The Power of Prayer

When I have written blog posts thus far, I generally have followed the
guidelines of my written journal entries so as to guide my writing in
a tangible direction. Yet today that direction has been exchanged for
the direction of the Holy Spirit.

Prayer is our time with God, a fleeting moment or a prolonged plea
with the one who hears all. It's often difficult for me to engage in
prolonged prayer, such as in the morning or in the evenings. At times
I find myself wandering like a child just learning to walk, stumbling
around aimlessly trying to find my balance. The prayer life of Kenya
is one that has spoken generously and unbashfully to me, pleading with
me to join and continue in this sacred yet intimate time with God.

In Kenya prayer is not so much a special collection of words carefully
crafted to extract a response as it is the conviction and comittment
to be present with God and invite God to be present with us. There has
yet to be a meal pass where grace was not bestowed on the food. And it
is usually a simple blessing, humbly thanking God for God's provision
and asking for God's blessing in the taking. When you enter many
homes, the first thing done is prayer, always standing. Often when
leaving a home, a standing prayer is in order. Opening and closing
meetings is done in prayer. Fellowship gatherings of church members
consist heavily of prayer. The boy's boarding school I stayed at had a
day centered around 3 different services of prayer and reflection
throught the day.

The point is that the people we are with understand the importance of
humble prayer. Their joy comes not in the complexity and theological
depth of speaking to God, but in the awareness that regardless of what
one says, God rejoices and responds when we engage with God. In Luke's
gospel, Jesus tells the story of two men who went to the temple to
pray, a Pharisee and a tax collector. "The Pharisee stood up and
prayed about himself: 'God I thank you that I am not like the other
man--robbers, evildoers, adulterers--or even like this tax collector.
I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.' But the tax
collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven,
but beat his breast and said, 'God have mercy on me, a sinner.' Then
Jesus said, "I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went
home justified before God. For everyone who exalts himself will be
humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted." (Luke 18:9-14)

My brothers and sisters in Kenya understand this parable. They do not
look down on those who pray intricate and well-designed prayers. But
faithfulness to this idea of the simplicity of prayer, always turning
to God first with an attitude of humility is how the Kenyans have
witnessed to me.

I visited a home last Friday, on my last day with Maragaret, of a very
elderly woman whose age was getting the better of her and who longed
for visitors. When Margaret and I arrived, we had a prayer and when we
departed there was a prayer. In between, this mama could not stop
praising God for bringing her visitors, expressing her joy through
physical touch and storytelling. It was a short visit that concluded
with us giving her 50 shillings for Kerosene. This woman who needs so
much that she will never receive did not once ask for anything nor did
she complain about her lack of material possessions. I believe this is
because of her spiritual devotion, her relationship with the Almighty
that has been developed through a lifetime of prayer.

At the beginning of our time in Kenya, the Umoja project assistant
Winnie became ill because of some glass fragments remaining in her
head from an accident not too long ago. As we found this out, one of
the girls suggested that we go to the car where she was seated and
prayer with her. We gathered around the passenger door and prayed for
her healing, for God to hold her in the palm of God's hand. Later, the
project coordinator here in Kenya Joseph told us all about how much
that moment meant to him. He called in the 'spontenaity of prayer' and
challenged us all to be more spontaneous in our prayer life.

As I reflect on both of these instances and the many of aspects of
prayer I have experienced in Kenya, the fact of the matter is that
prayer, both committed regular and spontaneous, is what God has
commanded us to do. But this is not only because God longs to be in
relationship with us, but because God designed humanity to be communal
beings, living together with one another and with God. But to do this
faithfully, our individual and communal lives must be saturated with
prayer.

I am so grateful to be in the presence of people here who have shown
me the fruits of this type of life. Whether I am praising God through
prayer or suffering from missing my family and friends in the U.S., I
am slowly learning to become a person who turns first to God.

Yesterday we met with the Form 4 (Senior High School) students of
Umoja to discuss post-secondary support of students and how that might
look. But the end of the meeting is what I will leave you with. As 8
students, Laura, Sanetta, Leonard, Winnie, and I stood and united
hands to pray, the Holy Spirit took over. I prayed first, speaking not
a single word of my own but the words that God knew we all needed.
Sanetta's closing prayer was so powerful that when we finished, both
her and I were clearing tears from our eyes. But they were tears of
joy, tears that speak to the ever preesent reality of the Holy Spirit
and the power that comes when you relinquish yourself completely to
God.

Thank you God for giving us the power of prayer. Help us to lean on
your unchanging name, never to rely solely on ourselves but to turn to
you in times of joy, sadness, pain, and rejoicing. May our lives be
lives that witness to you through the power of prayer. In Christ's
name, Amen

Forced Dependence

Kathy Randall: Lela, Kenya
For my entire life, I have been fiercely independent. I can do it all
by myself, thank you very much, if it's fixing something, finding
something, or going somewhere new. If I don't know it already, I can
learn it myself, and I can figure out how to find the answer. I am a
new American girl, and we can do it.
In Kenya, this independence will only kill you. As one who does not
understand the culture, and cannot possibly see all the subtleties of
a situation, if you try to do it your way all the time, it just will
not get done. Healthy, it is easy to think that there are some things
that I can do myself, especially since I have over a year and a half
experience in the country. But when I am sick, I am forced to depend
on those around me. I have to listen to those who have taken it upon
themselves to care for me. Twice now, I have been to the hospital,
eight days apart, because I was truly sick. My "light was gone" from
my eyes and my face. We had to go there to see a doctor, run labs, and
get prescriptions. Twice now, it has been the same man to drive me.
Charles, a member of the Kenyan Umoja board, has a car, and has been
kind enough to take me the hour drive into Kisumu.
In October, Peter Storey asked me where I saw Christ in others. I
didn't have a good answer then, more because I had been so stuck on
surviving independently in Kenya the first time, that I didn't have a
good way of approaching the way I was ministering. Here, blessedly, I
have not been so independent. As a perpetual guest for seven weeks
straight, it forces me to receive hospitality, when I am much more
used to giving it, rather than receiving it.
A dependence on others is the necessity in ministry, regardless of
which country it happens to occur in. Working in ministry, a pastor
can try to do things herself, and things may seem to work for a while,
but the spark in the fire will soon grow dim, and all energy will go
to keeping the embers lit, consuming the pastor, and then smothering
the flame.
In ministry, as we look for Christ in others, we can also be Christ
for them. Renée pointed out that so many times we are focused on the
giving portion of reaching the lonely, imprisoned, hungry, and sick;
being Christ to them as we serve. Sometimes, though, we have to
receive this care, as the lonely, imprisoned, hungry, and sick, and be
the one that are Christ for others to serve. This has been a very
difficult lesson to learn, and it has taken two rounds of getting laid
flat on my back sick for a couple of days to learn. I cannot do
everything myself. I couldn't before, the fact has just now been
emblazoned in my being.
One thing I noticed, as I have been communicating by text to my
friends and family, that my predictive text program on my phone
recognizes serving and resting as the same keystrokes. How perfect. Of
course, once I am well, I will continue to work and go out to learn
more about these fascinating and amazing people with whom I have the
privilege to live. But for now, as I rest, I will receive the gift of
depending on these who have been placed in my life at this time to
care for me, so I can learn from them.

Kenyan Roulette

Kathy Randall: Lela Station, Maseno Division, Kenya
Meals, served at a Kenyan table, are generally brought in heat keeping
thermos like bowls. You never know what is in the three to seven bowls
until the prayers are given and dinner is open. Generally the ugali
will be out, served on a plate like a huge cake of twice thick grits,
but sometimes even that is hidden. It is like a treasure hunt, seeing
what is on the table.
There is, however, an element of danger in each meal served. It could
be that what is under one of those innocent lids is something that you
don't want to eat. A rare occasion for me, but it still occurs. And
then there is the fact that the hidden things, the things that you can
never see with the naked eye might be hiding in any of these dishes,
or even on the serving utensils, or in the ubiquitous cups of chai.
In my time here, I am now in my second round of losing at Kenyan
Roulette. I don't know what it is this time, all I know is that I hurt
and feel weak. Again, I'm glad it is me, and not my teammates. I've
been sick in this country before, so I should be used to it, but I'm
not very good at being sick, I'm a horrible patient. So. We'll see.
Pray that maybe I won't lose at the next round.

Tentmakers in Kenya

Kathy Randall: Grail Centre, Daraja Mbili, Kenya
This past week I have lived in a community house of lay women who have
taken a vow to live in community and service. The week didn't begin so
well, because I was ill, but then I revived, and was able to learn
exactly where I was and how they do their work and service.
One of their services to the community is a community college,
basically a technical school. There they offer courses in basic
instruction in computer use, tailoring and dressmaking, and motorbike
maintenance. These courses are offered at a low cost to the
surrounding rural community, students who have found that they need
further skills before they can enter the workforce.
I met with the computer class yesterday. All the students have
completed secondary school, so they are fluent in English. We talked
about life skills, integrity, and what to do as an upright citizen in
a corrupt system. They were good to talk to, and once I had been
speaking for a while they really opened up to conversation.
The man who teaches tailoring is also an interesting person. I had
asked about getting a dress made, and he was the one recommended. So I
went to meet Simon.
Simon has been partnering with the Grail for 3 years, as a teacher to
those learning tailoring. He told me how much fabric I needed, and
where to get it in Kisumu. Then I brought the material in, and he
proceeded to make me my Kitenge. My traditional Kenyan dress. It looks
great.
After he had made it, I continued to speak to him. Simon is not only a
tailor and a teacher, but he also is a pastor in training. We spoke
about our calls to ministry, and were able to encourage each other in
our pursuit of our respective calls. As I was leaving, I told him he
was like Paul, a tentmaker, or tailor, who also spreads God's word.

Hospitality in the Hospital

Kathy Randall: Kisumu, Kenya
Friday a week ago was not my best day in Kenya. It began well, a phone
call for a birthday, but when I hung up I had to make a choo stop. And
I realized I was unwell. I was supposed to be preaching again, like
the previous day, but I quickly realized that I could not do that. I
could barely stand. I could not look at food. Not a good condition to
have anywhere, but especially on a day when you are supposed to be
moving. I had my things packed, living out of a suitcase facilitates
easy packing. And my host and organizer arrived, Ibrahim, a great
resource for Umoja, to bring me and my things to the pastor's house,
originally so my luggage could wait there while I was preaching at the
community group, now just so I could await the next plan. Thankfully,
the pastor had the wisdom to but me in a room away from the bustle of
the house, and I laid there, my temperature rising, strength leaving,
until Ibrahim arrived with a Sprite, and the drive to call our
director, Joseph, and say that I needed to go to the hospital.
I knew I didn't need to go. I never go to the hospital. But then he
began to tell me the symptoms of malaria, and my temperature was at
least two degrees above normal, and I thought that it would not be a
bad idea. Just in case.
First, though, I had to get to my new homestay. This involved Ibrahim
and a helper to carry my luggage. I may have packed relatively
lightly, but I could not have carried my things this day. We went to
the main road, intending to pick a Matatu, but luckily someone was
leaving the compound and going our direction, and had three seats
open. So we were able to be dropped at Daraja Mbili (literally: two
bridges. Only one remains, but the name hasn't changed). We then had
to walk up the hill and up to the grail centre. Only by force of drive
was I able to make this walk, it is either a quarter or a half of a
kilometer, the signs say both, but it was enough to wear me out
completely.
Finally, Charles, one of the pastors on our board, arrived, and
proceeded to take me into the hospital in Kisumu. The Aga Khan is the
private hospital run by the Islamic foundation in the area, and is the
best hospital in Kisumu. In two hours, I saw a doctor, had labs drawn,
was given a place to lie down because they didn't want me to faint on
them, my BP was 100/36, received the lab results from the doctor,
prescriptions, and had them filled. It was approximately from the
beginning to the end of the second USA world cup game. I left, $42
poorer, but in possession of drugs for my amoebas and bacteria
invading my body, and some pain pills to ease the back spasms I'd been
having for the past three days. Not bad, not bad. I drank water and
ate the next day. And now I am all better.

Emptiness

It came when I least expected it and much harder that I ever could
have predicted. There have been many physically demanding days of long
walks in the sun and I knew there would be days where the emotional
exhaustion would also drain me. However, no matter how much
preparation you think you do, you cannot be ready to have your heart
and soul broken down time and time again in the same time, within a
matter of a few hours.

Laura and I visited Bar Andingo Primary School in Chulaimbo yesterday
at the request and host of Leonard, one of the key Umoja teachers and
a man with a heart for OVC's (Orphans and Vulnerable Children). The
visit was good as we got to visit classrooms, interact with the
children, play games, see the feeding program and, learn about their
IGA (Income Generating Activity) of poultry raising. After all of this
and lunch at the school, Leonard took Laura and I on a home visit trip
through the Bar Andingo community to visit some of the most vulnerable
children.

One boy and his mother live in a "home" that was built only after
their father, who abandoned them after a family dispute, was forced to
provide timber for a home. This home is made of partially mud and
partially plastic walls with all plastic roofing which leaks severely
in the rain.

Another home is a home with 5 children, 3 school-aged students being
raised by a mother with some degree of handicap. They were the
happiest family I have visited here, smiles radiating the entire time
we were there, even from the 8mo old resting in his mother's arms.
Their roof was also very leaky among other things. The joy that this
family possesed was inspirational and forced me to really rethink what
it means to have rejoice in all circumstances.

There are two boys who live with their very old and very sick
grandmother, the boys being 13 and 15. The 15 year old just found out
recently that he is HIV positive and will need some psychological
counseling to help deal with that realization.

Many of these situations involve parents and relatives who have either
succombed to HIV or simply abandoned the families, leaving them very
vulnerable.

At nearly every home we visited, shaking hands, listening to stories,
and taking pictures, I found myself in a battle with my tear ducts,
trying to prevent a torrential downpour. The struggle of situations
like these amplifies the difficulty in dealing with theodicy (the
problem of evil). It is much easier to sit in a classroom and discuss
the theological implications and posit reasons for evil in the world.
You can chalk it all up to God being so holy other that we shouldn't
try to comprehend God's reasons for things, but that doesn't give an
ounce of hope to the 15 year old boy who just found out his life will
be prematurely ended.

Ellen talked of coming to Africa and Kenya with an empty suitcase,
eager to learn and not to bring all of our preconceived notions of
knowledge, God, people, etc. Yesterday, I think God helped me finish
the emptying process, clearing out what little knowledge and reason i
thought I possessed regarding the problem of evil. This emptiness has
forced me to stop relying on what I thought I knew and turn back to
God in prayer, relying only on God's goodness and love to help me
understand that which I cannot.

If I wasn't yet, I am empty now. Praise be to God

Another World

There is no doubt some differences between Kenya and USA.
We have different customs and traditions.
We have different modes of transportations.
We have differnt foods.
We have different rules and regulations.
*I'm currently typing in the dark because the home I'm staying in
doesn't have electricity. I'm also sitting on my bed under a mosquito
net. It's 11pm here; at home it's 4pm. -- just to name a few.

However, I have really enjoyed taking in, observing, and participating
in the differences . I have joked with my new friends here that I'm
becoming Kenyan. For example, I love learning the mother-tongue
language (DuLuo) and speaking it (I always get giggles because of my
accent).

Yesterday, my host, Alice, said in a matter of fact tone, your country
is better than Kenya. I responded, "That depends on how you look at
it."

Due to my response, she looked at me as if I had not heard her
correctly. In my initial response I wanted to be nice and also show
appreciation for her country too. And, I did not want to respond
boastfully and say something like, "Yes, we have a better country...We
have it all under control. And, We have endless opportunities." I
think we have problems in USA too. Moreover, while I have been here,
I've tried to show gratitude for all that I've received here. It is
indeed a beautiful country with beautiful people; it's all part of
God's creation.

Yet, when Alice asked for further explanation of my "it depends"
comment I soon found myself to being corrected by her.

I said, "We have opportunities in USA, but they pull us away from
family. It can be lonely setting out on your own. In Kenya, you stay
close to family; that is so nice. I live hours away from my family in
USA. It takes me a days travel [10 hours] to reach my Mom and Dad &
one sister and my other sister is farther away than that. The concept
of family is home here. Home in America is whatever place you move;
it is separate from generations of family."

Alice corrected me.

She said, "Family is not a close tie here, it is a burden. We cannot
afford to move away for opportunities. If you see family living in a
compound that is not love; it is burden. It is a burden because
grandparents are caring for their grandchildren. Yound men that are
able either can't find work or they are lazy and drunk. They leave
others to care for them and their numerous children. My relative died
last week with nothing. I never really saw this relative, but because
no one else was capable, my husband had to pay the mortuary bill to
bring the body home. We had to pay and prepare the meals for the
funeral. It is a burden. It is sadness and stress, not love. I want
my children to be far away because I know they would have work and
money. It is not love to leave one with struggles. I would take your
loneliness in America over what you have called family."

Family as a burden. That is hard to understand and hard to cope with
as I hear it.
Growing up I didn't really know how blessed I was. My dad helped me
on math homework. I can recall my mom quizzing me on spelling words.
My sisters sat at the same table that I did and we had food for every
meal.

Tonight I ate dinner with Alice and we talked about HIV and AIDS. We
discussed the danger dor students of child-headed homes (children who
have lost both parents). We talked about how Umoja and other programs
can help -- but yet there is still so much need. Here in Kenya, a
common Saturday event is a burial. They are very common -- yet, a
summer Saturday day in the US is filled baseball, pool parties, and
BBQs.

It's a different world here. It fills me with sadness. These
conversations that I've shared with Alice over meals have left an
empty pit in my stomach.

