Category: Kenya

Will Work for Food

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Although it’s not my favorite task, I manage to keep up with our daily laundry and do an OK job of it. Sure, sometimes there are still stains here and there, but often it’s more important to invest my time in other things than to spend an extra hour perfecting clean clothes. After all, clean is relative. However, during the few days when we had our short-term missions team here at the house, I knew it would be too much unless I had help. So I out-sourced my laundry to a couple of ladies in the neighborhood. Frankly, it was a nice change of pace. But when it was time to get back in the saddle this Monday, I rolled up my sleeves early in the morning and got ready to work.

I was surprised to hear a knock at the door and see a familiar face–one of the ladies who had helped me out the week before. Her husband has no work and has been away for about a month looking for something to help support his wife and five children at home. Unfortunately, he has been largely unsuccessful. I was glad to have given her some work, as it was indeed a mutual blessing.

She asked me if I had anything for her to do, and I indicated that it was time for me to get back to doing my own wash. She looked disappointed and said, “But we have no food. I will work for food. Can you help?” So I let her do my wash and gave her enough food for the day. The next day, the same.  Not because I can’t do my own laundry (in fact, part of me feels guilty for letting her do it!) but because if I don’t give her work, she likely won’t eat. Missing meals is par for the course for many in this area. Often the only meal is a supper of ugali after a hard day’s work.

Jesus told us to pray, “Give us this day our daily bread.” It is sobering indeed to see how true this is for the folks in our community. Though we’ve historically been careful with our food budget and increasingly simplified in that area, we’ve never been wanting. We’ve always bought in bulk in order to save money. Here, “bulk” is almost non-existent. Instead, quantities are often single-serving in order to minimize expense and allow people to get what they need for one day or one meal. Truly, something we’ve never had to experience and just another example of how blessed…spoiled…we’ve been. Though I can’t say I would like the insecurity of living hand-to-mouth, I’m equally sure that there is blessing to be found in trusting in God to indeed provide our daily bread.

“…and great was its fall”

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Last week Marc was in Nairobi with some folks who are here for a short-term missions trip. He wasn’t even gone a day before the excitement began. On Monday night the torrential rains arrived, and although I really like rain at night, I was kinda scared. Even so, I was glad to know that our water storage tank was filling up (see photo here). But when I heard a crash outside my window at 4 AM, I knew it couldn’t be good.

When the tank was installed, Marc (who is a pretty good engineer) expressed concern that the platform was being build directly on the dirt. Of course, it should have concrete footings, right? But he was assured, no, it would be fine. Not being familiar with the soils here and how things are normally done, the work proceeded. And here is what happened:

I was reminded of Jesus’ teaching:

“Therefore everyone who hears these words of Mine and acts on them, may be compared to a wise man who built his house on the rock.And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and slammed against that house; and yet it did not fall, for it had been founded on the rock.Everyone who hears these words of Mine and does not act on them, will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and slammed against that house; and it fell—and great was its fall.”

Matthew 7:24-27

It was comforting to hear a giant crash outside my window, look outside, and almost immediately see flashlights peering into our yard from two of our neighbors, who wanted to make sure all was well. Then we began to hear whistling along the path out front (folks walking by and getting each others’ attention) with a flurry of muted conversation including just a few words I recognized: maji (water), pipa (tank) and of course, wazungu (white people). Even though it was pitch black outside still, we were already the talk of the community.

As soon as I stepped outside in the morning (around 6:30 when it got light enough), our neighbor arrived and asked how he could be of service in remedying the problem, since Mr. Marc was not at home. Of course, I had already talked to Marc and had some marching orders so we made a plan of action. Isaiah, who had helped his dad with all the phases of the installation project and is a pretty take-charge kind of kid (even at almost-13) was also involved.

Later in the morning, our neighbor returned and said he could not find a direct replacement tank; only 1,000 L (too small) or 2,300 L (too large) were available. Isaiah went with him into town to do some shopping, confident that he would be able to acquire the 1,500 L at a decent price. And he did. Meanwhile, our other neighbor and his brother were busy digging in preparation for putting down a pad for the re-build.

By the second day the concrete was dry, the gutters repaired where needed, and the tank replaced. However, it was raining too hard to get it fully functional, so it was left for the third day. Unfortunately, we didn’t get enough rain once it was set up to get water but our neighbors invited us to fill up from their rainwater collection. Very important, as by weeks’ end the short-term missions group had arrived and our water needs were multiplying. Praise God we’ve got everything up and running!

