Day 169 - A Cry For Help

December 26, 2012 (Sam)

      This blog is a little different in nature because we are using it more as a plea for help than a fun or interesting story. We are asking for your help.

      We have come to know a woman here over the last few months who has really touched our hearts. Her name is Anita. She lives in our neighborhood in Ongata Rongai. After spending some time with her, she disclosed to us that she is HIV positive. She contracted HIV after she was raped 17 years ago. She also got pregnant. Her daughter is now in high school. As is the vicious cycle for many young girls growing up in poverty and without a father, her daughter, Katherine recently got pregnant too.

      Anita is a seamstress by trade. The only school she ever went to was to learn how to sew. She now ekes out her meager existence pumping out odd jobs on her foot-powered sewing machine in her one-room tin shack. Finding work is hard. Supporting her family is even harder. She is surviving on less than $50 a month.

      We went to visit Anita today. She was sitting outside her house crying. She is overwhelmed. Knowing the importance of education, she is insisting that her daughter return to boarding school in January, right after she is due to give birth (most high school aged children are sent away for boarding school; this is not considered a privilege or a punishment in Kenya). She informed us that she plans on shouldering the load of raising this baby, her grandchild, by herself. “My daughter needs to be in school. I am willing to sacrifice anything to see her stay in school.”

      We asked her how she was going to afford it. She said, “By faith.” We asked her, when her daughter leaves to go back to school and isn’t around to breastfeed, how would she feed the child? She said “I’ll buy milk at the store.” And we’re not talking about baby formula milk here; we’re talking about unpasteurized cow milk from a plastic bag.

      Formula is available here, but it’s expensive: around $10 for a can, and only available in the supermarkets. This is simply not realistic for a woman in Anita’s position to be able to afford. We asked Anita if she had any other supplies to take care of the baby. She said no. Now when I talk about “supplies,” I’m not referring to a crib, a carseat, or a stroller; I’m talking about a blanket, clothes, and diapers. Essentials. She has nothing for this baby.

      We prayed with her for provision, and we know very well that God often provides for people’s needs through the generosity of others.

      We asked Anita if we could tell her story, and make this plea for help to our friends. She agreed. So we are asking you, as our friends and family, to help this sister from another country. This is about the life and health of a child. This is about the education of a young woman. This is about helping a family who is not in the position to be able to help themselves.

      If you are interested in helping and encouraging Anita and her family, please do one of two things: We think it would be really powerful if you would write Anita or Katherine a letter of encouragement during this really difficult and stressful time. Send letters to us via e-mail or Facebook and we will print them off for them. Second, support Anita and her grandbaby financially by clicking the “Donate” button on the upper-righthand side of this page. This sends money directly to us via PayPal. If you would like your donation to be sent through a 501(c)(3) certified organization, please send checks to our church in Delaware at:

Lewes Church of Christ

15183 Coastal Hwy

Milton, DE 19968

      Every penny that is sent will be used to pay for formula and other supplies for this baby. One of our strongest held beliefs is that we are blessed so that we can pass that blessing forward. Our goal is to be able to help support this child for the first six months of his/her life as this woman gives up everything she knows in order to raise her grandchild and ensure that her daughter is able to complete her high school education.

      Thank you for your generosity.

      “You will be enriched in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God. This service that you perform is not only supplying the needs of the Lord’s people but is also overflowing in many expressions of thanks to God” (2 Corinthians 9:11-12).

Day 168 - Our Kenyan Christmas & Video #9

December 26, 2012 (Sam)

“Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,

you now dismiss your servant in peace.

For my eyes have seen your salvation,

which you have prepared in the sight of all people,

a light for revelation to the Gentiles

and for glory to your people Israel.”

-Simeon (circa 4 BC)

      This was the declaration that Simeon made about Jesus after first seeing him in the temple courts of Jerusalem in Israel. He proclaims that he has seen the salvation of God in this child, who, as a firstborn male, has been taken to the temple by his parents to be consecrated to God.

      “The salvation of God.” Jesus was sent to be the Savior of the world because we needed a savior. We were dead in our transgressions and sins and God sent Jesus to save us from our sins. Without a savior we were doomed. When Jesus was on earth, he compared us to a lost sheep. But the sheep doesn’t stay lost; the shepherd went after it. In the same way, Jesus had to come down to earth to rescue us, to save us. This is his gift of salvation.

      But one interesting fact about this gift of salvation was that it wasn’t exactly optional for those hoping to be saved. It was needed. It was a necessity. This gift means life, and without It, there is no life. “He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life” (1 John 5:12).

      And this is what I think Christmas is all about. It’s about celebrating the birth of Jesus, his coming to earth, and the salvation that he brought with him. It’s about celebrating the Gift. I assume that this is where the tradition of gift-giving on Christmas came from, and what a wonderful tradition to remind us of what we have been given.

