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