Karibu! Welcome to Kenya!
What, this is your first time in Kenya? How do you find it?
You may sit in the front seat of the matutu (minivan taxi), so that you can see all the sites. On our way out of ICIPE (International Center of Insect Physiology and Ecology), where we are renting a room, we pass the ICIPE primary school. Children in dark blue uniforms and with shorn heads are sitting on benches outside, heads bowed over their books. They come to school 6 days a week for 13 and a half hours each day.
What, this is your first time in Kenya? How do you find it?
You may sit in the front seat of the matutu (minivan taxi), so that you can see all the sites. On our way out of ICIPE (International Center of Insect Physiology and Ecology), where we are renting a room, we pass the ICIPE primary school. Children in dark blue uniforms and with shorn heads are sitting on benches outside, heads bowed over their books. They come to school 6 days a week for 13 and a half hours each day.
At the gate, the security guard looks carefully in the windows. “What are you looking for?” We ask. At first he doesn’t know what to say.
“Something unusual,” he finally says. As if a van full of white people isn’t unusual enough!
We pull out into the town. The street is made of packed black earth and lumpy stones. Here and there are shacks made of corrugated tin or cement. A young woman waves to us from the shade of a rickety stall. Her head is covered with a colorful wrap, and beneath her matching dress you can see her swollen pregnant belly. She is selling tomatoes and cabbages and green mandarins on a platform made of hand-hewn limbs.
As we bump along, sometimes barely crawling over the rocky road, you see more and more such stalls, until before you know it, we are in the middle of the market. There are more rickety booths and some shops with tin or cement walls. Some are selling clothing, bicycle wheels, or sandals spread on grass mats. You frequently read the words, “Top Up Here” meaning that you can buy phone cards there.
The people come in every size and shape. Most of the women are wearing skirts, and many of them are dressed in the typical brightly-colored matching top and bottom with cloths wrapped around their heads. The men wear dark clothing, and many of them travel by bicycle. We pass the bus stop where buses are waiting to be filled for their journeys and “picky-pickies” or motorcycle taxis are waiting for passengers.
There are toddlers with dirty shirts and wide eyes. There are children in blue or brown and white uniforms who wave at you excitedly and shout, “How are you! How are you?” Sometimes you hear them say, “Mzungu!” meaning white foreigner.
Soon we come to the causeway, a narrow land bridge about a stone’s throw across which takes us to the island of Rusinga. On either side the waters of Lake Victoria draw near, and among the fishing boats docked there are women washing clothes and children bathing. On the other side there are still market stalls and busy people walking to and fro. This is the worst part of the road, and while we climb over the rocks we have to look out for pedestrians, cyclists, donkey carts, and other trucks.
On the left we come up on a gray brick building behind a wire fence. This is the Wasaria SDA church where I will be conducting my evangelistic meetings starting Friday night. On Sabbath morning we can hear the music from Wasaria church drifting across the lake to ICIPE.
Out of town the road becomes much smoother. When it’s dry, the road is dusty, and when it’s wet, the rounded surface is slippery, and it’s easy to slide into the deep dips on either side. On Friday we did just that, and had to get some extra help to be pushed out.
There are funny little goats feeding on the shrubbery along the road, and up ahead we see a herd of cattle. These have a big hump on their back and long horns like the holy cows in India, but they are brown and black and not much bigger than a small donkey. We slow down to let them move out of our way, and a little boy with a long stick whacks them to make them move in the right direction.
We pass fields of corn, dried from lack of rain, and tall millet with reddish bunches of grain at the top. We see another produce booth, and as we pass this time, the boy who sits there lifts his baby sister and waves her fat hand at us as he smiles from ear to ear. He will be there every time we come, usually holding the baby.
To our right is a high volcanic hill covered in trees, and to our left lies Lake Victoria and the small Goad Island. Many of the islands residents are coming for the evening meetings in Wanyama.
After much jostling, we finally come to a turnoff on the left with a big sign that says, “Tom Mboya School” and a smaller sign that indicates an SDA church. We turn here, passing the school and soon coming in view of the wide Living waters garden behind a fence on our right. There are tomatoes and squash, watermelons, and greens planted. Next to the garden is the pastor’s house and then the blue and white church.
As we come through the gate you can see the feeding center behind the pastor’s house. It is a large open, roofed area with a low whitewashed wall around it, and rooms for kitchen, storage, and offices in the back. There are still a few workers there, putting on the last touches. We are greeted on the steps by Julie. She is thin and wiry with a wide lovely smile. “Welcome!” She laughs, grasping your hand and hugging you, first on one cheek and then on the other. Julie manages the feeding center, and she is terribly excited about the success of her first batches of beans and rice in the new solar oven.
“Just taste how sweet they are!” She says, offering you a plate of rice. It is so phenomenal to experience rice and beans that are cooked soft all the way through!
Margaret is not far behind. She is also thin and smiling, but more soft-spoken than Julie. Margaret holds your hand in hers for a long time as she tells you how happy she is that you have come. The ladies show you through the kitchen, office, and storage room with it’s huge stainless steel silos that have just been installed.
