Having Church

We could hear the singing from outside the gate. Inside the compound, it became clear that the "congregation" had started the service without us! At the door of the classroom, David motioned for us to follow him through the crowd of singing students to the front bench, the only empty one in the room. Although the song was in Swahili, we clapped and danced with them, joining in the spirit if not in the language.

We'd heard that the services at the high schools were full of life, but the students at St. Valentine's Mixed Secondary School exceeded our expectations. Two young men were at the front of the crowded room, leading out in song and dance in the call-and-response style. Another student laid down the beat on a goatskin drum in the corner. Had you peeked into the room, you never would have guessed that the students had been herded to the service by the headmaster! (David, one of the Scott Theological College students assigned to this high school, told us that since STC started sending students to run the service, the headmaster believes that he's observed a positive change in the students. Therefore, even though it's not a Christian school, he forces everyone to attend.)

When they were finished singing, another student came to the front and called various individuals up to the front for "presentations."
Students came up and sang songs or read Scripture for the group. The songs (which were in the hip-hop/R&B style mixed with African church music) were met with wild applause from classmates.

Presentations by the students were followed by presentations from the visitors. Each of us stood, introduced ourselves, and took a few minutes to encourage the students from a passage from the Bible. I spoke from Hebrews 11:6: "But without faith, it is impossible to please God, for the person who comes to God must believe that He exists, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him." I challenged the students to seek to know God above all else, because when we make Him our goal and our treasure, He does reward us. I don't know how well the students understood my English, but they were responsive and quite welcoming.

The best part of this trip has been connecting with other believers here -- the ABO orientees, and the Kenyan believers. Our lives are so different (most of my life in the States is inexplicable to the high school students I talked with today), but we share the same God and the same Bible. The seminary students here at Scott are particularly noteworthy. Their passion for Christ and love for others is contagious!

Tuk-tuks, Boda-bodas, and Piki-pikis (or, On The Road Again)

Two weeks from Thursday, I will be back in the United States. After five weeks in Africa, I think one of the strangest things about coming home will be having my own car all to myself again. I've missed it occasionally (mostly when I've craved solitude), but mostly, I've enjoyed trying new forms of transportation here. Here's my basic African transportation primer (for further, more official information, see Wikipedia -- I tried to include links to pictures, but couldn't do it):

The Matatu
My Kenyan friends and I took a few matatus (small buses) when I was in Nairobi. According to Kenyan regulations, all matatus should be painted white and comply with the set passenger quotas. Some do; however, there's also a large fleet of matatus run by young men who use theirs as a form of self-expression. I rode in one which was painted bright purple on the outside, plastered with the likes of Foxy Brown and Jay-Z on the inside, pounding with rap music (the sound system must have been monstrous), swerving in and out of traffic as it hawked more customers, and filled with the lovely fragrance of diesel exhaust (cough). Good times.

The Tuk-tuk
A tuk-tuk is what you would get if you crossed a scooter and an old VW Bug. Last Thursday, after shopping in the open-air market in Machakos, my roommates and I paid 20 shillings each to squeeze into a tuk-tuk on our way back to the college. We had six people in ours, which seemed to be a strain on both the engine and the frame, but it made the driver quite happy to have acquired so many passengers.

The Boda-boda
Yesterday Sarah and I persuaded Viola to join us for another trip into Machakos, this time on the backs of boda-bodas (bicycle taxis). For twenty shillings each, we perched sidesaddle on padded platforms behind our lean, tooth-challenged "drivers." Turned out to be easier than it looked, even in a skirt (we decided that if everyone else can do it in a skirt, so could we). I even got out my camera and took a short, very bumpy video.

Some of the missionaries love the boda-bodas because you can talk with the drivers as you ride; others dislike them for the same reason. Last week, a boda-boda guy proposed to one of our British girls after bringing her back from town, telling her, "I'd really like an English wife." When she explained that in her country, people don't get married unless they are in love with each other, he countered, "But I do love you!" Mine was silent; he must already have a wife.

The Piki-Piki
After shopping and enjoying samosas in Machakos, the girls persuaded me to add another form of transportation to my list of new experiences: the piki-piki, or motorbike. We dug deep and paid fifty shillings each to again sit sidesaddle, only this time behind a helmeted driver who wore boots instead of flip-flops and revved his engine instead of ringing a bell. I climbed up first, grabbed the small handle at the back, and away we went...through an alley, not to be followed by either of my friends! Shortly, however, we came out on a road I recognized, and fell into line with the other two piki-pikis. My driver had simply taken a shortcut. Whew.

African Signage

A few of my recent favorites (I'm really sorry I wasn't able to upload the photos):

Please do not wash your shoes in the sink.

- in the women's bathroom at a church in Nairobi.

Notice:
Please do not misuse the toilet paper.
Pocketing toilet paper is STEALING.

