kimberly*klein

One of the oddest realities I have encountered in Kenya is being famous simply because of the color of your skin. It is strange to be recognized and admired and have everyone want to be your friend because of something as arbitrary as skin color. It’s not like I had anything to do with deciding what color my skin would be. But I can’t go anywhere without being noticed, and can’t usually walk more than a couple hundred yards without having someone saying hello to me.

This is especially true when we go to the field, because we go to areas that are a bit more removed from Western influence. We visit more rural areas and I can literally hear the children shouting at me before I can even see them. (Mzungu, Mzungu, Mzungu!!!) I always tend to attract a crowd, especially one made up of children. Sometime they will follow us in a group, gaining children as they walk, as if I have somehow become the Pied Piper. When we go to the field, we visit schools quite regularly.

Two of the schools I have visited, Orenge School and Joodon Primary, teach children under conditions that hardly seem viable. The buildings are made of a mud/manure mixture spread over a wooden stick frame. They do have tin roofs, but there are holes in places and the mud mixture often crumbles off here and there.

In Orenge, I counted I think 5 or 6 classrooms; the headmaster told me they teach 450 children there. I’m not quite sure how they manage, I think perhaps they have the younger kids come in the mornings and the older kids come in the afternoon because otherwise there simply isn’t room.

At Joodon, the headmaster told us they don’t have enough room for all the children who come, so they hold some of their classes outside, simply in the dirt. It really has been such an eye-opening experience.

At both of these schools, I was very much struck by the passion of the headmasters, especially given the seemingly hopelessness of the situation. They are passionate about children receiving good educations, even in the poor areas in which their schools are located and both are faced with a task that is overwhelmingly daunting. In some ways, I almost hate going to these schools in such poor areas, because my going there as a white person and as an American raises such hope that someone is there to help them out.

The headmasters ask me, so politely, if I would please consider helping in any way that I can. But to be honest, I simply am not sure what I,as one person, can do to help these schools. I’m praying about it, and I do know that despite the potential negative of raised hopes unfulfilled, that my being there is important, and not simply for the Life for Children orphans that we visit or so I can have my eyes opened to the reality of rural Kenya education. My being there gives legitimacy somehow to what they are trying to achieve. I’m not sure I really understand how or why, it’s not like I’m important or famous, but it does. It really kind of weirds me out sometimes, to be honest. I’ve just never really imagined my life with posterity, so it is very bizarre to me to be seen as such a person of importance.

The children are really precious. When we arrived at Joodon, all of the children (hundreds of them) were out in the school yard and watched us pull up and park. Of course, by the time I had even gotten out of the vehicle, a crowd had gathered on our side of the yard. I was almost mobbed as I tried to follow Peter and Mary and the headmaster across the school yard. There is a racket of “Mzungu!!! Mzungu!!! I am fine, thank you. I’m sorry. How are you?” and whatever other phrases they’ve learned in English. One of the children grabbed my hand and then of course I had hundreds of kids wanted to shake my hand or give me a high five or hold my hand as I walked.

When we sat down at the headmaster’s desk (quite literally a desk, outside in the dirt, next to the side of a building), the children were told to disperse. But as we sat, slowly, a few would creep back and then more would follow. They kept being chased away by one of the other teachers or one of the oldest children, but they simply couldn’t help themselves, couldn’t resist the temptation just to come and watch this crazy mzungu lady talking with their headmaster.

As with most of my days in Kenya thus far, I’m just taking it all in, trying to process through what I see and experience, praying about things that sometimes feel completely beyond not just my reality, but also my comprehension. I’d love for you to join with me as I pray for eyes that see as God sees, a heart of understanding and compassion, hands that are willing to get dirty, arms that are ready to hug, and for the love of Jesus for these beautiful people to shine through in my smiles.

I got an email from my brother this morning with a poem in it. It made me cry.

A Brief for the Defense
By Jack Gilbert
Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that’s what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafes and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.

I am crying still as I write this. I’m not even sure why. I can’t put into words all that is happening in my heart and in my emotions. I have barely cried here in Africa, a surprise to me and probably to those of you who know me well. In some ways, it is as if I haven’t yet really begun to process through what I am seeing and experiencing. But I am crying today.

Iremember a year and a half ago when I spent hours upon hours in the span of a few weeks researching the history of genocide and watching movies on specific historic instances in which it occurred. I remember how overwhelmingly sad I was inside. It was if the pain had torn a hole in my heart and I was helpless to stop the bleeding. There was a stone in the pit of my stomach that I wasn’t sure would ever leave. The weight of the reality of sin, the depth of the atrocities man is capable of committing against each other, and most of all, my ignorance and apathy toward it all, made me sick inside.