      This year, we got to celebrate Christmas with 14 of our Kenyan friends, many of whom we’ve come to know from the community here through our work with Beacon of Hope. We were surprised when many of them told us that this was the first Christmas they’ve ever celebrated. Christina and two of her friends spent all morning in the kitchen cooking up delicious traditional Kenyan food. In the afternoon, four families, all headed by single mothers, meandered into our apartment and the festivities began. I was dubbed the Chief Entertainer for the kids, and after two hours of getting hit in the face with balloons and kicked in the shins, we sat down to eat together. Christina and the girls went all out: fried chicken, pilau (spiced rice), chapati (Indian bread), matoke (mashed plantains), coleslaw, kachumbari (tomato, onion, cilantro and salt) and fresh fruit for desert. We ate until our bellies swelled. Then we sat down and read the Christmas story from Luke 2 together. First, I would read in English, then one of the girls would translate into Swahili.

      Next came the gifts. I’ve never quite experienced a present-opening ceremony like that before. The kids were first. They sat in the middle of the floor with their gifts wrapped on their laps just looking at them; they had no idea what to do. After some prompting, they carefully tore them open. Then the mothers each got a bucket full of food to take home. They clapped and cried. I’ve never experienced such gratitude and appreciation in such a concentrated dose in my life. People were tearing up, saying how they’ve never been given a gift like this before. And the curious part about it all, was that they didn’t get anything extraordinary or extravagant; it was just food.

      I personally love the tradition of gift giving. I love giving and I love receiving. But the more birthdays and Christmases I celebrate, the more I notice that in our culture, we rarely give out of necessity; we seem, more often, to give out of generosity, or maybe even obligation. I mean let’s be honest, getting someone a cocktail blender for Christmas because you can’t think of anything else that person might need clearly demonstrates that that person probably has no real or immediate physical needs. But Christmas for us this year was different. When the gifts we receive are needed, or life-giving, they take on a whole new meaning.

      Now I’m not trying to equate the gift of food to the gift of Jesus, but in different ways, each is necessary for our existence. Without food, we perish physically. Without Jesus, we perish spiritually.

      I hope that you will join us in celebrating this Christmas season as we rejoice in the greatest gift that has ever been given: Jesus himself.

      “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).

      Praise his great name. We have been given a life-giving Gift.

Check out our video of our Christmas together below!

Day 164 - Getting Some Perspective

December 22, 2012 (Sam)

      I told Christina I would never do this. I told my parents I would never do this. I told myself I would never do this. But here I am... doing just this: walking down a dark, unlit back ally in the middle of the night. It’s been pouring rain all day. The road is littered with potholes and mud puddles. Every shadowy form that emerges from the shrubbery on the side of the road sends my mind racing. Our friends got robbed at machete point on this same road just last month. I think it was about the same time of night too. I’m on high alert: supremely aware of my surroundings. This is unarguably the sketchiest position I’ve found myself in here so far.

      Just a few hours earlier my biggest problem was trying to figure out why the waitress at some hole-in-the-wall restaurant here in Rongai couldn’t manage to get our bill straight. She keeps insisting that we’re going to have to pay an extra $3 because she had to get my chicken from the restaurant next door after she ran out. Apparently the restaurant next door charges an extra three dollars for its chicken. Her restaurant ran out, and I’m stuck paying for it. I may have gotten a little heated with her and told her if she couldn’t do me the decency of informing me that she was borrowing chicken from the considerably more expensive restaurant next door, then she could expect to never see us again.

      But now my mind is anywhere but on overpriced street chicken. I’m walking next to a 90 pound Kenyan woman who offers about as much security as a neutered Pomeranian and we’re walking into one of the diciest neighborhoods in this city. It’s so dark that I can’t even see 20 feet in front of me, and while I may not be able to see anything, my white skin glows at night here like a light stick at a rave party. My pale complexion and stupid ponytail are just screaming, “Rob me!” Hopefully my wicked mustache will ward off any would-be-muggers.

      Walking back from the restaurant earlier that night, Christina and I rounded the corner of our apartment only to run into a woman who we know well from the community here. She’s sewed up more than a few pairs of pants for me and we’ve enjoyed many cups of tea at her house. Her 17 year old daughter is about to pop out her first kid and we know things have been a little tight for them recently. We get to chatting with her and she informs us that she’s “stranded.” What does that mean? Apparently, after some misunderstanding with one of her fellow church members, our friend has had a hit put out on her. What!?! She’s been told that within three days, she’s going to be found and killed. Over a simple misunderstanding. So now she’s stranded here: Too scared to go home, which is nothing more than a tin shack offering no security whatsoever, and too nervous to know what to do from here. She’s scared that this person might have hired thugs to whack her. Does that actually happen!?! 