When I leave at then end of our seven weeks, I'll be bringing back
more than just pictures on my camera. I'll be bringing back with me
some of their burden -- because I've heard their stories with my ears.
I have seen their pain with my eyes. I have felt their sorrow with
my heart.

Jesus tells us his "yoke is easy, and his burden is light" (Matt.
11:30) -- tonight I read Psalm 121...a prayer of assurance:

"I lift up my eyes to the hills-
from where will my help come?
My help comes from the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
He who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD is your keeper;
the LORD is your shade as your right
hand.
The sun shall not strike you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The LORD will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
The LORD will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time and forevermore.

On another note, Brandon and I were able to see some "different"
dances at the Secondary School (high school) Music Festival
competition on Saturday. These were traditional song and dance from
local tribes.
TIME JOURNAL SATURDAY (first full day at Alice's)
6:30am-woke up to natural alarm... roosters...not quite daylight yet,
thank you very much.
6:35-7:18- praying/reading time -- rooster were God's way of telling
me to have some spiritual food for early breakfast
7:25am- first sponge bath with no faucet (for extra water, etc.).
It's cold morning and it's a somewhat outdoor shower. Water for
spongebath was warmed over coals and is now steaming in cold air.
8:30 - Local teacher who is taking me to festival is supposed to pick
me at Alice's
9:00 - Brandon texts and let's me know he arrived safe as meeting
destination (I'm still waiting on the teacher so we can go and meet
Brandon).
9:17 - teacher arrives (47 minutes late) -- Alice tells me that he's
on "African time"
9:40 - arrive at meeting place to get Brandon (we were supposed to be
there at 9)
9:55am- we start to try to flag down public transportation. A
matatu...a van that's supposed to hold ONLY 14 people.
10:28am - we finally tag a Matatu -- 24 people riding in van (NEW
RECORD!) Brandon has left butt cheek hanging out of van door. The
teacher is not sitting down but half of body hanging out door. Laura
is sitting down and praying.
11:00am- arrive at Matatu stage and snag a Tuk Tuk (3 wheel motorized
tricycle that drives like a motorcycle and has canopy for protection
of sun/rain) -- this is my favorite Kenyan mode of transportation.
You can fit 2-5 people in it (made for 3 people counting driver).
11:15 - arrive at Xavian primary school in Kisumu for Regional music festival
11:25- discover African "violin" called the Orutu (homemade from
wire, banana leaves, snake skin, and treat trunk...I'm so impressed).
12ish- music competition starts
12:30-1:30 - glich in programming, unintentional intermission
1:25pm- small local boy (3-4 years old) keeps tapping brandon's
shoulder -- I'm sure we look so different to him!
3:45pm- leave to catch a Matatu to Chulaimbo before the rush hour for
Matatus...and before the rain! The roads are bad when it rains.
4:15pm- catch a Matutu - Thankful I'm don't hyperventilate in tight
spaces, it's another packed ride.
5ish- arrive back at Alice's shop. Brandon catches a little World Cup
action on TV in Alice's shop before walking back to Margaret's
6pm - Alice and I leave so we can walk home in daylight.
6:30pm- home and reading by "torch" (aka flashlight) -- no electricity
9:00pm- dinner - rice and beans and fresh pineapple!
10pm- bed time!

**The day was great and we saw some amazing musical pieces and
wonderful handmade instruments

Slow Cooking in Kenya

THE DAY OF SUNDAY JUNE 6: Written on Monday June 7, posted to
FourKenya on Wed June 16
The day was a day that reminded me of cooking a beef stew in a crock
pot (slow-cooker). Let me walk you through the steps so as to make
clear what I mean by this.
Step 1: Preparation
Preparation for a pot roast or stew requires washing and dicing of
vegetables and meat as well as collection and measuring of spices,
water, and other ingredients. One could also include in the
preparation stage shopping at the market for the goods or even the
making of the list for the stew. Like this process of planning and
preparation, I had been mentally preparing for this day since about a
week before, knowing that I would finally be on my own, away from the
group, somewhere in rural Chulaimbo, Kenya. You see since our arrival
in Nairobi on Friday May 28, the FourKenya group as well as Ellen
Daniels had all been together, experiencing things as a group and
having that support and familiarity to rely on.
Step 2: Cooking
Now if you have ever cooked anything in the crockpot,
especially on low, you are aware of the long time period from when you
load the pot full to when it seems that things actually begin to cook.
This was how the morning of Sunday June 6 felt—we arose, took a
breakfast of tea, white bread, and avocado with sugar. Ellen and I
then walked to Winnie's house to visit with her mother who is very
sick. We then tracked back to Margaret's home, where we were all
staying for a couple days because of a funeral, and awaited Joseph's
arrival.
Comparing these morning activities to the apparent non-activity of
early stage pot-roast is not to diminish their importance, but rather
to say that like the first couple of hours of cooking, when to the eye
it seems as if nothing exciting is going on, the slow heat is building
up and working its magic on the vegetables, meat, and spices. The
anticipation of my departure from the presence of our foursome KBLS
(our initials) and Ellen was slowly cooked away during this time of
waiting, without my awareness. All the time that I assumed was spent
waiting was actually time my spirit and emotions needed to get ready
to be on my own.
However, you know when you take the lid off 2 hours into
a 10 hour cook and you freak out because it looks like nothing is
happening? Well that is what happened during the first part of my
move. After a delightful lunch with Father Caroly, the rector and head
master at St. Gabirel's Jr. Seminary, my new home for 2 weeks, I laid
on my bed and had moment of emotional distress as I fully realized the
gravity of the fact that it was up to me now to make my experience
here in Kenya meaningful. But as I slowly succumbed to the afternoon
nap, I awoke relieved of that anxiety.
The rest of my day completed the cooking process.
Flavors were melded together, juices sizzled, and sweet aromas made
their way through my body in the form of comfort and peace. Father
Caroly and I drove into Kisumu where we went to the Nakumatt for a
brief shopping stop and then to St. Theresa's Secondary School for
girls where Father Caroly had some business to attend to. We talked
for a while with some of the Form 1 students (9th grade) and I was
able to observe Father Caroly's unique blend of humor, philosophy, and
wisdom that he imparts on students when he interacts with them. The
cooking process came to fruition when we arrived at Green Garden
pizzeria to meet some of Father Caroly's friends for dinner.
Step 3: Eating (together)
As fellow slow-cookers know, the reward of tasting what you have been
anticipating is oh so sweet (unless you totally botch the recipe). I
don't think it's coincidence that the 3rd stage of this analogy
involves eating on both sides. After all my anticipation, worry,
anxiety, and uncertainty, the meal and fellowship time at our table at
Green Garden was certainly the culmination of the process of slow
cooking. At that point, I had switched from being alone in Kenya,
separated from the familiarity of the first 10 days to learning to
humbly and happily accept my new blessings of not-knowing what God had
in store for my future in Kenya. My prayer changed from one asking for
strength to cope with the novelty of being alone to hope that in the
days ahead, I will learn that the process of waiting and letting God
work in and through me is a process that will always yield sweet
results.

Witnessing Faith and working hard

Sunday June 13, 2010
This past Friday officially kicked off our separate home-stays. Thus,
Brandon, Kathy, Sanetta, and I are all staying in different homes now.
We're pretty spread out, but we can communicate via phone. Everyone
is doing well. Tomorrow, I will pass off the computer to a teammate
(I think it's Brandon's turn to have it) so I thought I would give
another update while I currently have the opportunity.

Friday was a great day! I went with Winnie, the Umoja-Chulaimbo
Administrative Assistant to her school's Education Prize Program Day.
This is the day that all the students and teachers in the school come
together for inspirational speeches, presentations, and an award
ceremony. Winnie, an Umoja scholar who finished secondary school last
year, was given an award for receiving a high score on the
country-wide secondary school exam (all students take this exam to
qualify for university). Winnie has had some family hardships over
the past year – so her achievement is really something to make one
proud…and I was proud! I was so honored to attend this program as her
guest! Winnie has a way of warming your soul and making a special
place in your heart.

I concluded Friday in song. I was told when I arrived to the Kisumu
area that "The song is a way of life in Kenya." I've found that to be
110% true. Friday night I taught Margaret and Chris (Margaret's
nephew) two English songs after dinner: "Open the Eyes of My Heart"
and "Sanctuary." They loved them both – and I loved how their accents
gave the songs a new twist. We sang Sanctuary through (although it's
short) probably 60 times, AT LEAST. It was such a great hour of
worship. Our eyes were sagging due to exhaustion from the day, but we
kept singing. They also started to teach me a song in Luo (I now know
it after another day of practice). The final hours of the day at
Margaret's house are some of my favorite memories that I will take
home from Kenya.

Now on to today (I'll catch you up on Saturday via time journal posted
at end of blog).