The Rains, She is Coming

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We arrived in Africa during the dry season, and soon the season of long rains (also known as “winter”) is right around the corner. Everyone keeps threatening that the rains are almost here. Our neighbor, who speaks very limited English, refers to the rains as “she” and keeps insisting, “the rains, she is coming.” For sure, it’s a couple of degrees cooler in the early morning and when the sun goes down at night. Every afternoon I have to bring in my laundry a little earlier because the sun goes behind the clouds, and I keep thinking that it’s going to pour. It’s markedly windier in the afternoon as well. But, aside from a few raindrops here and there, the rains have not yet come.

We’re not sure what to expect of this season. We’ve heard that with the rains come big hail, which can ruin crops that have been planted. The man who did most of the building of our house also dug deep trenches along the border fence in our back yard, because our yard slopes that way and he believes that the rains will surely wash our front yard away. He advised that we have shovels ready to dig out the trenches and replace the soil up front as needed during the long rains.

To everything, there is a season. Sometimes you know what to expect, and sometimes you don’t. Even when you think you know what’s coming, you might end up surprised. After all, His ways are higher than our ways and His thoughts than our thoughts. No matter what a season of life is bringing to us–and whether or not things arrive at the time we expect or in the way we anticipate–we can’t go wrong by continuing to trust and abide in the Lord. Whether it’s a peaceful season or a stormy one, God is faithful and He will work all things for our good and His glory.

Dirty…

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Jonah was doing his math the other day and noticed something we all found amusing:


The front of the book, as viewed in profile, is obviously “paged through” and used, but is fairly clean. The bottom portion of the book is clearly unused. An in the middle? A very noticeable brown line. Those are the lessons he’s done since moving to Africa. Conclusion? Africa is dirtier than America! Other clues? My feet, which don’t get perfectly clean (especially on those stubborn callouses!), even with much strenuous scrubbing. And of course, the laundry–most especially the boys’ pants, all of which typically result in completely brown rinsing water when the day’s wash is done. (In case you missed it, see the related post, Clean is Relative.)

It Takes a Village?

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The expression (straight from this area of the world, I think) it takes a village to raise a child is now common place and often quoted in support of the need for community in raising children.

I agree, and I disagree.

There are a lot of children in this village, and lots of family in community here. So very often, the children are allowed to go from place to place without their parents. Just one example: a boy of 2-1/2 years whom I’ll call “Tommy.” Tommy visited our home with his mother and played with our children a few times. Subsequently, one morning he showed up at our door and walked in without invitation and without parental accompaniment. I watched, bemused, as he engaged our littles with some toys, saying nothing the entire time. Once bored, he wandered off toward his grandparents’ house. Later, I saw him returning toward home with a cup full of beans and corn. About an hour had elapsed, during which time I believe his mother was doing her wash. I don’t know if she knew for sure where Tommy was the whole time.

Very often in the morning (during our school time) Jane will come and say hello. She sometimes invites the littles to go to her home or to see her parents (they all live right next door). Since the littles are occasionally uninvolved during our academic mornings, and since the children enjoy playing with the animals there and sometimes interacting with Jane’s young son, I allow them to go for a while. Frankly, I hesitate to offend by refusing, since everyone knows it takes a village and all.

However.

This is a safe place to be, all things considered. Most of the families here are in community and are “good” people. I don’t really worry about the children’s physical safety when they’re apart from me. My hesitation in giving them more freedom is not about that at all. The problem is that though most of these folks are “good” people, there is a chasm between them and us in terms of world view. You don’t go very far before you encounter the community witch doctor and see various “shrines” set up in people’s homes and yards. Ancestor worship is alive and well here. The Bible says that our battle is not against flesh and blood and that there are powers and principalities in high places who are opposed to Christ, and I believe it. I also believe that our children are spiritually vulnerable to attack. If I do let them go visiting, it is not without praying for spiritual protection almost the entire time they’re gone.

If the spiritual issues aren’t enough of a consideration, I’ve also seen some of the fruit of it takes  a village. One of the biggest challenges we’ve faced is the children. The ones who have nothing better to do than line up at our fence for hours on end are the biggest trouble makers. And where are their parents? Letting the village raise their children.

I won’t say that it doesn’t take a village. But I will say, you should take a good look at the village and make a considered decision about whether or not you want it raising your children.

Ideally, the Body of Christ…the family of Kingdom Christians…IS the village. And in that case, community is, indeed, a benefit and a blessing. But don’t be deceived by the worldly concept of it takes a village. Be vigilant to supervise, love, and disciple your own children. Keep them close, and be thankful for the Body of Christ when you find true community to support you in raising your children and chasing after Jesus.