God used people in my life during that time to speak truth to me, friends that reminded me to laugh and remember there was happiness yet in the world, even if only in the experience of community. These friends don’t hide behind pretense or subterfuge or hide from the truth. They know the reality of what is happening in the world. But they remind me that there is hope. There has to be hope. There is hope because there is a God who is bigger than all the evil and the suffering in the world. And they pray for us to know and experience joy even as we continue to pursue global education, the knowledge of which will surely bring about more sadness.

The line in this poem that shot off the page at me was this: “To make injustice the only measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.” I have never thought of it that way before. But it’s true. I believe God wants us to be aware, to be broken for evil and suffering in the world. As World Vision founder Bob Pierce said, “Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God.” But we cannot allow the brokenness to become greater than the heart of God. And God’s heart sees the possibility of redemption in even the most hopeless situations.

Jenny Harrington came as the first intern for Life for Children earlier this year. While the idea of Kenya and serving here was still just a thought in my mind, I read a post on her blog she had written in April. It moved me deeply, and was honestly one of the big reasons I continued in the process of pursuing working here, particularly with this organization. Jenny wrote this:

“I started to have new eyes. Where I had looked with my eyes and could only see hopelessness, dejection, and death, God was seeing something entirely different. It is exactly at this moment of fatalism and desperation that God sees His greatest opportunity for intersection. He sees the seeds He rooted from the beginning of time, being watered and nurtured to fruition. He sees the glorious harvest to come. He sees his Kenyan children gathered around him, and he knows why his son was given as a ransom for all.

“I think when God looks down and sees suffering, when he looks down and sees the epitome of his creation- the ones he made in his image- hurting themselves and hurting each other, he weeps. He sees the wounds, and it hurts him more deeply than we could ever imagine. But instead of only seeing destruction, He sees redemption. Where we throw up our hands in disgust and helplessness, he loves more deeply and gets his hands dirtier, holding the brokenness in his outstretched arms. Instead of seeing all the pieces, He sees the redeemed whole.”

God is all about restoration. He looks past the brokenness, the filth and grime, the deep ugly festering wounds, the scars, the bruises. He looks past the stench, the sores, the disease, the decaying flesh, the death. It’s not that He doesn’t see what we really are, but He also has a picture in His heart of what He can form us into. He sees what we can be in Him. He sees how He can make us into something more beautiful in the end than what we were even in the beginning. He sees life coming out of dead things.

Maybe that’s why I’m here. I don’t think it’s an accident that at the same time I am here in Kenya, Resonate Church is walking through something called “The Beautiful Mess.” The mess is beautiful because Jesus came, He immersed Himself into the very heart and depth of this mess. He hung out with messy people, people who couldn’t pretend they had it all together. He hung out with prostitutes and adulterers, with cheaters and liars, with the sick and unclean, with the poor and the hungry and the lowly and the marginalized. He talked with the hated Romans who were enslaving the land and with the despised Samaritans who had intermarried with non-Jews. He invested His life into people who didn’t understand who He was, men who slept during the time of His greatest emotional need, who abandoned Him in the face of His arrest, and who ultimately denied even knowing Him. What’s more, He didn’t run from perhaps the biggest mess…death. He healed those who were on their way to death, He raised from the dead those who had already been claimed by death, and He allowed Himself to experience death. He put Himself smack dab in the middle of the most hopeless situation known in human experience. Death is the end of hope.

And then God showed how far the power of His restoration reaches…even into the middle of death. God literally brought life out of death, something out of nothingness. When He raised Jesus from the dead, He showed that there is nothing beyond the reach of His redemption.

The beauty of it makes my heart clench. You see, I’m a mess. But my mess is beautiful because He is here, with me, immersing Himself. My mess is beautiful because it is being redeemed, reclaimed, restored.

Africa is a mess. Kenya is a mess. And God is here. He is immersing Himself into the middle of this mess and making it beautiful. Bit by bit, piece by piece, little by little, He is redeeming, He is reclaiming, He is restoring. Because of Him, because He is here, there is hope. There is joy, there is laughter, there is life…because He is here and He is life. Jesus said, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come that they may have life and have it to the full.” (John 10:10)

The world is a mess. And He is here.

U2 lead singer and human rights activist Bono has said the following:

“God is in the slums, in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house. God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives. God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war. God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives, and God is with us if we are with them.”

He has come to redeem, to reclaim, to restore; to bring life out of death. And where there is Life, there is hope.

Welcome to my beautiful mess.

I have long realized that the way that I view prayer and the way that I pray is not what it should be. I am learning much about this area here in Kenya. I am being burdened with so many things, both here and issues I am hearing about at home; yet over and over I keep coming back to this question: how do I pray? I am discovering I know next to nothing about prayer, honestly. But I long to learn. I long to be someone who is known in the enemy’s camp as one who is a mighty prayer warrior. I long to pray with purpose, with conviction, with longevity. I want to stop praying so much about myself, my petty problems and emotional trials. I want to pray bigger prayers.