Let me start by saying that the church service I attended was four
hours and 45 minutes long. If I ever become a preacher and I go over
the "one hour mark" and hear people complain I will tell them this
story.
I went to HTCA for worship (Holy Trinity Church of Africa). Today was
a special day for their church; all of the HTCA church members from
across the area came to help raise money for an HTCA church that is
currently meeting outdoors with just a tin roof for protection. The
church pews consist of borrowing primary school desks which are
constructed from 2x6 wood planks (making your seat only 2x6 wide).
And, hanging above the pulpit area is an old canvas to protect the
preacher from the sun (no tin there). I was asked to give a word of
encouragement to the people (but, I was told on Friday that if I
should be asked I should have a sermon ready just in case). Luckily,
I only had to speak for about 5 minutes.

This is roughly what I said after an introduction was made by Winnie
and Margaret about Umoja and all that the project has done/is doing
(so I didn't repeat that); my message was translated by the assistant
pastor...[After I finished speaking the congregation sang the song in
Luo that Margaret has taught me over the past two nights. I was able
to worship and sing with this congregation in their mother tongue!]

"As a student in seminary from Duke University, I am here to learn
about how to partner with others in ministry. The other interns and I
visited a school where Umoja is currently working in partnership to
provide a school lunch program for those in need. The head teacher
said Umoja was a miracle. However, it is not just us that should be
praised – the congregations here, like HTCA have partnered together.
Also, the program would not be available without the guardians. Above
all, the one who deserves praise is GOD. And, we serve a powerful
God! When I was packing for this trip, I was told that in my suitcase
I could bring my clothes. I could bring my toothbrush. I could bring
my shoes. BUT, I didn't need to bring God. I didn't need to bring
God, because GOD IS HERE. The same God I worship in America is the
SAME GOD WE ARE WORSHIPPING HERE THIS MORNING. This week I've seen
some powerful storms. These storms remind me of story – the story of
Jesus calming the storm! Our Lord and Savior is powerful enough to
calm rushing waves and violent winds – that is who we worship here
this morning. I did not have to bring God here with me because God,
the Father of Jesus who died on a cross for our sins – is here,
working in Kenya. I have seen our powerful God working in Kenya.
Have you? I saw God working in Kenya last week as a group of 15-20
men helped push a stuck truck out the mud. The community that came
together to help that one individual driver..that's a miracle! I have
seen and heard women of this area meeting together and raising funds
from this neighborhood for a water project…that's a miracle! God is
HERE! I went to a local school's Education program and saw seven
students awarded for high KCSE scores [country-wide exam] -- Three
girls and four boys excelled from that school. GOD IS HERE! I have
seen miracles here. I know that God is working in this place. I did
not bring God here in my suitcase – but you have shown me God through
your actions. And our God is powerful…RIGHT? That is why Paul tells
us in his letter to Romans, "If God is for us who can be against
us?... [I read Romans 8:31-32]. So this morning, as I was asked to
give you a word of encouragement, I stand here and tell you to have
faith. Have faith because God is HERE – God is working here."

…God was and is working here. The congregation this morning raised
about 38,000shillings for the church building project (that's over 500
USD). To truly know how great of offering this is, you must know that
those who didn't have money, donated crops (tomatoes, onions, sugar
cane, and even a few eggs to be auctioned off at the church service).
Everyone gave something – as much as they were able. They gave to
support a sister church. I was blessed to witness such faithful
people this morning.

Day after day, I am truly amazed at the faith of the people.

*Ellen Daniels-Howell told the four interns at our final meeting in
Kisumu, Kenya that we should empty ourselves and learn from the people
here in Kenya. At this meeting, she told us we didn't need to bring
God, that God is here. THANKS ELLEN for wonderful words of wisdom
that I adopted for my "5-minutes of encouragement"

Time Log Journal
Saturday – June 12
8am- Breakfast – a hearty breakfast because "Saturday is a day of
work, and you don't know when you'll have a rest to take lunch" –says
Margaret my host. Breakfast was buttered bread, scrambled eggs, and
mandaizes with tea.
9am-worked on sermon ideas in case I'm called to preach on Sunday. I
chose not to use the Internet for any aids since my fellow interns in
Kenya are also thinking of sermon ideas and do not have Internet
access right now. Come O Holy Spirit, come.
10am- Walked to Winnie's. She said if I wasn't busy I could help her
with laundry.
10:20am- Arrived at Winnies and went straight to work; we pulled water
for washing from the well. Hello bicep muscles!
10:30am- started washing clothes (we washed her family's clothes from
the past 2 weeks). Washing clothes, I learned, is 5-bucket
process…First, you scrub in the first bucket with bar soap. Scrub in
the second with powder soap. Wring out and scrub again in the third.
Wring out again and scrub in the fourth. And do a final wring out and
soak in "clothes conditioner" (aka fabric softener) in the fifth.
Then, wring out and hang on the line.
12:30ish- break from clothes to make lunch. Winnie taught me how to
make fire for cooking.
1:30pm- ate lunch -- learned how to eat with the "natural fork" (aka your hand).
1:45pm – went back to washing.
2:45pm – after a total of three hours washing, we're done. I might
add, that the buckets/tubs sit on the ground. Thus, throughout this
process, you bend at the waste to lean over and scrub.
4:30pm – return to Margaret's. Her nephew is working on peeling beans
in the back yard. With all my heart, I want to help him. However, my
body is telling me that after bending over and washing clothes all day
that I must sit down for now. Help me Lord, give me strength.
--I'll never admit it to Winnie because I just wanted to keep up with
her (and I didn't want to give American's a bad name)…but I actually
got a blister on my hand from wringing out clothes so much! Haha. It
was hard, but fun. Of course, we sang praise songs as we cleaned
(truly, this is a place of song!).
5pm- phone call with my parents. YAY for familar voices.
Then, worked on sermon ideas again.
9:30pm- dinner (they eat LATE here). Dinner was steamed (?) greens,
Ugali, and sweet potatoes

STRIVING FOR THE KINGDOM

June 8, 2010

I went to the University of Indianapolis (UIndy) for my undergraduate
education. The Ecumenical and Interfaith Office at UIndy sponsors a
program called, "Sharing My Story." It is scheduled time for one or
two people to share their faith journey. Through this blog, I want to
make sure that I "share a story" – but not just my own. Instead, I
want to share the story of the people we meet and what we see.

Today after breakfast (which consisted of Kenyan yams the size of my
head, including my neck), the three Duke gals visited another primary
school. We met with the Deputy Teacher and Liaison Teacher, and then
we were introduced to the entire teaching staff. After our meeting
and greetings we toured the school and visited the Umoja feeding
program. In addition, at lunch time when we were out with the feeding
program the Chairman of the Guardians came and welcomed us.

Once again, the partnership and work that Umoja has done was praised
endlessly. The Deputy Teacher (comparable to our Vice Principal) said
that he was hired at the school after the project was initiated and
underway and that he was so astounded to see such a program in place
when we arrived. He called the feeding program a "miracle sent from
God". He explained further that the Umoja project feeding program
keeps the children in school because it brings them to school; it
brings them to school because it might be the only meal that they
receive all day. What's more, he said, "This program is giving them a
future because it is making them healthy and bringing them to school
for an education."

Here's the story --there are 595 students and 11 teachers at this
school. By their records, there are 173 orphans enrolled at the
school. There are at least 8 child-headed households, and they have a
list of four children in great need of a home/new home. Also, out of
the 8th grade class, 35 are orphans. This number is important because
in Kenya, to attend secondary school, you must pay tuition.

Thus, if you are poor, it is very difficult to afford. Therefore,
unless there is a sponsor for these children, the hope of continuing
education is unfortunately small. We asked the Deputy Teacher what
those children will do if they cannot continue in school. We were
told that they would probably become brick makers or work for people
in their homes (making at the most about 100 shillings a day which is
$1.33 USD).

We asked the Deputy Teacher what was their greatest need. First of
all, he said that it is hard to address this question because they
appreciate so greatly what Umoja has already done. [He then continued
to praise the project and even said that he wanted to move his niece
closer because she is vulnerable orphan living outside of the Umoja
district area.] After showing his gratitude, he said the kitchen is
without a roof so the cook(s) cannot use the new fuel-saving stove.
Also, he named a sanitation issue: the area is very swampy and their
latrines, which are not built to standard, often do not last long.
Currently, they have 2 latrines for girls and 2 for boys (the correct
ratio in Kenya is supposed to be 1 latrine per 30 boys and 1 latrine
per 20 girls…remember that I said this school had almost 600
students). Finally, he just strongly emphasized the need for
sponsors for the students in 8th grade so that they can afford to go
to secondary school (high school).

As we toured the school, we first went to the nursery (which I would
compare to the U.S. "Pre-school"). These small children were meeting
in a classroom without a roof. For some protection, they had a white
sheet over the area where they were sitting. With the direction of
the sun was shining at the time of our visit, the sheet provided
protection for the majority of the children. However, some kids
remained in the direct sunlight. More importantly, we are visiting
during the rainy season – it has rained HARD (including hail today) in
the afternoons. Thus, roof protection is also a great need.