      Christina and I gently prod her inside with us, where we sit around, drinking hot tea and talking about the situation. We come to a few loose conclusions, but nothing more can be done tonight. We insist that she sleep here with us, where it’s safe. Christina grabs some blankets while I string up a mosquito net. But then our friend makes a discovery that undoes all of the comfort and ease that we’ve just tried to help provide her with: she realizes that she’s left her medication at home. And I’m not talking about some melatonin to help her get to sleep either. This woman is HIV positive and she must take ARV’s every day, on schedule, if she’s to keep from getting extremely sick and having her immune system greatly weakened. We only have one option: trudge back to her house to get her medication. Great. If I’m supposed to be learning some great cosmic lesson right now, I concede! I’ll go back and eat at the chicken lady’s place again, I swear!

      So here I am, walking next to a twig of a woman, through a neighborhood where people get mugged for cheap watches, late at night, lurkers around every corner, my firsts clenched in my pockets and my eyes bugging out of my head. How’s this for some perspective? My grumbling earlier in the night seems suddenly pretty petty compared to what I now realize is an almost constant reality for many people living here. Sometimes it takes being in a position like this before you can appreciate the security we live in. Point taken. We got the meds. Can I go home now?

Day 158 - Duty to Comfort

December 16, 2012 (Sam)

      There are two pictures I always carry with me in my back pocket here. One of my family, taken right before Christina and I left to come to Kenya, and one of me and my older brother taken back in the summer of 2000. They go everywhere with me and whenever people ask about my family, they come out. It helps people, especially people who are culturally different from us, to connect to me as a person when they see that I have a real live family too. I think somehow, it helps make me more human to them.

      But besides young women occasionally asking if any of my brothers are single, rarely do people actually ask me any questions about my family. Last Friday was an exception. I was sitting with a prenatal care counselor in her office, helping her download a program onto her computer, and she started asking me about my family. I pulled out my photos and showed them to her. She looked first at the photo of my brother and I, and then the one of my family. “Where’s your brother in this picture?” she asked, referring to the more recent photo. I was caught off-guard. I’ve been showing these pictures to people for five months and no one has ever asked me that question. I cleared my throat. “He died 11 years ago.” I told her. “How?” she probed. “He killed himself.” I told her, avoiding eye contact. She continued her interrogation. “What happened?” I was surprised the conversation had gone on this far. Even with other Americans, once we get to this point in the story, the conversation usually dead-ends in an awkward silence. But this woman continued asking me question after question, wanting to know more.

      After I revealed to her the detail that I was the last person, to my knowledge, to ever talk to my brother, she asked me if I felt guilty at all. I told her I didn’t; I had no idea what his intentions were the night he died.

      I finally asked her, why did she want to know if I felt guilty? She told me her story. When she was 17 years old, she got married. Her and her husband moved into his parent’s house, and she got pregnant shortly thereafter. Her husband left to go into the city and find work. She only saw him once in a while after that. What little money he made working, never made it home to her. She eventually gave birth, but had no money to take care of her baby. Her child quickly became malnourished. She went to her in-laws for help and advice, but they refused to help her, assuring her the the infant would be just fine. One day, when her baby was 8 months old, he started to have diarrhea. She pleaded with her in-laws to give her money to take the baby to the hospital. They refused again, promising her it would go away. The diarrhea went on for three days. Each day, she’d plead with them for money to go to the hospital, and each day they would turn her down. On day three, her baby boy died. She told me that she wanted to know if I felt guilty about what happened to my brother because she has been racked with guilt every day for the last 15 years. She blames herself for her child dying because she had no idea how to take care of a baby by herself. No one ever taught her any better.

      This woman, as I mentioned earlier, has since dedicated her life to helping young, pregnant mothers understand how to take care of themselves and their future children. She has made it her life’s mission to never see another person suffer the way that she has because they “didn’t know any better.” She has suffered in a very unique way, and this suffering has inspired her life. She’s not just sitting idly by, letting the pain eat away at her; she is doing something about it.

      I hope that my life never becomes defined by the bad things that have happened to me; rather, let my life’s work be about how I’ve reacted to those bad things, and how I will use them to try and make the world a better place.

      “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)

Day 154 - Jamhuri Day

December 12, 2012 (Sam)

      Today is Jamhuri Day, which probably means nothing to you. But for Kenyans, this is one of the biggest, and unarguably the most important holiday celebrated here. It’s the equivalent of our 4th of July. In case you didn’t know, much like the US, Kenya was also under British rule until it gained independence in 1963. I don’t know who the Brits thought they were, just rolling in and taking over all these countries without their say-so, but thanks to some less-than-humane tactics and quick thinking by some Kenyan gangsters and politicians (what’s the difference?), Kenya was also able to gain independence on December 12th, exactly 49 years ago.

      Unfortunately, even after gaining independence, tribal ties, combined with the consolidation of power under the newly elected president Jomo Kenyatta, led to an authoritarian regime, the effect of which would haunt Kenya for decades to come.