 

“The Floor Moves”

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We’re having a group visit for a few weeks for a short-term missions trip next month, and between the guys and the translators coming from long distances, we’re likely going to have to put up quite a few people here in our home. The kids will all bunk up in one room, leaving a couple of twin beds free, and we have a couch and a couple of extra mosquito nets. As Marc was talking to one of the guys the other day about accommodations, he was explaining that things might be a little tight. He said (not an exact quote, but close): “We have a big living room with a carpet and normally there would be plenty of room to sleep on the floor, but you might not want to. Once the sun goes down, the floor moves.”

Yeah, if there’s anything we’ve had to get used to, it’s the critters. Ants (tons of them), cockroaches (blessedly few, though, praise God!), fleas, chiggers, crickets (everywhere), flies, and spiders. It’s impossible to keep them out, given that the kitchen is pretty much open to the outdoors and the doors stay open most of the day. The saving grace is that we see very few during the day (save for flies and crickets), so it’s kind of “out of sight, out of mind.” But, once the sun goes down, the floor does move… We sit down for family devotions in the living room and count the ants on the carpet and notice the crickets hopping here and there. The ants come into the kitchen for their nightly feast, so we just make sure to keep the food covered and the fresh fruits and veges in knotted bags.

When Jesus said to “count the cost of being a disciple,” I don’t know if this is what He meant.

 

Thoughts on Health and Wealth

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This post isn’t about the modern “health and wealth” gospel–though I certainly have thoughts on that. No,  it’s about the link between health and material prosperity–does one lend itself to the other?

Most people are generally aware that statistically, Americans are among the most obese in the world, and suffer a plethora of health problems as a result. We’re also a very wealthy nation. It would seem, then, wealth doesn’t equal health. Can you be poor and healthy? I would say that in America, we’re trained to believe not. Many of us conjure up media images of malnutritioned, third-world babies and children, and while I agree that this does happen, it may not be the default. Certainly in war-torn areas or places with challenging climates or geography–but not, from what I have seen, in this particular locale.

Many of the people we meet here drink tea every day for breakfast (made with milk rather than water, which we have yet to get used to); a typical lunch would include corn or rice and beans. Supper–almost always ugali, along with some vegetables. A snack might include a banana, other fruit, or even sugar cane picked up at the local market while out and about. Truthfully, this seems to me a pretty balanced diet. Compare that to the average American, who consumes far more calories than they expend and often indulges in high-fat fast food, overly processed “convenience” foods, and many of the like that are, frankly, devoid of much of the nutrition that the body craves. One, the diet of the “poor” and the other a result of opulence. Which results in better health? Looking at the folks here, I would venture to guess the former. Granted, I’ve seen some overweight Africans–but they honestly tend to be those who are wealthier by comparison.

Paradoxically, there is a movement in America toward better health, which involves getting back to “healthy fats” like coconut oil and real butter and eating non-GMO and organic foods. It may also include high-priced supplements. All of these are actually more expensive than going to McDonald’s and buying a dollar menu burger. So, in that respect, better health may be a result of greater wealth. Or better said, better health requires wealth.

One thing we’ve found interesting as we’ve purchased seeds for our upcoming garden is that heirloom seeds are almost impossible to come by here. Most everything is GMO and hybrid. Why? Because with these types of seeds, the locals can get a higher yield and less disease–in other words, a more profitable crop. And not only are they becoming slaves of the seed companies, I also believe they’re selling out their health…for wealth.

This post isn’t really about drawing conclusions; honestly, I’m not sure I have any. Just a handful of observations, for what it’s worth.

3:00 is 4:30

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The other day, Marc and our neighbor, Henry, went door-to-door in the village sharing the Gospel of the Kingdom. The reception was very positive and there is some follow up that needs to be done as a result–because the idea is to make disciples, not just converts. Many of the people Marc spoke with were women, so if they expressed interest in knowing more or in further follow up, he referred them to me and asked them to drop in for a visit.

One of the ladies said she would come and meet with me the following day at 3:00 in the afternoon. I thought, what an ideal time! The littlest three would all be napping at that time, I already had supper started, and the day’s work was, by-and-large, completed. No children’s chores to oversee until about 4:30, and the big kids would either be finishing school work or enjoying some free time (likely outside). Perfect!

Unfortunately, 3:00 came and went. Suddenly,at 4:30, she appeared at the door–just moments after all the littles had woken up, needed help in the potty, and wanted water and a snack. The big kids now needed me to dump their heavy water containers into the water tank, as their afternoon job involved several trips to the spring. I was also going to need to get food re-heating on the stove and get things going for supper. But…I had to drop everything (as much as possible) and follow up with this woman who was so very eager to meet me and learn more about following Jesus. So that is what I did.