Out behind the feeding center, and at the top of the garden, are two huge black water tanks with a fancy purifying apparatus between them. Darryl has just put it together and is so pleased and amazed by how everything is working. “Just think,” he says, “The windmill is pulling up 38 gallons a minute now, when they could hardly get 38 gallons a week before!” Everyone is happy, laughing, and clapping. Nearby is the solar oven cooking another experimental batch of beans.
Later on this evening we make the trip again, only this time we turn left on an unnamed turnoff a few miles before the feeding center. The driveway is lined with short oleander-like trees with yellow flowers. Up the hill we come to a clearing where a simple stage has been erected from the same hand-hew limbs and draped with grass mats. There is already a small crowd of a dozen or so children and as many adults. Some are sitting on the ground and some on wooden church benches. There are white lawn chairs for the mzungus, unless they’d rather sit with the children.
Some men are already putting up the huge white screen on a rickety framework. As the people trickle in, someone from our group stands up to tell a children’s story, and then Mary Jo gives a short health talk. When the light has dimmed sufficiently, and when all the kinks are out of the system, we start the Jesus film playing where we left off last night. It’s quite interesting to see Jesus and his disciples speaking Luo, the local language.
After about 15 minutes it’s time to start the meeting. Shirley Feather is speaking tonight, with Seth as translator. This is the first time Shirley, mother of 6, has been on a mission trip, although she is very active in her home church of Peyson, AZ. Seth is a Luo who has dedicated himself fully to evangelism, and he translates with zeal and energy.
The people continue to trickle in until there are possibly as many as 700 sitting and standing in the darkness, all of them with their eyes glued to the slideshow on the screen. The children, sitting in the front, are as still as the adults. They must have developed good self-discipline from spending so much time in school.
The little ones around you look at you shyly now and then. If you reach out and touch them, they respond with huge smiles. If you take one on your lap, they will not give up their perch for anything in the world, and before all is said and done, they will most likely be sleeping heavily on your shoulder. Just watch out for the tiny ones—they don’t’ wear diapers!
Afterwards, after the song and the call and the tearing down, we get back in the matutu with the rest of the team for the trip back. We will take John and Grace and sweet baby Latifah with us and drop them off in Mbita. John made his living as a thief before he was baptized at last year's campaign. Now he works as the night security guard and gardner at the feeding center. He is hoping this year that his young wife will choose to be baptized, too. Along the way they sit in the back and talk softly to each other. They seem to like each other. They are an exception, since many couples are married by convenience and have little affection for each other. Occasionally men even have multiple wives, but most are too poor.
This has been just one day, and just one view. Tomorrow maybe we will see hippos in the lake, or even take a boat ride. Maybe we’ll go to the market, where ladies sell mounds of colorful beans and produce, and taylors work in small sweaty stalls sewing bright dresses. One of these days we will hike over the mountain from Mbita to the feeding center rather than taking the road. Then we’ll go by Julie’s house. She has promised to cook lunch for us one day.
But for now, all that’s left to do is clean up and fall asleep to the sounds of the insects and the night birds, and Lake Victoria lapping at the shore….
“Something unusual,” he finally says. As if a van full of white people isn’t unusual enough!
We pull out into the town. The street is made of packed black earth and lumpy stones. Here and there are shacks made of corrugated tin or cement. A young woman waves to us from the shade of a rickety stall. Her head is covered with a colorful wrap, and beneath her matching dress you can see her swollen pregnant belly. She is selling tomatoes and cabbages and green mandarins on a platform made of hand-hewn limbs.
As we bump along, sometimes barely crawling over the rocky road, you see more and more such stalls, until before you know it, we are in the middle of the market. There are more rickety booths and some shops with tin or cement walls. Some are selling clothing, bicycle wheels, or sandals spread on grass mats. You frequently read the words, “Top Up Here” meaning that you can buy phone cards there.
The people come in every size and shape. Most of the women are wearing skirts, and many of them are dressed in the typical brightly-colored matching top and bottom with cloths wrapped around their heads. The men wear dark clothing, and many of them travel by bicycle. We pass the bus stop where buses are waiting to be filled for their journeys and “picky-pickies” or motorcycle taxis are waiting for passengers.
There are toddlers with dirty shirts and wide eyes. There are children in blue or brown and white uniforms who wave at you excitedly and shout, “How are you! How are you?” Sometimes you hear them say, “Mzungu!” meaning white foreigner.
Soon we come to the causeway, a narrow land bridge about a stone’s throw across which takes us to the island of Rusinga. On either side the waters of Lake Victoria draw near, and among the fishing boats docked there are women washing clothes and children bathing. On the other side there are still market stalls and busy people walking to and fro. This is the worst part of the road, and while we climb over the rocks we have to look out for pedestrians, cyclists, donkey carts, and other trucks.
On the left we come up on a gray brick building behind a wire fence. This is the Wasaria SDA church where I will be conducting my evangelistic meetings starting Friday night. On Sabbath morning we can hear the music from Wasaria church drifting across the lake to ICIPE.
Out of town the road becomes much smoother. When it’s dry, the road is dusty, and when it’s wet, the rounded surface is slippery, and it’s easy to slide into the deep dips on either side. On Friday we did just that, and had to get some extra help to be pushed out.
