The White Woman Cries

December 24, 2013 (Tuesday) It’s the day before Christmas and we return to the market area in search of more clothes for the school children.  It is such a busy area and it is heavily traveled with bikes, motorbikes, matatus, buses, people coming and going and the occasional cow or two that walks the road way.  The roadside is full of vendors and there is an abundance of tomatoes, carrots, onions, kale and maize.  The sun beats down on them and zaps the freshness away before the day comes to an end.  Small fires burn in the midst of all of the business of the market and the smoke fills the area around us.  The flies gather around the baskets of dry fish and make it their home. It is also an area that one must be alert and keep all belongings close to their body.

We finish our shopping and with several hours of daylight left we head out to the villages.  We are committed to visit all of the school children’s homes.  We will be able to do a few visits today before the sun goes down.

There is always concern for me because of the terrain we are to walk but I convince them not to worry.  We head into the hills and travel through the fields of Taito.  There are fields of sunflowers that cover the land.   

The path way narrows and there are brooks to jump, barb wire fences to crawl through and hills to climb.  The sun now high in the sky beats down upon us with raging fire.  Sitting within each home brings a few moments of welcome relief and we are very grateful for the rest.

We are in an area of large fields of maize and beans and some are getting their maize ready for the market.  People here suffer with hunger as the land does not belong to them.  They came here seeking refuge after the post-election violence.  They came with deep wounds within their heart from the bloodshed that reached their home villages, friends and family.  They found land to lease but not to purchase.  This arrangement prevents them from growing their own crops.

The children run ahead to tell everyone that we are near.  They have been waiting with anticipation and excitement for their visitors.  Some even put on their Sunday best and have asked relatives to come and join in this special time.   

Within the humble homes a stool or two is dusted and we are asked to rest.  Some might have a wooden framed couch or chair but most cannot afford the cushions to go on top.  The walls are bare except for an occasional calendar which is usually dated from years before.  Chickens join us as we visit and leave at will.

Before leaving each home we share words of encouragement and have a time of prayer.  We also leave a small package of tea leaves with them as a gift of love.

The headmaster gets a call and I am told that a twelve year old boy has died and his brother goes to our school.  I’m asked if I would be willing to go to the family’s home.  My answer was yes and we walked further into the hills.  Many had gathered together and I began to greet each one young and old.  It was a nicely kept area and there were several traditional buildings close together.  A few adults stood at the doorway of one of the units and welcomed me inside.  Not realizing the customs for burial I was not prepared for the scene before me.   

The walls were made from the mud of the earth and reduced the lighting within.  It was somewhat dark but my eyes fell to a small frame body on the floor.  His mother sat quietly in a chair at his feet and looked down upon the motionless blanket that covered her son.  My eyes gazed downward and then up into her eyes.  I had never met her before but tears filled my eyes and we wept together.  I took both of her hands and began to pray and the tears continued to fall.  This white woman was crying, she was feeling pain, she was mourning with them and people began to gather around.  The room filled with people. The doorway filled people.  They never said a word. They just stared at me as I cried.  They were stunned and in awe about the tears they saw running down my face.   I was soon asked if I would stay longer and speak to all of their family and friends that had come from near and far to be with them.

We gathered outside under some trees and my voice broke the silence around me.  It was a time of reflection, a time of making sure we remember what is important in life and most of all a time of making sure that those listening had the opportunity to receive Jesus into their heart.

Revelation 21:4    and He shall wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there shall no longer be any death; there shall no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away