Two of the people I have been privileged to meet through Nancy are her younger sister Lucy and a friend of both of theirs, Ezra. Lucy is to be married in a few weeks and will be moving to Nairobi shortly (and I get to go spend a weekend in Nairobi to attend her wedding!). She is a seriously special lady, one whom I am so glad God brought into my life, even if only for a few short weeks. Lucy and Ezra work together at a missions organization here in Kisumu that works with orphaned children, but Ezra also drives a motor bike in the morning and evenings (taking people to and from work) to help earn his living. He picks up and drops off Nancy every day, and so one day I got the chance to meet him. Some days when he drops her off he will stop in for chai, or for a few minutes just to say hi before he picks up his next client. Nancy, Lucy and Ezra are three of the most passionately godly people I have ever met, and I’m sure you will hear their names again.

Right now though, I just want to share one thing Ezra told me today. He said that while he often hears people praying for Jesus to come back quickly, his prayers generally ask the Lord to tarry just a bit longer. I asked him why. Ezra said that he is praying that the Lord will not come back until 75% of the current world’s population knows Christ as their Savior. I was floored…this means Ezra is praying for about 4.5 billion people to become born again believers before the Lord returns.

I once heard a speaker say one of his mentors was praying for the eradication of cancer in his lifetime.

And so I am faced with the menial nature of my prayers. Now don’t get me wrong, I do believe that God cares about the details of our lives, and that He wants for us to come to Him with all our cares and concerns. But I think that subject matter makes up about 80-90 percent of my prayer life. I throw in some prayers for other people, and the very occasional prayer recognizing God for who He is, but that’s it.

Here’s the truth, then: I’m not praying prayers that are worthy of the God that I serve. First and foremost, my prayers should be about recognizing God in all His glory. How does the Lord’s Prayer start? “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” Too often I come to God immediately talking about me; my problems, my questions, my concerns…me, me, me. And if I do pray for things beyond my own little world, I generally pray for small things, things that might not even need God’s help to see answered.

These thoughts about my prayer life won’t be entirely new to some of you. I have been processing through some of these ideas for a while now. But it hasn’t seemed to make a big difference yet in my life, and here in Kenya, where spirituality has a whole new meaning compared to what I am used to in America, the concept of prayer has been very much on my radar.

I want to pray prayers that are big enough that only God could be the one to answer them. I want to pray prayers that God and God alone will get glory from. I want to honor God in the way that I pray.

I am praying that God will teach me how to pray. Will you join me?

Yesterday after church, I went with Peter, Robert and Peter’s family (wife Maggie, son Immuanuel–8, daughter Juliet–5, and son John-Mark–11 months, along with two cousins) to Bondo. The Prime Minister of Kenya, Raila Odingais from Bondo, so the roads are actually quite good in that direction (relatively speaking, of course). I have to be honest with you, I was tired and it was very hot and there were hours spent running little errands and such between when we had decided to go and when we went. So my attitude was not great as we were heading there in the car. I didn’t know much about why we were going, only that we were visiting a few LCW kids who are students at a boarding school there, and would be paying their school fees. Since my attitude was crappy, I didn’t even really ask many questions on the way out there.

After driving for what felt like forever, but in reality was probably about 1.5 hours, we arrived at St. Mathew boarding school. I didn’t really know what to expect. Even as Peter starting greeting the kids, and sat down in the shade on some benches with them, I wasn’t sure what my role was supposed to be or how I was supposed to be interacting with them. I decided to just go sit down and see what happened. Peter was asking them how they are doing, and I was getting bits and pieces of what they were saying.

SIDE NOTE: The area of Kenya in which I live is the home primarily of the Luo tribe, so the vast majority of the people I meet speak some combination of Luo, Kiswalhili (the formal name for Swahili) and English. In the rural areas, Luo is spoken, and many people speak little or no Swahili and even less English. In the city, most people speak varying levels of all three, but the funny thing is that rarely is any one spoken exclusively. They like to speak a combination of the three, throwing English words into a Swahili conversation and Swahili into Luo, etc. So often even if a conversation is spoken in Luo or Swahilii, I can still pick up words here or there to get a general gist of the conversation.

Back to the visit. Then Peter asked them to introduce themselves to me, with name, age, level in school, favorite subject to study, etc. I met Samson (15), Cliff (14), Maurine (13), Winston (13), and Tony (11). (Winston is also nicknamed Tony, but for the sake of clarity in this post, I’ll just call him by his full name). These five are all OCV’s (orphans or vulnerable children) who are under Life for Children’s guardianship. They seem to have formed a little group, a family if you will, among themselves there at the school.

