way we could have possibly helped and we were blinded by shock.

I had no idea what to do. After five minutes of wondering, a car pulled up and the driver said he had the number of the culpable person (I assume he had followed the car). We helped the man, Michael Oduor, across the same forsaken street and inside the car. I asked if he needed names and numbers of witnesses before going to the hospital, possibly with a fractured femur. The driver, Charles, and the man who stopped to help, Peter, thought that it was a good idea.

By now it had started to rain. I wrote my name and number on some paper and handed it to Charles. After I re-crossed the street, Will asked if he was going to need any money for the hospital. The car was already pulling away. “Well, he’s got my number,” I mustered up, hoping that he would call.

Not a block later a man with loose change in one hand and a nibble of corn cob in the other asked us for money. We refused.

And I wondered. I wondered about how people can always use a little help, and then there are times when someone is absolutely in need of help. We are all under God’s mercy, and at times chosen to be vessels of grace.

How can we say no? Yet how often do we say yes?

Before I Go

2006-05-12T10:00:00.000+03:00

What will I take with me? What will I leave behind?

Sometimes I wonder if we are really nomads, meant to roam this earth that we call home by default. In Kenya there are both pastoralists and farmers. In Rwanda, this was one - and possibly the main - distinction between Hutus and Tutsis.

Certainly, I am more comfortable staying in one place. Yet the call of the wild, or simply the boredom of the city, draws me out… only to return again. I’m willing to travel for a few days, sometimes weeks, but it’s always nice to have someplace to return to that

“Home is where the heart is.” This cliché phrase says so much more to Christians, as we carry the peace and love of our Savior Jesus Christ wherever we go. The Spirit, not circumstances, should both be our guide and our strength. Yet too often we are content to remain comfortable and unchanged.

Before I go, I will continue to reflect on these things… Instead of looking at these last two months or so as a list to check off, what if I saw this time as several mini-safaris that I might not ever get to take again? If I block my time into weeks, as we often do for vacation time, will I not seek to get more out of each day? I hope and pray so, staying focused on the goal ahead while fully experiencing today’s now.

Of Storks and Men

2006-05-09T10:03:00.000+03:00

A Backdrop to Education
My colleague Sara Bureti and I visited Wangu Primary School today in Dandora, part of the Muthare Slums of Nairobi. We had with us four Americans from Wahalla, Washington, interested in using their apple business to support education.

The pungent smells of stagnant sewage and rotting waste permeated every corner of the school, as a result of the city dump a stone throw’s away from the school grounds. I had walked through a city dump before in Managua, Nicaragua, and yet could not imagine a public primary school being so close to this filth.

With a radius of over 5 km and growing, the Nairobi dump continues to expand and encroach upon school grounds. People bring their cattle and pigs to feed at the dump, and many wander onto school grounds. During break times, students jostle with cattle and pigs for space to play.

People throw trash onto school grounds, and the innocent little ones often eat the toxic substances. The stench affects the ability of students to learn, leading to numerous headaches and respiratory problems. Hearing all this, I look out to the hills of trash not 50 yards off, where men and storks alike rummage the heaps, living as scavengers.

Window of Opportunity: drug deals are still made through the barbwire fence.
The city dump is a hideout for Nairobi’s most notorious and violent criminals. Formally an estate, the dump and its residents have taken over all the land and the stripped what remains of dilapidated structures. Many use the school as a place to sell drugs, and parents have been known to even use their children to make drug deals on school grounds.

The school would like to see the dump abolished, restricted and perhaps moved to the airport. Yet for many the dump is a source of livelihood, however meager. Some parents are involved in collecting various items from the trash heaps and reselling them in the neighborhood. Many children are orphans and live in houses made of weak mud walls, notes one Primary Seven student Elija Orau, where a thief can come and say, “Open the door or I enter.”

A teacher who had been there ten years said that before the fence was put in with SSZ funds, they would have to close school for two hours, sometimes making the children stay low in the classrooms as gangs clashed within the school’s parade grounds. With the improved security, they are now able to continue with classes uninterrupted.

Headmaster Christine used to assign teachers to take home the office phone and return it in the morning due to the high crime rate. She could not even leave a textbook on her desk without it being stolen that night. Now she keeps a computer in her office, no longer worried about criminals invading the school.

Barriers of Safety and Resentment
The local head of security is very friendly and places the protection of the school in utmost priority. The parents have also been impressed with the strong gate and have agreed with the school to not exacerbate school vandalism. Nonetheless, they know that the chokoras or “street children” are part of the community; thereby a part of the problem and must be incorporated into a sustainable solution. By talking to them and exchanging the needs of each, they are able to create a safe learning environment while not restricting access to the people’s need to make a living; however dismal.

The school has received many tonnes of rations from USAID but is unable to raise funds ($5000) for a kitchen to cook the food. Many parents contributed 50 Kshs (65 cents) each to build a temporary kitchen, but the facilities are inadequate for the 2,000+ students.

However, as the headmistress notes, “As long as we say, ‘Here, take, take,’ they will never have ownership. If they don’t own it, they won’t sustain it.” A great example of program ownership has been the school’s gardens. The students planted and water the gardens, which are doing remarkably well even after a prolonged dry spell. Not only will the trees and bushes beautify school grounds, but hopefully they will purify the air as well, says “Mr. Green,” the teacher in charge of the project.

Students, teachers and parents all persevere through dismal circumstances in hopes of a brighter tomorrow, when they can move from the dump to a better place. Until that day, they are resolute to be moral and upright persons, serving as role models for the school as well as the community.

A Certificate, A Diploma, A Degree

2006-05-08T09:43:00.000+03:00

Today I had lunch with two good friends, Wycliffe and Paul. Each are Kenyan and come from the Western part of the country, and yet they have grown up in entirely different families.

Myself, Wycliffe and Paul
Wycliffe spoke of coming back from his home, where he had just spent all of his savings getting his father out of prison. Apparently, he runs a computer teaching school and wasn't able to pay all of the teachers, and when he didn't show up to court to contest their civil action, he was arrested and thrown in jail. I felt sorry for Wycliffe, who was raised by his grandmother while his father was largely out of the picture. Yet I knew Paul hadn't seen his family in a long time, and I asked him about his thoughts returning home.

Paul said he hadn't seen his family since August, although he had made the two-day journey several times. His family is nomadic, and with the prolonged drought they had been forced to move frequently and far off. Now the government is trying to cut down on illegal guns, guns which protect his family because the government is unable to provide adequate security from marauding cattle raiders. "To take our guns they might as well take our lives," Paul says. The men have fled to Uganda with their guns and cattle, leaving the women and children close to towns in order to survive.

The two began talking about their backgrounds, with Wycliffe being amazed that Paul had come so far. I didn't bring up my family or background in education, and instead listened and wondered about these three men of various familial and educational backgrounds converge and discuss issues of life, pain and survival.

Wycliffe has a certificate from High School, Paul a diploma in Logistics, and I a BA degree in Political Science. I marvel where we had come from, and faithfully fear where we might go.

The Visible & Invisible

2006-05-07T10:31:00.000+03:00

There are two systems of authority in Kenya: the traditional and the Western. Before the British came, usually decisions were made by a group of male elders. After the British, elections and documents took over. The Kenyans quickly learned that if it wasn’t in writing, it didn’t happen.

The Kenyan structure of government often has ‘duplicate’ jobs at the local level, having both chiefs and district officers. The chiefs are the recognized authority by the community, yet the government consults with the DO. There needs to be consensus from both sides, the traditional and the Western, for anything to move forward.

Myself and Gabriel, a community leader
Sammy Mutua, an emergency and development consultant with CWS, urges communities to involve elders in the decision-making process, like holding a meeting at a proposed borehole site to discuss the way forward. Recently, he told two community representatives Gabriel and Joseph, “The church will pay for the borehole, but then the community will be responsible for maintaining the water source.”

Two worlds are colliding: How will you keep it together? One way is by writing things down, recording what happened and what people said, so that they can be held accountable later on. It used to be that one’s word was good enough. But now people act as individuals without community accountability. The visible paper is needed.

Left: Joseph and Gabriel at Borehole Site

Exact property lines demarcating land boundaries, often visibly marked by a fence, ensure proper security and ownership. There needs to be a deed, and there needs to be a fence. The answer to the question, “Whose land is it?” can change drastically depending on whether the water is below or above ground. Mutua also encouraged the community to secure a deed for a large swath of land so that cattle could graze and vegetable gardens be planted, using viable and valuable female labor.

Gabriel and Joseph agreed to make these decisions with the elders and put them in writing, thus preventing parties from reneging on their commitments. They also recognized the need to train a pump operator as well as the community on pump maintenance and financial management. Mutua encouraged these Sunday church leaders to be community leaders the rest of the week, too.

Commenting on Mutua says, “For CWS, monitoring isn’t just a policy, it is working together... Churches have done a lot of good work on the ground. The problem is that we don’t have the corresponding documentation.” I hope I can play a part in bringing these stories to light for more to read and take action.

Faith and action, word and deed, invisible and visible. Together we can move mountains. Alone we are buried underneath.

