I have no name – Adventures at Nyayo House

During the former President Moi’s regime, Nyayo House was rumored to be a torture center for dissidents. At the present time, this large office building in Central Nairobi houses the Kenyan Immigration Office as well as other resident registration offices. Some would argue, it is still a center for government-sponsored torture. I’ve spent quite a number of days there; waiting in line and filling out forms, and as far as I can tell, the system there is like a bad a DMV on crack.

For example, during December of 2006, Amber, Anne and I applied for Resident Alien Identity Cards and Work Permits. After waiting in multiple lines to fill out a plethora of paperwork, we were told to come back in five weeks to pick up our identity cards, which would be valid for a period of three months. Six weeks later, the cards still were not ready. Two months later the cards still were not ready. After checking the status of the cards again, I was told not to bother because by the time my card would be issued it would already have expired. As of October, 2007, my identity card is still not ready and it would have expired in March 2006.

Yesterday, however, I did manage to acquire my long-awaited work permit. After eleven months, the paper work was finally completed and I was told that I could come to Nyayo House to collect the permit. I entered the building and waited in Line Number 9 for permit inquiries. As I approached the front of the line, however, the registration officer decided to take a break for tea. The line waited for another twenty minutes without moving until he returned. Upon reaching the front of the line, I was told to go down the hallway to Room 16. After waiting in line there and explaining that I had come to collect my permit, I was then sent up five flights of stairs to Room 5-31. The government employee there, however, was not happy to see me and didn’t want to be disturbed. He sent me back down the stairs to Room 16. I waited in line again. The employees in Room 16 were confused and questioned me as to why I decided to return. When I explained the situation, they told me I had to go back upstairs to Room 5-31; the man there was the only one who would be able to help me. After climbing the stairs again I was feeling quite tired and frustrated, but again the man in Room 5-31 told me he didn’t like something with my paper work and I would have to go back and wait outside of Room 16. I complained that he was just running me in circles, and asked for his name and title so I could file a formal complaint. The man refused to tell me his name. Upon further questioning he told me, and I quote: “I have no name, go back to Room 16.”

I was in no mood to go back downstairs, however, and as our argument continued, I was eventually sent to “the man with no name’s” supervisor. The supervisor was called J. Ngari and unfortunately he proved to be just as unpleasant as “the man with no name.” J. Ngari told me I would have to go back to Room 16 and wait, then I could return to the “man with no name”, then I would have to go back again to Room 16 and my paper might be ready by then. I suggested he place a simple phone call to Room 16 to resolve the issue; that way we could all save time and I could avoid another 15 flights of stairs and multiple lines. Plus it was almost time for their lunch break, and if I didn’t get the permit soon, I would have to wait outside the building for another two hours and then start all over again. I even offered J. Ngari my cell phone to make the call to Room 16. After much persuasion, he reluctantly placed the phone call and told the woman there KiSwahili: “go ahead and give it to him.” The permit had been sitting neatly on her desk the whole time. My friends told me later that J. Ngari, “the man with no name”, and “Room 16 woman” were all looking for bribes. I had just thought they were being really annoying.

Rooming with Peter

Lately I’ve been rooming with a friend, Peter Abiya. Peter and I work together at Light and Power, and when we’re home we take turns cooking American or Kenyan food. Peter joined us as a mentor at Light and Power several months ago. Prior to that he worked with ministries to street children in war torn areas of Northern Uganda and Sudan. He has some amazing stories and has an incredible heart for mentoring and discipling young people in Christ. Unfortunately he’s moving to another part of town soon, but it’s been fun having him here for a while.

The Dismissal

Recently I had the sad duty of dismissing one of the guys from Light and Power Centre. This was the second time for me. It’s one of the hardest parts of working with this ministry; for every success story there’s also guys who just have to be turned away. Mike is a former street kid who has been involved with Light and Power for over ten years and been one of our key leaders during the past year. He loves playing soccer, has strong gifts of leadership, and likes to joke and sing loudly. Unfortunately, he’s also developed bad habits of theft, deception, and abuse. He’s been misleading many of the younger boys at the Centre and has recently hurt its reputation in the community. After a lot of difficult drama we realized that for the benefit of the Centre, Mike needed to be dismissed. Please pray for him as he tries to move on. Pray for his young daughter and orphaned nieces and nephews who stay with him. Pray also for us as we begin a new chapter at Light and Power. We are hopeful that this change will really help the other guys and allow opportunities for growth.

Church Army at Mount Kenya

Here’s a photo and some short clips of Lucy’s journey to the summit of Mount Kenya. The peak is one of the highest in Africa and is a challenging five-day hike to 5,000m. Their office at Church Army Africa used the hiking trip as a team-building experience and as a way to raise funds to purchase desks for children at one of their schools.

I’ve been working on several projects with Church Army and am excited about what they do throughout East Africa. Check out the video I’ve been working on for them:

Speaking the Language

Sheng is the language of the street in Nairobi. It is a mixture of English, Kiswahili, and tribal slang. It is constantly evolving and is the common language of urban youth. Most of the guys at Light and Power are well versed in Sheng. I’ve been taking classes and trying to learn Swahili, but Sheng is just too crazy and too tough for me. Sheng varies from one neighborhood to another and employs all kind of strange contractions and meanings. In the Eastlands area of Nairobi, for example, someone can take an English word, say it backwards, conjugate it like a Swahili verb, add a Kikuyu infix, and it becomes Sheng. Here’s another example: the term “mbao” is common Sheng for “pound”, which is slang for shilingi ishirini, which is Swahili for twenty shillings, which is Kenyan for 200 cents, which is equivalent to about thirty pennies in the United States. “Mbao” is an average “matatu” or public transportation fare. “Matatu” is slang for three pennies, which in Kenyan shillings is 300 cents or roughly a nickel. I have no idea how this works.

Fun Facts from Kenya (Part 1)

Hippopotamuses can run over 20 kph. If you’re being chased, run side to side. They can’t turn very fast, but in a straight race they’ll catch you quickly.
In Swahili, 7 a.m. means the first hour of the day and is considered one o’clock in the morning.
There are 40 tribes in Kenya. Each has it’s own language, style of dress, and traditional foods.
It is almost always seventy-something degrees in Nairobi. But when it hits the sixties it’s fashionable to break out a winter coat and wool hat.
Kenya has over 1,000 known species of birds, including tens of thousands of pink flamingoes.
It takes two weeks to hand-sew a net for catching tilapia.
Kenya is the second leading exporter of flowers in the world.
The Taco Bell in down town Nairobi is not really a Taco Bell.
During the annual wildebeest migration, up to 2 million wildebeest and half a million zebra travel in massive lines between Tanzania and Kenya.

Back in Nairobi

I just arrived safely in Nairobi and am getting settled again. Thank you so much for your prayers. It was really really great being home for the month of August. I feel refreshed and rejuvenated. I also gained 8 pounds. Upon arrival here, several friends met me at the airport, and I had a nice meal and fun reunion before crashing for the night.

On Again. . .Off Again

I realized there was something wrong when I tried to print the plane ticket. I planned to leave for Kenya the following day but was unable to access my itinerary. I spent an agonizing hour on the internet and phone trying to figure things out, and I was starting to get worried. My flight had been booked for over a month, but when I spoke with British Airways I learned that my reservation had somehow been canceled at the last minute. The travel agency was closed for Labor Day weekend, and it wasn’t possible to rebook a flight with British Airways over the internet or phone on such short notice. Furthermore, the prices for new flights were nearly double what I should pay, and they wouldn’t drop for another week or two. I was supposed to my landlord and pay rent in Nairobi by Wednesday and didn’t know what to do.