Samson is very tall, and carries himself well. He is a candidate, which means he will soon be taking the exams to see if he can get into high school (into Form 1, which is the equivalent of freshmen year). Samson enjoys science; and based on how I saw him interact with the others, I think he has a very giving heart that is tender toward children. He seems like the leader of this group, and takes care of the younger kids.

Cliff is quite a character. As Peter was asking questions, Cliff would joke and engage him in verbal wars. Cliff told Peter he would never make it as a teacher because he is too confusing in the way he asks questions. Cliff likes studying social science, especially about people and populations, and also English. When I started taking pictures of them, I showed Cliff how to use my camera and he then spent about 15 minutes taking pictures of various combinations of themselves. I was a bit surprised at his eye for photos; I have some really good ones on my camera as a result of his creativity. Oh, Cliff is also a candidate for high school and will soon take the exam. Cliff is by far the most outgoing.

Maurine is the only girl in this group. She is quiet but well-spoken when you talk to her. She is doing very well in her studies (the best out of the five). She carries herself with a understated confidence and is very well groomed. I wish I had gotten to talk to her individually a bit more. I wonder if she longs for women, especially older women, to invest into her life, so I was glad when she got to have a good conversation with Maggie (Peter’s wife) off to the side. Maurine likes to study English and Kiswalhili, and she is a pre-candidate (she has one more year before her high school entrance exams).

Winston was very shy, I think. It was hard to get responses out of him even when you asked specific questions. He was asking Peter about getting a mathematical set (I think a ruler, protractor, etc?) since his old one was no longer good and also a “clickboard” which Peter gave them a hard time about (they were actually trying to say “clipboard” but got the word wrong). He likes studying social science, if I remember right. Winston is also a pre-candidate.

And then there is Tony. From the first time he shook my hand, something just tugged in my heart toward this little boy. He is the youngest by two years and quite a bit smaller than the others in size. As I sat there beside him while we were having our group conversation, I kept thinking how much I wanted to see him smile. He was so solemn, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders (and in reality, he does kind of carry the weight of his world on his own shoulders). Tony likes science, specifically studying about plants and animals. As I was taking pictures, I kept asking them to smile. Tony would kind of smile, but never show his teeth. It became a joke between us, I asked him if his teeth were rotten or missing (he has perfect white teeth!), and was that why he didn’t want to really smile? I would tell him to smile using his teeth and he would try not to show them, even if he was actually laughing. We took a picture in which I told him to give a grimace but actually showing his teeth and I would do the same. It turned out with him looking shy and me looking like and idiot (and it’s one of my favorite pictures I have taken yet). For some reason, Tony didn’t get a school uniform last time they bought the others, so the one he is wearing is quite ragged and worn (Peter is looking into why that was and remedying the situation). I don’t know what exactly it was about this little boy, but I just wanted to hug him long and hard and to somehow take all his worries and cares and troubles away. I longed for life to be such for him that he would smile often (a real, whole, ear-to-ear, teeth showing smile).

Before we left, Peter and Robert introduced me to the Headmaster. His name is Fanuel, and while only 28 years old, he has been the headmaster of this school for six years. The school is doing quite well, and consistently scores in the top few schools in the area in regard to teachers and in student performance. They have somewhere around 320 students, with I think about 200 of those in boarding school. The others come as day students. He gave me a tour around the school.

As we began our trip back to Kisumu, I started asking Peter about these students. He told me the only reason Life for Children puts kids in boarding school is that either the child has a.) no living relative, b.) no relative that is willing to take responsibility of them, c.) no relative that is physically capable of assuming responsibility for them, d.) no neighbor or friend that is willing to take guardianship of them, or e.) the child was being abused to such an extreme that Life for Children felt it necessary to remove the child from that situation.

All of these possibilities broke my heart. Samson, Cliff, Maurine and Winston really have no family to speak of, none that could take responsibility for them. They are, for all intents and purposes, pretty much alone. Tony just started boarding school earlier this year; he was removed from his prior situation due to a very abusive environment. And they are five of the most beautiful kids I have ever met. My heart just doesn’t really know how to handle it.

As with many situations I have encountered over the past few weeks (both physical and emotional, problems both here and ones I hear about from home), I am reminded that God is God, not me. If it were up to me, I would love to try to control the world, control peoples lives around me, to fix all the problems and to heal all the wounds and make sure everyone has the best. The problem is, I’m just not very good at it, and I don’t have anywhere near the resources, monetarily or emotionally. I feel helpless, and partially I think that’s a good thing.

God is God, and He remains on His throne. In the midst of pain, of heartache, of hopeless situations, He remains true to His character. In the book of Exodus, when Moses asks God who he should tell the Israelites sent him, God told Moses, “I am who I am.” In the footnotes of my bible, this can also be translated to “I will be what I will be.” In the book Velvet Elvis, Rob Bell says this roughly translates to “I always have been, I am, and I always will be.” When I cannot trust anything else, I can trust in the character of God. He is here. And He is at work.