Just Cruisin'

2006-05-06T09:49:00.000+03:00

The first time I really lived abroad was when I spent a semester studying in Ecuador with a host family in Quito. About halfway through my four-month stay, I found myself running down a beach at night until I fell upon my knees, tears streaming down my face and shouting out to God over the ocean’s crashing waves: “I can’t do this! …I can’t be here.”

Nothing as dramatic has happened during my stay in Kenya, yet I feel myself sliding into a nonchalant, “just cruising” attitude. My boss Dan came up to me the other day and asked if I was still getting all I wanted out of this experience with Church World Service. I appreciate his continued check-ins on how I’m doing, and I must say, I’m living a dream to be here in Africa working with a faith-based NGO… and it ain’t over yet.

I think there are a number of reasons for ‘this round’ abroad not being as intense. Having had my experience in Ecuador as a reference, I was better prepared for this year living abroad. For better or worse, I have not had to learn another language in order to communicate with most people here. I feel like I’m contributing to my life here and have some control; two things I sorely missed as a foreign exchange student.

Already I’m thinking about next year: about making presentations about my experience (already scheduling some dates), about finding a job (no interviews yet!), and just general re-adjustments back to U.S. life in a familiar yet new setting. Thinking about this forthcoming world apart, I’m taken from this present, amazing reality I’m floating through… rather than walking purposefully. And on some level I feel like I can no longer give it my all, and am content to just cruise until I land back on US soil July 27th.

And then I remember the response I received, eyes staring unfocusedly into the blackness of space. Out of the hollow darkness of silence called a voice: “I know you can’t, but I can. I am here. Always.”

Trading Cattle for Education

2006-05-05T10:02:00.000+03:00

An abbreviated article I wrote for CWS

A chorus of songbirds creates a symphonic background to lush pastures and thriving acacia trees. Few would suspect a recent drought has killed many cattle, leaving the grass uneaten to rot in the Maasai land of Puko, a community in Central Kajiado District southeast of Nairobi near the Tanzanian border.

One Family of the Nkurruna Boma (Family Compound)
Norkeyio Nkurruna does not recall a drought this severe since she was a little girl. During this drought she lost eight cows, most of whom were expectant. The three remaining young ones will hardly be enough to support her six children and numerous grandchildren living within her compound. Her husband Olesalao has a total of twenty children with two other wives, and his herd of 306 is now down to a mere 50. He now leaves the pickup truck at the house, unable to afford the fuel for the 13 km trek to town.

Heading to the Borehole Site
The whole region has suffered from the drought, with no health network for over 70 bomas or family compounds. The nearest water source is 11 km away, a borehole that was only put in last year and ceased to work for many months. This means a full day must be sent to take the cattle for water, and the women make the three-hour journey one way.

Boreholes are notorious for not working consistently in this region. Prolonged drought exacerbates the situation, often overworking the generator until it breaks. During the drought, each herdsman must pay 25 Kshs ($ 0.32) per head of cattle to drink from the borehole. The community has already shown great initiative, putting together their resources and paying to survey a borehole site. The community has also given small goats to desperate families in order to breed and replenish their livestock.

Another decade will pass before the Nkurruna family has another 100 cows, still only half of what they had. Yet a son Mokinyo Dami fears they will never make have that many, with food and school fees for the children to pay. After the drought’s devastation, he and his wife Enoolera have decided to invest in the education of their children rather than food for their cattle.

April Newsletter

2006-05-01T10:26:00.000+03:00

Nearing the end of my stay, I have begun to think of my legacy. What will I leave behind? What will I take with me? Who will remember me? Who will I remember? What connections will sever and which ones will last long after I board the plane home?

As usual, I’m being melodramatic and a bit egotistical thinking about how much impact I can really have as one person in a foreign culture for a year. Being here this long has made me realize how little I will leave behind and yet how much I will take with me. So much of my experience is intangible, and yet if I could point it out to someone, saying, “There: see what I’ve done, how I’ve changed?” I’m not sure I would.

The development initiatives I cover in various human-interest stories are a helpful reminder that we are but one small piece of the puzzle. There are the soft faces and the hard projects.

I stare into the nooks and crannies of a grandmother’s face, eons of experience hidden within the folds of skin. She has lost her sons to AIDS and now their wives care for her grandchildren. Which is the lost generation? This woman has much to teach me if I’m attentive and patient enough to listen. And there is still much I will never understand.

The TD Jakes/Potterhouse borehole built and commemorated last September had ceased functioning by November. We were able to call all the partners together and work out a solution, but what will happen in the next crisis? I won’t be there; will Potterhouse? How about Church World Service?

I remember Joseph, the pump attendant with metals keys in one hand and a wooden staff in the other. I remember Noah, the man who donated the land for the borehole to the community, proudly gesturing to the stone storage house with a light in his eyes. I remember his wife, Esther, bending over to turn on the water and letting it run over her worn hands. I have much to learn from these simple, grateful people.

Over the course of this year, I have wanted to start a computing program for night watchmen, establish microfinance businesses with single mothers in a Nairobi slum, and encourage young people interested in NGO work abroad to connect with our partners here in Kenya. I have not lost hope with any of these projects, but how many are my own aspirations rather than God’s vision?

I marvel at other missionaries here, part in admiration and part in sympathy as I sometimes think they’re fooling themselves if they think they can make a difference. How can we make change in our own communities, let alone ones we are still adjusting to? There is room (and need) for much grace.

I’m reminded of my friend Dale Hamilton and how he has followed a vision to buy a float plane and create a spiritual and health ministry in the islands of Lake Victoria. He pursues the vision, not entirely certain whether it is his or God’s. And still people are benefiting from his and his wife’s effort to bring both physical and spiritual healing to a people largely ignored.

We live by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7). If we can see where we’re headed, then where’s the faith? If we know where we are going, then why go? There is something terribly exciting and tremendously humbling about not knowing what kind of impact we have on others… or others on us.

And so I continue to engage in life: the gift God has given to everyone, not to be cherished selfishly but rather shared joyfully. Wherever you are, whatever you do, engage for change in your life and others – if you dare.

Immersion Experience

2006-04-30T14:11:00.000+03:00

Our group with the KMQ community
This past weekend our group of six (minus Rachel- sad!) volunteers went to a Maasai village to build a nursery for a school. The community is called KMQ, for the Kenya Mining Quarry for marble nearby established in 1928. Migrant workers earn about $2/day for chipping away 5 tonnes of marble, and most do not last longer than 2 years. They cooked us a meal each day (see kitchen above) and had already built the 3-room structure when we arrived. All that was left for us to do is paint.

Keep up the good work, Brian!
Two long days of painting didn't keep us from joking around with each other and playing frisbee with some of the Maasai. On Sunday we hiked over 30 minutes up a hill to a church under an acacia tree. During the morning on the weekdays it doubles as a school. Laona, a Maasai women, serves as both preacher and teacher.

Saying Farewells Outside of Church.
We returned to the school grounds to a ceremony held for us by the community, complete with two slaughtered goats, lots of singing by the women and gifts of beaded jewelry for each of us. As a group, we presented stationery and pencils for the more than 600 students at KMQ Primary.

Presenting the Stationery.
Overall, I enjoyed the experience very much, although I was left wondering many things: Will nursery encourage parents to send their children to school at an early age? Will the Maasai women continually be taken out before they reach 13 to be circumcized and married off? Will the nearby marble mine continue to pollute the air and exacerbate health problems of children, even as their parents make a living from the industry?

I look forward to the day when I can return to this community and see how they are continuing on. Until then, we can all pray: for the parents to remain faithful as they find ways to pay for uniforms to send their kids to school; for the children to study hard even as they walk many kilometers to and from school each day; for the committee as they find ways to store water during the short rains in preparation for the long drought; for the Headmaster in $2,000 of debt for his degree in Early Childhood Education...

... for all those things that remind us that while we are not at the center of the world, we can play a definitive role in others' lives, and they in ours.

Painting Practice

2006-04-29T14:05:00.000+03:00

Will: HIGH-FIVE!

The Power of Two

It's stuck, I swear!

Yes, that's a camel in the road.

Police Encounter

2006-04-24T11:39:00.000+03:00

Walking home last night, I was stopped by a policeman. I rarely see police on my street, and generally feel it is a safe neighborhood. However, my neighborhood is an exception to most of Nairobi, with many people living behind high walls and guarded gates.

The policeman asked me for my identification, where I was going, what I was doing, and where I lived. He said it wasn’t safe for me to be out (it was about 8PM) since there had been a mugging recently. I explained that I lived right around the corner and the people around here knew me, but said I would take his advice.

He then asked if I could provide him with some chai. I said that, sadly, I didn’t have a cup of tea on me. He then gently pulled me aside, away from the other guards, and asked, “Not even a 100 shillings?” I apologized and said I didn’t have anything on me except two shillings. He waved me on, not wanting to press the issue and yet probably thinking it highly probable that this mzungu didn’t even have a dollar on him.

I wonder if I would have given him the bribe. After all, I am constantly asked for money as I walk along the street. This time was different only because it was a policeman. He hadn’t threatened me or abused his power; he had just asked. He has a job and therefore is more fortunate than most Kenyans, yet his pay is barely more than the night watchman: about $200 per month.

The fight against corruption continues, although success is slow. According to Transparency International, each Kenyan pays an average of 16 bribes a month, with 41% of the bribes totaling over 50,000 Kshs ($700) each. I think those statistics are exaggerated yet even if they are a little bit true it's quite astounding.