This school was my third primary school to visit since we've been in
Kenya. While we were talking with the Chairman of the Guardians (who
has two grandchildren that he is now responsible for) he told us this
was the poorest school of all the Umoja schools. He also said that
the feeding program is "saving the children here". While we were
talking with him, we were able to observe the feeding program in
progress. What struck us three Duke gals was that some students were
dividing the food (corn and beans) into a bowl, and then the remainder
into a sack or small container. The Chairman and Liaison Teacher both
explained that some of the children take home the extra for their
family members or for dinner.
I'm not sure if you quite understand that – They are splitting one
meal between at least two meals (one for now and one for later). This
isn't a great big meal either – it is sufficient for one.

As we left the school I was both happy and sad. This is a story of
success – the feeding program is reaching many students. It is also a
story of need. Above all, it is a story of faith.

When we returned home after visiting the school we ate lunch with our
host, Margaret. Over lunch, we talked about what we have seen and
heard. She said that people pray, knowing that God promises to
provide. However, she made it clear that they do not just sit and
wait for their prayer to be answered – they are working hard and doing
all that they can do as well.

The Deputy Teacher called the feeding program a miracle.

Faith that God will provide.

I cannot help but think that while I'm here in this beautiful
country, with gorgeous mountains in the backdrop and the bluest skies
above my head that I am closer to God's Kingdom… Closer to God's
Kingdom because of the faith that these people have shown me. They
are so thankful for all that God has given them – for what they have
worked for and also for what they have received through other people's
generation contributions.

Jesus said to his disciples, "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about
your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear.
For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing…And do not
keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and
do not keep worrying. For it is the nations of the world that strive
after all these things, and your Father knows that you need them.
Instead, strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given to you
as well. Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father's good
pleasure to give you the kingdom…" (Luke 12:22-23,29-32 NRSV).

Each night, our host, Margaret prays in her living room with her
family and present guests. We take turns praying – and at the end, in
the softest, most humblest voice, Margaret says under her breath "Ero
Kamano. Ero Kamano Jesu." [Thank you. Thank you Jesus]

I pray that when I return home I can live with the same kind of faith
that I have witnessed here.

Peace and grace,
Laura

Time journal:
Monday June 7 – we are planning to Margaret's farm today. We were
told his was kind of far. However, we have also been told that
Kenyan's think we don't walk much in US…thus, we aren't sure what "far
means"

7am – Woke up and had time to read before breakfast
8am- Breakfast – hot tea and mandaizes (similar to a doughnut, but
without the hole and with much less sugar).
10:15-leave for field to pick peas
10:24-slip n' slide Kenya style (it's been raining a lot and roads are muddy.)
10:42-created our own bridge from carrying stones to wet and muddy crossing area
10:59-already drank half of the water I brought with me for this
excursion. Uh oh.
11:00- 'climb mountain' – Margaret's description. But, yes, it was
indeed a mountain.
11:20-arrive at farm and begin collecting peas.
12:58pm- finished my water bottle. Darn – long walk and farm work =
thirsty Laura.
1:05pm – Children of the Corn, Kenya style (except our scary
experience was getting through the corn field without getting stuck in
mud – we were successful, don't worry)
1:20pm- leave to go home with 2-1/2 bags of beans.
1:38pm-after carrying bag of beans on my head – I have now mastered
the Kenyan way of carrying items. Walked over 1,000 steps without
touching/adjusting the bag. (I actually counted…I started off not
being able to walk more than 16 steps without it almost falling). New
meaning to "Look Ma, no hands."
2:20pm- return home, sweaty, drank 2 bottles of water and rehydrated.
What does it really mean when Jesus says, "Never be thirsty again"?
2:40pm – lunch
3:30 – sponge bath with cold water. First time I am really really
thankful for cold water. While bathing, think to myself, "Next time
someone says, 'kind of far' I will be sure to take more water"
5:00pm- raining cats and dogs – soooo thankful we're not still up on
that mountain! Reading until dinner. Check out "Road to Daybreak"
good book!
9pm – dinner… fish, cabbage, and ugali.

See it for Yourself

There is quite a difference between hearing about something and
experiencing it for yourself. In leading up to my time in Kenya I
spent hours talking with people (one person in particular, thanks
Darriel) about what I should expect. I asked about the people, the
food, the accommodations, our specific tasks. But in all my
questioning and requests for clarification I still didn't "get it" or
understand it all until I came to Kenya for myself. All that we have
seen and experienced in just a short 2 weeks can only be described in
part. You must see it for yourself (and I recommend that you do).
Likewise, I did not realize until now how many of the intricacies of
the Biblical stories and principles I was missing until now. All of a
sudden things start to make just a little more sense when you can see
things for yourself, not just read about it.
For example, I literally saw a woman at a well. Having grown up in
the suburbs of a major city I have never seen such a thing. From
where does water come? –The faucet. But Sunday, I saw a woman
(actually a few women) at a well drawing water under the hot, Kenyan,
sun-filled sky. My mind immediately raced back to the gospel story
where Jesus meets a woman at a well, tells her about her life, and
offers her Himself - the living water. As I watched the women I
thought of how Christ met this woman where she was, entering her life
during such a mundane yet difficult task of drawing water (not to
mention all the sociopolitical implications, the forgiveness of sins,
and her later witness). And I thought of how for the people of Kenya
such biblical accounts make more sense. It just clicks in a way that
it did not for me, not until that very moment. I wondered what it
must feel like to see many of the images of the Bible lived out and
actualized in live, living color every day? With all of the
technology and books at my disposal, the people of Kisumu (the area in
Kenya where we are staying) have a level of understanding and
relationship to the Bible that is real and personal (something I had
yet to grasp) because they experience it each day. Honestly, can you
really understand the importance of never having to draw water again
(never being thirsty again) if you can just easily turn the tap at any
given moment? Can you really understand the importance of sheep
knowing their shepherd's voice if you have no concept of grazing and
herding? Of course, someone can try to explain it to you or you can
read about it in come commentary but to be honest, the answer is
simply, "Not so much."
The most amazing thing about my experience in Kenya, however, is not
only that the images of the Bible have been brought to life but the
very principles as well. Everyone I have met (including the children
on the road who yell out "Mazungu, how are you?") are gracious. They
are loving and welcoming. It is in their very Kenyan culture to love
and serve others, especially visitors. For them, all visitors are
angels of God and we, as visitors, are treated as such. Every day I
feel what it is like to be loved by someone who truly takes Christ's
words to heart - that one must love God with all one's heart and love
one's neighbor as one's self. They show me in the smiles and the
handshakes, the efforts to speak English and the hearty, warm
embraces. They share fresh fruits and vegetables from their gardens
and patiently teach me how to prepare local dishes. They teach me
their language, their songs of praise, and their dances.
I am so grateful for the opportunity to spend this time here in Kenya
learning about a different culture. Most especially, however, I am
enjoying the experience of seeing the stories, parables, and images of
the Bible brought forth in the landscape of Kenya and God's love
embodied and shared by the Kenyan people.

Redneck Shamba Worker

Kathy Randall: Lela, Maseno Division, Kenya
I am a redneck.
Literally.
I am now the proud displayer of a thoroughly bright burned red neck.
Proud? You might ask. Yes. Proud. Because I worked hard to earn this
red neck. I mean, yeah, it hurts, but it was worth it.
So, here's how it happened. We are staying at a very (very) generous
local woman's house. This fireball of a woman, Margaret, is a leader
in her community, organizing numerous programs such as caring for
orphans and the sick and guiding the area to a consensus to have
running water to every property. She is a brave woman. Her husband
travels and she invites various westerners to live in her house
(including some very strange divinity students).
On Monday she invited the three girls to come help her in her shamba.
"It is very far." [In Kenya, you never really know how far is far
exactly. It could be anywhere from a twenty minute walk to a
treacherous eight (or fourteen) hour drive.] We did not know quite
what we had gotten ourselves into. But we gathered our water bottles
and ventured out into the field.
A brief note: on Sunday evening and into the night, it rained heavily.
Stormed, actually. The roads, already packed red dirt, have the
amazing tendency to turn to slippery mud. But it drains amazingly well
here, considering the closest tarmac is at least a mile or two away.
We waited for the sun to come out and dry up most of the mud, and
amazingly, it did. Sure there were puddles, and sure I managed to dip
my toes inadvertently into the muck before we got out of sight of the
house, but it was not too bad of a start. As we walked on dirt paths
in single file, conversations caught and lost as we spread out and
came closer together on our journey through the Kenyan countryside.
These dirt paths are just wide enough for one person to walk, mostly
one foot in front of the other, narrower than paths on the AT, but
just as muddy in some places. At one point we came out to the
railroad, and walked along the metal crossties cast in 1962. We took
the long way around because the main road was "very bad."
At one point, we came to an outlet from the footpath to a road, but at
the entry to the road the path was eroded, swamped, and basically an
eight foot long puddle in a trench. But, industrious us gathered
stones, and Mama Margaret in her gumboots (rainboots for us) placed
them at step long distances so that we could cross over the expanse of
mud to reach the road. Then we climbed a rocky hill, jumped a few
ditches, passed schools and homes and trees, and came to the red roof
that Margaret had pointed out across the valley when we were on the
rails. After an hour, we had finally arrived at her shamba. Yes. It
was far. And we hadn't even started working yet!
Margaret had bought into a program introducing some new plants into
the area. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the delicious snow peas
and sugar snaps came from her garden! We received a basic primer on
how to pick the peas, and bent to our work, working up and down the
lines of the crop staked to the hill. Back bent to the work of moving
leaves aside to pick the peas that were the proper size, we continued
to fill the sack, and work on in our labors. One of Margaret's workers
found us later, and worked on beside us, together we gathered over
nine kgs of peas. Two hours work for five people. Every Monday and
Friday Margaret and her crew come to gather their crops, and then they
bring them to the collector who pays either fifty or eighty shillings
per kg (she's not sure). In US terms: that's sixty-six cents to a
dollar and six cents. At most, that is eight and a half dollars for
our two hours of work. These peas will be frozen immediately and
shipped to be sold in a supermarket in England. "Home Grown" indeed.
They are sweet, but I'm not so sure it is fair trade. (Margaret is not
suffering for it, but it is a lot of work.)
Then we had to carry it back. Laura placed the large bag (at least ten
pounds) on her head, and managed to walk Kenyan momma style all the
way back to the house, with only one half slip and usually not even
touching it with her hands. Famished, we ate our lunch, and then took
"showers" (cold bucket baths). That was when I found that I had missed
a spot or two when I put on sunscreen. Granted, I did not know that I
was going to be working or walking outside for four hours when I
started, but I should have known better. I am practically on the
equator anyway. I still have a vibrant red neck. But our peas tonight
were so fabulously scrumptious.

Into the Field

Kathy Randall: Lela, Maseno Division, Kenya
Growing up as a Preacher's Daughter, I have had the opportunity to go
to many funerals and interments. I became accustomed to the routine of
visitation, service, and driving out to the cemetery with the hearse
leading the way. My mother would have us stand at the edges of the
crowd, respectfully silent, even if we did not directly know the
deceased. Today, I was present at my first burial.
Our team arrived to our first homestay yesterday, knowing that today
would be our chance to observe (and participate) in a local burial
service. Last night we went to sleep listening to the amplified
recordings broadcast from the house behind our host's where the wake
was taking place. This morning, we watched our host and a score of
mamas preparing the meal that would be served after the service.
Around ten in the morning, we heard the beginning of the testimonies
of those who knew Susana.
Susana was a grandmother suffering from AIDS. Our director, Ellen
Daniels-Howell, had met her once before, and learned some of her
story. Susana and her daughter-in-law lived in their clay house with
the tin roof, working in their shamba (field), raising maize and peas
and other subsistence goods, struggling to survive. The
daughter-in-law (also sick, also a widow) will have to leave the
house, since the property is not traditionally hers. Unfortunately,
our team did not have the opportunity to meet Susana, but we did honor
her today by our presence at her burial.
We went out her backyard around noon, to go observe and listen to the
testimonies. This tradition of eulogy is continuous, with anyone who
desires to speak about the deceased approaches the microphone and
extemporizes for a unset period of time. When we arrived, we were
found seats in the shade, (with the ubiquitous KenPoly chairs), and we
settled down to see what we could see and hear what we might hear.
We listened to the Dhluo testimonies, with periodic spurts of singing
and clapping, watching the crowd grow and watch us. We estimate that
at least three hundred mourners showed up to show their respects for
Susana. After three hours of sitting and watching, we were told that
we should go take our offering up under the tent. We queued with our
shilling notes in hand, and entered the tent. Shuffling and humming
along to the a capella choir, we approached the place where we were to
deposit our offering. The black plastic bowl was placed on the lace
covering the coffin, directly next to the small plexiglass window
directly over Susana's face, allowing us to see her face, preserved in
death.
We returned briefly to our seats in the shade, but soon our guide told
us to come get behind the choir, again inside the tent. We gathered
again, not really knowing exactly what was about to happen (a common
occurrence here). Soon, we began to sing, and move forward in a long
train toward the shamba off to the side. The coffin followed us
closely as we came up to the grave already dug deep.
We continued to sing, and the preachers read from their service books,
and then four young men jumped into the hole, to receive the coffin,
to lower it down to the bottom of the hole. After they lowered it in,
and jumped back out, the preacher shoveled a spade of red clay onto
the lace covered coffin, with the appropriate words (presumably. I
don't know for sure since they, as the complete rest of the service,
were spoken in Dhluo). We prayed. As we continued to sing, the spade
and two hoes were taken up to completely fill in the grave as we
remained standing around the quickly shallowing grave.
Many hands make short work, the young men rotating between the tools
taking a five foot hill and a five foot hole to level ground in about
fifteen minutes. As they worked, periodically ringing the tools
together to shake off packed clay, spare stalks of the maize from the
field Susana is now buried in came in with the dirt. As the hill
vanished, the crowd closed in around the newly covered grave, and a
final chorus was sung. "Going home to Jerusalem" hope and expectation
gathering in as we closed the service with a final prayer.
In all of my experience of Interments, the burying part is the one
that is hidden from view, not part of our cultural experience. Here,
in Kenya, we waited to see the whole process, so that we could be
assured that each this was indeed a circumstance when we enter our
deceased into the fertile soil. To be buried in your own field, out of
necessity or poetry, seems fitting, especially here where their lives
are so closely linked with this land.

Walk don't run

June 4, 2010
Kenya tip number 1,583: Do not rush.
Since I have been in Kenya, I think the only time I remember being in
a hurried state from one place to another is in Nairobi when we made
the quick jaunt from the customs counter to the luggage belt when we
saw our bags.
At home my schedule seems to be something along the lines of… rushing everywhere
– rush to school, hurry to and from my classes, and then dash to a
lunch meeting with friends (where we shovel food in fast in order that
we can go to the library and work on papers before our next class,
etc.). Long story short, I try to pack in as much as possible in our
day.

In Kenya, we have been busy – so busy that when I get into bed at
night, I can only read a few pages of my book before I doze off and
let the book slip out of my fingers. However, the work we have been
doing is not a "rushed" kind of busy. Please let me explain more so
that you might have a better understanding of what I mean by this.
During our Orientation Week, as we've mentioned in previous posts, we
have met many people including school administrators, elders and
guardians, church members, students, Umoja Board members, and more.
In just one week, I have observed a different model of meeting people
than I'm used to back home. Here in Kenya, when you meet someone you
get more than a "Hi how are you doing" that is customarily followed by
"I am fine." Instead, you ask in detail about the person. For
example one will ask, "How is your family (naming specific family
members)?" This question is not answered with "fine" but is responded
to with specifics. You do not RUSH a greeting. You really meet the
person and learn about their life.
Something I have learned to love is not RUSHING a goodbye either.
Many times when I thought our team has been ready to go, we walked
toward the van…only to find ourselves in another 30 minute
conversation (or sometimes even longer!). I say that I have "learned"
to love this because I had to get used to it. At home, I am a very
rigid and timely person. Ask my roommate, if we say we are leaving in
five minutes, then by golly I will count down by minutes until it is
time to go (and then I'll get antsy and irritated if we postpone our
departure further). That is not the way in Kenya. Time with company
is cherished. Thus, a parting from one another is cherished. So many
great things have happened during the times that I thought we were
leaving and then ended up not for quite awhile. For example, through
a continued conversation, Kathy found out a common interest with
Charles (a Board Member of GIP-Chulaimbo). He connected her via phone
to his sister who has served/serving Peace Corps. Also, one time when
I was ready to go (but we stayed), I ended up joining a game of
tag/chase with the children outside of a church building where we held
a meeting just before. This was so much fun – I was able to play with
them and break a cultural barrier (tag is indeed a universal game).
Thus, I have learned – DO NOT RUSH goodbyes because the relationships
that are built and maintained in the departing(s) are way better than
a countdown that maintains a schedule ;)
Finally, I have learned not to rush while eating a meal. As I
mentioned previously, back home I can easily rush through a meal (even
when I'm sitting with friends). Much worse, I am guilty of grabbing a
sandwich from the student center at Duke, and eating it on the 10
minute bus ride home from school – so that I can rush onto work with
some food in my stomach. I've only been here in Kenya a week, but I'm
sure eating alone or in a space with strangers which you do not
converse with (such as on the bus) does not happen. Meals are to be
shared. Which brings me to the first reason why you do not want to
rush a meal: because it is a time to share with others. Stories are
shared over across the table that unite strangers and create
friendships. Secondly, you do not want to rush because it is
delicious! We've had some wonderful food – Kimusu is right on Lake
Victoria so we've had some GREAT fresh fish. You don't want to rush
eating because you want to taste all of the seasonings, etc. We've
also had chapatis (my favorite), ugali, mandazi, and the best fresh
watermelon/bananas/pineapple. Finally, you do not want to rush
because if you're finished, out of their gracious hospitality they
will keep feeding you, and feeding, and feeding you. After all, as
delicious as the food is – one should not endlessly eat.