      As you may have read or heard about, the Kenyan elections held in 2007 were a disaster. After an election obviously rife with corruption, ugly ethnic confrontations broke out all over the country resulting in the deaths of over 1,000 people and the displacement of over 600,000. Hundreds of homes were burned to the ground while girls and women were being raped in the streets. Roadblocks were set up and public transportation vehicles pulled over by violent protestors. They would check the ID cards of passengers and immediately slaughter those who didn’t belong to their particular tribe.

      Below is a 30-minute documentary produced by Picha Mtaani, called Heal the Nation, which graphically portrays some of the fallout of the violence and discusses what Kenya is facing during this coming year, when elections are held again in March of 2013.

Day 146 - On the Move & Video #8

December 4, 2012 (Sam)

      For the last five months, Christina and I have been working to develop a child sponsorship program for an NGO called Beacon of Hope outside of Nairobi, Kenya. Our desire coming over here was to be able to implement a program that would facilitate an easy relationship between international donors and needy children in Kenya. We have come to realize that Beacon of Hope has a different vision for how they see this happening. While our focus was primarily on engaging international support, Beacon hopes to be able to empower these children through more local means, engaging members in their immediate community by encouraging investment in the lives of children here through support not only with their school fees but through mentorship and one-on-one interaction as well. This takes a lot of the options for international support off the table, including how we’ve encouraged people to be willing to support the children in the past, through the online sponsorship program that we were hoping to set up. This has been a hard reality for us to stomach, but we are confident that God is using this situation with the best interests of the kids in mind.

      All this to say that we are finishing our work at Beacon of Hope earlier than previously anticipated. We have helped them put systems in place that will hopefully be very beneficial to both Kenyans interested in helping the local youth, and the children who are still in such desperate need of support for their schooling. With our work at Beacon finished, we are turning our attention to other project opportunities through some different local organizations that we’ve become affiliated with other the last months.

      With this shift in focus, has also come a shift in location. We have moved out of the Beacon of Hope guesthouse and further into the heart of Ongata Rongai, the town we have come to love.

      Life outside of the Beacon compound, for the three days that we’ve known it, is intriguingly different. People used to have to go through two gates and seven guards to get to where we were living. Now we live in an apartment where there is only one gate and one night guard between us and the outside world. And it’s kind of a relief actually. Since we first settled into the guesthouse at Beacon, we’ve felt like we were missing out on a big part of the experience of living in Kenya, being that we were existing almost entirely within the confines of the buttoned-up Beacon compound. Now we are just living in the local community, like any other Kenyan. The accommodations are a tad primitive, but we like the simplicity of life here. We compare it to an extended backpacking trip: cooking with a propane stove, taking bucket showers, no refrigerator. Basically, we love it.

Check out a video tour of our new place!

Day 144 - Ripe for the Picking

December 2, 2012 (Sam)

      I can finally pick my nose in public. It’s something I’ve been wanting to be able to do since I was a kid, and I’ve finally found a country where it’s socially acceptable.

      One of the reasons that I love traveling the most is that I’m able to experience different cultures, and I love being able to learn from our differences. This exposure has helped me be able to evaluate my own social upbringing and develop my own beliefs about what I think is really prudent instruction, and what, that we do, is really just ridiculous, culturally-ingrained habit. Like the fact that our culture tells us that picking our nose in public is socially unacceptable. If you really think about it, what’s so gross about picking your nose? Boogers are just dried nasal mucus, and let’s be honest, when they’re stuck up there sometimes they can get really uncomfortable. So picking them out is the rational thing to do! Yet our society has deemed this act to be gross and inappropriate, especially when in a public setting. Well, for all you repressed nose-pickers out there, I have the solution for you: move to Kenya. Public picking is not judged here; in fact, it seems to be encouraged.

      At first it was a shock. We’d be in the middle of a conversation with someone, and all of the sudden they’d have their index finger halfway up their nasal passageway, digging around like they were trying to locate a secret decoder ring inside a box of Kix. But over time, I’ve come to tolerate, if not embrace the custom.

      To juxtapose this culturally acceptable practice though, is the cultural embarrassment associated with using a toothpick. Kenyans go to considerable lengths to shield this apparently disgraceful practice from others, always being sure to cover their mouth and “toothpick hand” with their other hand, sometimes even turning and ducking their heads as they harvest the remnants of lunch from between their teeth. No, you will never catch someone exposing their grill while using a toothpick here. But don’t be surprised if you see someone extract a sticky green blob from their nose with their finger and then expect you to shake their hand. And you better not refuse either. That would just be rude.

Day 139 - (Not) Too Cool for School

November 27, 2012 (Sam)

      Nancy’s frail body shook gently and an occasional whimper broke the uncomfortable silence in the classroom as we sat together and she described what her life has been like for the last year.

      As a part of our work here, helping to institute a child sponsorship program at Beacon of Hope, Christina and I have been sitting down with a lot of parents recently and talking to them about their children, assessing their families’ vulnerabilities and determining their most pressing needs. Half of the time, the parents are crying as we talk to them... the other half of the time, I’m usually crying.