I think the practice originates in the Kenyan/African custom of always having something to give to someone as a sign of appreciation. While no excuse for corruption, culture perspective is key to at least a partial understanding of why the trend is so rampant.

Click here for more information about corruption in Kenya.

A Growing Church

2006-04-23T11:10:00.000+03:00

Christianity continues to spread in Kenya, and in particular, the PCEA (Presbyterian Church of East Africa) in the Maasai community. Today in my host-parent’s church, a young Maasai man Emmanuel was licensed or ordained into the PCEA. About 20 Maasai family members and friends came to this Nairobi suburban church to celebrate the successful completion of his studies.

With 43 presbyteries spanning Kenyan, Uganda and Tanzania, the PCEA is already larger than the PC(USA) with over 3 million members, and continues to grow rapidly. A few months ago I met a pastor in Nakuru who has 17 congregations, meaning they see him about 3 times a year in the pulpit.

The PCEA currently has only one accredited seminary, St. Paul's School of Theology, and works hard to train pastors in a 3-4 year degree that's roughly equivalent to a bachelor's degree in the US. I believe they graduate about 60 students each year from a consortium of denominations, including Presbyterian, Methodist and Anglican.

These ordinations refect the growing number of African Christians (some estimates as high as 23,000 PER DAY! according to the book The Next Christendom), even as mainline denominations diminish in America. The beliefs of these new converts are quite interesting, melding with the morals of conservative evangelicals in the US and the global social justice of the more liberally-minded. The result is a unique blend of Christianity that has hints of Western culture, and yet is distinctly African.

With such a shortage of preachers, more need to be trained to disciple the masses and deepen the roots of faith. So many evangelical preachers come and go. I’m thankful for the ones who stay, joining the people side-by-side, hand-in-hand, on the journey of faith.

Rising Tide and Sinking Ships

2006-04-21T10:01:00.000+03:00

My friend Joyce and I had lunch today at the no-name Indian buffet place. As we were eating, she told me of a woman she met while awaiting my arrival. The woman begged her for money, and Joyce said she could give her money but that having a job was more sustainable.

The woman replied that she had been offered a housekeeping job for 800 shillings (about $11) a month. Her husband had just passed on and she had to pay rent of 700 shillings per month for her 7 children. She reluctantly returned to the woman to try and negotiate, only to find out that someone else had taken the job.

Such is the spiral of poverty and vast unemployment: without skills, a person is easily replaced by another. Education and training is necessary to differentiate and separate oneself from the fray. Yet oftentimes one must pay for these services, or even if they are free, one must be earning something to pay for rent… let alone school supplies and uniforms so that one’s children will have a better opportunity.

I listened as Joyce finished her story, saying goodbye to her and hello to me; turning from the one without to the one with. Perhaps like you, my heart broke within me, leaving my chest feeling hollow and my body helpless. Yet unlike you, I walked out of the restaurant and passed the very same woman. I had heard her story and yet I did nothing.

What could I have done? I’m asked every week to find someone a job. I work in a development agency that’s trying to create wealth. On a macro level, I know what needs to happen as far as investment in infrastructure, micro-financing, skills training... globally, a rising tide in my mind.

And then I look out in the neighboring bay at the sinking ships, the ones with gaping holes, incapable of repairing themselves and resources an ocean apart. As the tide rides, will all that’s left floating be yachts surrounded by flotsam and jetsam?

Those who say, “I love God,” and ignore their brothers and sisters are liars; for those who do not love a brother and sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen.” ~ 1 John 4:20

I can tell another’s story, but I cannot create one of my own.

Magic Corn Stalks

2006-04-20T09:35:00.000+03:00

An abbreviated story I wrote on a monitoring trip of the drought with my colleague, Sam Mutua.

Agnes Nundu watches two children, Ramon and Kasioka, play in freshly turned dirt. Both three years old, children have never seen maize growing from the ground since birth. For three years farmers in Masongaleni area in Kibwezi, in Makueni District of Kenya, have planted seed only to see the rains fail and nothing grow.

A bulldozer roars to life behind the children’s playground, moving the dusty soil to create a large earth dam. If and when the rains do come, the dam will catch over 12,000 m3 of water to be used for irrigation. Surveying the surrounding farmland, the dam’s contractor comments, “I noticed that people haven’t planted yet.”

The people have planted but the crops have failed. While much of Kenya is experiencing the rainy season, this region has only received 1 mm of rainfall. Crops will be planted again in October during the short rainy season, but farmers must wait to harvest until March of next year.

Community Resource Initiative (CRI) and Church World Service have partnered together to secure an emergency relief grant from ACT (Action by Churches Together) for this community to fund the building of the earth dam. An estimated 50 families will use the dam for irrigation.

Ten years ago, CWS successfully funded a water project implemented by CRI. Over 47 km of piping was laid and 16 water points established in the community, reducing person’s distance to fetch water from more than 20 km to less than 4 km. The water comes from Umani Water Springs in Kibwezi and is metered, meaning people have enough for domestic use but not for irrigation.

Agnes says since the dam is built and once the rains come, “We will never suffer again.” For now, the children continue playing in the dust. Little Ramon clutches a baobab fruit in his hand, filled with a powdery substance that nourishes the body while leaving the mouth dry. Hopefully before long, these children will believe the magical stories they hear of maize springing forth from the ground.

Cattle Raiders

2006-04-19T17:41:00.000+03:00

The rains have come, and so have the cattle raiders.

With so many people having lost most – if not all – of their livestock, cattle raiding has become a popular way to restock. Livestock is the currency by which these people live, and stealing the preferred method.

Paul told me about his tribe the Turkanas and how they raided cattle. Much of the fighting is done at night, with the whole village “riling up” their warriors for the raid. With small arms having infiltrated the area (the US being the #1 exporter in the world), the conflicts have escalated in intensity.

What once used to be a competition and way of life is quickly turning into a bloodbath. Already 15 people have been killed. Tragically, a peace mission to one of the troubled regions ended terribly when a plane carrying all of the area’s MPs (members of parliament) crashed and killed all of them onboard.

The conflict is cross-border, involving persons in Kenya, Uganda, Sudan and Ethiopia. Most of the time men are the casualties, but recently women and children have died as well. Please be praying for this troubled region. It is so much easier to resort to survival of the fittest rather than cooperate together when resources are scare and the situation so dire.

Read more about the situation from Oxfam and the BBC.

Beyond Seminary

2006-04-19T09:07:00.000+03:00

For those of you who sent me this article, and others who I thought might be interested in my response, I have prepared some thoughts on going to seminary.

The Masters of Divinity degree should widen the borders of faith exploration rather than dig tunnels with provincial vision, giving one the tools for further inquiry into the layers of belief as opposed to finding satisfaction on the surface to tell what lies beneath. I was told early on that seminary would utterly challenge and force me to re-evaluate my personal tenets of faith, and the notion continues to excite my hopes and fears about going deeper into the unseen.

I do not know yet how this experience will affect my future career, be it in the ministry or development, a combination thereof or something radically different. Yet I feel that seminary will help me interpret and share with others the events and people I have seen here.

Right now the challenge is to behold what is in front of me: the girl younger with me taking care of children, both of her womb and her parents; the woman selling vegetables along the street to pay for her children's school fees; the man waiting outside the tin gate each morning, hoping that today the factory will choose him for the day's labor and he can return home to feed his family; the boy without shoes walking home from school in a torn uniform to study on the dirt floor by lantern light.

What has become of God's Creation-dom? Where is the love of each other individually and as a race made in God's image? How do we rectify or make sense of the horrific images we receive with the hopeful dreams we envision?

Already I have been practically challenged with Jesus' words, "Do you now believe?" I want to add a little bit of theory to the mix, sharpening my mind and softening my heart in preparation for a world of hurt, angst and despair.

May God's grace water
the seeds of hope sown deep
within our being,
that we might
outwardly share our
divine gift of love
with others.

Have Hope. Be Brazen. Love Loudly.

Easter Weekend on Indian Coast

2006-04-17T13:59:00.000+03:00

Two friends, Mercy, a graphic designer, and Katie, an intern with an outdoors teambuilding corporation
This weekend I went with a young adult group from my church, Nairobi Chapel, to Maweni Camp, on the south coast of Mombasa overlooking the Indian Ocean. We had a great time enjoying our long weekend away from Nairobi and getting to know each other better.

We had a great time playing games, having small group discussion, journaling, swimming, tossing the frisbee and just hanging out. The theme of the weekend was not allowing others to look down on you because of your youth, but instead be an example to others in word, conduct, faith, love and purity (1 Tim 4:12).

As I've found typical of youth ministry here, I felt we focused a lot on sexual purity. While this is an important issue, our small group also talked about other ways we can be an example not only to our agemates but those both younger and older than us.

Albo leads another game, including the one above: a relay race where you have to dangle a pen (or "pilot" as Kenyans say) into a soda bottle without using your hands.

Probably my favorite part of the weekend was just getting a chance to relax on the beach. Although I didn't sleep well at night with the heat and mosquitoes, I had plenty of time to catch up as I lounged on the beach, sometimes rousing myself to enter the rather warm waters of the Indian Ocean.

