Monday, April 23, 2007

Conversations in Kisumu

I had seven hours to wait until my bus departed, so I wandered around the city. Kisumu is full of markets and has a large central park. After a while I found an interesting pick-up basketball game sat down in the park to watch. Duncan and Alfred saw an mzungu sitting there and ventured over. They were dressed well spoke eloquently. They seemed different from the other street boys. We sat together for two hours while they told me their stories. Duncan even wrote his down for me. It goes like this:

“I was born in the year 1989. I was born out of wedlock while my mum was a school going girl. I grew up as a young boy under the care of my beloved grandmum in Siaya until it reached a time when I had to start my primary education. I learned up to class six and my mum came and took me to Nairobi where I met a man whom my mum forced me to call ‘dad.’ Surely he wasn’t my dad because every time he would beat me and tell me that [since he was with my mom, he could also do anything he wanted to me.]

Unfortunately, when I reached standard seven, my beloved mum died in a road accident. It was painful, but God relieved me from the pain. During my last primary year, my dad (the man) got drunk, beat me, and sent me to my grandmum. There I did my primary exams.

Come my Form One year in Secondary School, my dad died and I was totally rejected by the rest of my family and relatives. I went to the streets. Life in the streets is worse than any other life.”

Duncan and Alfred both scored in the top levels nationally on their primary school exams. They would be valedictorians in most Kenyan schools. Each is 17 years old and hopes one day to get off the streets and go back to class. If anyone is interested in helping with a school sponsorship, send me an email at kenyaconnection@gmail.com

Chickens in Church

On Sunday we stopped by St. Mark’s and picked up 25 children to accompany us on the next leg of our journey. From Orengo, Akoko Church was still another 12 kilometers away and the children were to perform a song and dance routine they had been practicing for weeks. They were all very cute and excited because today they were borrowing colored shirts to wear as uniforms. When we arrived at Akoko we found hundreds of villagers waiting for the monthly all-parish gathering. During the four and a half hour Luo service, we prayed, sang worship songs, listened to Bible stories, shared holy communion, and watched parishioners bring tithes of rice, maize, eggs, and live chickens.

The Trip to Orengo

I knew there was a problem when the metal door slammed shut. I froze and watched the bus slowly drive off. Jackson and I were supposed to be on that bus. Jackson still hadn’t arrived. He was with the police; arrested for riding on the wrong matatu, or not wearing a seatbelt, or some such nonsense. . .This is how our journey to Orengo began.

After Jackson escaped from the overzealous traffic police, we pleaded and begged our way on board a bus bound for Kisumu – a city 7 to 10 hours from Nairobi (depending on driver aggressiveness on the crater-filled roads). We made the trip in about 9, but as we approached Kisumu, torrential rains flooded the main city street knee deep. We grabbed our bags and alighted in the rain. Our friend Caroline was struggling through the surging waters in a hired tuk-tuk (golf cart). She motioned us inside and whisked us away to a matatu depot where dozens of travelers were stranded, waiting for a ride. We were fortunate enough to find space on a matatu headed for Bondo.

Matatus are normally designed for 16 people (14 passengers, one driver, and one conductor). However, twenty soaking riders filled our car along with their sopping wet luggage. The vehicle pushed its way through traffic and rushing water, but on the outskirts of the city we were stopped at a police checkpoint. An elderly women sitting on my rib cage began to pray that the police wouldn’t notice we were overcrowded. Other passengers whispered to one another in Ja-Luo. I searched frantically for anything resembling a seatbelt. Meanwhile, our conductor smiled and passed 300 shillings to a police officer. “Have a nice evening” he said. We continued on. We continued on and on and our matatu plucked another 4 passengers from the rain. For a good price they were allowed to force their way inside the wet car and ride. There was not enough room to close the door, so the conductor hung to the side of the van as we drove through the driving rain.

We continued for another hour like this, reaching Bondo late in the evening and in the midst of a blackout. The darkness was overwhelming, there was an occasional flickering fire, but nothing could illuminate the town around us. We left our matatu and found shelter in the awning of a kiosk while Caroline pondered our next move. Because of the rains, the “road” to Wichlum was flooded and impassable. Normally we could take a 30 minute piki-piki (motorcycle) taxi to Wichlum, and from there a boda-boda (bicyle taxi) to Orengo. But now we were stranded. Caroline considered our options and contacted two friends. They came with a car, we piled in, and navigated our way through the dark and mud to a church in Gomba. There we were greeted by the church’s Rural Dean with three of his nine children and invited to stay for the night. The hospitality was amazing. They slaughtered a chicken and prepared it for us, along with ugali, greens, and fresh yogurt.

After resting for the night and taking Chai with the Dean, we continued our journey. Our group descended towards the edge of Lake Victoria, passing fields of maize and millet and wandering “primitive cattle.” We hoped to take a boat to Nyamuua, but unfortunately, as we approached the shore we learned that there were no boats docked at Nango because of an infestation of hippos. Furthermore, the path to Orengo was still too wet for bicycles or motorcycles. We would have to walk. The hike was about 15 kilometers and took every bit of strength in the Nyanza sun. . .We arrived at Caroline’s homestead early in the afternoon. For the next two hours relatives and neighbors came to greet us and pray. Then they offered us a feast of fish while Jackson and I fell asleep in our chairs.

A Day at Bomas



Over Easter, I had the chance to visit Bomas of Kenya. It is a large National Park in Langata that features replica homesteads from many different tribes along with a theatre with daily shows of African acrobatics and traditional dancing. I went with a group of guys from Light and Power. Here’s a few pictures:

Light and Power Retreat




In March we held a team building and training retreat for the guys at Light and Power. We held two sessions from the week-long retreat at Nairobi Arboretum. Here are a few pictures from our time there: