Excursion to the Coast

Day 10 –

“The day is finally here! We are at the bus station with Pastor waiting to be whisked away to Mombasa and finally, Kwale. I feel encouraged, excited, and nervous all at the same time. I’m getting over a cold, but God is good and He will provide.”

            The day started at 4 am for Silvia, me, and several other teammates as we were to leave early for our assignment destinations. My dear roommate and I grumbled a bit as we stumbled down to breakfast with our luggage and baggy eyes in the chill of the morning to eat and thank the staff of Watakatifu Wote Senta for being our hosts. We all were loaded into the bus and each team was dropped off with their escort/host as the remaining teams waved farewell. Pastor, Bea, and I got to the bus station and waited for what felt like hours as we dozed and watched as venders walked past us putting their items in our faces. Our host dad waited outside with our luggage while my partner and I sat on a bench inside, but he came to check on us periodically. That was the first indication (and not the last) that he would be a good, protective, fatherly figure to us.
            We got on the bus and prepared to be sitting for most of the eight to ten hours to Mombasa. It was a very nice bus and reminded us of a plane because they gave us snacks and drinks. They even played well known movies, but I tried not to watch. For one thing, it was a huge oddity for me to see modern videos and it gave me an unnerving feeling (besides the fact that we agreed to purge ourselves from most technology during our seven weeks).  As tired as I was, it was so difficult for me to peel my eyes off of the scenery as we traveled outside of Nairobi even to journal or read the book my sister gave me. Seeing the browner land and flat-topped trees was enough to stir my excitement and wonder at how diverse the landscape was, even an hour outside the green hills of Ngong. However, the driving and traffic on the Kenya roads was a little different than I was used to: a little less organized and smooth. Yet, I sighed and settled into the reality of what was to come because I knew I would be protected in every situation. I chatted with Bea a bit here and there during our journey and hoped that I would not be facing much conflict with her (I had heard stories about ill-suited ministry partners) and that we would grow close together in friendship and support each other.
            Before we got to our destination, the bus stopped in a small town/attraction called Mtito, in short, (I cannot remember the full name) for a rest. I had an adventure using the facilities – I probably stared at it for five minutes trying to figure out how to use it but I eventually had it mastered. Pastor pointed us to an enclosed area that held the biggest vultures I have ever laid my eyes upon. They were eventually nicknamed “pterodactyls” by one of my teammates when we saw some resting on a tree in the city. Back on the bus, we continued through barren land occasionally spotted with houses, towns, and vendors and taking another short stop in Voi (the town Pastor was from). We then arrived in Mombasa after crossing a bridge and stopped at the station. An American woman was trying to ask Bea and me for directions but we were useless. On one hand, it proved that we looked like we had been there for a while, but on the other…we had no clue where her destination was no matter how much she tried to explain. This all was happening as we were getting off the bus, grabbing our luggage, and trying to stay close to Pastor as to not get lost. Finally, we met a friendly face, whose smiles instantly were a comfort from all of the chaos Bea and I felt. Pastor led us to a van and introduced us to our driver (Evans) who works at Mombasa Pentecostal, and we were taken to the church right away to meet people there. The church was pretty large and pleasing to the eye and we ventured up a spiral staircase to meet Sally (Pastor’s sister-in-law) and another gentleman who worked at the church.
       I felt a little overwhelmed after a long bus ride and from trying not to offend everyone, so I was on guard and probably looked stiff sitting there in the chair. I would repeat instructions to myself, “Shake his hand this way, smile, say your name…my name is, oh yeah, Missy. Oh, maybe I should say Melissa; it is easier to remember for them. Keep talking. Listen to what they are saying, silly. Oh, wait…it’s in Swahili.” Everyone we met was so gracious and friendly which helped, but my mind wasn’t as much at ease even though I smiled and laughed. My brain was going crazy and it wouldn’t turn off for a while. I could tell I wasn’t alone; Bea had that star-struck look about her too and was quiet.
      Let me pause here and give you some more information on the culture. There are many different kinds of handshakes used to greet people for different purposes. We were told to figure out the meaning of each one during our orientation because one shake is used when greeting your elders and important people, one is for your peers, one for good friends…etc. It was definitely confusing, but if you think about it, we have different ways of greeting people depending on our relationship with the other person; there is just more distinction in Kenya (let me know if you want me to show you some). Also, Kenya is not so much worried about time as we are here in the States. Like at the beginning of this entry, I stated that Bea, Pastor and I waited for the bus for hours. Patience isn’t a lesson these people have to learn. Efficiency isn’t their goal because it was more relational than that. It was wonderful just letting go of my impatience and being still as I waited.