Friend Krieg pauses to take it all in.

African Family

2006-04-14T15:32:00.000+03:00

A story I wrote on a recent field visit.

A woman and nine children emerge from inside and behind a mud house. There are no men in this family, who are a rare sight in this area. HIV/AIDS has rewarded their hard labor with an early death, leaving behind children, wives and mothers; even grandmothers.

An old woman sits in a chair, extends a hand towards us in welcome. After introductions, Kyikethe Wamwalua thanks us for coming, saying, “It is good that you have come, so you can see the wound you are treating.” She is a grandmother to the other woman, Catherine Nduku, and great-grandmother to the 9 children.

Catherine recently benefited from a maize distribution coordinated by Church World Service and the Africa Brotherhood Church. She received a total of 100 kilos of maize, which should feed the family of 11 for about 3 weeks.
She is responsible for the nine children, four of whom are her own, and her grandmother. All the men have succumbed to HIV/AIDS, including her brother two years ago whose wife ran away after his death. Since Catherine is the primary caretaker of these 10 persons, she relies heavily on Nzeli, a sister-in-law who earns around $30/mo. in a village store. Neighbors have donated used uniforms so that the children can attend school. The family cooks twice a day, using any leftovers for breakfast the next day.
Behold the Future: A woman looks to her child, a child looks to his great-grandmother.

The ABC distribution sponsored by CWS was facilitated by the lead coordinator, Juliana Mulandi. The community selected the members of utmost need as maize recipients, including widows, orphans, the elderly and handicap. Cowpea, cassava and sweet potato seed was also distributed as alternatives to maize, both to increase nutrition and as a more durable crop.

Turkana

2006-04-10T16:52:00.000+03:00

My friend Paul comes from Turkana, the remote Northwest District of Kenya. His people are pastoralists, often moving to follow the rain patterns to feed their flocks. Generally they stay as a clan (about 100 people, or 2-5 families) in one area for one month, then move on. He had 8 brothers and sisters but 2 have passed on. There are 14 clans in his tribe, and one cannot marry from within the same clan.

His grandfather had 13 wives and 70 children. A Turkana saying: “One wife is like having one eye.” That is, if something were to happen to that eye, you’d be blind. A typical dowry used to be 30 goats, 10 cows, 5 camels, 5 donkeys and lots of beads, given to the parents. Nowadays, people are much poorer due to a greater population, overstocking and climate change, and pay much less in terms of dowry.

Traditionally, the men wear blankets or nothing at all. The women wear animal skins and beads, covering their private parts. Women who go to school are traditionally considered not to be morally upright and therefore not worthy candidates for marriage. All the men carry around an ekicholong, a small stool used as a pillow for sleeping or sitting.

As pastoralists, they live off their animals. However, very rarely do they kill one, maybe one goat a month. They survive by eating nangarra, a porridge made of salt, sugar, blood and milk. They cut an artery of the goat near the shoulder, draining some of the blood in a pan before using the goat’s droppings to clot the wound. They eat about once a day, usually at night, and supplement their diet with wild fruits and what wild animals they can kill.

He characterizes his people as quite idle compared to city-dwellers. Dancing (edonga) at night is a popular activity, with the men clapping and stomping in unison as they chant out a beat. The young and unwed often do the dancing, with lots of respect shown to the elders. Sometimes the male dancers will shout out the names of their bull.

Christians, predominantly Catholics, have brought a lot of change to the Turkana people in the forms of education, health and lifestyle. Up until last year all eight of the high schools were Catholic. The church built houses for its members and introduced Western clothing, and the first permanent towns were established. Health clinics, roads and boreholes were also built. In this way, the Catholics were more of an NGO than a faith community, and Turkanas won’t come to church if it isn’t offering something in terms of a school, health clinic or food.

Today Paul studies logistics at a local Christian college, hoping to get a job to help his people develop. World Vision paid for his primary education, and another donor from the states paid for his secondary schooling. He was given a camera by an American friend, allowing him to pay his present courses with the assistance of government funds through CDF (Community Development Fund). Presently he is engaged to Phoebe, a woman from the coast, although they don’t plan on marrying until one or both of them have stable jobs… which could be years from now.

Paul attributes his faithful optimism to helping him get through life. He envisions a mobilizing the youth to form a national movement to gain great political representation. Yet as his roommate says,

“The people who matter don’t care,
And the people who care don’t matter.”

Ballin'

2006-04-08T13:32:00.000+03:00

Myself with Team Andy's (L to R): Jamu, Dan, Simon, Terry, et al.
Today I was invited to join a team from St. Andrews to play in a basketball tournament. I thought it would be held indoors, but we played on an outdoor court with holes and cracks filled with water and mud: true pick-up style.

Warm-Ups: I was one of about three who couldn't dunk.
Unfortunately, only one other team showed up. Still, we resoundly beat our opponents, 72-58 and 39-31, in a three-game series.

A Victorious Walk-Off.
Thankfully, the sun came out and it turned into a beautiful day. However, I wasn't prepared and was burnt in a pattern of warpaint au naturale and the color of uncooked hot dog.

Gotta Love the Pain of Gold Bond.

Visiting Friends

2006-04-06T12:54:00.000+03:00

A while ago I met a guy my age, Paul, on a bus coming from Matunda. He is from Turkana, a remote region in Northwest Kenya near Sudan and Ethiopia, and his people have been hard-hit by the drought. He currently studies logistics at a Christian training center in Machakos, a town about an hour outside of Nairobi.

Paul, his roommate, fiancee Phoebe, and Me outside his school.
I took a matatu from Athi River after visiting Kajiado for the day. As fortune would have it, it quickly became dark but I met another Kenyan, Mwando, who helped me arrive to Paul's place safely. His roomate is from Western Province and we talked late into the night with Paul and his friends about what they were studying, the Turkanas, and a vision of uniting the youth of Kenya.

A mattress for two (and 3 tonight). They pay about $13/mo. for this simple room.
The next morning I traveled another half-hour to meet another friend, Sila. I met him on the street, and to make a long story short ended up sponsoring his daughter for secondary school with the help of a friend back home. We walked and traveled by matatu for nearly two hours to see both his son, Michael, at Mukaa school and his daughter, Josephine, at Precious Blood.

Sila and his daughter, Josephine.
Josephine is first in her class and will now be able to sit for her final examinations in November. However, if Sila is unable to raise another $300 by then, she will not receive her certificate.

A cow grazes in a field by the roadside. Somewhere in the distance Sila has a homestead.
The hike up the road led to some spectacular views of the hill country we were in, vaguely reminding me of the Smokies... save for the farmland on all of the hillsides. I ran out of time to visit their home, but it was good to see where Sila's family comes from and spend a morning traveling with a friend.

Death Around the Corner

2006-04-05T15:42:00.000+03:00

This morning Will heard four gunshots outside. Looking out the window, he saw a police vehicle speed past. I kept sleeping.

On our way to work, we passed by a man lying on the street. He'd been shot by the police for attempting to break into a person's house. Large bolt clippers lay by his side.

I don't think I've ever seen a dead man lying in the street before. Many Kenyans stood around talking about the incident, but none seemed terribly disturbed by the events. There were no police markers or crime scene tape; just a police vehicle a short distance away. I think the body was finally picked up around 10:30 AM.

Many questions remain. Why did the police need to shoot this man? Did they think he was armed? Was he trying to escape? Is this what normally happens?

It seems that death is a lot more palpable here. Most houses/complexes are walled-in and have at least one security guard. Nairobi is known as "Nairobbery" in some places, yet the government has done a lot to reduce the crime. For instance, on our street the city has installed lighting to deter crime at night.

Sometimes I feel the police respond violently. When people were protesting the Danish cartoons, there was a man shot by police. Are they overreacting? Were they properly trained? I'm uncertain...

Still, I feel safe walking along the street, despite (or because of?) my white skin.

The Best Things in Life Can't Wait... But Must

2006-04-04T15:18:00.000+03:00

I'm not sure what it is, but it's been hard to focus lately, both at work and just day-to-day activities. Perhaps it's coming back from South Africa and feeling a bit disoriented. Perhaps it's thinking about jobs and living situation when I return in August.

Before coming to Kenya, I had placed a lot of emphasis on hope. If someone has something to hope, something good to look forward to in the future, then that will propel them past present and possible undesireable circumstances. But what if there's LOTS to look forward to, like going to Tanzania this month and Emily's visit in May, and then stress caused by future uncertainties, i.e. earning money and finding a place to live?

And what if there's nothing to hope for? What then?

I've prayed a lot about perspective lately. I pray that I will see this country not as a corrupt, backward place compared to what I saw in South Africa, but a country of friendly people eager to move forward. I pray that I will not think it terms of "What will Emily and I do while she's here?" but in terms of preparing my heart to share my life here with a dear friend I haven't seen in 9 months. I pray that I let God seize hold of my worries on the future, laying me down to rest in the present blessing as I live the dream of being here in Kenya and working with a faith-based NGO.

In our line of development work, we often talk about planting the seeds of hope for people. In Christianity, we often talk of the hope of the afterlife. Perspective does do a lot to encourage and discourage. Yet must we always focus on what is to come? What about the here and now? And when we do realize our dreams, won't we imagine another one?