      And so I sat there, my hand awkwardly resting on Nancy's shoulder, trying to comfort her as she gasped for breath in between run-on sentences in which she attempted to explain her family’s struggles.

      Nancy and her husband were happily married with three children. Nancy's husband is a construction worker, and the one who supplies for the family’s financial needs. Nancy does casual labor here and there, but nothing steady. Around a year ago, Nancy found out that her husband had another family. He was married to another woman who lived in another city; for how long she did not know. Upon realizing that he’d been found out, Nancy's husband simply left her and the children, taking with him all of their earthly possessions. Nancy suddenly found herself alone, with nothing but three children, and no way to provide for them. She sought out refuge at her parent’s house, but upon learning that her husband had left their family, Nancy and her children were turned away, her family too ashamed by her pathetic situation to show them any pity. When her brother found out what had happened, he came to visit Nancy. He proceeded to beat her savagely, rebuked her for her failure to please her husband, and left. She has been rejected by everyone she knows. Nancy now suffers from what Christina and I have come to call the “Big Three:" lack of food, rent, and school fees. These are the three most common needs that we seem to encounter here.

      We may all be able to relate to the importance of food; after all, we need it to live. The same goes for shelter; without a roof over our heads, well, we’re in just about as bad of a position. But education? Really? I mean, I know that going to school is important and all, but does it really rank up there with food and shelter? Well, from what Christina and I have come to learn, the importance of education here is totally different than we might perceive it to be back in the US. Going to school in Kenya is about more than just setting yourself up for success in the corporate world. It’s not just about the difference between a well-paying job and a dead-end one. Being in school here literally means the difference between life and death for some kids. The fact is, especially in slum areas, when children aren’t in school, they find other hobbies to occupy their days. Idle time is the biggest contributor to teenage pregnancies, violent crime, and drug addictions. Many children who aren’t in school end up being young mothers, criminals, or cadavers. People here know this, and this fact is one of the biggest reasons that parents often make the tough decision to forego food for themselves rather than allow their child to get sent home from school. This is just one of the reasons that educational support initiatives and child sponsorship are so important in Kenya.

      So after she finished telling me her despairing story, Nancy just sat there: her head in her hands, a tissue occasionally dabbing at her eyes and nose. And all I could do was lean over, put my hand on her shoulder, and tell her that we would be praying for her, and that we’d do everything we could to find sponsors for her children. I wish I could have said more.

      Then from across the room I heard another wail pierce the air. I looked up to see a woman, clutching her 6 year old daughter by her side, staggering across the room, holding a piece of paper in front of her face so people couldn’t see the tears streaming down her cheeks. She heaved heavily a few more times before she made it out the door. I went over and asked Christina what had happened to make her so upset. “She wasn’t upset.” Christina replied, a slight smile playing at her lips, “We just got to tell her that we found a sponsor for her daughter.” My breath caught in my throat and tears welled in my eyes. Another child now has a more hopeful future to look forward to.

Day 131 - Your Own Africa

November 19, 2012 (Sam)

      I’ve walked many miles in my life, but the longest mile by far was the one I walked the other day with two mattresses stacked on top of my head. There’s something about the pressure on your neck, the uneven dirt road under your feet, and the numbness of your arms as you try to keep the awkwardly cumbersome load balanced on your head that makes the distance stretch out disproportionately.

      Beacon of Hope was recently able to give out close to a hundred mattresses to needy families in the community here in Ongata Rongai. It gave me a lot of joy to watch dozens of women come trudging into the compound and be able to leave beaming, knowing that they were bringing home, perhaps for the first time, the means for their children to be able to sleep comfortably that night. One such lady was struggling outside the guest house that we’re staying in the other day, and Christina, walking by, saw her struggling to shoulder the awkward load. So she did what she does best: volunteer my porter services. Not that I minded; I love carrying things for people.

      But as I was walking down that road, sweat streaming down my face, trying to blow the hair out of my eyes, something dawned on me: This is a very simple thing. I am not doing anything that anyone anywhere couldn’t do.

      A missionary friend of ours here, whose family has committed to serving in Kenya for as long as they feel God wants them here, told me the other day that people sometimes tend to get more excited or be especially supportive of what they are doing here in Kenya because of just that... they are here... in Kenya. Sometimes, we become so focused on the good that people are doing elsewhere, that we forget that there are people everywhere that need help. The fact is, not everyone may feel called to go and serve in Africa, and that’s okay. Being in Africa is no different than being in Atlanta which is no different than being on Allied Drive in Madison. God has you right where you are for a reason.

      I remember when I was in Iraq and feeling especially down about my situation, I received an encouraging note from my high school ceramics teacher that (paraphrased) said, “Your circumstances will not always be ideal. But you have a responsibility where you are. Use your unique gifts to help bring joy to other people. No amount of pouting is going to change your surroundings, so you must work with what you have been given, and determine to make a positive impact anyway.” Those few words of advice from him changed my perspective, and influenced the rest of my stay in the Middle East.