Moving on:
      Evans and Pastor led us back to the 12 passenger van, and we were off to Kwa…oh wait. Nope. To the supermarket first for Pastor to pick up a few things; it was a lot like our King Soopers. Surprised? I finally had the brain power to notice that the air and temperature was definitely more intense in Mombasa compared to the elevation of Nairobi, and it was humid even in the evening. Climbing back in the van for the last time, we headed to the ferry to cross over and continue our journey to Kwale. Pastor seemed a little worried about us at that moment and we soon discovered why:
”The American girls who came last year, they were scared of the ferry. *laughs* Don’t worry, it won’t sink, its strong.”
       The moon shone gloriously as we waited for the ferry to doc again (it was a short ride), and then Evans drove the van to our new home in the village of Matuga as I looked out the window to observe the vegetation in the darkness while my heart’s excitement was brimming. The air was suddenly cooler than what we felt in the city as we drove up to the house, a concrete slab with charming house atop that used to be owned by a missionary. The doors of the van were opened and we were instantly greeted by our new mama and Pastor’s wife, Nora, and their two-year-old daughter, Blessings. Her smiling face was enough to make me feel at ease instantly. We were ushered into the house, through the living room, and put our luggage in one of two bedrooms that we would share with the sweet house help, Josephine. With no lunch in our bellies, you would think I was starving, but exhaustion hit hard at that moment and I wasn’t too hungry for the lovely dinner that was prepared for us – thank goodness it was self-serve (at Watakatifu Wote, they served us big portions and we had to eat what we were given). Bea and I recognized everything there - the ugali (staple food of Kenya, maze meal) especially and liver (wasn’t what we were used to, but Nora cooked it well). Mango juice was poured for us (I thought I was allergic, but after two glasses I was still alive) and we were told to eat more even though we could not due to our sleepiness.
      After dinner, we bid Evans goodbye in thankfulness once plans were made for the next day. He was someone Bea and I could easily relate to whenever we saw him during our three weeks and I knew he would become a friend for both of us. Pastor helped us hang our mosquito net over a bed us wazungu would share. The room was more of a patrician of the living room, so the wall was not connected to the ceiling. I liked it and it was nice. We were sent to bed because Nora saw our tiredness after we visited a while. Then we were warned about the bush babies (small nocturnal animals that jumped on the tin roof) so we would know what was making a rumpus on the roof. Bea and I were still on our guard and quiet, but thankful for the hospitality and love we already felt. The night was full of my thoughts and of wondering – and bush babies. :)

Sent Out

Day 9 -

“Lord, I pray that You will completely break me and bring me back to You. Create in me a clean heart, O God. Refine me and allow me to surrender to Your will. This assignment will be challenging, but I am willing, so take me as I am. Take me as I am.”

            Bea and I immediately got together, processed our assignment news and read letters from previous GPers who went on the same assignment, with the same host family, exactly a year before. Their words were encouraging and helpful enough that I recalled their words often during my time in Kwale. After waiting for a week to hear where we were to be going for ministry, it seemed a little surreal to us, but we had more knowledge about what we were going to be doing on the coast. I was able to express my desire to be in a rural area to my small group and Bea. Growing up with horses on my great grandparents’ land where wheat is still farmed, I am not so bothered by rural conditions and I wanted to live differently from what I was accustomed to in the US (a country that seems almost sterile compared to other countries). One of my mottoes in life, “God made dirt, and dirt don’t hurt!”
            Kwale, Kenya is on the southern tip of the Kenyan coast, Southwest of Mombasa (a popular tourist city).  This area of Kenya has a very high concentration of Muslims – whether devout or culturally religious.  In terms of religious groups, Kenya is 80% Christian and the rest is split between Muslims and Hindus. We would be taking a bus from Nairobi with our host pastor (who had arrived at Watakatifu Wote Senta the day before to escort us) to the coast to meet his family and help in the ministry there. Pastor is the chaplain of a Christian school called Mwangaza Visionary School and pastor of the church there, both located in Kwale district. The school has around 300 students in attendance – most are from Muslim families. The goal of this ministry is to reach the children and their families by schooling the children and immersing them in a Christian culture daily during their time at the school. The church and school was planted by Mombasa Pentecostal church a number of years ago after many attempts to reach the Muslims in the area, but they encountered opposition from the residents there. Now, the Muslim residents are peaceful as Pastor and a team of teachers are teaching and preaching the love of Christ to young and old ears.
            At the time, Bea and I didn’t know what was expected of us, but we would be coming alongside (not taking over – a point that is to be very clear to all of you and to all my friends/family in Kenya) this ministry by giving devotions to the teachers and students, preaching on Sundays, and possible house visits to the families in the area to evangelize. My partner and I were the most nervous about encountering Muslims as neither of us had much experience talking or interacting with that particular religious group. However, I was most excited to work with children, play with them, and love them to my utmost capacity. Also, I was very content to see other parts of Kenya, a country that had captured my heart within a week. My journey would start the very next day at 5 am and my emotions were quite similar to the time I planted my foot on the plane that would take me to NYC – nervous, excited, and a whole lot of the unknown. That day, I read Psalm 51 that was written by a very remorseful King David after he committed adultery with Bathsheba. God used that to calm my heart. There, David talks of his broken spirit and repentant heart where he offers them to God. The Lord only wants us to repent and give everything to Him. I prayed for God to take my whole self – all of my emotions, expectations, weaknesses, and everything else for His glory during the next three weeks in Kwale with Pastor.
            That very afternoon, all of us on the team were commissioned with oil. Each team of two knelt on the ground; a leader would trace a cross on their foreheads with the oil, and pray over them and their three week assignment. Bea and I knelt, hand in hand, as one of the wonderful leaders (Sara) anointed us and the whole team surrounded us in prayer. Sara prayed for Bea and I to bond as friends and as partners, that God would be our main focus, and that He would use us for His glory. I had a sudden feeling that I was about to embark on something I could only rely on God for and not myself. The feeling (which I have experienced here and there in life) of standing on the edge of a cliff, with invisible support or restraints, and having a choice – to jump, or not to jump. It’s that leap of faith when you know God is there but unsure of if/when He will show up. Brian and Debbie told us this is one of the difficult parts of this trip for them: letting the students go on their own to all parts of Kenya to learn and grow as they minister to people. It was this moment when all of us fully realized that the next three weeks were finally here and we would be without our “little America”. The honeymoon was over and the adventure/struggle of getting to know a different culture would be intensified. During and after this assignment of mine, however, I realized how much of a hand God had in placing me in Kwale.
            Pastor Felix was introduced to us that night and I was able to talk with him during dinner about the ministry and his family. He told me how excited his wife, Nora, was which put me more at ease. The center was full of the host families/parents of most of our teams at dinner time, and we got to hear from each one about them and their ministry. After the dinner speeches, we all gathered around to end the day with worship. I cannot express how much I loved worshiping every time we had a mixture of wazungu (white people) and Kenyan natives. Music is universal, and in the same way our God is everywhere. I said this before and I will say it again: when a group of diverse people come together and are united by one cause, one heart, one God, it is truly indescribable, beyond words, amazing.
            I said my goodbyes to my teammates, gave hugs, took photos and received instructions from Bea’s boyfriend to take care of her. My motherly instinct radar rose as I promised him I would. Yeah, as much as I hate to admit it, I am such a mother in disposition. I walked with Silvia to our room for bed. She told me stories of her encounters with people from the coast, how wonderful and generous they are, and told me about some of their subculture in her sweet voice (which I miss so very much now). She was so encouraging when I expressed some nervousness about my assignment. Silvia would be going to “the bush” and ministering to the Masai people with a Texan girl on our team and we stayed up talking about our excitements before we fell asleep.

