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)

Day 102 - Compassionate Sore Thumbs

October 21, 2012 (Sam)

      I’m not sure where the idiom “sticking out like a sore thumb” came from, but if sore thumbs stick out in out in a particular way, our existence here could be compared to a sore thumb amongst a collection of, um... otherwise healthy thumbs.

      I’ll be direct about this: we are the only white people in the area we live in. At least we’re the only white people that we know about. Maybe there are others hiding somewhere. And it’s strange, not just in the sense that we’re constantly surrounded by people who don’t look like us, but also in the sense that they’re not used to seeing people like us. We’re a strange sight to the locals here, almost something to be gawked at. It’s innocent and cute coming from children: they stare at us, whisper “mzungu” (literally interpreted as foreigner; culturally interpreted as white person), chase us down and grab our hands, and even, in some cases, try to rub the whiteness off our skin. In other cases it’s not so cute. A popular assumption here is that all white people are rich. This has led to a lot of uncomfortable situations where we are surrounded by people insisting that we give them money. Other times, people will simply laugh and point at us, hurl insults at us from far off, grab us by the arms as we walk past, or just insist on trying to rip us off.

      One of the things I hear whispered, muttered or shouted wherever we go is the name, “Yesu,” or Jesus. I guess because of seeing too many bad storybook depictions of Jesus, people think that I look like him. I’m not even Jewish. Last week, while shopping in a street market, I had an old man come up, grab me by the hand, and ask me to heal him. And understand, this kind of “attention” is a constant reality for us here.

      To be honest, all this leads me to lose my patience sometimes. I’ve learned to ignore people’s yells, rebuff their pleas, and push away begging hands that are sometimes literally shoved in our faces. The other day, a man stepped in front of me, started rambling incoherently, and refused to move out of the way; so, finally, I pushed him aside. This was justified, right? After all, I have a right not to be harassed, don’t I?

      Do you remember those “WWJD” bracelets that used to be popular? Well that question is not hypothetical. We actually have an example to follow in Jesus. He endured the same kind of treatment, and worse, everywhere he went. You want to talk crowds? He had one following him almost constantly, sometimes numbering in the thousands, often they were right up in his face too. Apparently, Jesus didn’t have a “personal bubble.” How about harassment? From what I read about his time here on earth, Jesus constantly had people jumping in front of him (Mark 10:17), getting in his space (Mark 5:24), asking him for favors (Matthew 20:20), inconveniencing him (Mark 5:30), and taking advantage of him (John 6:26). But yet, we get a small insight into his attitude towards these obnoxious people in Matthew 9:36, “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them...” *Gulp*. If that’s not a slap in my face I don’t know what is.

      Being here has been a big adjustment for us. We’re in a new culture, experiencing new challenges. But this has also been a great growing experience. Learning how to move in a space where we are complete foreigners has taught us a lot about patience, gentleness, and love. God is adjusting our attitudes towards hurting people. There are growing pains, but we appreciate the journey.

      By the way, we’ve starting to keep track of how many times each day people call me Jesus. The count today is four. And we only went left the compound once!

      “To this (suffering for doing good) you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps. ‘He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.’ When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.” (1 Peter 2:21-23)

Day 93 - Community Relations

Buying from our favorite market vendor

Bro Love

Teaching the kids how to ruin a good picture

October 11, 2012 (Sam)

      (Disclaimer: the ideas and opinions expressed here are based on our interactions and experiences here in Ongata Rongai. They are not generalizations about all Kenyans, or Americans.)

      Today is our three-month mark. I can’t believe time is going so fast. We’re halfway through our stay in Kenya already!

      I think, looking back on the time we’ve spent here so far, one of the things I’ve come to love the most about Kenya is the community feeling. In America, it’s so easy to isolate ourselves, to cut ourselves off from the rest of the world. We can do everything from the comfort of our homes. We have surround-sound entertainment centers, self-cleaning backyard pools, workshops stocked with every power tool Home Depot sells, home gyms complete with unused treadmills, and, of course, Amazon.com. Essentially, were World War III to kick off, we’d all be okay with staying in our houses for probably a few years... at least.

      We used to have to go to book stores to buy books, car garages to get our cars fixed, and public parks to swing on a swing-set. But in this age, we’ve basically created our own individual self-sustaining environments within the confines of our own 2,500 square foot homes. Everything that we used to have to go into a public setting somewhere to do, we can now do without ever having to see or talk to anyone else.

      We have home-theaters (equipped with reclining couches, Netflix, and microwave popcorn), home-gyms (even our personal trainers have been substituted for the internet), and home-offices (fax machines, printers, computers that allow us to be productive without being bothered by other humans). We have deeper conversations with our iPhones than we do with our own neighbors. We have car-bubbles that we drive everywhere in. We walk a few feet from our cars into Super Wal-Mart, and are met by hundreds of faceless, nameless, emotionless people rushing around with their grocery carts, stocking up on enough food to allow them to re-isolate themselves in their house-bubbles again so they can avoid human contact for another several months... at least.

      I’m not saying that any of these things are bad in and of themselves, but it is true: we live in a culture of convenience. Every resource must be available at our fingertips. And in affording ourselves these conveniences, we have paid a great price: the price of real, neighborly, face-to-face, human interactions and relationships.

      This is not the case in Kenya. I swear, we couldn’t live longer than a day without leaving the house to resupply. And even then, we can’t get more than one or two items at a time. We have to go to one shop to get phone credit, another to get papers printed, another to find hand sanitizer, another to buy toilet paper... the list goes on. Even buying food is a multi-stop excursion. One street vendor for eggs, another for vegetables... wait, the prices on your onions are too high, we need to make another stop, then another for bread, another for milk. It’s like the super-market exploded into a hundred little, ill-stocked mini-markets.

      And for Kenyans, this way of existence is even more extreme. There are no food cupboards, chest freezers, or walk-in pantries here. From our experience, no one here even owns a refrigerator. Instead, people just buy what they need for each day. If a certain food item is needed for dinner, they just go buy it from the closest street vendor. This means daily interactions with neighbors, shopkeepers, and peddlers; so neighbors actually develop meaningful relationships... even with their local tomato hawker!

      And even in buying from vendors, there is engagement in conversation. There are no empty-eyed cashiers staring off into a space where they’re not being inconvenienced by having to ring you up. No, not here. Marketplace pleasantries consist of us exchanging extended greetings, uncomfortably long hand shakes, small talk about Kenya, and endless haggling over paying 18 cents or 24 cents for a mango. All this before even picking through the produce to find a ripe avocado for dinner.

      Don’t even get me started on transportation. In the States, we are used to and comfortable in our car-bubbles that we move around in from place to place. In Kenya? Forget about it. Riding on matatus, you’re making new friends whether you like it or not. That’s what happens when there are 20 people crammed into a 14-passenger tin can. That gentleman in the business suit who you’ve never met before? He’s now sitting on your lap as you fly over speed bumps at 30mph.

      We are constantly interacting with other people. And we love it. We are in a real, live, people-based community here. Our friends aren’t limited to the few people who we may have welcomed into our home. We have random friends on the streets, friends that ring us up in the grocery store, friends that bag our produce in the street market, friends that find us deals on matatus, friends whose names we don’t even know but treat us like family.

      I think I could spend a long time here. A few more years... at least.

Hanging out with Grace and her family

I'm about halfway through my Maasai training

Taking a lesson from the locals on "swag"

Christina playing with the children at Beacon of Hope Academy

This movie has nothing to do with relationships; unless you count the relationship between our clothes and Kenyan dirt.