      The point, and the challenge, is this: You are where you are for a reason. Look for the needs in your area, no matter where it is, and do something to meet them. We have all been strategically placed in our own communities because there are people there that need help. And you are uniquely equipped to help meet those needs. So make your neighborhood your own personal Africa. The next time you see someone struggling to carry a heavy load, lift it for them.

      And watch out for the potholes in the road. You could step in a mud puddle.

Day 129 - Videos #6 & #7

November 17, 2012 (Sam)

      Christina took me for a much needed birthday break to Naivasha, Kenya, where we were able to admire wildlife in Hell's Gate National Park by bike, and paddle through the hippo-infested waters of Lake Naivasha by kayak.

   

And, see how we cope with having no water... again.

Day 124 - Unjustified Justification

November 10, 2011 (Sam)

      With four of our six months down, Christina and I have recently been looking beyond Kenya. What next? With the military offering me a free college education and Christina itching to finish her degree in social work, we have started looking at college options. But where? Well, Madison, Wisconsin I hope. Not only does the University of Wisconsin—Madison have some of the best programs available for the degree paths that we’re looking at going down, but we have a church family there, I have good friends that I grew up with there, and I’d have access to one of the best VA hospitals in the country. But most importantly, relocating to Madison would mean that after almost six years of moving around the world, I’d be able to be close to my family again. From the very beginning of our search for schools, every sign has been pointing at UW—Madison. It would be the perfect answer.

      It’s funny how the application process works. It’s like dozens of questions and personal statements where the school basically asks you to sell yourself to them. Basically, “Why are you the best? Why should we pick you? Justify yourself.” And that whole process really got me thinking about everything I’ve been able to do in the last six years. I’ve lived in five different countries for extended periods of time; I’ve performed support duties for three different combat missions that the US military has undertaken; I’ve traveled halfway around the globe to volunteer with some of the neediest people in the world. I’ve been able to do a lot of good things for a lot of people. And filling out that UW—Madison application, I caught myself getting maybe a little caught up in my accomplishments, thinking, “I am justified.”

      Then I read Ephesians 2:8-9 “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.” And the harsh reality struck me that, I can do all the nice and good things in the world; I can sacrifice my time, my money and my efforts; I can travel around the world doing good for others, but ultimately, those “works” amount to nothing. When I get to heaven, it will not be my works that permit me entry; it will be my faith. I cannot find justification through what I do. Mother Teresa can no more boast her way into heaven based on the good that she’s done than can a convicted murderer who accepted Christ prior to being executed. “There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus” (Rom 3:22-4). “You were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God” (1 Cor. 6:11). My justification is found in Christ alone. Period.

      It’s too bad that UW—Madison does’t share the same sentiment as God. I got a rejection letter from them this morning.

Day 119 - I Beat the Toothbrush

November 7, 2012 (Sam)

      Swahili is the local language spoken here. And by here, I mean East Africa, not Nairobi. I’m not quite sure what exactly the locals speak here. It’s some kind of indiscernible concoction of Swahili, English, Kikuyu, Luhya, Kamba, and Luo, all mixed into one pseudo-language commonly referred to as Sheng. The problem with Sheng is that you can’t learn it anywhere; you can only pick it up in conversation with the locals, particularly the youth. While it lasted, our Swahili tutoring was more confusing than helpful. We would learn one thing, like the fact that “ishirini” means “twenty,” but then when boarding a matatu where we thought the price was 20 Kenyan Shillings, the driver would yell out, “mbao!” Apparently "mbao" also means 20; it’s just a newer, hipper way of saying it. And so the confusion ensues. Sheng isn’t a fixed dialect either; in order to keep their parents and teachers confused, the kids are constantly changing their vernacular. This way they can continue to insult old people and foreigners without them ever knowing any better.

      Anyway, back to beating the toothbrush. Proper Swahili can sometimes be just as confusing as Sheng. Case and point is the verb “kupiga.” Kupiga is easily the most commonly found verb in the Swahili language. Its literal translation is “to hit, to beat, or to strike,” but its most prevalent use in the language is rarely used for that translation. Kupiga seems to also have become the “catch-all” verb that is used when no other verb fits appropriately. Case and point: “kupiga mswaki” is used to mean “to brush the teeth,” but when translated literally it actually means “to beat the toothbrush.”

      The shortage of proper verbs in this language seems to be made up for with this one verb, even though its usages usually have nothing to do with hitting, striking, or beating anything. Let me give you a few more examples:

English Saying:                    Swahili Translation:           Literal Translation:

“to pitch the tent”                   “kupiga hema”                     “to beat the tent”

“to take a picture”                  “kupiga picha”                      “to beat the picture”

“to kneel”                              “kupiga magoti”                    “to beat the knees”

“to take counsel or advice”    “kupiga shauri”                    “to beat the counsel”

“to call on the phone”            “kupiga simu”                      “to beat the phone”

“to take courage”                   “kupiga moyo”                     “to beat the heart”

“to paint”                               “kupiga rangi”                      “to beat the colors”

“to sneeze”                            “kupiga chafya”                    “to beat the sneeze”

“to get a shot”                        “kupiga sindano”                 “to beat the injection”

“to clap or gesticulate”           “kupiga mikono”                 “to beat the hands”

“to vote”                                “kupiga debe”                      “to beat the box”

and finally, one of the most confusing usages yet,

“to get really drunk”              “kupiga maji”                       “to beat the water”

      And these are only a few of the hundreds of the different, bizarre usages of this verb. Anyway, I heard that America has a new president. Thanks to everyone who went out there and beat the boxes yesterday. I don’t know how happy Americans are, but everyone here in Kenya is kupiga-ing their mikonos.

Some goats hiding out to avoid getting kupiga-d by the pelting rain

Freshly kupiga-d fish (the carrots are what sold me)

My freshly kupiga-d thumb

Day 116 - Machete Madness

November 3, 2012 (Sam)

      A panga is an African machete, typically about 2 feet in length. After our neighbor’s house got broken into, I picked one up at the local hardware store. It stays tucked between the mattress and bed frame a few inches from my head. Call me paranoid but it helps me sleep better.

      Last night, we were having a Bible study at our house with a few young men who we’ve met here. Their names are Alvin and Daniel. One of the verses we were looking at talked about not repaying evil with evil, but rather with a blessing. Most of the study was done by candlelight. October started the rainy season here in Kenya, and with the rain comes lots of mud and unpredictable power outages.

      After we finished the study, we walked outside only to discover that it was pouring rain. So we asked the boys to stay around for a while and wait it out before heading home.

      After a few hours, the rain finally abated, and they got up to leave. I asked Daniel if he wanted to wear my rain boots home. The streets had turned to a soupy mud, and after some prodding, he eventually obliged. The black rubber boots were a few sizes too big and his feet were swimming in them, but at least they’d keep his feet clean. Daniel and Alvin walked out the door at around 11pm, and Christina and I went to bed.

      Around midnight I was awakened by a pounding at our front door. As I flew out of bed, my left hand instinctively wrapped its fingers around the panga next to my head and I crept cautiously to the door. “Who’s there!?!” I shouted. A desperate yell came back, “It’s Daniel and Alvin!” I fumbled for the key. “Is everything okay?” I asked. “No,” Daniel said, a trace of panic in his voice, “we’ve been mugged.” I ripped the door open.

      The guys were a mess. They were soaking wet and covered in mud. I pulled them inside and shut the door. Christina rushed out of the bedroom and we stood in the kitchen, mouths agape as they recounted the details of what had just happened: Walking home, Alvin and Daniel decided to take a little-used side-street. Because of the time of night and the weather, the street was empty, and without power, there were no lights to illuminate their path. As they rounded a corner, they passed two strange men who threw them an unsavory greeting. The boys took it as odd, two men standing around in the drizzle so close to midnight. As they passed them, Alvin and Daniel picked up their pace. The men wheeled onto the street behind them and took up a menacing gait close on their heels. Daniel and Alvin took one look at each other and immediately knew what was happening. They took off running as fast as they could. The two men bolted after them, but soon their shouts began to fade as Daniel and Alvin put fear-induced distance between them. Then it happened. With the mud sucking at his oversized boots with every step, Daniel’s feet, despite their speed, began to pull out of the boots. A few steps later, one foot pulled out too far, and he plunged forward into the mud, sliding along the slick road on his hands and knees. He rolled over in the sludge, ready to resume his hasty getaway, only to find himself starting squarely into his own reflection in the sharp end of a panga blade inches from his nose. Alvin, almost 100 yards ahead of Daniel, upon seeing his friend in danger, did the noble thing, and ran back to join him. The two men stripped them both of everything they had: their wallets, cash, phones, the keys to their apartment, and Daniel’s watch.

      Listening to them recount the attack, my neck started to get hot, my heartbeat quickened, and I was quickly getting very angry. I started to think that the panga in my hand might get to see some action tonight after all. Blood was thrumming in my ears; my body throbbed with the desire for revenge. I hate seeing injustice prevail. Christina asked if we should call the police. Daniel and Alvin both laughed, the laugh of two people who understand the uselessness of making pleas to a force as corrupt as the local law here in Kenya.

      I grabbed Daniel and Alvin some clean clothes, and Christina boiled some water for tea. We sat down in the living room and Alvin revealed one more detail of the robbery that had just taken place: As the two men were leaving with all their belongings, Daniel had called out a blessing on them. We pulled out the Bible and re-read the passage that we had been studying earlier that night and suddenly, the words on the page seemed to come alive. “Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing” (1 Peter 3:9). Considering the circumstance, these words seemed much more real now. Combined with our rushing adrenaline, they held a certain weight that they had not held two hours ago.