An Invitation into the Unknown

Day 8 –

We found out our assignments and assignment partners before dinner that next day. Brian and the rest of the leaders had been praying and observing that whole week on where to send us and with whom. He brought a big map of Kenya and tapped it to the front, described the nature of the assignment and the host family, and then gave us the two names of the students assigned there. I was nervous but so curious to find out! Though, some of the assignments described didn’t appeal to me at all (they usually had preaching in the mix) and I hoped that my name wouldn’t be called. However, I would have gone with a willing heart because I knew that God’s hand was in any situation. I was hoping for a rural area and something to do with children and not much preaching. Then this ministry on the coast in Kwale, Kenya, was described and my name was called along with Bea’s – both of us were nervous and couldn’t remember much about the assignment itself (other than: we would help in a school and something about Muslims). I was glad I was her partner. We had been placed in a lot of smaller groups together during the week and I liked her a lot. I knew God wanted me in Kwale and with Bea.
We would be commissioned the next day and then leave for our assignments the day after that.

Going to the Chapel

Day 7 –

This was the day we got to experience our first church service in Kenya. We had gotten into the country exactly a week before so this was another of our “firsts”. Our whole team was split into smaller groups (to not overwhelm the church) and sent to different churches around Ngong so we could walk. I was in a group with Japheth and we headed to a church that about a quarter of a mile outside of town. We walked in when the first service (that was in English) ended and were escorted to our seats by an excited usher. Again, we were welcomed wholeheartedly and treated special. The next service started which was going to be in Swahili but I was surprised to see that they had brought up a translator especially for us. Wow. They cared enough for our physical needs but also for our spiritual needs as well. How can you not feel special in that situation?
     The choir got up and led the congregation in worship (mostly call & response format). They had an electric keyboard turned up pretty loudly and a very good drummer pounding out exciting rhythms. Then a group of kids got up to sing a song together which warmed my heart; they kept changing keys and the piano player had to keep adjusting the key to match. Japheth leaned over and pointed that out to me and we giggled as the children went back to their seats. The pastor got up and started his sermon. I was struggling to keep my eyes open as were my other teammates and some were actually asleep. Apparently, jetlag was still upon us. Japheth, with a grin, nudged me and told me that I should wake them up or the ushers would; it was disrespectful to fall asleep during church. Some things do cross cultures. My Kenyan friend also told me that one of the ushers jobs was to make sure people stayed awake during the service, “That’s so funny”, he voiced. I laughed as I poked those who were not aware. The service ended with prayer and the hymn “Tis so Sweet to Trust in Jesus” in Kiswahili. I noticed that many churches would start prayer with a worship song and then everyone prays out loud until the leader ends it with a loud voice in closing. It was a surprising way of congregational prayer, but I instantly appreciated how I was able to hear the raised voices to our God and participate in it myself. Powerful, I tell you.
     After the service, we introduced ourselves to the congregation. Introductions and greeting are very important in Kenyan culture because of their emphasis on relationships. Here was my greeting every time I was asked to give one:

Bwana Asifiwe!/Praise the Lord! (sometimes twice)
Jina languni, Missy/My name is Missy
(insert where I am from)
Nakupenda Yesu/ I love Jesus.

     Then we were whisked away to the Bishop’s office for chai and mandazi (delicious pastry), greeting people as we went. We visited a while and had some good conversation – meaning, Japheth talked mostly and periodically told one of us to say something. We were still a little cautious so that we wouldn’t offend anyone. I was very impressed with the Bishop and church in general – it reminded me of my church back home; small and strives to live only for God. It was a new concept to my mind that people half way around the world who live in a completely different culture love the same God I do. I was in awe. Really. What an awesome revelation! Before we walked back, we visited a teen Sunday school room to greet them and encourage them. They all giggled as we spoke, but listened intently.
     We walked back to the Senta, ate lunch, and shared what our group experienced at church with the rest. The rest of the day was spent listening to Nams talk about cultural sensitivity with us so we would go into our assignments with some background. The last thing he told us: offend as many Kenyans as you can, say you are sorry, and learn from it. Of course he was not completely serious, but the idea was that we shouldn’t be so afraid to offend that we wouldn’t experience culture or gain deep relationships. Later, I fully understood what he meant.
     My mind was racing with questions and uncertainty. Trusting God was a feat for me, but with loving friends around me, I was learning to give it all away. My heart was captured by Kenya already – I hadn’t gotten homesick yet but I was ready for it once the time came. Good friends from school that had been on the same trip in the past had made me a redlining bag. Redlining was a key term that meant closing yourself up to the culture, to learning, to making relationships, and being homesick/depressed wanting to get out. I was so curious to know the contents (it was given to me in May) because I was told it would help me with redlining. We would see!
That next day we were to find out our assignments and partners. I was very ready for my curiosity to be fed.

To Be Still for a Moment

Day 6 – 

    This was a really relaxing day. We talked about the Kenyan accent and how to adopt that so when/if we gave sermons during our assignment, people could understand us. Brian had us practice our accents while reading Psalm 23 in small groups. My teammate, Nathan, got it down immediately and used it many times throughout the trip. The rest of us? We sounded like little British children or better yet, college students who were really bad at accents and imitations.
Kenya was once a British colony, so we also had to be aware of the difference in vocabulary.

The words I got mixed up frequently:

American:                             Kenyan:                                                                                     
Pants = jeans                        Pants = underwear
Smart = intelligent               Smart = dressed well/handsome

Humorous, I know.
     The rest of the day, we rested. A lot of people did laundry, and I went to town with three other girls and Japheth to use the cyber café. As we were walking, a bus drove up and stopped to talk to Japheth in Swahili. Then the bus driver looked at me, asked me my name, and asked me where I was from. Later, Japheth told us what the bus driver said, “Young man, you have four girls; give me one!” It was hilarious and also not so flattering. That wasn’t the first time Japheth was put in that position, either; I was glad he was with us to mediate situations like that.
     I was able to get some more quiet time that day equal with sufficient fellowship time. Assignments were to be announced in a couple of days – I was still nervous and excited at the same time. The unknown can drive one crazy. However, everyone on the team had an "affirmation card" to be signed with their name on it that would hold our words of affirmation to them. Let me tell you; with 45 cards to sign we were all busy enough to keep sane. It was difficult to know what words of encouragement to write because I felt that I didn’t know most of my teammates well enough. That would come in time.
Even with a relaxing day, I was ready for bed when the time came.

A Bittersweet Surprise

Day 5 (part 2) - 

    The most exciting portion of our day was spent at a campus of the University of Nairobi where we met students who were a part of the Christian Union there. Our fearless leaders, Brian and Debbie, were stuck in traffic trying to get back to the Senta after running some errands, so they did not come with us to the university. Nams was left in charge of our big group as we rode the buses for the normal hour into the city. We were warmly welcomed, when we arrived, by the students. They each took a group of us to build relationships and be shown around the campus; or so we were told. I hope most of you reading this can understand God’s sense of humor; He is more likely to surprise us with uncomfortable situations when we are so certain it will go a specific way. It definitely reminds me that He has the control. My teammate, Randi and I, ended up in a group with both a girl named Miriam and a FOCUS staff member, Paula.
    We followed them asking them questions as they asked us questions – it was great getting to know them! They took us into a dorm building and started knocking on student’s doors to invite them to the CU meeting. I don’t know what Randi was thinking, but I knew we weren’t there just to get to know each other, and it reminded me of the time I went door-to-door in the dorms on my campus last year…. “Uh oh! I think I know what is coming and I feel unprepared!” Panic rose within me even if my outside was calm. We entered the room of a girl with our guides and Miriam talked with her a little in Swahili. She then asked Randi and me to say something to this girl and we looked at each other. Brian once told us that because we were foreigners we never know what we would be asked to do on the spot. We introduced ourselves somewhat awkwardly and I felt frozen, unsure of what else to say. I think I ended up encouraging this girl to seek Christ, but it was a feeble attempt and it is still a blur. Miriam chimed in with a great explanation of the Gospel for this girl who was hesitant to accept the truth that was spoken to her (she didn’t want to devote her life to Christ just then). Randi and I listened and prayed for this girl before moving on to other dorms.
    Looking back, that was a situation where I fell short. Instead of seeking God’s voice in my panic, I let it take over and searched for my own strength to conjure up something to share. I failed. After that first room, there was an unspoken agreement between us two introverts; Randi would pray and I would share Jesus and then we switched roles when we entered a new dorm. Our next attempts went much better, and we even connected a little with some of the students as well as with Miriam and Paula.
     Being white was powerful because we were listened to; we sent a message as soon as people knew we were missionaries. The message: God must be something special if white people would travel all that way to share Him – and it was the same message they had heard from fellow Kenyans. Our skin color spoke volumes. Being white was not always an advantage, however, but I will explain that in later posts. I was also completely inspired by Miriam and her boldness. Actually, every Kenyan I had met up to this point impressed me with their faith. They live and breathe Christ and have a heart to declare His name in everything they do. Wow. I can’t say that for myself on a good day. That experience was bittersweet because I realized how much I rely on myself, but it was also so sweet to realize that same thing, period. Then, it was so fulfilling to see some of the people we talked to show up to the CU meeting they were invited to. I originally thought that Brian knew we would be put on the spot like that, but apparently he had no idea – I believe him, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was true.
     The whole team and all of our new friends met in the dining hall for dinner where we had a nice time being together. I was convicted…. I should be excited and ready to share my faith with others and allow God to work through me. Instead, I looked to myself when I panicked and not to Him for strength and direction. Dinner was over and we walked to the meeting place of the Christian Union we were to attend. There was a long line of students at the front singing praises and musicians (especially the electric keyboard played on “loud”) playing with a purpose off to the side. I recognized some songs, and picked up the others very quickly (due to repetitiveness…which will be mentioned later).  As for the rest of the room, it was packed. Many gathered to see the wazungu and to see why we invited them to the meeting if they were not in the fellowship already. I spied a girl we had visited in the dorm, Lillian, and sat next to her. The general excitement of our presence made me feel so unworthy of their extensive hospitality. I felt so inadequate.
     Once we sat and enjoyed some worship, a group of students began some skits themed on final exams because it was the end of their quarter/term. We couldn’t understand what they were saying, but body language sometimes speaks louder than words – the skits were funny and relative to what I go through during finals week. It made me smile.  My whole team then got up and presented the group with a song, “As I Went Down to the River to Pray” – an African-American spiritual featured in the movie “O Brother Where Art Thou?” With a team of 45 westerners, I remember thinking that our audience didn’t understand what we sang because of our accents. Oh well. It was fun nonetheless.
My teammates from Bozeman, Montana did a skit as well set to the song, “Everything” by Lifehouse. It shows the journey of a girl in life…choosing other things above God and His undying love and pursuing other things that attempted to fill her heart. It was all mimed to a known song so we didn’t have to worry about the slight language barrier. Body language and music – almost always universal. The reaction of the audience was different than what we expected (they laughed at parts), but the message got through. It is really difficult to understand the way others from a different culture think because we grew up a certain way. It is so good to try and understand, though. It changes your whole perspective on others and God gives you a heart for others in a way you didn’t think possible.
     We found our way back to our seats in the crowded room, and the speaker was introduced. His sermon through me for a loop – the sermon style is very circular in structure and I was confused most of the time, but it was good to hear and I connected with some of his points. We took chai with everyone (they had buckets of it to accommodate the number of people in the room), and had fellowship time until it was time to drag our exhausted bodies back to the Senta. It was difficult for me to initiate conversation at first…there was so many of them! But I learned quickly to start with one person and go from there.
Little by little.

“Everything” by Lifehouse:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSwCOs-uXzU

The End of the "Honeymoon"

Day 5 (part 1) - 

“My heart feels a little hard today, though, I love being here. I really want to know what God wants me to get out of this trip. I’ve been telling myself over and over that if I am here, God wanted me to be here for a reason. Lord, why? What do you want me to figure out?”

    By the 5^th day in Ngong/Nairobi, I was beginning to break out of my “shy, quiet” shell and getting to know the personalities that surrounded me. I began to realize how blessed I was to have a diverse team full of Americans and Kenyans that were united in one cause: to further proclaim Jesus’ name. Sure, we had our goofy, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea” moments but everyone was serious about their relationship with Christ. Bwana asifiwe!
     The reality that the end of the “honeymoon” period in our trip was upon us and becoming more apparent as the final days of orientation were approaching. [Honeymoon = the first week in the new culture where you are a bit sheltered, having others from the home culture around you.] The past week, when we were not in the slums or Nairobi, we were sitting in chairs listening to Brian (and others) talk about culture, missions, and various other topics we needed to have hold of before we were challenged on our own during our assignments. Due to jet-lag, we would be easily lulled to sleep by the sound of the speaker’s voice and Brian would make us get out of our chairs and sing songs to arouse us. Sometimes they were funny; others were…just ridiculously great. You can ask me more about that later. My brain felt stuffed and I needed time to think and pray through the questions that I was beginning to ask; “I love it here, I know God wants me here, so why am I here according to my Lord?” I was getting impatient.
     After morning chai I did laundry by hand, Kenyan style. This wasn’t the first time I had done laundry by hand in my life, but this was a lot harder than I anticipated. I used detergent (good old Omo) and scrubbed away at my weeks’ worth of clothing until it was ready to hang on the line. Good thing I finished that day because it rained the day after. We had more free time on the “clock”, so I was able to grab my journal, guitar and music and sit outside by the volleyball court at the Senta. Overloaded and a bit confused, I poured out my heart through worship and writing – it is amazing how time alone to sing and pray nurtures my soul. There is something special when I am playing my guitar and singing out to my God; I can’t fully express what I feel when I am dwelling in those moments (especially with the sound of Kenya in my ears). Yes, I love being around people but I need my time alone. Clear headed and warm hearted, I was ready for the rest of the day. 
     We were able to have two men come and give us pointers/practice on speaking Kiswahili. Kenya’s official languages are Swahili and English, so the language barrier wasn’t as thick as it would be in other areas of the world for our group of Americans. Yet, for our benefit and to show respect to the culture we were highly encouraged to learn Swahili. My heart was always, slowly being captured by this new culture I was integrating into it and hearing Swahili gave it another push.

     There are 42 tribes in Kenya each with a language; so many Kenyans know English, Swahili, and their mother tongue. Cool, right?! Our 4 Kenyan teammates each had their own tribe – Kikuyu, Luhya, Kamba, and Kisii. Anyway, during our lesson on Kiswahili, I was glad to discover that it is simpler than English, Spanish, and French (2 of those three I attempted, failed and gave up on). There are no feminine/masculine words, all of the letters have one sound, and each letter is pronounced in a word. “Hallelujah!” said my brain. I was still a little slow at translating phrases at the end of our instruction, but not as slow as I would have been if the grammar structure was more complex. Of course what is actually spoken isn’t pure Swahili – it is English, Swahili, and slang mixed (called shang) – so really, the best way to learn the language is to be around it all the time. This probably doesn’t come as a surprise to most of you.

    The most exciting portion of our day was spent at a campus of the University of Nairobi where we met students who were a part of the Christian Union there....

I’ll stop here for now. See Day 5, part 2.

Rafiki! That is Too High!

(Rafiki means "friend")

Day 4 –

“So far, we’ve been thrown into situations before we know what we are actually doing. It’s great! I have found that is one of the only ways I will learn. I thrive on those experiences because I HAVE to trust God; and He has to show up then or I am screwed!”

    My first ever bartering experience was in Mexico the summer before my freshman year in high school. We were on our way home and we stopped at the border to do some souvenir shopping. In my ignorance, I didn’t know I was supposed to barter for the necklace I was buying until my frustrated friend knocked me upside the head. That day was brought to my memory clearly as Brian announced at breakfast that we would be do a scavenger hunt in Nairobi’s streets in smaller groups. We collected our shillings, a list of what we have to do and what we can do, and the bus driver dropped us off in certain spots around the city. My group of 5 started at the city market where we were to buy anything 80 shillings (80 ksh = 1 usd) – the challenge: we had to barter for the biggest and best thing possible. All of the girls on the team were to buy a kikoy or a kanga as well. Of course, Brian didn’t tell us what those were and we had to discover that by ourselves (later on, we learned that they are big pieces of cloth that the women use to wrap around their waists when doing housework). Sounded easy enough to me; I can do that. No problem.  
     We bought flowers, walked through the butchery (smelled…interesting), and browsed the stands and cubbies full of beautiful textiles, jewelry, paintings, leatherwork, key chains, and much more.  I was shocked when the venders kept coaxing me over and saying, “Sista, come look and see what you like. I give you a good price; I’ll give you the student price!” At first, I was obliging, but I quickly learned that once you are in…they will keep you there until something is decided. It was a culture shock moment for me and I felt trapped. Not because they wanted to trap me (well, maybe in a way), but because I didn’t know what to do. My group spent a little time looking at things some venders had, kept repeating “no, thank you”, and talked with each other how to deal with situations like this. Then, a man came up to us and talked us into walking to a small, local Masai market. We followed him, and were bombarded by venders who seemed forceful – we told them that we might be back, but we had to go (trying to get out of spending all of our shillings there). They let us go, but we noticed that the man who led us there followed us to make sure we would be back. Don’t worry; my teammate had this conversation with him:

Garrett: Why are you following us?
Vender: You come back to our market now?
Garrett: In America, we call that stalking…when you follow someone.
Vender: Ha ha (insert imagined response he gave to convince us to go back to the Masai market…I don’t remember).
Garrett: *stern voice* Sitaki leo (I do not want today).  
Vender: Okay. *walked away*

     Ah ha! Learned a new phrase and I learned that it is okay to be a little forceful. Okay, I can do that…I think. We were discovering new aspects of culture that “is not right, is not wrong, it is just different”.
     Deciding to take a break from bartering, we found a little cyber cafe so we could email/blog family and friends. They hadn’t heard from us since before we left New York and I was thankful Brian gave us shillings and time to fulfill that task. After a half hour, we went back to the market so that we could use our 80 ksh and get kangas/kikoys for us girls. Lesson Missy learned: she is too nice and that caused her to over pay. It is not that you have to be mean when bartering, but you cannot be wishy-washy at all or you will pay more than is needed. Bartering is all about the interaction and not so much about the buying/selling – relationship is put at a higher value than Americans are used to. I now had more experience with bartering and was determined to be better next time as I eased into my new culture. It was funny how different the venders reacted when they heard we were here as missionaries for 7 weeks and we knew some Kiswahili – they were less likely to rip us off a large amount…though we had to be on our guard still (they think we are loaded because of our skin color).
     At the end of the “scavenger hunt” in Nairobi, my group and I bought what we needed (I got a bright green kanga and a wood-bead bracelet), contacted people back home, ate samosas (delicious meat-filled pastries), drank passion fruit juice (I miss it, yum!), visited a post office, bought a map of Kenya, and almost got run over by several cars. Nairobi has become very westernized. Women adorn pants/jeans, there isn’t as much traditional culture, business men roam the streets, and it reminded me a little of busy New York City (I even spotted a music store!). We came across many round-a-bouts (traffic circles) in the streets. It was a fun day.
    We reunited with our team and headed back to Watakatifu Senta in heavy traffic talking boisterously about our experiences. After dinner, we got to hear more stories of the day. A few of my teammates that I didn’t know very well told hurmorus stories of their successful bartering experiences (this included Tyler getting to the point where he actually took off this glasses, shook them at the vender, and said “Rafiki, rafiki. That is too high!!!”). We also got to hear from our Kenyan teammates on their experiences being with us wazungu (white people) in the city. They would get lots of questions and also ignored because the focus was on us. It was good to see their perspective.
     That night we worshiped (I was seriously craving worship), and met with our small groups; the last time before we left for our assignments. With a team of 45+, I was glad to have a small group of 6-7 people I could talk to and share my heart (I am most definitely a small group/one-on-one kind of girl).
Oh, assignments were on my mind. After the end of our first week of orientation in Ngong town, we were going to be paired up and sent to assist ministries all over the country of Kenya. None of us knew our partners or the place we would be sent to until a day before we parted ways for those 3 weeks. Brian and the leadership team were praying and considering the whole week. I wrote a prayer in my journal that night expressing my concerns for my up-coming assignment I had no information about. I was going to have to trust God that He would place me with a good partner and in a ministry that would benefit me. Most of us knew what we didn’t want…an assignment where we had to preach a lot. Ha. Ha. Irony is in the air.
     The night ended with the presence of termites in the dorms. I fell asleep to the screams and exclamations of my female teammates after I showed my roommate some guitar chords – Silvia and I laughed a little.