It would be easy to look at these kids lives and say, “God, where are you? Where were you when their parents died, leaving them orphans? Where were you when their own flesh and blood either refused to be there for them or used them in abusive ways? God, are you here? Are you at work? These kids have nothing and no one. Are you here?”

But God is here. He is at work. I may not be able to see it, and I may never see it, but I can rest in confidence that God will be who He is. And this is who God is revealing to me that He is:

“The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.

The Lord is good to all; He has compassion on all He has made.

The Lord is faithful to all His promises and loving toward all He has made.

The Lord upholds all those who fall and lifts up all who are bowed down.

The Lord is righteous in all His ways and loving toward all He has made.

The Lord is near to all who call on Him, to all who call on Him in truth.”

(Psalm 145:8-9,13-14, 17-18)

“He upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry.

The Lord sets prisoners free,

The Lord gives sight to the blind,

The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down,

The Lord loves the righteous.

The Lord watches over the alien and sustains the fatherless and the widow.”

(Psalm 146:7-9)

“A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in His holy dwelling.

God sets the lonely in families, He leads forth the prisoners with singing.

Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.

Our God is a God who saves; from the Sovereign Lord comes escape from death.”
(Psalm 68:5-6, 19-20)

Pray that I would trust God to be who He is, and to live accordingly.

As I trust God to be who He will be, I then can ask Him to show me what I can do. Because when the weight of trying to fix all the problems, heal all the hurts and offer life to these kids is left in God’s hands, I am free to do whatever is in my power to do. Not because without me all will be lost, but because I have been given the capacity to help. God is at work and will continue to work in these kids lives regardless of my involvement. But I do believe he is asking me to have a part, to become an active participant of His work here.

Pray with me that He will show me how; how to love, how to act, how to give.

By the way, after the visit my attitude had completely changed; I repented of my selfishness and stinky attitude and went home both blessed and burdened. Oh, and I did get one picture of Tony with a real smile.

Things that have surprised me about Kenya and/or things I am still getting used to:

Weather: I kept hearing from people about how hot it is here, be prepared for the heat, etc. I actually have not found it bad at all. It rains many evenings, usually very briefly, although sometimes for a while. I think it averages about 80-85 degrees, with mild humidity, but I haven’t thought it was bad overall, especially given that Pullman averages about 90-95, and even gets up into the 100s during the summer. Sometimes it can be a bit hot at night, which can affect sleeping comfort. Kenyans say now is the time for the “el nino” rains, which are the types of rains in the US that would cause flash floods; the rain comes down very hard for an extended period and the ground can’t soak it up fast enough. I haven’t figured out where the “el nino” comes from, maybe a flashback to the El Niño hurricane a few years back? I’m not sure.

Squatty potties: I think the name pretty much says it. This is pretty typical for homes and such. At my host family’s house, there is one room with a squatty potty and the shower in it; the shower drains into the toilet. It works, and they keep it impeccably clean, but it was still a bit different at first. If you use a toilet at any public place, it will probably be an actual flush toilet, but there is no seat on it. So it’s still pretty much squatting. When you go out to the rural areas, it’s basically the squatting version of an outhouse. Good times.

Eating fish: No fish fillets here in Kenya, folks. The only ‘real’ way to eat fish is whole. And by whole, I do literally mean whole. They cook them, either frying them in a pan or in hot oil, with the head on (eyes too!), tail on, fins on, skin on, whole skeleton intact. And then you eat it, just like that. You pull pieces off to eat with ugali, skin included, pulling the bones out as you find them in your mouth. Let me just say the first time they brought it out, it took everything in me not to react negatively. It was the only thing I have encountered thus far that I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to eat. But I just said a quick prayer, watched Mary to see how to do it, and dug in. It’s still not my favorite to eat, but I’m learning to be more comfortable with it, which is good–as Kisumu is located on Lake Victoria, fish is eaten pretty regularly. I’ll try to take a picture sometime and share it so you can see what I mean. It’s a bit intimidating to see come out on a platter. Side note: also very easy to burn your fingers on, as I have learned the hard way.

Food in general: It is SO good! I really love Kenyan food. Other than the fish, I haven’t eaten anything scary, and by and large, I enjoy everything. In the morning, for “breakfast” you take chai (milk tea with lots of sugar in it) and bread, usually two pieces together with margarine spread in between. Often chai is taken again at 10ish. Lunch is eaten a bit later than in the US, usually between 1-3. Chai again at 5:30-6ish, also with bread or rolls, and then dinner is served around 7:30-8. At home, and at most restaurants, you  sit in chairs (couches and easy chairs in homes) around a low table, like a coffee table, on which the food is set. Sometimes in restaurants you might find tables that are a normal US height, but it is much more rare. Often I sit at home with my plate in my lap.