We must be content in the present just as we our hopeful in the future, lest we deceive ourselves and become blind to today's blessings and challenges. Otherwise, we run the risk of saying to God, "Welp, see ya there!" and we race off to do our own business, trusting that we'll end up eventually where God can bless us. Let us prepare our hearts today before the sun rises tomorrow.

God makes awesome promises to us about our future, both in this life and the next. Yet the Lord also promises to be with us, here and now, until the end of the Age. Let us not forget to reach out our hands to grab hold of God's, in addition to as we journey hand-in-hand to the Promised Land.

Me, Consulting?

2006-04-03T09:35:00.000+03:00

The rains have come, turning this place into the Garden of Eden (compare with previous photos from November). Unfortunately, much of the drought-stricken regions continue to starve for rain. Even if rains fell today, it would be another 3 months for the first harvest.
Today I had the delightful opportunity to join another development group in monitoring/evaluating a rain water catchment project. The consultant, Joseph Sang, found my blog on the internet and invited me to join him in the field. He wanted me to compare what Church World Service did with what this project was doing.

At one of the homes, two children held my hands as we listened to their mother talk about their tank. They loved to feel the hair on my arms, and I felt like a prized possession. It was tough to leave.
I was quite honored to be asked to consult; most of my colleagues could probably have done a better job, but also have work of their own to be doing. I found it quite interesting to compare their project to ours. They had built gutters on tin-roof houses that ran water into a tank, either of concrete and plastic.

My colleagues, Caroline, Joseph and Sammy, speak to one of the beneficiaries.
Usually, we build larger tanks at schools or other community centers so people come and draw water, hopefully at a shorter distance than wherever they got their previous water source. We also train water management committees to manage the project, overseeing funds and repairs, so that the project is sustainable without our further input. Also, these commmittees allow for the community to save money and decide which project they'd like to tackle next; with their own funds.

This project focused on the individual, but worked through community groups so that those members who didn't receive a tank could use their neighbors until they had a tank of their own. Since there was no charge for the water, however, it seemed that they would have to wait until the next donor came along to get a rain water catchment setup.

Water drips into barrels when it rains (foreground), or runs directly into plastic or concrete tanks (background). With men out in the fields herding cattle, the women and children are often left to collect water, hauling up to 50 L a day for several kilometers, consuming 2 or more hours of hard labor that could be used for other income-generating activities (IGAs).
There were also questions about which was better: plastic or concrete? Plastic tanks are cheaper and have less maintenance requirements, whereas concrete tanks are bigger and last longer, but cost more and have higher maintenance requirements. For instance, if the tank is too dry for too long, cracks will form and the tank will leak when it's filled again.

Dung Beetle: The Maasai say this piece of mud-crud rolled as a ball is the beetle's "cow," constantly herding it around and if they are separated, searching for it until it is found. According to Answers.com, the tumblebug rolls these wads of cow dung for long distances, sometimes working in pairs, for the purpose of laying eggs inside of it.
All in all, it was an interesting experience to be with another NGO doing similar work. I felt more detached from the project than I normally feel, and sometimes it was hard to keep my focus due to all of the Kiswahili. Nonetheless, I learned more about development from a different perspective and am wondering if this is a field I could pursue. But for now, I'll take these chances as opportunities to expand my knowledge... and contribute just a little where I can.

South Africa

2006-03-28T17:58:00.000+03:00

South Africa was... incredible. I enjoyed taking a mid-year break to drive in and around Cape Town on wonderfully smooth roads. From bumming on the beach to jumping off bridges, canoeing in tranquil lagoons and hiking to pristine waterfalls, I had a relaxing yet adventuresome time. Although I wasn't able to try out kiteboarding, I admired from a distance and dreamed of trying it out someday. There was also the succulent wines in the vineyards north of Cape Town, the penguins of the cape, the ridiculous mountain or ocean backdrop wherever you looked, and some very real history at Robben Island and the Bo Kaap. Returning from this jewel is like tasting the first goodnight kiss from a girlfriend, and I long to return to explore this country more in-depth. Until then, I have fond memories to kindle what dreams may come.

Below are a few pictures... you can see them all here.

Will and I arrive.

Walking along the shore at Sea Point, Cape Town.

A stunning view of the Cape's harbor on a hike around Devil's Peak.

Will and Gretchen with Hout Bay as backdrop.

The Jump

2006-03-25T13:55:00.000+03:00

I got this

Let's get it on

Um, yeah; that's definitely the ground 200 ft below

Lock 'n' Load

No Push Necessary

On the Way Down

Sweetness

Even Tiger felt compelled to show me up with a stunt of his own.

Shenanigans

2006-03-19T15:49:00.000+03:00

Showing some South African Pride
(we dare not mock)

Cape Town's Garbage Co. & Its Biggest Fan

PB & Banaynay... my fav

Does he want to be William Tell? Now where'd I put my bow...

I'm sorry, but what kind of flavors do y'all have?

Kikuyu 4-Square

2006-03-16T14:57:00.000+03:00

Today I returned to the Wee School in Kikuyu, where my family volunteered over Christmas. It was good to return and see a lot of familiar faces. After a failed attempt to lead songs on guitar, I taught the kids how to play 4-square.

It was a fun day and I'm hoping to return next month and possibly in May when Emily visits. My two friends and instructors of the school, Julius (pictured above in background) and David, suggested getting trophies for the kids so that they could invite other schools for a tournament. I plan to buy two trophies, one for the gals and one for the boys, in hopes that we will promote not only sports but also kids staying in school to learn.

I also visited some friends, David and Sarah, who run a bakery shop dubbed "Splints" (a nickname of Sarah's) in Kikuyu.

All too cute.

Looking Back to Harden into Salt, then to Break

2006-03-12T10:49:00.000+03:00

Uganda. A land undulating in green waves of growth, where the AIDS prevalence has been vastly reduced and a president continues his 20-year reign, winning a reelection only after changing the constitution and imprisoning his main opponent.

I traveled here with a group of other Americans, visiting a partner program working with families ravaged by HIV/AIDS. Thanks to large donor aid, including USAID, and a focused educational slogan of Abstinence, Be faithful and Condom usage, the prevalence rate is one of the lowest in sub-Saharan Africa, and yet the disease’s effects will be felt for years to come.

We visited homes headed by boys and girls no older than me, taking care of a grandparent or two as well as several siblings. CWS’ Giving Hope program provides dairy goats and vocational training in skills such as sewing, so that these families can increase their nutrition and possibly their incomes. It was the middle of the day and we saw so few middle-aged adults, but the others would not be returning from the fields at dusk. The process is slow: one does not simply ‘bring back’ a lost generation.

I herded our scattered visitors towards a woman beginning to speak her life story. Standing behind them, I felt more like an observer than a participant, a shepherd among sheep. After all, I had been here before and they had not. This story was for them and not for me.

The woman, Olive Namsuki, spoke of being ostracized by her community because of the virus she received from her deceased husband. She had walked many kilometers on a foot malformed by disease to talk with us. She had no idea where the money would come from to pay for her medical treatment, send her children to school or feed her family. Breaking her solemn stance, she placed her hand over her mouth as the pain overwhelmed her entire body, collapsing into her friend’s arms.

I looked away, not able to bear this woman’s suffering, let alone bear witness. Habits chained my heart to the cellar within the walls of my chest. People had been reduced from their dynamic lives to freeze-frames on my computer screen. The camera was my eyes, a portal to a film playing out before me. I’d been “routinized” to a reality I no longer lived or engaged in.

We bid farewell to Olive the way we all do in situations of another’s unfathomable pain; with light pats on the back and lips that grimace a smile. There would be no encouragement found today, except that a life has gone on and another will go on. I looked up from my seat in the van to see the frame of a retired man in the front, shuddering. Tears flowed into and over the crevices and divots of his face. Blowing his nose, he said, “It’s just so sad.” Again, I looked away.

We left another home, another family, another village. Children, looking up from their dirt playground, stared at the SUV caravan rolling by. Some pointed, some shouted, all stared. I smiled and waved, and the reaction was immediate: some waved, some ran after us, all smiled.

Finally the tears welled up in my eyes. All I had to give was a smile and a wave. Would it brighten their day? Would it make a difference? Or would it just make me feel better?

Halfway through my year in East Africa, I have seen a lot of impoverished places. A sense of need, a sense of duty to respond to such outrage has arisen within my heart, only to hit the external realities and cool into an impermeable crust. What can I possibly do to affect change? Perhaps this is what God means by the hardening one’s heart.

When we respond to the woes of this world with our own particular discernment or religious understanding, we will be overwhelmed unto despair. When our simple, safe solutions are crushed with life’s tragic complexities, how do we respond? Will we be jars of clay or reeds that bend? Eventually we all break, and we are in need of a Savior.

We walk by faith, not by argument. We are guided by the unseen, not by what can be proved in a court of law. We are the poor in spirit, the broken-hearted, and we cling to our vessels of hope and love. And when these jars of clay break, warm flows of softness will pour faith into God’s most beloved, the downcast and downtrodden.

Who will fill the cracks? Who will heal the broken-hearted?

Lord, break us once more, to fill us again.

*Reflection based on John 16:29-31 and Oswald Chamber’s My Utmost for His Highest, 2/28

Who Will Hear Them Cry Mercy?