It has been difficult preparing mentally and emotionally to return to Kenya. After finally feeling ready, it now seemed I would have to wait. . .But I wasn’t comfortable with waiting. I made a last-ditch effort through a 24-hour travel agent and secured a ticket for early the next morning through Rome and Ethiopia to Nairobi. I began to pack hurriedly and think of all the things I needed to do before leaving. Then the new reservation fell through too. The connection time wasn’t long enough. It had to be canceled. So, I emailed my girlfriend, my friends and coworkers in Kenya and told them not to expect me anytime soon; to cancel plans to pick me up from the airport.

All this back and forth was overwhelming. It left me feeling very discouraged. I went to bed late that night, frustrated and tired, and I gave up on the idea of returning to Kenya anytime soon. It just didn’t seem possible.

In the morning, I asked some friends to pray for me and I read a few verses about Paul’s troubles with travel (Romans 1:13, 1 Thes. 2:17-18). That seemed to calm me a bit, and after breakfast I went to contact family and friends and let them know that I would be around for another week or two. As I opened my email inbox, however, there was a surprise. Miraculously, my travel agent had randomly checked her email during vacation, wrestled with British Airways in the early hours Sunday morning, and booked me a previously full seat on my original flight. I would be leaving in a few hours. . .This has been a hard lesson in trust, patience, and accepting God’s timing. But with His help, somehow I guess I’m on my way.

A Small House with Many Rooms

Sheets of corrugated tin shield the sun’s gaze and soften the din of a thousand feet shuffling nearby. The tin is rusted through in places and juts into the red clay like shards of glass. Hedged together and held upright by a series of nails and punctured soda caps, it forms one of the walls that are home to most of Nairobi’s population.

Nairobi slums have some of the smallest houses in the world. Most measure less than 8 by 10 feet and could compete with an average parking space. Inside lives a nuclear family of four, an uncle and his brother’s children, or a grandmother caring for five orphans. With dirt or concrete floors and no windows or water, life here is tough. And space is tight.

Amber, Anne, and I are privileged to represent The Falls Church in Kenya and have had the joy of being invited into many homes in the slums. Once inside we are treated to tea or a traditional meal and offered a tour of the sitting room, bedroom, dining room, kitchen, and office. They’re all the same – the shared space of many rooms.

It’s an amazing contrast to our castles in Northern Virginia. Growing up in Falls Church, it was possible to share a home with everyone in a different room, rarely gathered and seldom seen. Closeness can be uncomfortable.

In Kenya, poverty forces most of the intimate living arrangements, but the culture also values closeness. Babies are cuddled constantly against their mother’s back, streets are packed with activity, and public vans burst with passengers. When I tell friends that I live alone, they can’t understand how anyone could do that. “It must be so boring.” Recently, two friends from Kawangware’s Gatina slum joined me for an overnight retreat. We stayed in what would be considered a normal middle class home in the U.S. After discussing sleeping arrangements, we all decided to stay together with sleeping bags and blankets in the smallest room. The rest of the house was just “too big.”

Being on the other side of the globe from home, I often wonder about this big world we live in and my space in it. Where is my space and what is it filled with? For now that space seems to be the urban slums of Nairobi, where there are many challenges as well as chances to grow. I thank God for lessons learned from faith-filled slum dwellers. Houses are small, but hearts are often too large for words. Inside there is room.

Open wide your hearts also. . . In my Father’s house there are many rooms.

Kenya Kids

Kids from Kenya say "hello." Here are some of the children who live near Light and Power and attend our Saturday Outreach Program.

A Day in Jail

Recently I spent a day in jail. On July 28th I awoke early in the morning and traveled by matatu to prison on Nairobi's industrial east side. As I alighted from the vehicle, my escort pushed us past a series of Kenyan soldiers and inside the compound. It was dusty and hot, and as we dodged chickens and goats along the path we approached two main prisons: one for petty thieves with short-term sentences, and the other for violent and hardened criminals. Fortunately, we were headed for the small jail (or "jaila ndogo"). I was there to visit my girlfriend. . .and her family.