Starfish

Day 3 (part 2) -

“How can people NOT care or want to help kids like this?! Brian told us the story about a man who was throwing dying starfish back into the ocean, one by one, from a beach covered by hundreds. Someone came up to the man and told him it was a pointless effort because there was too many; what he was doing wasn’t going to matter. The man threw another starfish in the water and said, ‘It mattered to that one.’”

    We left Mathare Valley almost silently. I looked down remorsefully at my egg and peanut butter sandwich (it wasn’t bad, I promise) that the Watakatifu kitchen packed for us. My teammates and I saw the desperation but we were journeying to see the hope that God brings. Pastor Karau and his wife, along with Brian and Debbie, started a home for children from the slums. The orphans are recued and literally brought into the Karau family to be cared for as their own children, educated, loved, and brought up as children of God – a stark contrast to their previous life in the slums. It is called Sanctuary of Hope (SoH) and it has grown into two houses full of “starfish” as Brian told us. The first house was our next stop where we were again welcomed by Pastor and Mama Karau followed by introductions and a tour of the different rooms. The children were at school, so we all sat, ate chapatti and soda, and listened to Pastor and Mama as they shared about their ministry. I could tell that God had a hand in this ministry as my ears heard the stories of some of the children. Sammy’s mother got him drunk as an infant so that he would be quiet, and Esther (the most recent child) was so malnourished that she could not walk or talk so that her 6 year old body appeared to be that of a 2 year old. Those are only two of the stories surrounding the houses of SoH that brought my eyes to water again and would continue to threaten me with an ugly cry. The second house was next on our schedule where we got to meet and play with the kids after they sang and recited for us. I held back more tears – I was having a very emotional day in case you haven’t noticed. 

    I caught a glimpse of Esther and Sammy was pointed out to us when he came to greet us. Sammy is now 9 and delivers an enthusiastically awesome rap. Esther immediately caught my eye. She was standing in front of the others while they sang songs just staring at the group of big, white people not participating in the song. Small Esther was walking, talking a bit, and smiling with sparkles in her eyes as Pastor Karau held her and told her that she is loved while the other kids quickly dispersed. I was able to hold her for a while after she got passed around the group. Her little hands cupped my face and her curious eyes studied every part of the green eyes, red rimmed from holding buckets of tears back. She was beautiful; this little starfish. I wanted all the love I could give to transfer from my heart to hers. That desire was strong, and joy filled me when she laughed. My mind traveled to the future and wondered what it had for this blessing – I know God will use her life in big ways. We walked around the yard as she pointed in the directions she wanted to go. After a while, we left and I let the little miracle run back to her papa as our team bid the house goodbye with promises to come back again.
     During the hour ride back to the Senta, most of us in the bus were falling asleep from the emotional and physical “exercise” of the day. Dinner was fine as I discussed some of my feelings of the day with a staff member who I connected with, and then Nams, the FOCUS (Kenya equivalent to InterVarsity) staff who was with us for most of our time there, joined me during chai. He looked at me as he casually asked me how I was doing. Again (it was getting on my nerves at this point), my lip started blubbering and it became very hard to talk without balling into ugly, uncontrollable sobs as I shared with him my feelings/thoughts. Nams gently shared what his experience was when he first went to the slums. It was interesting to me that many of the Kenyans in Nairobi have not set foot in a slum even when they live near some of the biggest in the world. “It is not a hopeless place,” he said regarding Mathare Valley. “The hope is in the children. God is working” Still blubbering, I replied as best I could, thanked him, and went to my room. This was probably the first of intensely emotional days while I was in Kenya.
    To close, I do have a slightly humorous story:
    I met my wonderful friend and teammate as I walked back to the dorms. She stopped me and asked, “Missy, I have a question. What is the definition of ‘intonation’?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, that ugly, blubbering, loud, messy bucket of tears overflowed, and my friend looked a little stunned before she pulled me into a loving hug. My burst also made me laugh. It’s a difficult scene to describe. This is the second time in my life that something like that has happened. The first time was at the end of Marley & Me when the dog dies (sorry to spoil the ending, but every dog movie ends like that) and my mom and I burst out with a loud, unison heave followed by laughter as my dad and brothers look on with confusion.
     Laughter also followed as my friend and I ended our hug so I could answer her initial question. “I didn’t think that was a question that would offend you!”  Sometimes you need to explode after a trying day – and sometimes being used as a dictionary can be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
The exhaustion was overwhelming as we all went to bed thinking, dwelling, and questioning God’s goodness in this world. We all experienced physical and spiritual poverty, but also hope that day.

Hard Times by Stephen Foster

Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears,
While we all sup sorrow with the poor;
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears;
Oh hard times come again no more.

While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay,
There are frail forms fainting at the door;
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say
Oh hard times come again no more.

There's a pale drooping maiden who toils her life away,
With a worn heart whose better days are o'er:
Though her voice would be merry, 'tis sighing all the day,
Oh hard times come again no more.