2006-03-11T09:20:00.000+03:00

“Surely he has [they have] borne our infirmities
and carried our diseases;
yet we accounted him [them] stricken,
struck down by God, and afflicted.”
This came up during my quiet time today. Usually I have thought and read of them referring to Jesus, the sacrificial lamb and ultimate payment for our sin. Today, however, I thought of these verses with respect to the poverty I’ve seen here in Africa. Poverty is certainly a major them in Isaiah. Yet just as those who saw Jesus back then as struck down by God as he laid up on the cross, today we see the poor as often out of favor and afflicted by God.

What if the poor are the ones who bear the iniquities of society, of us?

Yesterday at dusk I ‘cruised’ the streets of Majengo, one of many slums in Nairobi. I drove by fathers sitting on porches with friends, mothers selling vegetables to feed their families, children playing on heaps of trash surrounded by pools of still water. I have lived here six months, and still such ‘slum’ life both intrigues and frightens me in its unique and brutal vitality.

And I could not help but wonder, Have we “crushed and abandoned the poor”? (Job 20:19). Have we ignored the cry of the poor? (Ps. 34:6). Can our societal woes be traced back to me in this car, before this crowded street of slum… not getting out but driving on? Once gone, realizing too late that we’ve already turned our back? (Ps. 41:1).

When there is a drought in Kenya or an outbreak of cholera in Sudan, it is the poor who suffer first and foremost. We city dwellers may be without water for a week at a time, but that’s about it. The city on the hill still glows, while the darkness clouds all around.

How long will we leave the poor in the dark?

“All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have all turned to our own way,
and the Lord has laid on him [them]
the iniquity of us all.”

Verses 4 & 6 from Isaiah Chapter 53, NRSV

Coach Evans

2006-03-10T09:52:00.000+03:00

My photographer, Nassar
I was invited by a friend, Atman Mujahid, to teach basketball at an Islamic school where he is the principal. Arriving at noon, I wasn't to teach until 4 PM, so I hung out in his office until then. The school, Al Rasul Al Akram, which roughly means the "The Most Merciful or Generous Propet", is a private school that takes students from all religious backgrounds. Since it was Friday, the muslim students wore white robes as symbol of purification. At 1 PM they had their weekly prayer service, which I was not invited to as a non-Muslim. They returned and we ate pilau, a rice dish popular on the coast where many of the Muslims in Kenya reside.

Atman took me to a Swahili class before basketball, asking me also to teach. I can speak about ten complete sentences in Swahili, and thankfully he was joking. About the only thing I understood was that while one student wanted 9 wives, Muslims were 'limited' to 4 because that's how many the Prophet had. (Later my friend told me that one wife was more than he could handle.)

Then it was time for basketball. The boys, ranging from 14-18, had never had a coach before. But because they had not played very much, they did not have many bad habits to break. I began with passing, then shooting, dribbling and finally the heart of it all: defense. Afterwards, I spoke with Atman and it looks like I'll be coaching the boys once a week. I tried to learn a few of their names, but their voices were so quiet and names so unfamiliar that I had a very hard time. I DO remember that the captain's name is Mohammed!

Magical Coaching Moment: Teaching the kids how to shoot, I said the most important thing about shooting was that in your mind you had already made the shot before you ever released the ball. To prove my point, I threw the ball without thinking and it clanged off the backboard. Then I said, "But if I see myself making it in my mind, the form doesn't matter-" and with that I threw the ball up and nailed the shot. As they stood around agape, I had them continue the shooting drill.

And I couldn't stop from feeling a bit blessed to be here, to pass on a few skills to these kids: both in the game of basketball and in life.

Babybacking

2006-03-09T13:18:00.000+03:00

As a Texan, I'm well aware of the term "bareback" in reference to riding horses, and "babyback" when eating cows. Here in Kenya, however, "babybacking" is more common than backpacking. Oftentimes, women come to meetings or work in the fields bearing their children on their back. Almost always the kid is dressed as if it were snowing outside, knocked out and bound tightly to his/her mother. Nonetheless, the mothers and babies are as one in a beautiful, symbiotic? relationship.

Below is my Ode to Babybacking.

One Year of "Dating"

2006-03-08T14:38:00.000+03:00

Emily and I 'celebrated' one year of 'dating' today, with a free video-phone call courtesy of our best friend Skype. The long-distance thing has been a beautiful challenge, and one of the defining characteristics of my year in Africa. I cannot even begin to calculate the value of having such a caring friend with whom to share my experience, as well as providing a connection back to my life in the States. I'm thankful to have such a woman in my life.

For further embarrassment, I dug up this photo from a friend of hers when she was in Guatemala. Apparently we both have an interest in babies on their mothers' backs, but I have yet to try one on. I don't think I'd fair much better.

Chickens & Mangoes: Gifts MC can't buy

2006-03-07T17:45:00.000+03:00

Cattle along roadside" />
Sharing the Road
Today I joined our OVC (Orphaned and Vulnerable Children) Coordinator, Jane Machira, on a monitoring visit with our partners, AED (Academy for Educational Development). We visited a community group called Ndimbukaki, located just beyond the vast pineapple plantations of Del Monte in the Central Highlands of Kenya. Passing through the fields, we saw huge stones painted with the number of the field, as well as men with poisoned arrows for any persons trying to steal the precious fruits. And let me tell you, Hawaiian pineapples have got nothing on their Kenyan cousins.

Visiting four villages, we were each time greeted by a group of singing and dancing women. I was taken aback yet again by the overwhelming hospitality of Kenyans wherever I go. After we met the group and discussed their progress in small-scale businesses like kitchen gardens, we made to home visits to young men my age. Both Peter Wambua and Francis Mativo were younger than me yet were supporting several siblings and Francis his grandmother. Through the kitchen garden training, they hope to generate some needed income and provide nutritious vegetables for their families.
Left: Group treks to homes.

I am.
On the last visit, we went to a school where a group of orphans and their grandparents performed a traditional dance for us. This dance troupe is one way the group transfers cultural knowledge as well as engages two generations divided by the absence of their fathers and sons, mothers and daughters. A drama group also performed a poem, with one of the lines saying, "The Third World War has begun," as an analogy to the destruction of AIDS. A choir also sung.

Going Childback

At the end of the cermony, 24 children lined the room and waited to receive school uniforms from our program. As I snapped a few photos, I was informed that these were all orphans. The experience was a beauty most humbling, realizing this presentation was all put on for us, and yet it also a testimony of their will to continue to live and flourish amidst such devastation.

Left: Peek-a-boo

Upon our departure, the community gave us chickens & mangoes. Let me clarify: LIVE chickens and FRESH mangoes. Unfortunately, no one asked me if I wanted to take home a live chicken for dinner, and we gave them to a nearby community. Andrew, our driver, didn't realize we had been given the chickens. He told me, "Next time, don't give them away. We go and slaughter."

Carrying on the Tradition

2006-03-06T14:52:00.000+03:00

Before there was me, there was Ryan Pappan. He was the volunteer before me placed at Church World Service, East Africa Regional Office. Presently, Ryan is studying at Austin Seminary, my mother's alma mater, in the great state of Texas (perhaps TOO great for its own good). Ryan is the second Kenyan volunteer to go to Austin Seminary, and the volunteer before him, Page Stephan, is at McCormick in Chicago. I plan to continue the tradition but on the West Coast. San Franscico Theological Seminary has admitted me for Fall 2007. I plan to spend the year in between [my return (July 27th) and entering seminary August 2007] working in Davidson, NC. We'll see if God agrees.

As a way of honoring my predecessor, I took some old photos Ryan snapped and did a little doctorin' up for the finished product found below.

Outlawed Press

2006-03-02T15:15:00.000+03:00

Apparently the police have raided the 2nd largest newspaper here in Kenya, arresting journalists and burning today's edition after the paper alleged the president and one of his fiercest opponents had a secret meeting three days ago. While I personally feel safe after this atrocious incident, I do not think this attack bodes well for the freedom of the press - let alone speech - in this country.

Police shut down Standard, KTN
Story by ERIC SHIMOLI and DOMINIC WABALA
Publication Date: 3/2/2006

Armed and hooded police this morning raided the headquarters and printing plant of the Standard Group.
They burnt copies of the newspaper and shut down the media group's 24-hours television station KTN. An estimated 30 policemen armed with AK-47 assault rifles first stormed the Standard's headquarters at the I&M building, in Nairobi city centre, at 12.30am, before another squad swooped on the company’s printing plant in Likoni Road, in the industrial area, and burnt the day’s newspapers which were just rolling off the presses.

BLAZE: Copies of today's Standard go up in flames after being set on fire by police in the compound of the company's printing plant at Likoni Road, Nairobi early today. Photo by Joseph Mathenge

The raids were carried out by a rapid response unit code-named the Kanga Squad, detectives from Nairobi provincial CID headquarters and officers from the General Service Unit.

They were under the command of Mr James Njiru, the officer in charge of operations at the provincial CID headquarters. The elite Kanga Squad was formed by the Director of Criminal Investigations, Mr Joseph Kamau, specifically to fight hardcore criminals like carjackers, bank robbers and murder hit squads.