Lucy has been in jail most of her life. In fact, she grew up in a prison where her dad has worked as a chaplain for the last three decades. In Kenya, all prison wardens, guards, and employees live in government housing on site. The compound I visited was home to an estimated 2000 families, and was complete with a nursery school, hospital, two churches, and a host of small businesses. It was village in and of itself and had a strong sense of community and an unexpected serenity. Children were playing outdoors. Cobblers and barbers and vendors were busy with their trades, and small groups of women were chatting and hanging laundry. In the midst of it all, prisoners marched around in black and white striped jumpsuits.

The Beaten Boy

There is something about a young boy being beaten to death. Something that doesn't sit right. He was around 13 years old, with tattered clothes, and covered in dirt and sweat. His shoes had fallen apart and were half way off his feet. Without family, without a home, without food, and without hope, he had been living on the streets. He was on the streets for some time, probably sniffing glue, begging, and occasionally stealing to survive. Now he had been caught in the act. As the crowd yelled "thief" this time justice wouldn’t let him go. What struck me most was that the boy offered no resistance. He didn't try to fight back or run away. He just received each blow as men continued to strike him. He absorbed punches in his head and strong kicks to his body. His small bones bent awkwardly and snapped beneath the force. Yet he never screamed or tried to resist. This young boy who had been beaten by life didn’t feel like he had a right to anything else. He had been abandoned by his parents, cast out by his family, and rejected by society. He probably knew little of love. There are thousands like him in Nairobi. As he fell hard to the pavement of Tom Mboya Avenue, I pushed my way through the crowd and walked quickly away. . .Somehow he reminded me of Jesus. Since then I haven’t been able to look at a street boy the same way.

Street Justice

Since I've been in Nairobi, I've seen two lynchings. Both of them occurred on busy streets in broad daylight in the middle of the city. In each case, I was on my way to catch a bus when I saw two or three people begin to surround and beat a suspected criminal. In the first instance, a young street boy was pushed into the middle of the road, stopping traffic on a major thoroughfare as men took turns hitting him. Crowds soon gathered and others joined in the melee as onlookers cheered each act of street justice.

In many poor communities in Kenya, theft is a capital offense. In the slums, it is not uncommon for thieves caught in the act to be publicly beaten to death or set on fire. These communities take theft very seriously; mainly because poverty is already so overwhelming. Stealing an aluminum pot or a charcoal stove could ruin an entire family’s livelihood and put them on the streets. As a result, poor and hardworking families are often frustrated by crime and with the corruption, injustice, and inefficiencies that have long been associated with the Kenyan judicial system. So sometimes victims of crime take matters into their own hands.

The government and police forces officially discourage such acts and are struggling to improve the system. For the most part though, it seems Kenyans support street justice. Sometimes it's the only means to protect communities and restore social harmony. For me, watching a boy beaten as large crowds cheered was a sickening and sad experience. Unfortunately the scene repeated itself on a different street two days later. . .

On Top of Nairobi

For 200 shillings a piece and a little patience, my friend Edwin and I ventured to the top of one of Nairobi’s tallest buildings, Kenyatta International Conference Center.

Faithful Gardener

Richard ran out with a stick and threatened to fight the would-be thief. This plant snatcher had crawled across dense grass and pushed his hand through our broken fence. A crooked middle-aged man, he desperately wanted to steal our plants.

Light and Power Centre has a new garden. The lush plants are a refuge amidst the mud-filled squalor and rubbish of Kawangware slum. The garden is still small, but it really does stand out as something different. People regularly pass by and remark how nice it looks. The guys at Light and Power planted the garden with the help of our professional landscaper, Michelle Flores. Michelle volunteered at Light and Power for several months while she was in Nairobi. She got to know those at the centre, encouraged and shared with them, and then worked with them to build the garden. . . We are hoping to put in a real fence soon, a place for kids to play, and maybe even a small kiosk. If you’re interested in helping us, let me know at kenyaconnection@gmail.com.

