February 1, 2017,
Wednesday
The time for departure seemed to come racing in on me,
and after being down with pneumonia, I
was thankful that I was well enough to
travel. My children and grandchildren filled our home with love and laughter
knowing that the time for hugs would
come. The hands of the clock raced
faster than usual, and it soon came, and a quietness settled in upon us. A speechless knowing filled the room, and we were trying hard to hold back the tears when
my seven-year-old granddaughter broke the
silence and spoke right from her tender loving heart, “I don’t want to say
goodbye!”
February 2, 2017,
Thursday
My flight was smooth, my luggage intact and after answering
a few questions at customs, I was free to
walk the land of Kenya once again. It had been a long flight, and after sixteen
hours in the air, the warm night breeze
felt refreshing. It was apparent that there had been an increase in security
both inside the airport and out. As my
driver drove me to the other side of Nairobi lights flashed in our eyes as the
road cameras periodically went off capturing whoever was traveling or roaming about.
It felt wonderful to finally open the door to my room
knowing that a hot shower and a bed waited for me. The sounds of bats outside
my window and guard dogs both near and
far barking relentlessly through the night became
a Kenyan lullaby as I fell sound asleep.
February 3, 2017, Friday
The light was beaming
through my windows, and my eyes could not
believe the night had slipped away. The pastor from the slums quietly waited
outside to greet me, and others were
ready to welcome me with big hugs. The
pastor brought me up to date on the challenges he was facing with the slum church
tightly squeezed in the midst of a sea of iron sheet. After a relaxing
visit with the birds chirping around us,
we left the safety of an enclosed and guarded compound for the ever growing and
already overpopulated slum. Soon I was thrust in the midst of a world of
pain and suffering, and the sights before
my eyes pierced my heart. Nothing had
changed for the better. The cries of babies replaced the pleasant sound of songbirds and faded
as we passed by only to be replaced by
other children crying because of hunger, pain or lack of attention. The sounds
of the slums become the normal, and no
one seems to care. Children born in the midst of such poverty will know no
other way. Their cries become lost in a tearful song of many. Their bellies
swell as the worms nest inside, and
mouthfuls of dirt fill their empty bellies and soften the pain of hunger.
The church is only a few steps off the dirt road where large
puddles of raw sewage have settled. It is a humble place of worship with a maze
of rusty and ragged pieces of iron sheets forming uneven and disproportional walls.
The wooden windows easily pushed open from the inside allow some air to
move through as the sun beats down upon the iron sheet roof.
From the outside, I
can not hear a sound but when we step
inside about thirty-five pairs of eyes open
wide to greet me. The school is in session, and they have a visitor! Big smiles light up the dark room as I stand
before their small blackboard and begin
to help them with their lesson.
Although
the switch sitting on the teacher’s desk is still in sight, a joyful spirit fills the classroom. Each of the three classes taught within these
iron sheet walls waited patiently for their turn. Our time together will not be forgotten, and each child will quickly share it with others at the end of
the day. The mood soon changed and fell
into a valley of discouragement as the pastor was handed an envelope from one
of the teachers. As he opened it I knew
that the challenges he had earlier discussed with me had just increased. Within the envelope,
he had a thirty-day
eviction notice, or if he wanted to stay the rent would now be almost doubled.
February 4, 2017, Saturday
The warm winds scooped up the particles of the loose dirt
mixed with debris and threw it in my
face. I could not avoid the stench of
raw sewage dispersed into the already dirty air. It filled the land and covered any minuscule chance of a scented flower sharing
its fragrance along the busy, dusty roads
and pathways. Women were setting up
their businesses and trying to sell tomatoes,
onions, bananas
and veggies of various kinds beside the
bustling and ever moving passageway. The produce already damaged and old quickly
fades and starts to deteriorate under the unforgiving sun. “Chips” sizzle in a black pot full of overly used animal fat
sitting on three big stones with a crackling wood fire beneath. We share the road with a variety of animals and many slum dwellers because they lack the funds to catch a ride. The slums are
bustling with people lost in motion and going nowhere.
It is not every day that a
woman of my color walks in the midst of
the slums, and even though the roadway is
full of people I can easily be spotted. A
woman approaches me, and with a thankful heart, she speaks “ Some time ago you gave me a
Bible, and I will never forget.” Help us, Lord,
not to forget your goodness and the blessings you bestow upon us whether great
or small.
With broken glass and garbage under our feet, we walked deeper into the slum, and the paths narrowed along the
way. God’s creation had almost vanished, but reminders of his greatness pushed
through this land of waste like a new flower in spring. As we passed by this woman’s hair shop with a
cracked mirror hanging on the wall and a plastic chair for her customer to sit
in we relived what God had done for her. Five years ago she was in bed waiting
to die. Like so many AIDS had consumed
her body, but Jesus touched her and freed
her from the clutches of death. Today
she is healthy and praising God for what he has done for her.
We cross the constant and deepening brook of raw sewage that
one can not escape which runs in front of rows of homes made of iron
sheets. It’s a time when one wants to be
sure of your footing and have an open eye for
holes and loosely attached boards.
Children with tight coughs and noses that seem never
to stop draining are playing close by.
We enter through a doorway too small for the average adult to walk
through in an upright position into an area of rows and rows of attached one room homes made of iron
sheets. The alleyway between the homes
are used to hang the laundry, and we try
to dodge the dripping clothes as we weave in and out of the colorful cloth
drying in the sun. Caution is also taken to avoid the sudden burst of wash
water thrown out the door from a plastic basin and the occasional flying
toilets.
She quickly
filled my arms with a baby. She had big beautiful eyes, was alert and
dressed for company. Here in the slums, I’m known as “Pastor Joy.”
