A stretching week, one I will never forget

After language lessons last Tuesday morning Tyler remembered that he had to go to court - sounds sketchy I know :) but last week he was pulled over for a faulty brake light and instead of paying a bribe like the policeman wanted he was taken to the station and given this court date. Alll he had to do was plead guilty pay the fine and we could both get to work.  So I decided to go with him.

On the way there we saw a crowd of people stoning someone, we learned later it was a thief - I felt sick to my stomach about the scene just a minute from our apt.

We got to the court and as we were waiting I took a 30 second work call in the lobby of the court building. As soon as I hung up there were two policeman grabbing my arms and dragging me into the packed court room, Ty was on their heels saying "kwa nini" why? They shoved us into a back room and ordered is into a jail cell, we refused because we were so confused as to why they were so upset with me. We learned much later that they had grounds to arrest me for talking on
my cell phone! Ty was on the phone with the embassy within two minutes, they could not really do anything at that point. We just wanted to know if it was normal for them to hold us that way. We were a little flustered, especially me because I felt so guilty that I was the reason they were so harsh with us!

This court is also in the middle of the slum where I work, so the men in handcuffs we were rubbing shoulders with were intimidating to say the least. We waited in the dark, urine permeated holding area for the next 3 hours. They then allowed us to wait in the court for 2 hours. I was really having to sort through and process the awful way in which we were being treated, especially because I have tried so desperately to work and help in that community.
 

While we were being held, Tyler missed his name being called and a warrant was issued for his arrest.  When we learned that the warrant was issued we asked a policewoman to assist us.  She was able to help with some of the paper work and Ty finally stood before the court, plead guilty and we were released.

We then had to drive across town to drop mail off and on our way home saw a dead body on the side of the road.  Please know this is not normal, but police do not always get to the scene as fast as they should, so sometimes things are left for the public to see for quite awhile after.

I did get angry in the holding area at one point wondering why they were so keen on making sure we "criminals" were held while there are men like the ones who rape some of the young girls at our school roaming free.... Ahh the injustice sometimes! Also the thief who would never get a chance to even plead his case, mob justice decided his fate for him.

At work on Wednesday morning we had a missions team from Atlanta doing an HIV/Aids presentation, during their talk we heard “pop, pop, pop” noises outside.  As I looked out the school windows, I saw smoke rising from tear gas police had set off just beyond the railway tracks that border our school yard.  The Kenya Power and Lighting Company had come to cut illegal electrical wires in Kibera.  There are actually not very many legal wires; many people just tap into the existing wires for their homes and businesses.  As one can imagine, this made people very upset and they began rioting.  After an hour or so… the crowds calmed and we resumed work.

A couple of hours later, we heard shouting again up on the railway tracks, except this time, people were tearing up the tracks!  They had just received word that Uganda had placed its flag on a disputed island within Lake Victoria.  The island is disputed for several reasons, but mostly because it is a huge contributor to the fishing industry Western Kenya relies upon.  The Kenyans in Kibera, from the same tribe as those in Western Kenya, thought that by ripping up the railway tracks that lead to Uganda, they could harm their economy.  The riot reached the edge of the road where our office is located; we had a short day wanting to exit before things got ugly.

Thursday morning, the last day of the HIV/Aids education for the high school girls was taking place.  Around lunch time, one of our students came to me and said “Lydia, I think I did something bad.” This student is the head boy of the school, so it wasn’t something I took lightly… he told me that a journalist had come to the school and wanted to cover the events of the day before.  Knowing residents of Kibera might not enjoy an outsider taking shots of the damage that was done the day before to the railway, he wanted a student to bring him closer to “the scene”, so he could get in and get out quickly.  This student brought him to the railway tracks and returned to the school.  Moments later, a crowd formed around the journalist and began questioning his purpose in taking pictures.  They decided he must pay for coming in like that to take pictures, they threatened to beat him.  Knowing his life was in danger, the journalist lied and said he was a teacher at our school.  The crowd dragged him there and called for the head boy, the very student who brought him in and asked him to verify his claim.  The head boy said “yes, he is a teacher”, knowing that if he told the truth they would stone him right then and there.  They wanted teachers to verify this as well. 