The most common thing to eat is ugali, which is ground maize meal mixed with water. It’s rather solid, you grab a piece in your hand, use your fingers to make it into sort of a flat ball, hold it in your fingers and use your thumb to scoop up your food. Ugali is present at the vast majority of meals in Kenya, and when ugali is eaten in a meal, silverware is not usually provided, as it takes the place of silverware. Rice is also eaten a lot, with various different supu (soups). Maybe kuvua supu (fish soup) or maharagwe (beans cooked in a sauce) or mincemeat (ground meat with a few vegetables). Also there is chapati, a food introduced by the Indians who came to build the railway in the early 1900s. Chapati is made with wheat flour and water and cooked in a skillet with oil. It kind of tastes like a wheat tortilla but is shaped more like a pita. Chicken is pretty common to eat as well, usually also with ugali. “Chips” (what french fries are called in the UK) are also quite common, especially when you eat at a restaurant, thanks to the British influence here. The most common vegetables used in the supu and such are tomatoes and onions. For side vegetables, very common is something called sukuma wiki, a side dish made of kale and onions. The literal translation of sukuma wiki is “push the week,” because it is one of the cheapest foods to buy. When someone had spent their salary and was waiting for another paycheck, they would commonly eat sukuma wiki, to get through that last week, hence, “push the week.” My very favorite thing to eat is the maharagwe (beans) that my host mom Nancy makes. I like it with either chapati or rice, and I’ll tell you, people, it is fantastic. I hope to learn to make it, ugali, chapati and sukuma wiki before I leave so I can make them for some of you when I get back home. I think I’ll leave eating whole fish to the Kenyas, though.

Washing clothes: I knew it would be by hand, but I had forgotten how differently some things feel when they dry on a line. Like a bath towel, for example. Also, I have a feeling by the end of the three months here that some of my things will be a bit bigger (i.e. stretched out) than when I began. I am so impressed at the skill of Nancy and Eunice (the Jura’s housegirl) in washing clothes, and try to be so appreciative of their washing my clothes, because it definitely is a bit different that throwing them into a washing machine.

Greetings: Whenever someone stops by the office, or comes into a home, or we stop the car to say hello to someone on the street, that person will shake hands and say hello to every person present. Even in the car, they will reach in to shake hands with everyone in the car. It’s fun.

Response to hello: When I shake someone’s hand and say hello in English, many times the response back to me is “fine.” I haven’t quite figured this one out, I think perhaps it tends to happen with people who don’t speak English fluently, so they maybe think I am asking how they are, or something? I’m unclear where it comes from, exactly. But it’s happened dozens of times, and it never fails to make me smile when the conversation starts like this:

Me: “Hello!”

Kenyan: “Fine.”

Mosquito nets: I knew that I would be sleeping under one, but what I didn’t expect was that it would make me feel rather claustrophobic at times. I am starting to get used to it, but it does feel restricting still.

Transportation options: I just didn’t know there would be quite as many options as there are for getting around town. There of course are private vehicles, and the option of walking. But if neither of those choices suits you, feel free to choose from one of the follow options. You will find all of them in abundance in Kisumu.

Taxi: pretty straight forward here, a taxi much like you would find in the US. They are the most expensive option in transportation, and only the more well-off people use them. I have not ridden in one at all.

Tuktuk: it is a bit hard to describe a tuktuk. This is a pared-down version of a taxi. The bodies of a tuktuk are made of metal on the bottom with a canvas cover. They run on three wheels (very small wheels) and Michael (the directer of Life for Children Ministry) told me they use the equivalent of a 50cc scooter motor. They are steered with something kind of like a scooter handlebar inside the vehicle. The driver sits in the front and you sit in the back and in order to get in, the driver has to open the door, which reminds me of opening the door to the teacup ride at Disneyland. They are pretty cheap, you can usually ride one way for about KSH (kenyan schillings) 100-150, which is about $1.30-$2.00. Prior to living in Kisumu, I would not have thought a three-wheeled golf cart-esque vehicle would be made for off-roading, but the combination of Kenyan roads and tuktuk drivers have proved me wrong.

Piki-piki: a motorbike taxi. I haven’t as yet ridden on one of these, but my host mom Nancy has a driver that takes her to and from work every day; his name is Ezra and she just calls him on his cell phone to come and pick her up. They are just a motorcycle version of a taxicab and the drivers sit outside restaurants and businesses and wait for people. They are very outgoing when it comes to trying to convince you to ride with them. Mary tells me the same distance that costs ~KSH 100 in a tuktuk costs about KSH 50 on a piki-piki. As I get start to learn my way around the city and learn a bit more Swahili, I will probably ride them more; right now, I don’t go anywhere alone and two people can’t ride a piki-piki. Something that is a bit interesting to see is a mom riding a piki-piki with her baby wedged in-between her and the driver.