Three Daves

Dave Comeau (henceforth nicknamed "Galacho") and Dave Thorton (AKA "Goliath") joined me in June at my flat on East Church Road. Galacho and Goliath had just finished their first year at Christopher Newport University and decided they wanted to spend part of their summer serving the poor in the slums of Nairobi. Galacho and Goliath both taught at Akiba School and also amazed the youth at Light and Power with their guitar and bongo playing skills. The Daves not only entertained, but also encouraged. They were a huge help to us in our ministry and are definitely missed.

The Man who Ate a Tree

I was house-sitting in a mansion on the road to Kiambu, when I met a security guard who likes to eat trees. “I can eat a tree each day”, Patric told me. I listened in disbelief while he shared of his eating exploits, but I soon found his words to be true. In fact, Patric once planted an entire forest and proceeded to eat the whole thing. “An eight-foot trunk makes for a good lunch”, he would often say. Patric’s favorite food of course was the sweet stump of the sugarcane plant. Sometimes he would go for several days and eat nothing but sugarcane. “It gives me energy to stay awake and guard the compound at night.”

The Amalfi Coast

I spent a joyful two weeks in May visiting with family and traveling along the Amalfi Coast. I met up with my brother, sister, nephew, mom, and aunt in Naples. It was a great vacation. We feasted on pizzas and pastas and traveled throughout Minori, Maiori, Positano, Ravello, and Capri. During that time I hiked through groves of lemon trees and went swimming in the Mediterranean almost every day.



Watch a video of our Italy trip:

Building Bridges in a Swamp

There is a swamp that skirts the edge of Gatina Village. It fills with rain and refuse, and pushes out from the slums to the lowlands of Lavington Estates. The swamp breaks the monotony of red clay and tin huts and hides the ignoble waste of man and beast. It also floods during the heavy rains, swallowing homes and covering the road that runs south from Light and Power Centre.

In recent weeks, workers have hauled dirt and struggled to raise the road and ward off the surging waters. Their labor seems vain. The rainy season now washes most of the soil into a pond, pushing the waves ever higher.

Sometimes ministry in Gatina feels like building bridges in a swamp. There is no firm footing and progress is quickly washed away. Since our first newsletter we've experienced immense difficulties and challenges in Gatina. We've seen strikes, embezzlement, theft, and threats; deception, division, and even death. There are so many obstacles I often wonder whether we’re in the right place. Can we really build bridges in a swamp? God, do you really want us to work in Gatina?

Many in the village have resigned themselves to the harsh realities of slum life. A palpable apathy pervades the slum - the strong reluctance to change or work to improve one’s conditions. "What I work for is stolen, what I build is broken, the ones I love are constantly taken away. So why should I work, or build, or love?" Trust is a hard thing here, and hope is uncommon. This is life in the swamp. Amidst the challenges we are strengthened by your prayers, and thank God that "we who have fled to take hold of the hope offered to us may be greatly encouraged" (Heb. 6:18).

Welcome to Nairobi (Archive)

There are no perfect beginnings. But we had to start somewhere. In many ways our beginning has been unexpected, filled with challenges as well as happy surprises. Our team landed in Nairobi a little over a month ago. We came as representatives from The Falls Church, with giant duffel bags and hand sanitizer and a desire to serve. We believed God was calling us to leave our homes to serve him. The church supported us, encouraged us, and sent us with a mission to listen, learn, and build relationships in Kenya. It was overwhelming and hard, but we said our goodbyes, collected our bags, and left.

In the past month, there have been miscommunications and confusions, housing headaches and computer crashes, power outages and water shortages, and even sicknesses and robberies. But we're here, and we're learning and making new friends.

We've been blessed by the warm hospitality of our friends in Kenya. We've spent time at Akiba School, Light and Power Center, Beacon of Hope, TULIP, and the Kibera Card Center. We've also been finding our way around Nairobi. In the process, there have been half-marathons, charging rhinos, graduation ceremonies and basketball tournaments, chapati pizzas and frosted donuts, exploding art supplies, matatu escapades, national exams, and executive board room meetings and quiet conversations in the slum. Amidst it all I know that God has begun something new. This is a new world, strange and often troubling but deeply beautiful. . . Welcome to Nairobi.