All in all, through not rushing, I have learned something else – to be
thankful. To be thankful for the time we are given to be with others
and grateful for the food we are given.
More tips to come as we learn from our gracious hosts.

Since I've talked about busy-ness, I thought it would only be right to
include some of the time-log (again, only some highlights).

Tuesday, June 1, 2010 –fyi - this was a national holiday in Kenya.
9:47am – arrived at Kanyamedia School and met one Umoja Scholar, Rita.
This school has 300+ students and 14 teachers. Stayed longer (didn't
rush the goodbye) to hear Ellen encourage Rita in her studies. Ellen
has been a wonderful mentor and teacher.
10:11am-drank water in van out of bottle on bumpy road – mistake.
10:48am – St. Barnabas' Girls Secondary School – met Emily, Umj.
Scholar. She asked us to take her picture with her best friend – she
was shy, yet enthusiastic to introduce her guests from USA.
11:38am – Vitalis, our van driver, negotiates a price for us to climb
on Kit Mikayi (The Rock of First Wife – named after a man who loved
the rock more than his actual wife, who became his second wife).
11:47am- did some rock climbing in Kenya…in our skirts. We're that hard core.
1:08pm- We met Carolyn, an Umoja scholar, at Huma Boarding School for
girls. She won our hearts over with her dimples. We took a team
picture with her and encouraged her to keep on studying hard.
1:53pm – avocado break at Margaret's house (Kathy, Laura, and Sanetta
will be staying with her for week 2 of trip)
2:58pm- Arrived at Charles' house
4:35pm- tried to leave Charles' house due to storm clouds approaching
4:48pm- still talking to Charles and Mary (creating great friendships)
4:51pm- STORM IS HERE. SCATTER. [In my actual time log this is in
very bad writing because we left and were in the van on a bumpy road]
*The three students we met today were at school – On a day that is
national holiday studying with other students. STUDYING ON A HOLIDAY?
That's dedication!

Wednesday June 2, 2010
Winnie showed us around town today = many markets, the MegaCity Mall,
and other important places that we should know (including places we
should know NOT to go to while we're here).
9:22am- Marriage proposal.
9:43am- At MegaCity Mall sign on display window "Pliz Don't Touch"
10:30am- Visited Hospital (just to look…don't worry no injuries on our team)
1:15pm- Lunch on the shore of Lake Victoria. Our lunch was staring
back at us. Fish served whole (tale, fin, head, eye…you name it).
1:28pm- Sanetta and Laura try fish gills for the first time (not too
bad actually)
*Sometime in the evening – mosquito made buffet line on my left arm. 11 bites.

Thursday and Friday (today) have been great days as well, but I'm sure
my teammates will include some of the details in their blog entry…so
I'll let you wait in anticipation for more info about our trip.

Peace and grace,
Laura

Behind the Screens

Kathy Randall: Kisumu, Kenya.
It seems so familiar here. It is as if I had never been gone, and
everything is just the same as I had remembered from my time before,
three years ago. But there are things, details small and large, that
show that this is a town, a city, a country which has changed, and the
scars are trying so hard to fade in to the background.
Up at the top of the hill on the main road leading out of Kisumu, just
above the roundabout encircling the statue which looks out over Lake
Victoria, is a huge screen banner for The Nation, one of the national
newspapers. A photograph of Nelson Mandela, and a flip clock showing
the year date of 1991. "We were there" is emblazoned in large letters
over the man who helped bring peace to South Africa. Peace indeed.
This piece of history is hiding evidence. Behind this screen is the
burned out husk of a supermarket store where I had shopped during my
last stay in Kenya.
During the violence following the presidential election of December
17, 2007, riots erupted across the country, mobs overtook the
previously peaceful country, and places like this supermarket were
looted and destroyed. Angry men carrying pieces of tarmac torn from
the already washboard roads stormed through the shops of tailors,
carpenters, and craftsmen.
I was not here to see it. But as I said, I can see the scars. Yes,
they are healing, and Kenya is making strides to a healthier nation.
But still there are pieces which have not returned to the way they
used to be. Perhaps they won't. Perhaps they shouldn't. I hope that we
can learn from the scars here, and learn how to live and make peace in
this place.
That is what Umjoa Project is working towards. Through helping orphans
and vulnerable children by feeding them and allowing for support for
them to attend school, Umoja is helping educate those who will lead
Kenya. The hope of Kenya lies in its children.

Meeting my brothers and sisters

Written Sunday, May 30

Background for reading this blog entry: 1. For all of you who do not know me, I am African-American but very fair in complexion but I am not bi-racial.  I just recently cut my hair and it is now about 4 inches long and is usually in some sort of curly afro. 2. Barack Obama's family is from the same area we are living in this summer.

On Sunday I visited an Anglican Church which provided lunch after the service.  Following the meal, a man called me over and asked to speak with me.  He said, "Your hair looks like mine but your skin does not."  He asked me if I was like Barack Obama.  Not knowing exactly what he meant, I replied, "ummm, not so much."  I didn't know if he was referring to Obama being bi-racial or a black American.  I tried as best as I could to explain that there are many different skins tones in America.  I even went so far as to admit that there must have been a white person somewhere in my family tree but I don't know where.  Still looking confused he asked me what percentage of America was black and I said about 12%.  He replied that I must be 88% American.  (lol – and we actually laughed about it)  We finally agreed that I was just a black American. 

Even before this conversation I wondered how people in Africa would perceive me.  One of the interns from last year (who is a dark-skinned African-American was told by one man, "Welcome Home."  I knew that wouldn't happen to me.")  The fact is that I have had to answer similar questions about my heritage all of my life so I was well-versed on how to respond.  Yet, as an African-American I often think of Africa as my "home" in some ways.  It is the "motherland."  But what happens when you bare only a slight resemblance to your mother?  Will she recognize you?  The man was able to see that I somehow shared a likeness with him but only because of my hair.  What if he had met me weeks ago when my hair was longer and straighter?  Would he have been able to recognize me?  In some ways it is disappointing that those I consider to be my "brothers and sisters" do not see me as such.  To them, I'm just another "mzungu" ("white person"), a foreigner.

One thing I have learned, however, even in this short time in Kenya is that while I may not be considered a sister of the Kenyans through blood or heritage I do share a family line that runs thicker than blood.  By worshipping, praying, and singing together, I have found myself to be among and received as the sister in Christ of the Christian Kenyans.  In this regard, while Kenya may not be my "motherland" we do share the same Father, the shed blood of our mutual brother, and our faith which binds us closer than hair texture or skin complexion.

Pig of God, You Take Away...