I recall reading in the Kenya “Culture” book that time is a very Western concept, and that Americans coming to Africa often struggle to throw off the shackles of the clock. How true it is! This is just one example; Marc has had experience with this as well. Often he’ll have a training scheduled to begin at 9:00, and folks don’t start drifting in until noon. One Kenyan laughingly told him that if people actually show up on the same day as the event, that’s pretty good.

One more thing we need to adjust to. Need to keep on remembering why we’re here and what’s important, so we can truly make the most of every opportunity–whether it shows up at 3:00 or 4:30. Here’s a reminder for all of us–we need to focus on the eternal, not the temporal; and God’s timing is usually not the same as ours. Be prepared, whether you’re needed at 3:00 when it’s convenient, or 4:30…when it’s not.

 

Children’s Q&A

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This weekend, the kids and I spent some time talking about how they felt about the transition to Africa and how they felt things were going. As as starting point, I wrote down a few open-ended questions and encouraged them to respond. Here’s what they said:

We like: ugali, fresh fruit, lizards, the weather, having lots of kids to play with.

We don’t like: spiders, ants

We miss: pizza and ice cream (figures their answers were all about food!)

Biggest difference between Africa and America: weather, people

We wish: people spoke English

Things that are easy: “Not much is easy”

Things that are hard: getting water

We like to eat: ugali, sweet and sour beans, beef, roasted corn

We don’t like to eat: greens, plain avocadoes

Additional comments?: “It’s nicer than America!”

I’m sure I would have answered a lot of these questions differently, but I can’t say the answers surprised me. I was surprised to have the majority of the children all answer virtually at the same time that they wished people spoke English. It is certainily difficult to communicate with a limited understanding of Swahili, although we are grateful to know several folks who speak at least *some* English. We’re learning Swahili, but probably not fast enough for any of us!

 

Clean is Relative

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The Martha in me cringes many times each day over home management. Because if I’ve learned anything in the past three weeks, it’s that clean is relative in Kenya.

It all started with waking up the day after we arrived and sitting on the couch, staring at the painted concrete floors. With all the work that had been done to the house and people going in and out, boy, they could use a cleaning. But I had no broom or mop. Patrick’s wife, Lois, graciously offered her services in cleaning the floors with me, and I jumped at the opportunity to get things spiffed up. I had my doubts, though, when she arrived without even a broom in hand.

She filled one big wash basin with soapy water and another with clean water. After realizing that I didn’t have a proper “cleaning rag,” she went home to fetch hers–which turned out to be an old, re-purposed sweater. With amazing dexterity and speed, she sopped the cleaning rag in soap, and (on hands and knees), mopped over the whole surface of one of the bedroom floors. Once the surface was done, she cleaned the rag in the rinse water and then went over the floor again with plain water, squeezing out the rag as needed during the process. In no time, both the soapy water and the rinsing water were filled with dirt and debris. But she kept going…room after room.

When we were done, there was indeed a great improvement in the looks of the floor. But I don’t think the Martha in me could call it “clean.”

This is my mopping towel. It rarely gets "clean," but it's good for sopping up water and debris.

I soon got a broom and mop, and realized that using mops on floors that were subject to so much dust and dirt was an exercise in futility. So I adopted the Kenyan method of just sloshing on a bunch of soap and water to make the floors…cleaner than they were before. (At least now I get to sweep first!) Marc bought a squeegee, which works wonderfully well to guide the water into a corner, where I soak up the excess in a dedicated “cleaning towel” and throw away the solid debris. Clean is relative.

These pants have been cleaned, but those stubborn stains where the pants drag in the dirt are just...impossible.

Same with laundry. The kids (and Marc) pick up so much dust and dirt that even with my best scrubbing, there are still some stubborn spots remaining after the clothes are washed. The wash water is brown halfway through the daily load, but I finish the remaining clothes in it. And they end up…cleaner than they were before. The sun-drying on the clothes line bleaches out an amazing number of stains, praise God! With the number of man-hours it takes to do laundry each day, we’re playing a new game; it’s called, “How many days can you wear the same shirt?”

Likewise, doing dishes with cold water (and no running water) has also been an exercise in surrender. I use less soap than I normally would to minimize rinsing (since getting water is such a chore). And all the dishes get rinsed in the same sink full of clean water, rather than under a  running stream. So, like everything else, they end up…cleaner than they were before.

And then there’s bathing; several children share bath water and I try to wash at least three children’s hair in one sink full of hot water. Yeah, halfway through the process, the water is light brown in color. But they end up…cleaner than they were before.

The Martha in me protests, but I’m getting used to it. One of these days, I hope to vlog about cleaning the floors. I think you’d enjoy it. 🙂