Matatu: We tend to ride in a matatu most often. Matatu are vans, kind of the equivalent of a bus system in Kenya, but they are privately owned. Different matatu have different numbers, and that’s how people know to get on a specific one (like #9) that will take them on the route which they need to go. Matatu have a driver and at least one other person (sometimes two) that ride along to get the money and to convince people to ride in their matatu. There are MANY matatu, and so in order to try to make money, the second guy is very persistent about trying to get people to ride. You can ride one way in a matatu for KSH 20, or about 25 cents. I am amazed at how many people can cram into a matatu, and often they are driven with the side door open for easier access for convincing people to ride. The second guy often is getting on and off while the van is in motion. They always have music playing quite loud, and today I rode in one with a flat screen tv that was playing Mariah Carey music videos (side note: Mariah Carey has a big fan base in Kenya, far more than I’ve seen in the US in recent years. Kenyans are huge fans). Matatu are usually covered in stickers or have logos painted on them, and many have red, blue or green flashing lights (like the rope light kind).

Boda-boda: the bike version of a piki-piki. They are by far the most common of the transportation options, and ones you will see both in urban and rural areas. The bikes look fairly like older styles bikes in the US, but have a seat (usually cushioned) that is behind and lower than the driver’s seat. There is a handle behind the drivers seat for the rider to hang onto. I have been forbidden by Michael to ride them, because boda-boda drivers tend to be very reckless in driving, with many of them not even knowing anything about driving rules. Boda-boda are also used for transporting items that are able to fit on the seat behind the driver. Boda-boda cost somewhere between KSH 10-20, or 13-25 cents.

Driving: when I arrived in Nairobi, I was picked up at the airport by Michael’s brother-in-law Billy. When he got into the car, I was confused for a moment until I remember that Kenya was colonized by the British and therefore the driver sits on the right side of the car and drives on the left side of the road. It made me laugh because I had forgotten. I have be very careful when crossing streets, because of tho whole reverse directional thing. Driving tends to be very fast, but there are speed bumps all over the place as well. So you drive really fast just to slow down really fast to go over the speed bumps. The main roads are paved, but there are many dirt roads as well, and both have a lot of potholes. In rural places, there are no paved roads and when it rains, they become virtually impassable, except perhaps with 4-wheel drive, but even that is risky. The roads are crazy, because there is a mix of large trucks, private vehicles, matatu, piki-piki, other motorcycles, tuktuk, and boda-boda, not to mention people walking, and pushing carts. Many men are employed moving large items such and lumber or jugs of water; they use two-wheeled wooden carts called mkokoteni that are essentially a large wheelbarrow. The guys that push/pull them are pretty much ripped, and they always look so tired to me. The roads are teeming with vehicles and people, and there are few road signs and few road rules that are followed. The motorcycles and bicycles ride on the sides of the road, although they tend to move in and then get honked at very frequently. Drivers usually feel the need to pass anyone not going up to their speed of choice, and that passing can happen in very unique ways. The funny thing is, I have felt very safe while driving here; I don’t really worry about it. I’m not sure why; and actually there were at least 50 deaths in the last week from roadway accidents (Mom, if you’re reading this, ignore that last sentence). But I’ve been fine thus far.

Africa time: this was something I knew about before hand, so it wasn’t so much a shock, but it is still really hard to get used to. Kenyans (and Africans in general) tend to exist very differently in time. There is a saying in Kenya, “We don’t have watches, we just have time.” This means that someone may tell you they are going to pick you up at 8, and not show up until 10:30 and think nothing of it. Their pace tends to be much more relaxed as well, in the expectations of what needs to happen in a day. My first few days at the office were hard for me, because I would just sit and not really be doing much of anything at all. On the other hand, I have found a lot of available time to read my Bible and to journal, so there are some really good things that are coming of it. Now I am starting to find some things to do, and feel more comfortable with the staff, so that helps. Also, I think I am beginning to slow down my head and my heart some and adjusting to this slower pace. It is still a bit frustrating at times, but I’m learning, slowly.

There are probably more, but this is all I can think of right now. Hope it also gives you a taste of some of the routines and activities I engage in day-to-day.

I’ve wanted to write before now, but the lack of internet access has hampered the process. From now on I’ll really try to write regularly. I have now been in Kenya for over a week, and I am just starting to feel like the head spinning is slowing down.

Africa is just so very NOT America. That sounds like I’m surprised at this fact; I’m really not. I was expecting it to be different, however the level of difference is overwhelming at times (especially in the beginning). There have been moments I have absolutely loved being here and there have also been moments in which, honestly, if given the choice, I would be back home. Mostly I reside somewhere in the middle. I am doing my best to try to stay open, as a learner, and just soak it all in.

One of the things I am learning about being a white, middle-class, highly educated American is that I am most often completely ignorant to the level of my privilege. Now when at home and comparing myself with those considered in our society as “privileged,” this does not seem so. However, immersing yourself in another culture has a way of helping you to see the world in wholly different ways. I am highly privileged. And I take it all for granted about 99% of the time.

If you are a minority living in America, especially in certain parts, you may be well aware of how it feels to be the only one of your skin color in a group of people. This, however, has not been my reality. Granted, there have been times in which I am in the minority for a given period of time, but there have always been others around.

There have been many days since I have been here in Kisumu in which I go the entire day without seeing another white person, because in reality, they just aren’t really around. Mzungu [mm-ZOON-goo], Swahili for a “white person,” is a term I have become well acquainted with, as I hear it all day long. Little kids on the street will see you driving by and yell out, “Mzungu, Mzungu!” as they wave at you. People are constantly saying, “Mzungu this” and “Mzungu that.” On Saturday we took a trip to a rural area outside Kisumu where for many people, I was one of a handful of white people they may have ever seen. We passed by a group of children standing outside their school and through the open window I heard one of them say “Mzungu…” in an awed tone.

Everywhere I go, people stare at me. When we are drive anywhere, as we pass, all eyes follow me until we are out of sight. It’s a totally new experience for me, and I have started understanding a bit of what it would be like to be a celebrity. I joke with Mary (one of the Life for Children staff members) that it’s only because I wear movie star sunglasses. It’s not so much that the scrutiny bothers me, only that it is just such a different experience. I have never, ever, in my life, drawn so much attention, for any reason. And it is odd for something that I have absolutely no say in or influence upon (skin color) to attract such observation. I think maybe it is even greater in my case, because I’m not in a group of people who clearly came for a safari or something (although that’s not really so common here in Kisumu). I am a lone mzungu, who is regularly seen walking with only one other person. Today as Mary and I were returning from lunch, we passed a group of guys, one of whom turned around to ask, “Mzungu, how you become friends with my sister?” I had to ask Mary what he meant exactly, but she said he was curious to know how Mary and I were acquainted (and probably how he could find a mzungu friend as well!)

I think I am experiencing something very important in all this. The situations I am describing to you, while new to me, are by no means new to a huge portion of the world’s population. I am challenged by what I am learning about myself and about this beautiful and crazy country of Kenya.

I leave on a plane for Africa tomorrow. Just saying that seems pretty unreal. For more than two years now, I have prayed for, intentionally learned about and dreamed of going to East Africa. So for it to actually be happening seems a bit wild in my heart.

To be honest, I’m scared. I’m really excited, but there is a fair bit of the nervous stomach butterflies going on. There are a lot of unknowns, there will be a whole new culture to learn, and all new people to meet. Like I said, I’m so excited. And nervous.

I am convinced that this is what the Lord has for my life right now though. He has provided in unbelievable ways for be to be able to go at this time, with this group, to this place. So despite how I feel, I choose to trust in His plan. He does not promise the way will be easy or safe, but He does promise it will be good…and while we may not necessarily receive a lot of fame or accolades, in the end, we get Him. And that is worth it all.

Let the journey begin.

Well, friends, I leave for Kenya on Monday. How crazy is that? I’ve got about a million things running through my head; things I need to take care of, people I want to talk to before I go, questions I have about what life is going to be like in Africa for three months. 

I realized that I never really said what I’ll be doing and who I’m going with, though, so I thought I’d add that tonight. To start, let’s review where Kenya is located within the greater continent of Africa:

Now in case you haven’t really brushed up on your basic Kenya facts, allow me to assist you!

Ok, so within the country of Kenya, I will be living and serving specifically in the port city of Kisumu:

Here are some more specifics about my future city of residence: 

The organization I will be interning with in Kisumu is called  Life for Children Ministries (please check out their website to learn more about them):

So that’s a (very) brief overview. That’s all I have time for right now, but I hope it’s helpful. Here’s a few ways you can be praying:

>that my heart will be open and teachable to learn a new culture, and for patience while dealing with culture shock.
>for deep relationships with staff and kids.
>that God would change me, teach me of His character and use me however He sees fit.
>and most of all, that God would be glorified and His Name would be lifted high during all aspects of my Kenya trip.

You can join the “Kenya Dig It?” group on Facebook if you’d like to receive periodic updates, as well. 

Asante sana, my friends! (Thank you very much, in Swahili)

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[note: The slides are taken from my commissioning at Resonate. All the pictures are of actual Life for Children Ministries kids, taken either by the last intern, Bethany, or from their website]