- on the bathroom door in the T-Tot Hotel in Machakos. (I admit that I rejoice whenever I find toilet paper in an African bathroom, but not so I could STEAL it!)

J. K. STORES BOOKSHOP
We sell cows

-This is a huge sign above a store in Machakos. Considering that you can buy a refrigerator, underwear, a charcoal iron, luggage, and furniture at the grocery store, I wouldn't be surprised if you could buy a cow at the bookstore.

Superlatives

Strangest thing I've done this week:
Pretended to be a chicken for a video some guys are making for our Friday Fun Night (read: talent show). They refused to reveal the plot beyond my minute part, so I'm looking forward to seeing the finished product (which, I think, will be a 24 knock-off). I'm hoping that it's kind to chickens.

Coldest I've been this week:
We took the students to a private school in Machakos today to visit classrooms and go swimming in their huge pool. The sun was out (and being near the equator, it's quite warm), but that water was brutal. After all, it's winter here! It took me nearly an hour to work up the courage to get in; then I enjoyed a refreshing (brief) five-minute swim.

Most interesting question I've heard in a sixth grade classroom:
"Who can tell me what female circumcision is?"
I was sitting with two of our ABO students in a room full of sixth graders. Their teacher was attempting to display their knowledge of Kenyan history. A discussion of reasons tribes resisted colonization led to the topic of female circumcision. As soon as the teacher asked this question, she met my eye, and I nearly burst out laughing. When none of the students was willing to describe this practice (ugh!), the teacher must have decided she was in over her depth. Instead of explaining, she simply said, "It's really bad. Even I am against it. Female circumcision is bad, right?"
"Yes." The students answered in perfect chorus.
"But male circumcision, is that bad?" Boy, she was determined.
"No." Again, they answered in unison.
"That's right. Male circumcision is good, but female circumcision is bad." And with this statement, she abruptly headed for safer ground.

Most insultingly honest thing a child has ever said to me (ever!):
If you really want to know, ask me. I decided against posting it where anyone in the whole world could use it against me.

Cutest animal I've seen inside:
The gecko above my door last night. I love the way they can run sideways along the wall.

Scariest animal I haven't seen inside:
The three mosquitoes which managed to bite me. Hoping that I don't regret not taking malaria medication...

And now, some educational African superlatives (just to prove that I've been paying attention during our morning lessons):
Largest African country: Sudan
Most populated African country: Nigeria
African animal which kills the most humans each year: hippopotamus
Least populated African country: Namibia (second in the world to Mongolia)
Fastest animal on two legs (in the world): ostrich
Fastest animal on four legs: cheetah
Tallest animal: giraffe
Animal with the largest mouth (in the world): hippo

So That It May Be Seen Plainly

It started out as a relaxing afternoon. After sitting through a very loud Kenyan church service this morning (cranking the volume to the maximum is apparently a virtue here), I came back to my dorm room ready to soak up some quiet. Read my Bible for a while, journaled, and then, like my roommates -who were also enjoying the quiet- laid down to take a short nap.

Lying there, my thoughts focused on architecture; specifically, the terrible acoustics of this dorm building. Sound travels from one end to the other without impediment, a feature only amplified by our location across from the open staircase. I could hear parents calling their children (over and over again!), people telling stories about their church visits this morning, and (this was my favorite), an intense battle against bad guys, complete with sound effects and fought with gusto by four small boys. Did I mention that I could clearly understand what each person was saying and tell who was saying it? I felt like a spy.

The only problem was that I wanted to SLEEP, not spy. I drifted into a vague, choppy daydream in which I imagined delivering scathing speeches to the offending parties. My words were lethal, attacking their personality flaws, lack of character, and their unfitness to be parents or missionaries. I woke up (to a Scottish five-year-old's voice outside my door hollering, "There's a baddie, right there! Let's go get 'im!"), and I was ashamed -- and still irritated.

I sat there feeling miserably sorry for myself. And then God brought to mind a verse I'd read and written down just an hour earlier:

"Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God." (John 3:20-21)

Earlier in the chapter, Jesus was speaking to the Jewish leader Nicodemus, explaining that one must be born of the Spirit to see the Kingdom of heaven. The verses I just quoted are the end of that passage. Jesus was trying to help Nicodemus see that his birth as a Jew or status as keeper and teacher of the law did not automatically qualify him to recognize or understand what God was doing. Only the Holy Spirit, working inside him to transform him (being "born again"), could open his eyes.

When I am wrong, I want to hide and pretend. In fact, I was thinking that I would have to spend all day in my room to preserve my reputation as a nice person (better a recluse than a viper, right?). But following Christ isn't about pretending to be something in order to make God or other people happy. It's about coming into the light as the broken, ugly person I know I am and living by a strength and love I don't possess on my own. It's living honestly enough "that it may be seen plainly" how great, loving, and merciful my God is.