Written Tuesday June 1, 2010

Ahhh the close of another day spent in the larger Kisumu area of Western Kenya. The exhaustion after a day with Joseph Okuya is not to be matched very often yet it is not exhaustion accompanied by heavy sighs or downtrodden faces but with dear memories and tears of gladness hidden behind sunglasses. We have an itinerary for our first week in Kisumu so that we know the names of the places we are going that day. Of course as resident aliens we have no idea what this means for us until we are at these schools and homes and interacting with principals, headmasters, men, women, and of course the students. The majority of our time at these schools is spent in the office of the principal or school administrator and/or getting a tour of the facilities. Each school we have been to barring St. Gabriel's Junior Seminary (where I will be hosted for one week starting June 6) is a school that has at least one Umoja scholar. The Umoja scholars have been present at their schools when we arrived and were promptly called to come meet their 'supporters' as we have been deemed. I will remember some of the principals and some of the facilities without pictures but I will remember all of the children who we have met. Their humble thankfulness and soft spoken voices accompanied by their shy handshakes leave a lasting impression when you are who they see as the face of their providers. But further than that is the interaction of the students with Ellen Daniels-Howell. Laura has fully captured and embraced the encouraging nature of Ellen with the students and brought it to my attention so that I can no longer go back to the van while she remains with the student but stay and be involved. It is so beautiful when the students and Ellen interact because of Ellen's spirit with the students and the truth that you can see in her eyes when she speaks to them and lets them hear how much she, Umoja, and the people in the U.S. care about each student. Not just that, but encouraging the students to seek after their dreams and to truly reach for the sky. And you can tell she is not blowing smoke in their ears but she means it and for me this is why I am here. It is truly a privilege being a part of a project like Umoja that does not just DO but that BELIEVES in what is done and what can be done. I praise God for this opportunity and ask God to impart into me that sort of drive and love of God's people that Ellen so obviously has. These moments between Ellen and the students as well as the overall humble generosity and radical hospitality of the Kenyan students, guardians, school teachers, and simply everyday people we meet is what has imprinted in my head the dear memories and what has caused my eyes to water behind my big Western sunglasses a number of times. Sitting at Lisuku primary school with the guardians WITHOUT my sunglasses on was emotionally overwhelming listening to these guardians of orphans and each of their stories and having to restrain watering eyes so that I did not make a fool of myself. It is in these times so far in Kenya that I have no doubt seen God working and been encouraged by the emotion I feel and the things I see because I get to be here in the middle of it.
Moving slightly away from the emotional drawings of our first few days meeting students and guardians, an interesting conversation took place today and I have a feeling it is yet to be finished. As I awoke from a brief eye-resting session at Charles's home today, I heard Joseph ask Ellen if he could consecrate (as in Eucharistic consecration) milk and mashed potatoes. Of course I felt the urge to jump right in this conversation and it developed into quite a theological discourse on the Eucharist and biblical interpretation, particularly the concept of 'lamb of God.' Four Kenya, Ellen, Joseph, Winnie, and Vitalis (driver) were all present and contributed, except Vitalis who was silent and Laura who was asleep for the majority of the conversation. The issue was not really about mashed potatoes and milk as elements as much as it was about how we understand Eucharist and how to handle unique situations as clergy and leaders that revolve around issues like allergies to wheat or gluten, grapes, or simply not having access to the traditional bread and wine/grape juice. The consensus seemed to be that it is not as much the elements in bread and wine form that constitute the sanctity of the Eucharist but it is the way in which whatever elements used are consecrated and taken as Eucharist. I am aware of the slippery slope of Eucharist theology this approaches which is why I will table this conversation. The move of the conversation into biblical interpretation came from Joseph as he pondered how to relate the notion of Jesus as the "lamb of God" to a place that did not have lambs and possibly only had pigs. We debated for a while and Laura chimed in later at dinner time after having the situation explained. Regardless of what we decided on the issue, I want to turn the questions back to you as a reader. How do YOU respond to someone not understanding what "lamb of God" means because they don't know what a lamb is? How do you relate scripture to people who are not familiar with the metaphors scripture itself uses? The reason I am challenging you is because this is a challenge we will face here in Kenya but that all confessing Christians will face wherever they are. My two cents is that we have to maintain the integrity of the biblical scripture while being able to 'make plain' the revelation of God in ways that carry substance and meaning for anyone who may not understand. This is easy in theory but quite different in the field. Can I get an amen? (especially from you fellow seminarians in FieldEd right now!)

Our first days

Monday, May 31, 2010

Happy Memorial Day!  Although this will not be posted until a later date (we need to add more minutes to the Internet card)

We are at the close of our fourth day in Kenya – it has been an amazing experience thus far.  I will try to give you some details about the past four days (while also being mindful that I should not publish a novel right now).

First of all, I have been keeping a time journal.  This is a practice I learned from a friend on a trip to Sierra Leone, Africa in 2008.  It isn't inclusive of every detail by any means – instead, it is more just highlights throughout the day.  For example:

Our first full day in Kenya (May 29, 2010)

7am- wandered down to Breakfast area at Methodist Guest House in Nairobi, Kenya.  For breakfast had passion fruit juice, tea (with cream and sugar), croissant, toast &jam, DELICIOUS bananas, pineapple, and beef sausage

9am- toured Kazuri beads and bought some earrings (check out kazuri.com)!!

10:51 – slathered on some spf…the sun is SHINNING!

11am – I pet a baby elephant at the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trusts' Orphan Project and saw some wild hogs.  Also pet a hyrax (and then applied hand sanitizer)

12:05pm – sighted wild baboons running/skipping alongside the major highway.  This then inspired me to look for Rafiki (from the Lion King) in every Acacia tree that we passed.

12:48 – Got up close and personal with a giraffe.  What does this mean?  Our team (minus Sanetta, she did not take the opportunity) got a kiss from a giraffe.  A KISS?  Yes, a good ol' lick on the cheek, chin, and/or lips by a giraffe.  Also, met a giraffe named Laura!  She was prego (a giraffe's gestation is 15 months…so glad I'm not a giraffe).  WHO SAID MINISTRY WAS NOT WILD!?!

 

The rest of the day was not as fun – we waited in the Nairobi airport for couple of hours as or flight to Kisumu was delayed.  Finally at 8pm we made it to St. Anna's Guest house in Kisumu and had dinner at 8:15.  That's 1:15pm North Carolina/Indiana time.  Wow, what a day.

 

On Sunday we split up and went to different churches – I want to write about this experience too.  However, due to my previous goal of not creating a novel, I will give the briefest highlights.

Kathy and I went to the African Inland Church.  The service was similar to mine back home in that there were hymns sung (we even sang a familiar song in the native tongue "To God Be the Glory"), prayer, scripture, a sermon, the Apostles' Creed, and the Lord's Prayer.  It was different in that the sermon was 50 minutes long, there was a large wasp nest above my head, and about 7 or 8 scripture passages were used (however, I guess if you're going to preach for 50 minutes you'll need more than just the lectionary text, ha).  The sermon was mostly in the native tongue, minus a few stories the preacher wanted to tell us because the congregation laughed when he told it to them.  The service was about 2.5 hours long – and equally great was the congregation's warm welcome for us.  We hated to rush out after the service, but we had another meeting to attend (this included a feast at the Catholic Church that Brandon and Ellen attended).

 

Monday (TODAY, May 31, 2010)

Today was a jammed-packed day.  Yesterday we all attended churches that are partners of the GIP-Chulaimbo (the Kenya side of the partnership of the Umoja Project).  Today we visited three schools that receive support in one way or another (for example, they might receive support for lunch program, for school uniforms, or Umoja might sponsor a specific secondary school student and pay for tuition).  We also visited a fourth school that will host Brandon next week that is currently not supported by Umoja. 

I feel like I have a zillion stories from today – about 500 words per each school could maybe justify our experience of what we saw and heard.  Yet, I do not have adequate words to express the gratitude and hospitality that we received today from the schools. 

To all those persons that are reading this that are connected to the Umoja project:  I have been honored today to receive this gratitude in your place.  I wish every single one of you could know just how appreciative the students, teachers, and other administrators are for the work you have done to raise funds and for you generous giving.  Long story short, YOU ARE CHANGING LIVES HERE IN KENYA!  I don't know how many times today I heard of something along the lines of: "the food you have given us has helped us because our children are fed and can concentrate in school" or, "By sponsoring this child you have kept him/her in school and they work hard which will increase their opportunities after secondary school." – By uniting with the schools and congregation here in Kenya you are truly making a difference.  One student we met, Samwel Oguna is the 2^nd highest grade student in his class (all grades are posted publicly at the school).  I did not get the chance to read the grades at all the schools we visited though – but I'm sure the Umoja scholars are in the top percent.

One highlight of the day: 

After meeting with Lisuka Primary School's administration and guardians (similar I think to our PTA in the US, yet due to the reason that many children have lost parents here they are given the title "guardians")à one of the guardians gave us a gift: A chicken that was still ALIVE (STILL BREATHING, SQUAKING, ETC.)!  As I mentioned before, we are lucky enough to be the recipients of the gratitude of the local schools and churches ;)  The chicken is being passed along to Joseph, the Umoja Project Director here in Kenya.  Receiving a chicken…that is definitely a first for me!

 

TIME JOURNAL HIGHLIGHTS FROM TODAY:

9:46am – developing motherly instincts…saving Ellen during abrupt stops in the van (there are no working seat belts so today I used the motherly arm across the chest move to hold her in place in her seat)

10:55am- missed road to Lisuka Primary (drove down a country road for a little bit)

11:10am- arrived at Lisuka Primary School

12:42- Ellen receives special thank you dance from the elders – She is highly regarded

2:27pm – at lunch at Lisuka…avoided spooning out the fish head from the fish stew – and ate some DELICIOUS tilapia!  YUMMY.  Also avoided eating fried chicken claw (maybe by the end of the summer I will brave it up and try the claw)

2:57pm- put live chicken (a gift) in grocery bad and placed on the floor in the van as we set out to travel to another school

4:38pm- had second coke of the day (offered in hospitality by our hosts) at Father Caroly's house.  Thank goodness for some caffeine.  Is it the heat or jet lag that is getting to me?

 

 

On a much heavier note:  alongside receiving the gracious hospitality and warm thankful hearts of the Kenyans, we have also received many sad stories today.  As we met with the elders, they requested more help for the children.  Many guardians are elderly and responsible sometimes for 4-5 grandchildren.  The schools were underdeveloped;  Ongalo Secondary school (where Samwel attends) does not have a single book in their library.  Students who do not receive government support for university school (after secondary school) cannot afford university.  One year for University = 70,000 KSH (less than 1,000 USDollar).  Even with government funds it is still 20,000 KSH (267 USD)!

 

Thus, I end the day with two things to ponder:

1)      How can I express to you how thankful the Kenyans are for your support/why am I so lucky to get to be the recipient?

2)      What else can we do?…we heard suggestions from the school administration and the elders.  What is the capacity of the Umoja project? 

More to come later – but with four school visits today I am wornout.

Peace and grace,

Laura