What cracks me up in a day in our lives…

Getting to be with passionate, excited, focused followers of Jesus who want to share their relationship with God and message of Hope with others is such a joy and most definitely a privilege. These young, and sometimes older, people are often a mixture of city and village folks. Ranging from white-collar businessmen and women to shepherds from a small, perhaps 100 hut village, they all share a common love for and pride in their nation and their God.

Today, for example, we spent the day with people from Turkana and Pokot Counties in northwestern Kenya. This region is very dry, hot, barren and considered by some, even Kenyans, as quite barbaric. Wealth is counted in terms of numbers of camels or cattle. Cattle-rustling is the way of acquiring more wealth and status. This wealth is guarded by Mk47’s. Gunfire is common. Ninety percent of the people in the areas these folks come from are illiterate.

The differing tribes we are with today, even though from the same country, are made up of two different tribes with some coming from sub-tribes of those tribes. In their own areas they could be stealing animals from each other, but here in a neutral town and county, Kitale, Tranzoia, they lay down any animosity toward each other and gather around one central person: Jesus Christ.

No matter how many times we come or how desensitized I become to many things in Africa, when I stop to think about how it would be at home, I just have to giggle. For example, it’s only a few hours into the day and here’s a sampling of “normal” as we pass through our days in East Africa:

• I woke up to somehow being all tangled up in our mosquito net just trying to shut off the alarm.
• Taking a shower this morning, I had the all-too-often surprise of being lathered up and then the water shuts off.
• While at breakfast a resident American missionary was telling us how he had to send his family home last week because his home had repeatedly been attacked by “thugs.” He was seeking refuge here at our compound while he tried to close down all of his work here in Kitale.
• Entering our meeting place (a hotel of sorts with a restaurant and meeting rooms) because of so much congestion of motorbikes, donkeys and chickens, stalls filled with products ranging from vegetables to cooking pots to clothing, vehicles, and many, many pedestrians, I watched as a man was struck down in the middle of the road just trying to get across. Instantly, there was a crowd of no less than 50 people crowded around the poor man who was sprawled on the ground holding his head.
• A couple of hours into the training, the electricity went off, and no one even commented, even though we were all sitting in the dark for some time.
• While I was somehow trying to manage straddling the squatty potty, a male employee came pounding on the door of the ladies room, requesting entry to hand me a roll of toilet paper. I’m quite confident this luxury was afforded me purely because I am a muzungu.
• One mama brought her 3-month-old son and her 5-year-old daughter with her to the training. Unless the mom is nursing, the older sibling, as is quite typical, is in charge of the younger. Often the little girl is pacing the hallway, bouncing the crying little one in her arms to calm her.
• People easily converse with us and each other in Swahili interspersed with English and if they are talking with their compatriot, they then switch to their own tribal language.
• There is no conversation I have had today, much like every day, that is not accompanied by lots of touching, high-fiving, ease and laughter. It’s pretty awesome!

And, this is just my morning while doing a training in the city! Trainings in the villages are something else again, but always a joy and an experience I could never fully convey. Without them, my life would be sorely lacking. I so, so wish you could be with us…for even just one day!