Tis a sigh that is wafted across the troubled wave,
Tis a wail that is heard upon the shore
Tis a dirge that is murmured around the lowly grave
Oh hard times come again no more.

Chorus:
Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard Times, hard times, come again no more
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;
Oh hard times come again no more.

The Starfish Story

http://www.voices4children.com/index.php?/starfishstory.html

Link to Sanctuary of Hope website:
http://www.pambatoto.com/sanctuary-of-hope.html

"We can Afford to Smile"

Day 3 (part 1) –

“Today we will be going to a slum. I am hesitant to say what I think it will be like because it probably isn’t something I can imagine. I pray that my heart will break for what breaks His.”
 

    Mathare Valley slum is one of many slums in Nairobi, Kenya and home to 90,000 people within 3 square miles. I have seen poverty during Mexico missions trips, but this is different.

We went to visit a church on the edge of the slum called Mathare Worship Centre started by Pastor Karau (a good friend of our wonderful directors). It is now a school, community centre of sorts, a store (Pamba Toto) to benefit Sanctuary of Hope homes for orphans, and a church all in one.

    I will probably quote from my journal more in this entry because the memory was fresher then.  

On our way into the valley we could see some houses on the outskirts which was nothing compared to being in the slum itself. We were welcomed (karibu) into the worship centre for a brief introduction and presentations from the grades in the school upstairs. The children recited poems and sang songs for us with smiles on their faces atop straight, proud necks.        

    Then we split into 4 groups, toured the facility, and were introduced to the guides (they all lived in the slum) who would take us around Mathare. My group headed into the heart of the valley with our guide as we passed a drunken man asking us for money. As Americans, we were expected (not necessarily by our brothers and sisters in Christ) to have money to pass out. At first, I didn’t really know what to think. We saw children running up to us or waving  enthusiastically and chanting in a sing-song melody “how are you, how are you?” The excitement and joy on their faces threw me for a loop as it contrasted the contempt of most of the adults. My emotions were confused because I expected utter dispare. Our guide explained that clean water costs 2 ksh (90 ksh ~ 1 usd) for one jug and the huts (the roofs made of about 4 metal sheets – can reasonably fit two people, but are home to about 5) cost the equivalent to $200 usd a month. That adds up for those whose income is much smaller than the average college student's salary.

    We first walked to the river. There is a river full of trash, sewage, and soot running through the heart of the valley past many huts. Many people take the "water" from the river and somehow make an alcoholic drink to sell for profit. The smell was overpowering – when I took a breath it was planned. Children were playing next to sewage and trash piles, the women were washing clothes with black water…it was like watching a movie. Was this real? The air was polluted with the smell of diesel without much fresh air, and when I found a rare pocket I took advantage of it for as long as it lasted. The river is where most of the sewage collects and where houses sit next to with their gardens and fruit/vegetable stands by the piles; the owners need money to live no matter how unsanitary the conditions are (that is an afterthought). We had to watch our step as to avoid the human feces on the ground below our feet, yet that was something the children stepped in every day. We had to avoid touching our faces with our hands to protect from possible typhoid especially after the children held our hands as we walked.

    Our guide continued to lead us deeper into the slum and we eventually came to her little apartment that is shared with her mother and brother. She told us her story: she was sponsored by Compassion International, but that only paid for her education (and only the sponsored kids get help - which is only a small fraction). She told us stories of how God has provided and we marveled at the miracle that stood before us in her apartment that was crowded by only 6 of us. I was filled with awe as her face reflected pride in where she comes from and in the hope of the people of Mathare especially the children. There is a ministry she works with as a singing coach to children of the slum. Her passion is in showing them how to nurture their gifts of singing thus providing self-confidence and most importantly spiritual guidance. Mathare is not a place of desperation anymore. There IS hope. “We cannot afford much, but we can certainly afford to smile.” I was overwhelmed sitting in our guide’s house and seeing her passion for God and everything in her life. She sang for us a song as I choked on tears which are now coming back as I recollect the moment of basking in her optimism and faith.

    We then headed back to the church. Our fearless leader/director stood and spoke to all of us about what we all saw and experienced so we could debrief together. The whole trip up to this point we had been reciting one of our mottoes, “it’s not right, it’s not wrong, it’s just different” because it helps gain perspective when one is in a new culture. I have a vivid picture of Brian standing before us and saying, “but this is NOT right.” The scenes we saw that day should disturb us. Children growing up in that environment did not choose to be there. They didn’t ask to be born there and yet they face the consequences of poverty and struggle that had been passed on to them. Yet the world goes on paying them no mind. How many times do we pay excessive amounts for coffee, get upset when we have to take cold showers, complain that there is nothing to eat in the fridge full of food....how many times in one week!!?? My tears continued to fall as we all raised our voices in prayer together for the slum, the church and its ministry. The murmur of voices of us all rose to a crescendo while I placed my hand and head on the wall of the church as my voice praised and pleaded with my God. I had never felt more helpless and overwhelmed, and yet I was determined to take the responsibility of what I saw that day. I can make changes in my life for those children and others living there.

    I learned many things within those hours spent in Mathare Valley. One important thing I should share is that throwing money to those people won’t help. It all comes back to that repeated phrase:
 

“Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and he will eat for a lifetime.”
 

    One other important truth, God is in every crack and crevice in places of desperation fighting for the souls of those people.

…to be continued.

Link: 

http://www.pambatoto.com/