They call me by my middle name and sometimes add Linda at the end. This precious
two-month-old baby girl which I held in my arms carried my name “Joy
Linda.” She never whimpered even though I was the first white
person she had ever seen.
The doorway filled with little faces and they all stared my
way. As my eyes fell on them, there was an instant explosion of nervous
giggles. Another Joy Linda now four or
five years old stood with them, much braver now than
years before when she screamed when ever I was near.
Door after the door
opened to us and we were able to pray for the troubled hearts as they longed
for someone to listen and care. It was a
good day of meeting with friends and praying
for countless troubled souls. It has been
a time of remembering and rehearsing the goodness of God seen here in the
slums.
Jackie has been a friend since 2005. When I first met her, she had just given birth to her first child at her home her in
the slums. Something terrible went wrong. She was weak, in bed and did not have
the strength to stand. Because she and her husband lacked funds doctoring and
medical care was not an option. We
gathered together in her one room home and prayed for Jackie. God healed her completely, and since that time she has given birth without
complication to three other babies. One being a son, Israel Manley, who is now three years
old!
There was one more stop to make before our day would come to
an end. With a loud and exuberant voice, mama welcomed us in to sit around her
small wooden coffee table. The room was hot from the sun beating down upon the
iron sheets and the small charcoal stove that she had been using. She had
worked hard to please us, and her heart
was full of joy as she placed a plate of steaming rice and beans before us. We
would not leave the slums hungry!
February 5, 2017,
Sunday
The
ever barking dogs that guard the night seem to
know that day light is near. They quieten as the morning opens with a
multitude of birds singing in harmony a glorious
song of praise. The sunlight pushes the night away, and the sounds of Sunday morning worship now surround us.
The Sunday morning sounds increase in number and volume as we find our way to the church. The
children are already sitting outside the door under the sunlit sky. They have
already started to share songs. One little guy stands with a mountain of
confidence and from the bottom of his toes comes a song that bounces out of his heart. He finishes
with pride, and then another one steps up to take his place.
People are coming and going
continually. It’s a busy pathway that leads to several places of worship
contained in a small area. Some are cults chanting as loud as they can while
they pray in a dark room. They twirl
around in circles until they fall to the ground. The doors and windows remain shut during their time of worship, and
children are not permitted inside. Others march through the streets dressed in
white beating on drums as they go.
There are many buildings made of torn
and rusty iron sheets placed in an unplanned sort of way.
Space is an opportunity to build without
any guidelines or thought of appealing to the eye. A piece of sheet metal or
any shape, size will be used to fill an opening. Having shelter no matter what
it looks like is their primary concern.
Men carry the plastic chairs stored
in homes for safety to the church for the meeting. Horn speakers mounted on the
outside of the different churches can be seen and heard as music blares throughout the area.
Colorful cloth hangs
from the front of the church to add
beauty to the interior. The necessary pieces of furniture and
equipment are brought in a piece by piece,
and we are soon ready for a day of worship!
The church slowly fills as the natives seem to be oblivious
to starting times and schedules. It is a relaxed life run by the position of the sun. They come with added excitement as news has
traveled and they know I am here. Smiles are apparent in a land of great despair. There are
greetings, hugs and recalling the words I spoke last time I was here! I was
astounded to see how the word of God had penetrated their minds and hearts. A man with a heart full of appreciation
thanked me for giving him a Bible years ago and for, “helping him to
stand.” Sundays are for church and for
coming together, and no one is in a
hurry. There is an early service and
then the main service filled with
scriptures, songs, words of encouragement, more songs, a time of sharing and
prayer. When that is over it is then
time for the speaker and today that is me.
The sun beats down on the iron sheets above our heads, and the temperature inside continues to
rise. A couple
of plastic bottles of water sit on the table at the front of the
church. The adults never indulge as it an unspoken that it is for the
children.
A feeling of Christmas morning settles in on everyone as
they see my bags full of gifts brought out in the open. Children fill the front of the church knowing
that a warm and brightly colored pair of homemade slippers, made by my mom
Charlotte Towne, awaited them. Kenya tends to be hot but when the rains come their iron sheet homes become damp and cold. These slippers will warm
the little feet during the cold nights. Torrential
rains or long rains bring rivers of water rushing down into the slum land and
some homes become a passageway for the waters to flow through. The slums are low
areas and often become a holding tank for
the excess rain water.
The women were styling with their new bags to carry things
home from the market. The colors bright
and appealing brought big smiles and happy chatter as they modeled them from
their shoulder. Thank you, Sandi Genaw, for the many hours of work!
Today everyone would
be remembered, and the men sat patiently waiting for a tie now in sight. It was a day they would remember for a long
time as the rarely receive gifts. Today
they knew someone from a far away place was thinking of them and cared about
them. They held the evidence of love within their hands and felt loved within
their hearts. We had broken through the glass of gloom that never lets them
touch a life of plenty.
The keyboard was still pushing out the sounds of African
worship as a thermos of chai was made available to those that remained. Mamas sipped with a look of peace on their face.
It was truly a day of rest for them.
The mid-afternoon sun
had not weakened, and it continued to
show its strength. The dust along with
particles of debris from the ground flew around us as we left the safety of the church building and stepped into the busy
world. It was time for goodbyes and a promise to have lunch with them
upon my return.
Friends were left behind as we traveled to Mukuru a slum on the
other side of the city. With the Nairobi bumper to bumper traffic and
crazy roundabouts and an extra lane of
traffic on the sidewalk – patience is needed.
Here in the city window shopping takes on an entirely new meaning. The
opportunities to buy watches, bananas, newspapers and various other things are
available right from your car.
I Thessalonians 5:11
Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.
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