As this was going on, my boss, First Love Kenya’s director (Chris) approached the crowd and pleaded with them to let the man go.  The crowd did not like the interference, as Chris was speaking with them, the journalist broke free and went to hide under the school buildings.  The crowd could not enter the school yard, but stood on top of the latrines that border it and were up on the hill/railway tracks looking down into the yard.  They began directing their anger at Chris and threw stones at him and another teacher.  Chris was hit in the ear pretty badly and began bleeding.  Through it all though, he was very calm, he walked back to the office and cleaned himself up.  He said he couldn’t just let an innocent man die, he had to do something. 

At that point, we knew we would have to get the team out of Kibera, it was just a matter of when.  I popped my head outside to see if the crowd was still gathered and when I did, a few yelled “mzungo!” or white person.  I was a little nervous at that point, because the way they said “mzungo!”, I could tell we were going to have an interesting time leaving.  I was right, within minutes, the Director’s wife came in the office saying they were going to stone our cars no matter when we left.  We got the team together and quickly piled into the vans.  Rocks began flying as our caravan of three vehicles, sped as quickly as they could up the steep hill to the main road.  The team began praying right away and God brought us out of there safely.

Friday we determined it was not yet safe to go into the school, so I was going to work from home.  I received a call from my dear friend Agnes who I’ve been working with on card projects.  She informed me that her daughter was going into labor.  They were walking to a clinic in Kibera as we spoke.  I was at the store when she called so I picked up newborn diapers, a baby blanket, and some baby outfits (she was two weeks early, so I wasn’t quite prepared J).  They arrived at the clinic and Emily began having complications, she had not eaten the night before so they said the baby was tired “Ame choka”.  They tried giving her an IV, but after awhile they determined that they would need to transfer her to a hospital.  I was trying to coordinate a taxi to come get them, because I knew I couldn’t make it in time, I would just meet them at the hospital.  The clinic, however, determined that it was too much of an emergency so they brought her in one of the clinic vans. 

As I arrived on the hospital grounds, Agnes called me and said “mtoto amekufa” – the baby is dead.  I was devastated.  I spent the next two hours there with Agnes, we were eventually allowed to see Emily.  She was limp and crying silently in a room where other mothers were recovering from labor.  I thought it was so awful that Emily had to lay there listening to the newborn cries of the other babies next to her, other families coming in to congratulate their loved one, and the prayers prayed thanking God for the precious new life…. She cried even more when the prayers began.  She was praying in her own way I suppose, asking God “why?”  I held her hand and whispered in her ear that one day she was going to make the most beautiful mom, although we don’t understand why it was not going to happen now, she would have a family someday… and her children would be her joy. 

She stayed overnight and the next morning I returned with my friend Abby, Agnes, and her friends Angeline, and another Agnes.  Emily was still weak, but was discharged later in the day.  I have asked so many questions since last Tuesday, mostly about justice and injustice.  Ironically, I spoke at a Refugee Women’s Support group on Sunday and the topic they asked me to speak on was “enduring hardship.”  My first thought was that the women in the group knew much more about enduring hardship than I do and hopefully ever will, but I knew that the events of last week could be used as I encouraged the ladies to cling to our heavenly father during such times.  That is the only way one can make it through hardships without ending up insane, our God is a God of peace and his strength and hope are such a foundation in such shaky times. 

Today was the saddest day thus far.  We arrived at the morgue to retrieve the baby’s body for burial.  Upon entering, I saw two children’s bodies stacked on top of their mama who was also deceased, they were new additions, no sheet to cover them… just dead, lifeless bodies with little white tags on their fingers to identify them.  We went to the cooler with the sign that said “0-2 years old”.  It smelled of formaldehyde.   It is very Kenyan for close friends and family members to all go to the morgue together to see the body before the burial.

After the baby was in the casket we sang songs and prayed in the chapel outside the mortuary.  Emily stood at the head of the casket and when they opened the top, she began weeping uncontrollably.  I began sobbing too, the little baby girl was beautiful.  It was so sad to see the mom crying over her baby’s casket.  We made our way to the cemetery and placed a small white cross on her grave after the funeral.  There were many friends who came out to support the family, it was encouraging to see their community support them the way they did.

Please say a prayer if you think of it for the families of the thief who was stoned to death and the other man on the road.  Also, please pray for continued safety working in Kibera and healing for Emily and their family during this difficult time.  Asante.

Habari ya wikendi? Mzuri sana!

On Saturday, Tyler and I went to the orphanage where Kip, the boy who was abandoned at our friend's doorstep, had been staying.  To our surprise and slight relief, we found out that he was released to his mother (who came back for him after realizing she made a mistake) just before the holidays.  Although we were sad to have missed this little boy who had captured our hearts, we were still able to visit the other boy who was abandoned at the police station the same night as Kip.  His name is Steven and wow, is he a delight.  He ran and jumped on my lap, while another little boy named Kevin jumped up on Tyler's lap.  Here we are in this video:

We learned that there were babies in the orphanage as well.  As we walked down the long corridor to their room, I was feeling so blessed to be in that place.  I held Steven tightly in my arms and as we entered the room, Tyler and I were overwhelmed (in a very good way) by all of the adorable babies!  These were children who had been abandoned at local hospitals - some were taking naps - some were standing up in their cribs - while still others circled around our knees wanting to be held.  

We spent the next hour visiting each child, holding those who wanted to be held and praying over as many as possible.  I sometimes forget how blessed I am to have not only parents who prayed over me as a young child, but friends of my parents, members of our church, and others who lifted me up to the Lord.  My heart broke thinking of the slim chances these beautiful creations had of being adopted.  We hope to visit again and love on the children whenever possible.

Sunday gave me the chance to spend time with another group who feels abandoned.  I went with three girlfriends to a Refugee Women's Support Group in an impoverished area near our home.  We entered the small home which was crammed wall to wall with women from all over East Africa.  The women came from Burundi, Uganda, and Rwanda.  Some had the courage to share their stories, while others only cried at the mere thought of sharing what they had been through.  We prayed for them and tried to encourage these war-torn, disheartened, single mothers.  They were able to laugh at our limited Kiswahili and pray for us even in their somewhat broken emotional state.  What an encouragement to spend time with women, who despite their difficult circumstances, blessed us and spurred us on in our faith.

After our time with the group of women, we stopped over at a friend's soccer game.  After the game, I noticed there were kids flipping around and doing handstands on the far end of the field.  Of course, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to "play" :).  I ran over and began spotting them on their handstands.  After awhile we were all "flipping" together and running across the field into our cartwheels.  When we were completely out of breath, I started to stretch with the kids.  Tyler took some video:

Today, the teacher's were on strike at Raila Educational Center (the school where we at First Love work).  This gave us the chance to work with the students more than usual as they were only reviewing material on their own in the classroom.  I interviewed one family and three students, had two business meetings, discussed post-graduate opportunities with a recent graduate, went on a home visit, attended to a bloody nose incident, and trained with three of our boys who are going to enter the cross country district championships in three weeks.  Somehow Tyler and I both arrived home from work at 7:00 pm and collapsed (he had been to timbuktu and back visiting several businesses).  I think I was spoiled in D.C., never really staying late at work :) Although most days exhaust me to no end here, I feel like there is always more I could do and should do, given the extreme privilege I have living here for this year.  I thank God for such an important, yet simple task, to love those He places in my path.

I want to wrap up with a quote we were just sent in the mail:

"More and more the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps... and be known as someone who wants to live with them... I wonder if the first things shouldn't be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them... The greatest news of all is that God is with His people, that He is truly present.  What greater ministry can be practiced than a ministry that reflects this divine presence?"  ~ Henri Nouwen, Gracias: A Latin American Journal

What an incredible example Jesus Christ set for us by displaying this type of ministry each day during his short time on earth.  What a privilege it is to try to join God in ascribing unsurpassable worth to all we come in contact with.  ("ascribe unsurpassable worth" is a great term my Minnesota pastor Greg Boyd uses often :)  I know this can only be done "pole, pole" ~ "slowly, slowly", but it is a fun and interesting journey!

