My motorbike driver is usually on time but today he is very late. His motorbike has broken down and he will not be able to get me to church on time. Being the speaker for today’s service I quickly notify the pastor of the problem I am facing. It’s not easy to get a ride on a Sunday morning as many drivers will be in church or taking time off. After some time and a suggestion from a friend a bike is on its way.
There are
some drivers you just never ask for again as the risks they take can
set one to praying fervently but today the driver is cautious and he delivers
me safely.
Pastor Jacob’s
church sits in the village of Wamuini which has a mix of tribes represented
but primarily those from the Kikuyu Tribe.
The church
was started years ago when two or three men had a vision for that area. Every Sunday they would set up a tent and
hold a meeting. After some time they
built a church with iron sheets but the wind demolished it. They rebuilt the
church and today it is full. The church
represents many families and lots of children from the area and I feel their
gaze coming my way.
A big horn speaker is mounted outside on the front corner of
the church. The music, the testimonies and my words go out into the surrounding area.
The church has a low flat roof and a couple windows on only
one side. It’s time for prayer and the prayer line is long. One by one they come for prayer but the heat
is over whelming. My voice starts to sound far away to me and my
body weakens. I realize I must sit down before I fall down and I continue to pray for people from my
chair.
March 4, 2014
(Tuesday) We continue to oversee the children whose mother died at the
hands of a man with an iron pipe. We are ready to care for them in a more
direct and substantial way but things take time in a land with so many dark and
unbelievable beliefs. The grandma and
the children were attacked one night in their mother’s home around the time of
her burial. Men came in the night with
machetes to scare them away. Only one
man stood up for them and he was cut up but is alive. After a night of terror the grandma left
early in the morning with the children.
She took them to Kipsiana, a village that is now further away. We have not heard from her and we don’t know where she is
living. We sent out scouts to find her
as she had requested that we help the children. I stayed behind and waited for the
report to be brought back to me.
Before the day was over the children had been found. They were sick and needed attention and the
grandmother was not agreeable to accepting any help. Knowing that probably the witch doctor had
poisoned her mind against us we still went directly to her village to see if we
could help the children.
The path is long that leads to her house. It is a house that
will give her a roof over her head for a short time as the owner is away. When
he returns she will have another challenge of finding a home. When we arrive she is sitting on a mat under
the big shade tree while nursing her seven month old little grandson. She welcomes us by bringing out stools from
the house for us to sit on. Two of the
smaller children, Pauline & Emmanuel, are sleeping on a mat close by. They
are both sick and show no signs of wanting to join us.
The conversation is cold; she listens but refuses to accept our
help. No matter how we address the children being in need of medical care she
refuses to let them have help. We hear
excuses of why they can’t go and she informs us they are ok. She looks at me and says she doesn’t want to
offend me but if they need medical help she will take them. I tried again to have her see their great
need and I told her I wasn’t concerned about my feelings I was concerned about
the children. I reminded her that
malaria kills children and she needed to have them treated or they could
die. With a stern face and one that
shows the marks of a hard and difficult life she responds, “Then they will die
in my arms.” The door was closed and
locked tight. It was hard to hold back
the tears. After praying over the
children we walked quietly down the path that led to our vehicle and drove
away.
There was no doubt that we were dealing with more than a strong
willed Turkana grandmother. The strongholds
within this land are many.
March 5, 2014
(Wednesday) We had agreed to meet this morning and return to see the
children and try once again to break through the lies that had been placed in
this grandmothers mind. The Lord had
brought Patricia, a Turkana woman, to my mind and I asked her to go with
us. She has a heart for her people.
Upon entering the grandmother’s home we are invited to sit.
The room is dark with chairs around a coffee table centered in the room. Some chairs have cushions but most do not. We introduce Patricia and the sounds we hear
are those of their mother tongue. The
Turkana have a tribal language of their own and Patricia and the grandmother
are well versed in it. While sitting
back and being still it is apparent that the two of them have a lot to share. Patricia and the grandmother are from the
same clan! They are sharing about
different family members and what is going on in their life.
The conversation changes and now the focus is on the
children. She again stands firm that the
children are ok and do not need to leave for medical help. I knew that if she continued to refuse help
then we would have to find the chief and put it in his hands. In time her hardness started to soften and
the closed door started to open a crack.
Emmanuel’s temperature was high and he could hardly stand and she agreed
to let us take him for medical help. The
door had opened and she was now accepting our help.
We drove into the hills and mountains to a clinic that was
well hidden and surrounded by nothing but rolling land. The clinic was full of people waiting in line
to be helped. It was a well-established place with a lab and a room of
medicines.
Emmanuel was treated and given the proper medicines and we started
our journey back to see his grandmother.
Knowing that he would not be able to hold any medicine down unless he
had food in his stomach we stopped alone the way. The street vendors had a few selections and
his choice was a mandazi (donuts) and a soda.
This little six year old went from sleeping in Patricia’s lap to sitting
up straight! We could see energy come
back into his body as he was eating. The
grandmother had told us he had not eaten but we realized now it was not because
of sickness but because she lacked food.
My heart rejoiced and ached at the same time as I watched a
little six year old boy share his food and soda with his siblings. He knew they
were hungry too and had saved some for them. He sat on the mat and broke little
pieces of his donut and then softened it in the soda before placing it in his
baby brother’s mouth. He made sure
everyone had a taste. He freely gave
from a little heart so full of love.
When we entered the yard I saw the grandmother picking
the sticks and dirt out of a few beans, maybe twenty five beans at the
most. I didn’t ask but I believe
that is all she had. We traveled to a
nearby market area and bought some maize and other necessary items and returned
to her home. She accepted them with a grateful heart. We had
regained her trust and now the door was open to helping the children. One day, in the future, she wants to see his home that is willing to take her grandchildren.
In time we will be able to do more but for now we are happy
that the power of the lies spoken into this woman’s mind has been broken. She no longer sees us as evil but as people
with hearts to help.
March 6, 2014
(Thursday) My motorbike driver is a Christian and as we travel he shares how God is
working in his life. He had
heard a crashing sound yesterday and thought he was going to be in an accident
but what he saw was a big limb off a tree coming straight at him. It just missed him and it filled the road. Everyone
came running to see what had happened. A
large crown formed very quickly and the people told him that he must find a
black chicken and kill it before he goes to bed. They believed that someone had put a curse on
him and this was the only way to break the curse. Edwin stood to his feet and shared how he was
covered with the blood of Jesus. He informed them that he didn’t need to kill a
chicken for protection because he belonged to Jesus.
I’m also told that anyone that carries a dead body in their
vehicle must carry a live chicken with them as well. When they arrive at the place of burial the
live chicken must be released or death will remain.
People have trusted in such traditions and beliefs for generations and they
need to be set free. They need to hear
about Jesus!
March 7, 2014 (Friday)
The sun seems to be getting stronger as we wait for the rains to start. People are preparing the ground for seed
knowing that soon we will have daily rain.
My motorbike driver tells me of the terror that filled his
neighborhood last night. His neighbor, a
soldier, came running out of his house screaming. His wife had a pot of hot boiling fat and she
threw it on him. He tried to help the man but there was nothing he could do to calm him. A plane was called to come
and take him to Nairobi for treatment.
His condition is severe and he needs prayer.
School has been dismissed for the
day but no one wants to leave! These used and worn out motorbike tires are
still very useful. They make great toys!
It only makes sense that a motorbike
should deliver old worn out motorbike tires. He was willing to carry more!
James 1:27 Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this:
to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained
from the world.
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