There are funny little goats feeding on the shrubbery along the road, and up ahead we see a herd of cattle. These have a big hump on their back and long horns like the holy cows in India, but they are brown and black and not much bigger than a small donkey. We slow down to let them move out of our way, and a little boy with a long stick whacks them to make them move in the right direction.
We pass fields of corn, dried from lack of rain, and tall millet with reddish bunches of grain at the top. We see another produce booth, and as we pass this time, the boy who sits there lifts his baby sister and waves her fat hand at us as he smiles from ear to ear. He will be there every time we come, usually holding the baby.
To our right is a high volcanic hill covered in trees, and to our left lies Lake Victoria and the small Goad Island. Many of the islands residents are coming for the evening meetings in Wanyama.
After much jostling, we finally come to a turnoff on the left with a big sign that says, “Tom Mboya School” and a smaller sign that indicates an SDA church. We turn here, passing the school and soon coming in view of the wide Living waters garden behind a fence on our right. There are tomatoes and squash, watermelons, and greens planted. Next to the garden is the pastor’s house and then the blue and white church.
As we come through the gate you can see the feeding center behind the pastor’s house. It is a large open, roofed area with a low whitewashed wall around it, and rooms for kitchen, storage, and offices in the back. There are still a few workers there, putting on the last touches. We are greeted on the steps by Julie. She is thin and wiry with a wide lovely smile. “Welcome!” She laughs, grasping your hand and hugging you, first on one cheek and then on the other. Julie manages the feeding center, and she is terribly excited about the success of her first batches of beans and rice in the new solar oven.
“Just taste how sweet they are!” She says, offering you a plate of rice. It is so phenomenal to experience rice and beans that are cooked soft all the way through!
Margaret is not far behind. She is also thin and smiling, but more soft-spoken than Julie. Margaret holds your hand in hers for a long time as she tells you how happy she is that you have come. The ladies show you through the kitchen, office, and storage room with it’s huge stainless steel silos that have just been installed.
Out behind the feeding center, and at the top of the garden, are two huge black water tanks with a fancy purifying apparatus between them. Darryl has just put it together and is so pleased and amazed by how everything is working. “Just think,” he says, “The windmill is pulling up 38 gallons a minute now, when they could hardly get 38 gallons a week before!” Everyone is happy, laughing, and clapping. Nearby is the solar oven cooking another experimental batch of beans.
Later on this evening we make the trip again, only this time we turn left on an unnamed turnoff a few miles before the feeding center. The driveway is lined with short oleander-like trees with yellow flowers. Up the hill we come to a clearing where a simple stage has been erected from the same hand-hew limbs and draped with grass mats. There is already a small crowd of a dozen or so children and as many adults. Some are sitting on the ground and some on wooden church benches. There are white lawn chairs for the mzungus, unless they’d rather sit with the children.
Some men are already putting up the huge white screen on a rickety framework. As the people trickle in, someone from our group stands up to tell a children’s story, and then Mary Jo gives a short health talk. When the light has dimmed sufficiently, and when all the kinks are out of the system, we start the Jesus film playing where we left off last night. It’s quite interesting to see Jesus and his disciples speaking Luo, the local language.
After about 15 minutes it’s time to start the meeting. Shirley Feather is speaking tonight, with Seth as translator. This is the first time Shirley, mother of 6, has been on a mission trip, although she is very active in her home church of Peyson, AZ. Seth is a Luo who has dedicated himself fully to evangelism, and he translates with zeal and energy.
The people continue to trickle in until there are possibly as many as 700 sitting and standing in the darkness, all of them with their eyes glued to the slideshow on the screen. The children, sitting in the front, are as still as the adults. They must have developed good self-discipline from spending so much time in school.
The little ones around you look at you shyly now and then. If you reach out and touch them, they respond with huge smiles. If you take one on your lap, they will not give up their perch for anything in the world, and before all is said and done, they will most likely be sleeping heavily on your shoulder. Just watch out for the tiny ones—they don’t’ wear diapers!
Afterwards, after the song and the call and the tearing down, we get back in the matutu with the rest of the team for the trip back. We will take John and Grace and sweet baby Latifah with us and drop them off in Mbita. John made his living as a thief before he was baptized at last year's campaign. Now he works as the night security guard and gardner at the feeding center. He is hoping this year that his young wife will choose to be baptized, too. Along the way they sit in the back and talk softly to each other. They seem to like each other. They are an exception, since many couples are married by convenience and have little affection for each other. Occasionally men even have multiple wives, but most are too poor.
This has been just one day, and just one view. Tomorrow maybe we will see hippos in the lake, or even take a boat ride. Maybe we’ll go to the market, where ladies sell mounds of colorful beans and produce, and taylors work in small sweaty stalls sewing bright dresses. One of these days we will hike over the mountain from Mbita to the feeding center rather than taking the road. Then we’ll go by Julie’s house. She has promised to cook lunch for us one day.
But for now, all that’s left to do is clean up and fall asleep to the sounds of the insects and the night birds, and Lake Victoria lapping at the shore….