Hanging out with women on death row

Walking into the big, intimidating doors of the prison I had no idea that the female inmates would be showing me how to have a real, celebratory Christmas party.  We had two Christmas parties this week.  The first was with women who are awaiting trial - some have been there for just a few days, others for years.  We started by giving them sodas and sweet bread.  They loved it and showered verbal blessings on us for such a kind gesture.  Sweet bread - wow - it really is the little things....

We began by hearing the prison choir which is actually quite good.  They sing in Kiswahili and I am begining to catch on to some of the choruses.  Then we moved into an impromptu time of singing, in which each tribe represented in the prison was able to get up and sing a Christmas song in their mother tongue and dance in a way native to their region.  Tears welled up in my eyes as I watched each group get up and share from their heart, Kikuyu, Luya, Masaii... I felt the Lord speaking to my heart - "this is just a glimpse of what you will see in heaven.... every tribe and tongue will be represented - all will be singing my praises".  I was so blessed by such a beautiful expression of love for our Lord.  I had the chance to share with the women a bit when our team was introduced.  I greeted them in Kiswahili and they cheered (I don't know if they are used to wazungo (white people) speaking Kiswahili).  I told them that their dancing and worship blessed the women on our team, but more importantly it made the heart of our God in heaven pleased.  He saw it as beautiful.  

Yesterday, we had our second party at the main prison.  I went with a small group to share sweet bread and soda with the women on death row.  Kenya does execute its prisoners, so they are called "condemned."  There were 43 women and I was able to share with them that they were beautiful.  They really were - I know they must have done something horrific to be in such a terrible place for the rest of their lives - but I couldn't help but see them as beautiful and dearly loved by the Lord.  Our fearless leader Alice and I had the opportunity to pray over a woman who was experiencing severe head pain, she had collapsed in a backroom on a dirty mattress.  I hugged and greeted as many women as I could and during our closing time of worship I put my arm around one of the toughest looking woman I have ever seen.  Her name was Esther.  It took her only a second to wrap her arm around my waist.  I held the tears back as we stood arm in arm praising our God together. 

HOPE – God has been teaching me a bit about this word lately...

Today as we were nearing the end of our Bible study where we are studying human dignity and poverty and what God thinks about it all, a wonderful thing happened. As I sat there thinking about heading to the slum after discussing the ills of poverty and holding the hands of children who don’t know what it’s like to eat three square meals a day…. My co-worker was sharing about a widow we met last week. She started by saying it is so important that we, as Christians go to where those in need are at (whether they are across the street, across town, or across the ocean), to meet them on their terms, and get in right there with them to attempt to understand their situation. We spent time in this widow’s home, learned about the tragic death of her husband during the post election violence here in Kenya, and how her family had not eaten for three days prior (we were able provide groceries for her after this visit).

This woman is a trained seamstress and only needs a sewing machine, as well as a bit of business in order to support her family again. After this need was expressed, another member of the Bible study mentioned that they had a spare sewing machine that was ours if we wanted it and promptly made arrangements to have it delivered at four o’clock. Another member of the Bible study shared that she had planned on ordering 13 school uniforms the next day at a store, but instead asked if she could order them from this woman and be her first customer! The group was astounded – a need was displayed – and the body of Christ came around so instantaneously- we knew that only God could orchestrate something so wonderful. As we prayed to end our time, I was near tears thinking about God’s provision for this family.

The sewing machine is beautiful. It is sitting in our office now. It is not beautiful because of the way it looks; it is beautiful because it is a symbol of a HOPE fulfilled. I am learning that God is all about shining his brilliant rays of HOPE into a seemingly hopeless situation, the rays are much more noticeable that way.  One of the questions we ask (even though it is a difficult question) families when we visit their homes is "where do you see God in your situation, if at all?".  The answers are always different, but it forces us to ask the same question of ourselves.  Although we know that God is everywhere and watches over everything - I think we assume he isn't in a situation or pouring out that hope if it is not going the way we think it should go.  God's ideas and plans for things span far beyond my own limited concept of HOPE.  I pray he continues to expand my idea of not only hope, but grace, mercy, love, joy, and forgiveness (to name a few!) - he seems to be in the business of fulfilling these very things in our lives and those around us every day - we just have to notice. 