The raids follow a running dispute between the media house and the Government over a story in the Saturday Standard alleging President Kibaki had held a secret meeting with one of his fiercest critics, former Cabinet minister Kalonzo Musyoka. Both State House and Mr Musyoka denied the story and demanded apologies from the newspaper.

Read the article in its entirety here.

Derailed

2006-03-01T10:17:00.000+03:00

I walked out of the gate of my apartment today, greeting the daytime guard, Oscar, on my way out, as I munched on a treasured PayDay from a CWS visiting donor. Oscar is an old man, most likely a grandfather, and works diligently on washing cars or hauling water, and yet always has a smile to spare for me or any of the other residents. I do my best to reciprocate.

Just outside the gate, another old man greeted me and we shook hands. He immediately went into a story about a friend he took to Kenyatta Hospital, his hand clenched around mine in an earnest plea of help. I had no idea if he were telling the truth, and after looking into his eyes I decided I didn’t have the time to figure it out. I looked and turned away from his piercing gaze, mumbling, “I’m sorry, but I can’t help.” I walked on, munching on my PayDay.

It was then I noticed all of the traffic on our local road. By the time I reached the main highway and saw the standstill traffic, I knew something was terribly wrong. When I arrived at work, Mary and other coworkers informed me of a horrific accident involving a lorry and 15 cars. Many people had died, and many more were injured.

What was this man trying to tell me? I wondered. Was there truth in his request? Did he have no where else to turn? Did it matter that I had never seen him in my life?

Now, all I can say is a prayer, writing about it and trusting that somehow in some way, Christ will bring healing to those who have felt so much pain today, both here in Kenya and elsewhere.

Here Comes (and Goes) the Rain

2006-02-28T10:14:00.000+03:00

After months of drought, it’s finally raining here in Kenya! While it will take much more rain to restock what has been lost, there is hope now that the rains have begun. In tropical regions near the equator like Kenya, there are no seasons save for the rainy and dry seasons. For people to have water all year round, there needs to be adequate storage facilities for the water.

To give you an idea of the disparity in storage: Kenya has about 3 cubic meters of storage space for water per person, while the US has about 7,000 cubic meters per person (Source: KTN, Local News). If people do not have such basic access to water year-round, any development project will be drastically hindered.

Unfortunately, this is only half the story. Many storage tanks have been built, and many have fallen into disrepair, too. Primarily this is due to lack of ownership by anyone to maintain the facilities. Oftentimes, a development agency will come in and build a storage facility and then move on. The community does not assume ownership, and so no one takes responsibility for maintenance.

Church World Service not only builds the hard but also the soft structures of development, training committees elected by the community to manage their water resources. Hopefully this training and sense of ownership will provide a sustainable method, leaving the community in charge and empowered to move forward.

Meeting Moi

2006-02-27T09:53:00.000+03:00

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.

Crescent Island

2006-02-19T20:10:00.000+03:00

Yesterday I traveled with three other volunteers (Andrea, Gretchen & Will) to Lake Naivasha to walk among giraffe, wilderbeast, zebra and sheep on Crescent Island. Lake Naivasha, Maasai for "Rippling Water" due to the heat or simply "The Lake", has been severely depleted by the flower farms surrounding the lake. As a result, the island is now a peninsula, yet still retains its pristine aura with limited access.

People are allowed to walk with the animals since all were introduced during the filming of Out of Africa. We even saw the remnants of a set where they had constructed a house for the movie. Today the island remains undeveloped, home to several Maasai giraffe, heards of zebra, wilderbeast and sheep, and even some horses are released to graze among the wild animals. We were lucky enough to also see a small family of hippo, although no males since the mothers had taken the babies away for four months because the daddies tend to be overly aggressive towards the young. During the rainy season there are huge pythons, the only predator on the island. I hope to return and see one "in action."

We had also hoped to go mountain biking and rock climbing in Hell's Gate, described in the guidebook as Kenya's mini-Grand Canyon, but we ran out of time due to the poor condition of the roads. Instead, we had lunch at Naivasha Country Club, where I played frisbee with Will on the most beautiful grass I've seen in Kenya. I'm beginning to wonder if there's an ultimate frisbee team in Nairobi, or maybe I can start one... I continue to dream of bringing Frisbee to this continent.

Gretchen and I have already planned to return soon on a coming weekend, as we both have a keen interest in rock climbing and mountain biking; an adventure forthcoming...

Will gives the thumbs up

A la Jurassic Park

That's right- you know you want me

Wilderbeasts: The Bearded Antelope

"Don't bother looking, Earl- it's just those tourists again"

Click here to view more Crescent Island photos on snapfish.com. I apologize for redirecting you to another site, but I'm getting plain tired of Blogger's inconsistent postings for pictures.

Dealing with Loneliness

2006-02-18T18:00:00.000+03:00

“The greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world he doesn't exist.”
~ from The Usual Suspects

Halfway through my time here and I’m sliding into the mid-year slump, where I am tired of living here in my place of service, yet I’m not ready to return to the States, either. I feel caught between two worlds, in a place without residence, without rest. Loneliness creeps in like invisible smog, even as I open the windows to breathe some fresh air. I want to feel alive, yet instead I'm gasping for air, being smothered in the deadness of being alone. The resulting bitterness isolates me from others, as I believe the lie that I am the only one feeling alone in this world.

Here are some things I’ve done to try to bring some fresh air to the loneliness I sometimes feel. Not all of them I recommend. Sometimes I think we fail to confront our loneliness, and it becomes a cancer that eats us alive, inside-out. After reading this, I encourage you to ask yourself: “How do I deal with feelings of loneliness,” and “What do I do when I feel lonely?”

- Exercise. You run outside, away from the suffocating solitude and towards places where people are interacting. You lift weights, do push-ups and jump rope, all to feel powerful, to feel alive, to feel that you can make an impact… that you matter.

- Clean. You clean your room, the kitchen, the house. You clean your body by shaving, showering, shampooing… for the second time today. You feel dirty as if you were responsible for your loneliness, and you pursue your innocence as you want wash yourself clean.

- Write. You write down your thoughts, journaling through your frustrations, fears and confessions. You write to friends, not about your loneliness but just how you’re doing, in hopes of that by hearing from them you’ll feel some connection, some taste of the friendship.

- Read. You read about impersonal things, like the news. You read critical things, feeling a part of a group as you agree or disagree with the author’s opinion. You read novels, romances, fantasies, reveling in a character to whom you relate. You read past letters from friends, family and your girlfriend, finding some solace in the words of those people so close to you… yet so far.

- Watch. You watch the news to feel connected to the outside world. You watch movies to imagine yourself triumphing over all odds… or simply living a seemingly normal, depressed life wherever everything turns out OK in the end. You watch people from a distance, wondering what they are thinking and if they feel as you do.

- Play. You play guitar, creating something pleasing to your ear, or play music, vicariously living through other people’s creativity and feeling the pulsing life-force in your veins. You play solitaire, juggle or improve on some useless skill, imagining the ways you can show off- if and when someone looks your way.

- Eat. You feed the insatiable emptiness within with something you created or put together, only to realize a it’s a hunger you can’t satisfy by yourself. You give to yourself what you can, even overstuffing yourself, when what you really want can’t be seen and can only be given by others.

- Work. You go to the office on a Sunday afternoon to finish business that could wait until Monday morning. You fix something or look for simple tasks that you can check off a list, making yourself feel productive and hoping to be noticed.

- Pray. You cry out to God in your loneliness, feeling guilty for just now calling out in your time of need. You confess the selfishness of feeling lonely, of focusing on your own needs and wants and not of others. You dread the silence, the reminder of your isolation from the world flows all around and you remain unmoved.

Probably the hardest thing about loneliness is simply being still. Loneliness is social death, an undesirable condition that’s not so terrible when we realize it’s not permanent. We strive for connection, doing anything, everything to distract our mind from the heart of the issue: we are alone in this world.

Yet thinking, feeling, and praying through this notion, I realize that like all lies, this is only half true. As soon as we think we are alone, we have only to look to the One who is always there to pull us from the pit; to resurrect us. We are not alone, for God is with us wherever we are, however we’re feeling. I am overcome with comfort and surpassing rest when I know in my gut that God is with me; not because I’m pathetic or need attention or am feeling down, but simply because I am the beloved. God enjoys being around me, and together we enjoy ourselves and others, as I’m feeling into the Loving Presence.

You are not alone. You were created and are loved by God, always and forevermore.

“We love because God first loved us.”
~ 1 John 4:19

Now go, love and create.

Cartoon Rioting

2006-02-16T20:42:00.000+03:00

The cartoon rioting has hit Nairobi. Last Friday, a group of Muslims paraded from downtown up to my section of town, Westlands. They wanted to protest in front of the Danish Embassy, but the police would not let them. Apparently they began "rioting" and one of them was shot. This happened within a mile of my office, yet I never heard anything until after the fact and never felt my life was in danger.

Still, I can't help but wonder what the fuss is all about with these Danish cartoons. No, I'm not a Muslim, but I wonder if we Christians would have reacted similarly. After reading James Carroll's article in the Boston Globe, I realize there is no comparison. The insult of these cartoons is more than just Christian v. Muslim, West v. the Arab World; it is the dominating power taking yet another pot-shot at a religion and culture that has been downtrodden for the last 1,000 years.