      Alvin and Daniel told and retold the story, new details emerging with every repetition. I asked Daniel if he thought he would be able to ID the robbers. “As he stood over me,” Daniel recalled, “I was not seeing his face, all I was seeing was that machete in my face.” And what kept me in awe was that neither of the guys spoke with an ounce of resentment. It was all gratitude and thanksgiving.

      Once our heart palpitations subsided, and we were content with the details of the armed robbery, we prayed together. We thanked God for bringing Daniel and Alvin through this perilous night safely. We thanked him for Daniel’s unfittingly compassionate response to his muggers. And we thanked him for his promise to judge justly.

      The guys crashed out in our guest bedroom around 1am. The next day, today, we spent a great deal of time with Daniel and Alvin, two young men who before last night, we really didn’t known very well at all. But through this situation, with all of its inscrutable details, we have made two very good, very close friends. Despite the losses involved in this event, great gains, both transient and eternal, have been made.

      I don’t even know how to end this post.

      The End?

The next day we went back and visited the scene of the crime

Day 109 - Christina Raced a Kenyan

October 28, 2012 (Sam)

      Actually, it was more like 5,100 Kenyans. Alright, so maybe they weren’t all Kenyans, but that’s how many people assembled at the starting line for the 21K (half marathon) that Christina ran in on Sunday. For some reason, she thought it would be a good idea to run her first half marathon in Nairobi, which not only sits at about 5,500 feet above sea level, but is located in the country of, um, Kenya. That’s right, Kenya, home to something like 104 records in running events around the world. My wife is pretty tough.

Over 5,100 runner warming up for the 13.1 mile race in downtown Nairobi 

Thousands of people line up for the start of the half marathon

Can you spot the mzungu?

... and they're off

Some of Christina's competition 

One of the hundreds of men and women who raced over 13 miles in a wheelchair

Around the halfway point... going strong 

Christina blew past the finish line in under 2 hours

Christina finished her first half marathon in just 1 hour and 51 minutes. Congratulations!

Day 107 - From Everyone Here... Thank You

October 26, 2012 (Sam)

      Thank you for allowing us to be here. Seriously, we would not be here, doing what we are doing were it not for the extreme kindness of everyone back home who has been generously providing for all our needs. We’ve been humbled by your eagerness to partner with us to help impact children in Kenya.

      We are excited to be able to tell you though, that the money you’ve given goes to support so much more that just our personal expenses here. Our needs have been more than met. The fact is that, every day, we are able to transfer the generosity that you’ve shown to us to other people here, who need it far more than we do.

      Rebecca is a single mother and is HIV positive. Most days she hardly has enough energy to drag herself to work because of all the medication she takes combined with the fact that she hardly ever has food. Her gaunt face and sunken eyes are a testament to her constantly aching stomach. The other day, Rebecca told us that neither she, nor her 6 year old malnourished son Brian, had eaten in three days. Because of a generous donation by one of our friends back in Wisconsin, we were able to get Rebecca and Brian a two week supply of groceries!

      Chelsea is a first grader in a local school here in Ongata Rongai. She has the sweetest little round-toothed smile I’ve ever seen. Chelsea hasn’t been to school in two weeks though. Her father is a day laborer and her mother is a houseworker. Between the two of them, they can’t pay the rent, buy food, and afford school fees. So, even though Chelsea is an exceptional student, she got kicked out of school. But because of a generous donation by a compassionate family from our church in Delaware, Chelsea was able to return to school today, and her parents won’t have to worry about school fees until next year!

      Eunice is a kindhearted mother of three. The little Eunice has, she is quick to share with others. After beating her for years, her husband left her and the kids. Forced to make her meager living off of washing clothes and hawking maize corn, Eunice can’t afford even the most basic items for her children, like mattresses. They sleep on slabs of chewed up foam. Because of a generous donation by one of my old co-workers and his wife, by the time we left Eunice's house late last night, all three of her children were fast asleep on a brand new mattress!

      It may be hard for you to be able to appreciate just how much your generosity means to the people here. It’s hard to understand until you see the grateful eyes welling up with tears. It’s hard to grasp until it’s your body that’s being embraced by quivering arms. It’s impossible to comprehend until you see hopeful smiles spreading across hopeless faces yourself. This is not an abstract reality for the people here. What you give means life for them.

      The reality for many families here is harsh, and there are still massive needs in this community. We want to provide you with the means to support the local children here. We have become close with many individuals and families that are still lacking the most basic of necessities. We want to be the conduit though which your continued generosity can be transmitted. We want to help you bless others here in Kenya. The fact is, through donations that we have already received, lives have been changed, hearts have been touched, and hope has been found.

      So from everyone here, thank you for everything you do.

(If you have the desire to help a family here in Kenya, click the “Donate” button at the top right of this page. Feel free to specify a certain cause or purpose that you’d like your donation to go towards, and we’ll be sure it gets there)