I thought of Hebrews 4, which says that everything is laid bare before Him and nothing remains hidden from His sight. And then I smiled to remember the verses that follow that statement:

"Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who was tempted in every way, just as we are -- yet without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need." (Hebrews 4:14-16)

I didn't have to spend the rest of the day in my room. Instead, I approached the throne of grace with confidence, laid down my ugly attitude, and received a lavish gift of mercy, paid for by a high priest who surely knows what it is to be irritated -- yet continues to choose love.

After receiving what I knew I didn't deserve, I found that I had some left over for my "hit list."

Overheard in Africa...

"Oh, the kids will love those! It will be fun to visit them -- that is, if they don't get eaten halfway through ABO. That would be sad."
-- Carolyn (my supervisor) on seeing two baby goats grazing outside our dorm.

"Turn to the person beside you and say, 'You're a blessing to me.' If you don't feel like it, say it in faith!"
-- A deacon at church in Nairobi last Sunday.

"You cannot miss what you do not know."
-- A Kenyan friend on the poverty we observed among the Masai people.

"Look! A mzungu! I want to go to America!"
-- A random man on the street in Nairobi as I walked by with my Kenyan friends. ("Mzungu" is the Swahili word for "white person.")

"I'm one of the few people who loves driving in Nairobi traffic. When a crazy matatu driver passes and is taking over my lane, I love to see how close they can get. It's my daily adventure -- almost like a game. When I get back to the states, and all I have to do is stay between two lines, it's hard for me to stay awake!"
-- An American missionary as he drove me through Nairobi. While I was slightly disconcerted by the enjoyment he received from this hair-raising necessity, I figured that an adventurous driver is no worse than a terrified driver...

"A man."
-- A beautifully dressed magazine editor in the Schiphol airport, when I asked her what's in Tel Aviv (her destination). She smiled mischievously and added, "Proof there is life after sixty-five!"

"I just can't believe that you're a grown-up. You just don't look like a grown-up to me!"
-- Daily comment from one of my ABO students, a developmentally delayed thirteen-year-old. My youthful appearance has been a nightly topic of conversation. She's not exactly convinced yet.

That Reminds Me...

I'm writing this post from Machakos, a beautiful town nestled in the hills of southern Kenya. Eight time zones from home, I've traveled over sixteen hours by plane and a few more by car to be here among people who speak Swahili, Kikamba, and some English (whenever we're off the college campus, where the English is quite good, we hear "How are you?" over and over again -- the equivalent to my Swahili "habari ako." We ask it, answer politely, and the conversation is over!). Although the campus itself has many modern conveniences, including electricity, hot running water, and wireless internet, life here is quite different from life at home (case in point: you never know when any of the above will cease to function, nor for how long).

But of course! I didn't come all this way for things to be the same. I'd be happy to assimilate all kinds of Kenyan practices, including tea and snacks twice a day and the welcoming attitude toward visitors. At times, however, the "newness" is exhausting. To cope, I find that my brain is constantly casting about for similarities to past experiences and known people, almost to the point of confusion!

Since I'm fearful of surpassing my "That reminds me of..." story quota with my new friends here, I thought I'd post a few of the more obscure ones here:

• At the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, I saw a large ink drawing of a nineteenth-century naval battle by the artist William Van de Velde. After reading that he sketched the battles while they were in progress, I thought of my brother Nick. As a child, he loved to draw basketball games from start to finish. This necessitated rather simplistic drawings (I think people were boxes with two legs askew), but the action was unmistakable, and the narration by the artist was priceless. I wonder if any of those drawings still exist?

• I also happened to observe a field trip of Dutch children at the Rijksmuseum. I stood back and watched the facilitator (who was in full costume complete with a huge wig) as she led the children on what appeared to be a treasure hunt throughout the museum. I couldn't understand her Dutch, of course, but her animation and the enthusiastic response of the class made me want to come along! When she released them to run and find the next item, they scurried off joyfully while she tottered along behind in her fancy high heels. I related to the chaperones of the group who, knowing how to behave in a museum, followed sedately, sharing indulgent smiles amongst themselves (except for the one mom -there's always one- who was running along just as excited as the students). I felt a kinship with them all. Since then, I'm pondering how to take my class to this exciting field trip, too...

• Last Sunday, I sat in on my Kenyan host's Sunday School class. I found that 10 and 11 year olds arrange themselves the same across the ocean: girls in front, boys crowded together in the back. All of them struggled to concentrate on the lesson until Ann stopped and introduced me. (The teacher in me was thinking, "Hurry up and tell them who I am! They can't think about anything else!")
  

• Naturally, I'm reminded of my family more than anyone else. Three things in particular have made me feel right at home: the constant use of mobile phones EVERYWHERE (one even rang in church this morning), the way my Kenyan hosts yelled for one another regardless of proximity or time of day, and the constant banter/argument over rules in a game I played with the other ABO-ers Friday night (as we cheerfully picked apart every last rule, I thought, "Phew -- the Djerfs are not the only ones!").