Bazaar

"Imagine, last night, my children and I went to bed hungry, now today, I have money to buy food for my family!”

Last Saturday, this was said by a woman living in Kibera who had the opportunity to sell her hand-made cards at a bazaar held at a local school.   We met this mother of two students at the school.  She came in to our office a couple of weeks ago just hours after her husband had strangled and almost killed her.  This was not the first time she had been abused by him.  That very day First Love called a new landlord and assisted her in moving into a new home.  Since then she has been making greeting cards to support her family.  She only needed a market in which to sell her beautiful product.

I picked the women up at about 7:30 just outside of Kibera.  Two of the women, Carolyn and Doris had their jewelry in hand ready to sell it in a formal market for the first time.  Doris is the mother of a two month old baby.  She is HIV-Aids positive and is currently awaiting the positive/negative results for her precious baby, Denmark.  Agnes was dressed in her best, also ready for this exciting new opportunity.  I didn’t really think about the importance of this day for these women.  The chance to display the products they had worked so hard to create, practice at making change from large bills, and explaining the different pieces to potential buyers. 

The day became hot, but these women’s smiles only became wider as it wore on.  By the end of the day, these women had sold enough to make the equivalent of two months of work as a casual laborer.  They grinned from ear to ear as we tore down the table and display, their smiles continued throughout the dusty drive home, and as we dropped them back in Kibera, these women looked different.  They looked different because they carried themselves in a distinct manner. They held their heads high as they proudly returned to their small dwellings to tell their children that they would not go to bed hungry that night.

Watching Denmark as the women sell their wares

God is in it

Today I went running through the Kibera slum. It was one of those things that if I would have thought about it longer than 30 seconds I probably would not have gone. We have six kids that are going to run a 10K race here in Nairobi in one week. We have to train and Kibera to these kids is not a dangerous, overpopulated place, it is their neighborhood. It was our only option as the space outside their school was muddy from the heavy rain last night. A couple of orphans from First Love’s girl’s home joined us, as well as the “aunty”. We were quite a site, 6 Kenyan juniors, 3 from the First Love home, and me, the muzungo (white person). We had little kids following us for blocks chanting “mzungo, muzungo” and “run faster!” – I wonder if they were talking to me? Swerving pot holes, raw sewage, and crazy matatus, we found ourselves running along the infamous train tracks that were filmed in the movie “Constant Gardener.” The run ended when we entered the school gate and the students who had stuck around after school began cheering for their unofficial cross country team. It was exhilarating and the best training run I have ever had!

We interviewed a girl named Phoebe today who needs a sponsor. She was precious and quiet like most 10 year old girls who have been through something like she has would be. She is cared for by her aunt after her parents were both hacked to death in the post election violence. Phoebe and her two younger siblings leave their home at 5:00 am so that she can arrive in time for the 7:00 am start to school. A two hour walk to school. I kept thinking about her parents tonight and their tragic, unnecessary deaths. I was reminded that yesterday as I sat in a hospital waiting room for 3 hours (I was accompanying my friend Agnes for a checkup, who last year was severely burned after a man threw gasoline on her and then lit her on fire) I saw two women who had survived the post-election violence. They were hiding in a church that was locked and doused with gasoline before it was lit on fire. The church had 50 women and children in it. Oh God, I don’t understand. These women had burn scars covering their face. Despite the apparent physical pain, they smiled contagiously and after emerging from the waiting room enjoyed the beautiful sun pouring down on the lusciously green Rift Valley.