Carroll's closing words:
"Why are we killing them? As with multiple problems today, this one comes back to the misbegotten American war. It threatens to ignite the century, and must be stopped."

The American invasion of Iraq, a Western solution to an Arab problem, and the Danish cartoons, a Western insult to a less-powerful Arab culture, are linked by a string of oppressions running back to the Crusades. Yet the Arabs have responded with suicide/homicide bombing and terrorism, the only way they know how to fight a much more powerful foe. Does oppression justify violence? No. Yet understanding another's history creates a deeper connection to "the other," and the possibility for transforming the conflict into peaceful resolution. I encourage all of us to think and pray through these issues, as we risk stepping out to the other side.

Click here to read this excellent op-ed in full.

The Drought's Carnage

2006-02-15T08:07:00.000+03:00

Reality Hits Hard:
Cattle carcasses litter the ground around two community workers.

Kenyan continues to go without a drop of water. The government has bought a few cattle from the vast herds who await the same fate as these in the picture above. Yet even as the Kenyan government seeks aid for drought relief, the government is plagued by corruption scandals leading all the way up to the Vice President. Any sort of aid, for drought or development, will likely be withheld until decisive action is taken to investigate these allegations. Church World Service will soon be receiving and implementing (through our partners) a relief fund from ACT (Action by Churches Together) in Geneva. However, our project was supposed to fill-in the gaps of the government's.

Meanwhile, our apartment is without running water now for over a week; a convenience withheld rather than a livelihood destroyed. I request that today you think about all the ways you use water, and what you would do if there wasn't any.

Chogoria Waterfall

2006-02-11T18:59:00.000+03:00

Until today, I'd been in Kenya for nearly half a year and still had yet to see a waterfall. As hard as that is to believe, I got my wish today. My friend, Nightingale, and I headed up to a town called Chogoria at the base of Mt. Kenya, Kenya's highest mountain (Kilimanjaro's peak is actually in Tanzania). We walked through beautiful greenery and some picturesque farms before finally arriving at our destination: a tumbling, 100-ft plus cascade of moving white silk. I had a wonderful time admiring the overlook, exploring a cave beneath the waterfall, and then climbing around on the rocks. The pain in my shoulders and legs reminds me that today was a very good day indeed.

Uganda Pics: FDNC

2006-02-08T10:46:00.000+03:00

On the otherside of Mt. Elgon, on the border of Kenya and Uganda, is a town called Mbale. It is there where I spent my short time in Uganda (two nights). Our partner organization, FDNC (Foundation for Development of Needy Communities) is doing some wonderful work there. They focus in three broad areas: community-based health care in 32 local villages, vocational training in things from computing to carpentry, and income-generating activities like goat-rearing and brick manufacturing. They received a generous grant from the Japanese Government to expand their training center, which is a huge resource for teaching and training. They focus especially on the girl-child, many of whom are the head of household as their parents have succumbed to AIDS. I could go on and write more, but I haven’t the time and will anyway as I put together our 2005 Newsletter- due Friday! To find out more, visit their website: www.fdncuganda.org.

A Gift

A Home

A School

A Meal

A Future

Click here for more pictures from my trip to Uganda.

ABC's of AIDS: An American Concept?

2006-02-07T10:44:00.000+03:00

Uganda is one of three East African nations to reduce its HIV prevalence rate. Many attribute the success to its influential ABC campaign: Abstain, Be Faithful or Use a Condom. After the nation received international acclaim for its rate reduction, its churches are no longer remaining silent on the issue. They have joined the campaign yet refuse to advocate the use of condoms, instead preferring the A&B method.

Many debate the issue of condom use and whether or not it promotes promiscuity. While not a foolproof method, using a condom properly does significantly reduce one’s risk to exposure, as reported on all AIDS awareness ads (or adverts as they call them here). However, many of the billboards and other awareness posters no longer mention condoms, instead focusing on abstinence and faithfulness. Some think the churches are to blame for this; others believe it has to do with USAID AIDS funding from the US and the Bush Administration restrictions on foreign assistance.

The jury’s still out on how much proper condom use has reduced those being infected with HIV/AIDS. One middle-aged Ugandan said that some prostitutes in Kampala have resisted infection by insisting their clientele use condoms. He also said in his Islamic high school his teacher condemned condoms as an American tactic to kill off its enemies, particularly Africans. Apparently, condoms are widely viewed as an American concept, and many Ugandans have not taken responsible ownership in use.

A Chinese company has just introduced condom vending machines in the capital city, noting public policy in many developing nations promotes if not requires by law these contraceptives be readily available in public venues. Although the company has the condolences of the Health Minister, they have yet to find any council or corporation to buy the machines.

Says one Ugandan: “It’s hard for me to believe that the youth will listen to the simple message of ‘abstinence’ and ‘faithfulness’ when we are being punished by a government who isn’t faithful to its people,” referring to corruption in his country.

"Not by Guns or by Cheating, but by Prayer"

2006-02-06T10:43:00.000+03:00

Uganda faces national elections in two weeks on February 23rd. An Ugandan joked that the European Union envied Africa since beating incumbent here isn’t a real option, saying he heard it on the BBC. The same could be said for the House, but I didn’t try to explain that to him. The political opponents here, however, are accused of treason, fraud and rape, spending most of their valuable campaigning time in jail or court facing the (perceived-to-be) trumped-up charges.

Around election time everything shuts down and people stop working because there’s no money in the system. The estimated US$ 20M being spent by Museveni, the current president, mostly goes to improved roads for the campaign and food for the voters. One unofficial slogan of the campaign is “eat widely, vote wisely.” All other sectors of the economy shut down as the nation prepares to weather another political storm with an inevitable outcome. Even Museveni himself said, “My opponent can’t win,” referring to Besigye, his former VP-turned-major-political-adversary (as I understand it).

We passed by a local store with a yellow poster on it, the color symbolizing the president and his reigning government. The other posters of pink and red were of his opponents. We’d been driving along a narrow dirt path used 360 days a year for walking, crushing the tall grass on either side, when we came across a small passenger car with a yellow sign on the side. A colleague informed me that it was the local MP, campaigning for the president. The driver wore a bright yellow hat with the black and red Ugandan flag on it, looking strangely familiar to ones I’ve seen at Goodwill.

Uganda is not an oppressive place. The telecommunications here are much better and cheaper than in Kenya, the roads seem to be well maintained and areas considered “dry” and without rain for months are still green, as opposed to some areas of Kenya that are “dry” after years without rain and are brown and dusty. The people can always hope for better, less self-interested leadership, but the likelihood is slim with the corruption and strong and loyal military. The few people I spoke to about politics were very careful with their words, as if someone might be listening to them that might report any criticism of the government they might say.

As one person said, the coming election won’t be won “by guns or by cheating, but by prayer.” Hope still lies in resolute faith, and I can only join their prayer for improved governance to see how God is moving this country.

Border Crossings

2006-02-05T08:54:00.000+03:00

I knew we were approaching the Ugandan border when I began to see a long line of stopped trucks. As a private car we simply bypassed all of these semis, reaching the border after another mile or so. There we filled out exit papers for Kenya before actually crossing a bridge with one guard to fill out entry papers for Uganda. Apparently truckers wait for at least two days to get through. All of the trucks were on the Kenyan side heading inland to Uganda, Sudan, Rwanda, DRC, etc., many of them relief aid for humanitarian and natural disasters. The process of crossing took us about 2 hours; amusing once and yet entirely frustrating when I think of all the goods being delayed for paperwork… and the security they’re trying to provide, I suppose.

Inside the Ugandan Immigration Office, a sign read something like, “Attention all customers, we have recently upgraded to a computerized system. Please forgive the delay this may cause.” I couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of that statement.

I must brag: I have yet to meet a Kenyan with faster typing skills than my own (roughly 65 or so words a minute). And I must admit: I’ve been incredibly advantaged to grow up around computers. The vast majority of Kenyans won’t ever touch a computer unless they go to a high school or college that provides a lab. Cyber cafés are everywhere but only the few who can afford them use them. Even then their exposure is quite limited, and the discomfort from lack of continual contact readily shows. Yet because they speak English and literacy rates are fairly good, a vast world of information and opportunity lies at their fingertips: they just need the keys to unlock it.

This is why I’m going to launch the Fingertip Dream Initiative in March of this year. [Ahem, I just read the State of the Union and couldn’t resist.] Actually, I’m formulating a plan to teach computing classes at a local cyber café. It is my humble hope that I will reach people of all ages in whatever computing skills they’d like to learn. I’m still working out the details, like how to make the classes available to everyone (both time- and cost-wise) and how I can fit this into my schedule of traveling and report writing. Still, I feel this is one way I can give back to the community at large and I’ve been yearning to “volunteer” my time (on top of my volunteer internship, I realize).

I’ve also been flirting with the idea of getting involved with the local youth, and yet I know from my past experience it’s better to be all-in or all-out when it comes to youth ministry: consistency pays. So as I’m praying through these thoughts/dreams/ideas of mine, I hope they are in line with what God desires for my time here. While there isn’t one right path that is closest to God, there are certainly treacherous roads I’d like to avoid. And in the process, I hope to cross borders and boundaries I’d never dream of doing without the courage I have in Christ.