Every day I feel like I have been given a rare gift. It is a gift from God in which I am allowed a glimpse of what just might go on at the core of his heart every day. Everyday God’s heart rejoices in our accomplishments, laughter, and rare peaceful moments. But thankfully because he is a real, live God he knows that life is not always so blissful. His heart breaks much more than ours ever could because he experiences not only my pain, but Phoebe’s when she found out about her parents being brutally killed, Agnes as the gasoline doused her skin and the fire spread over her face and neck, and he was even there with those precious children and women who sought false refuge in the church building. God carries that weight that I only get a glimpse of when I happen to hear a story or witness someone’s wounds. I am glad I am not God. I am glad I praise a God who is much bigger than this world’s sadness and destruction. I worship and have devoted my life to a God whose heart not only breaks when ours does, his power heals, restores, and gives us the courage to rejoice again and treasure that peace.

Two slums and a prison

Thursday was my most interesting day yet here in the great city of Nairobi. Our friends Michael and Mya are here visiting from the States, they have been so wonderful helping us out as we transition from the Dellamater’s home to our own apartment. So, back to Thursday, Michael and I started the day in Kibera at the Raila Educational Center where First Love works. After visiting some classrooms and playing tag with kids we headed to the Mitumba slum.

We were told that Mitumba was even more impoverished than Kibera, I thought “Is that possible?.” It is. Mitumba is much smaller and is tucked in between an airport runway strip and a middle class neighborhood called South C. The school where First Love assists consists of tin shacks (they are not allowed to build permanent structures) and very, very old wood. While Heather and Karen (First Love’s social worker) handed out uniforms, Michael and I went on a tour of the poorest village I have ever seen. Before we entered this small child came running over to us, I wanted to scoop him up immediately but before I did Heather’s words, “not all children are potty trained” (even though they don’t have diapers) echoed in my head. I couldn’t resist this child who I later learned was named Clinton and 4 years old. He was way too small to be 4, with some of the chubbiest cheeks I had ever seen…. Which is why when I picked him up, even with his urine soaked pants I couldn’t put him down. I carried him throughout our walk and just kept thinking I am the luckiest girl in

the world to be walking through the narrow passage-ways in between the tin shacks carrying this boy who clearly just wanted to be loved on. As we returned to the school I brought the boy back to where I picked him up and chatted with some women and other children who should have been in school. I could only think about how difficult it is for these families and in some cases orphans, to cover the seemingly daunting school fee amount and how easy it would be for someone outside of their community to cover their minimal school fees.

After giving the middle school age girls a pair of underwear and a pack of donated maxi pads, Karen gave the girls a demonstration on how to use the pads. I thought about how normally that is something a mom, big sister, or friend might show you how to do – but many of the women in their life have probably never had the privilege of using such sanitary products so they wouldn’t have a clue as to how to use them.

After Mitumba, I made my way to the women’s prison. Our first Sunday here, the church we attended highlighted a prison ministry for women. I was immediately intrigued as they talked about the women they visited on death row who had not had visitors in as long as 15 years. Capital punishment is against the law, so they are not really on death row, it is only a label for the most severe convicted offenders. I met the other women from the church outside the prison where we prayed for our time. As we entered the prison, I was almost brought to tears simply at the sight of the over 200 women gathered for our time. They were wearing hospital gown type uniforms, some gray some white. The women in white were awaiting trial for more petty crimes while the women in gray were awaiting trial for a murder arrest. We began our time of worship and unlike other prisons I had been to, I was trying to imagine the types of crimes they may had committed. I felt like the Lord slowly broke my heart more and more, as he said “Lydia, my heart breaks for these women, the world may see criminals, but I see one of my children who has been so broken and hurt that she was desperate enough to do the act that brought her here”. They looked so vulnerable in their gowns. I sat next to a few of them as we heard the lesson given on overcoming fear. After I learned their names and was able to pray with them before we had to leave. I could only say to myself “wow” after that day – I felt a little guilty grocery shopping for dinner that night – having the means to buy fresh food and cook in a kitchen bigger than most of the slum dweller’s homes. At the end of most days I have been exhausted, the good kind of exhausted where you feel like what you have seen and experienced is so out of the norm all you can do is think, pray, and sleep so that the next day you have the appropriate amount of strength to do it all over again.