Sudoku

I’ve walked past this fellow numerous times in the past several months. He apparently lives here at the side of Uhuru Highway, a very busy road just outside of downtown Nairobi. Occasionally when I pass by, he’s not around, but his belongings - these two bags - are almost always here.

There are thousands of “street boys” in Nairobi - all throughout Kenya actually - but by far, most of them are younger than this guy appears to be. Sometimes, as I pass by, I notice him absorbed in reading a salvaged local newspaper. Several times I’ve observed him doing a Sudoku puzzle from a torn page of a paper.

Recently I approached him. He so intently worked on what appeared to be a homemade puzzle, that he was oblivious to my presence until I knelt down and greeted him. He looked up at me rather suspiciously. I told him that I also enjoyed such puzzles and asked if I could take his picture. Reacting somewhat apprehensive and reluctant, he did agree to my request. When I told him I’d give him 20-bob, he replied in excellent English, “No. The picture is free.”

Upon my offering him 20-bob a second time, he politely repeated the same reply. However, as I tore out the puzzle page from my paper, and gave that to him, he was noticeably happy.

This fellow greatly intrigues me. He obviously has a sharp mind. Why does he live on the street? And why here on such a noisy, busy road? Why would he refuse my offer of money? Surely he’s hungry. How does he survive; what does he eat? Do passers-by give him food? Where does he go when it rains?

And finally… how did he get started doing the Sudoku puzzles?

Rwandese Cultural Day - Dancers

Recently Travis and I joined Jean Claude for the 3rd annual Rwandese Cultural Day, held at the Chiromo campus of the University of Nairobi. The event was primarily for the benefit and enjoyment of Rwandese refugees, several thousand of which live in Kenya. There were a few outsiders, though, like the two of us.

The day consisted of entertainment, speeches, and food. Jean Claude, a Burundian, was able to translate much of it for the two of us. He told us that the two languages are similar. He also explained much of the significance of various aspects of the dances, etc.

Both he and David, a young man from Rwanda that also attends our church, told us that it’s actually quite amazing to see both Hutu and Tutsi in the same location. They were very pleased that such progress had been made since the genocide twelve years ago.

Rwandese Acrobats

Various Nairobi Scenes

These hand-carts are a common sight throughout much of Kenya. They typically haul fresh produce from the Farmers' Wholesale Market, lumber (called "timber" here), or household furniture when people move. This one is loaded with potatoes. A couple of guys - dripping with sweat - carried them into a cafe, obviously to be used for "chips" (french fries). Somehow these carts intermingle with all the regular vehicle traffic, pedestrians, bicyclists, etc. It's all rather amazing to me!.

The City Hoppa bus is one I frequently ride when I'm going home from downtown Nairobi.

The bottom picture is Parliament.

Dagoretti Market

These are just a couple of interesting shots that are common sights in Kenya. Many, many things are constructed outside. It's called the "jua kali" (fierce sun) sector. Notice the small shield the welder is using for his eyes. The "duka" (small store) with all the jerry cans hanging from it is also a fairly common sight.

West Pokot - A Land That Time Forgot

Recently a friend of mine was somewhat miffed. During the 11-day Middle East crisis, I reminded him that I don’t share his passion for current world events. In a heated email discussion, he proclaimed, “You are breathing, most certainly. You are alive and living on this planet. You cannot escape the fact that a ‘war’ is going on in the Middle East. Yet you strictly avoid any invitation to discuss world politics. This is peculiar behavior indeed.”

Well, call me “peculiar” then. I did not wring my hands over that bit of news from the Middle East. Nor did I follow CNN’s or BBC’s ongoing minute-by-minute reports.

I guess my passion – and the focus of my energy – is to concentrate on fulfilling God’s purpose for my life. My aim is to “be about My Father’s business”. I subscribe to the wisdom of God’s Word:

Blessed be the name of God. He knows all and does all. He guides history. (Daniel 2)

When reports come in of wars and rumored wars, keep your head and don’t panic. This is routine history. Nation will fight nation and ruler fight ruler, over and over…
Staying with it – that’s what God requires. (Matthew 24)

While that crisis was going on thousands of miles away, I ventured into a part of Kenya – West Pokot – where time seems to have stood still. For several days, I couldn’t get the images out of my mind.

Much of what I saw seemed like a remnant from a bygone era. Their lives are primitive, by most any standard. There is no electricity, no newspapers, and no phone coverage whatsoever. Radio reception, at best, is sporadic and scratchy.

Instead of avidly following BBC, here daily life is consumed with a basic struggle to survive. The people barely eke out a living in a barren and unforgiving land. 80% of Kenya is arid or semi-arid land (in the northern 2/3 of the country). The climate is harsh; indeed, their very lives are harsh.

While there, I got a most interesting glimpse into a people group called Suk – or more commonly – the Pokot. In some portions of West Pokot, illiteracy is incredibly as high as 97%. Very few are educated through 8th grade, especially the “girl child”. Even fewer make it through high school. Many only speak Pokot; they don’t know Swahili or English.

The plains they call home are not arable; they are dry and infertile. The rocky, sandy soil is dotted with scraggly shrubs, acacia trees, numerous varieties of cacti, and sisal plants. For all intents and purposes, there is no grass. Towering red termite hills frequent the landscape – some as tall as 12 feet.

Virtually no crops can survive, as the area receives very little precipitation throughout the year. Basically, the only water comes from the nearby hills and mountains when they get rain. This runoff produces overflowing seasonal rivers, severe erosion, and at times – raging floods. However, during most of the year, these riverbeds are bone dry. The dry, thirsty soil can only sustain the grazing of livestock.

It’s estimated that less than 200,000 speak Pokot. Both Hills and Plains Pokot straddle the border with Kenya and Uganda. 25% are “corn people” (cultivators) and 75% are “cow people” (nomadic pastoralists). Those living on the plains herd cows and goats.

Wealth is measured by how much livestock you own (by both the corn and cow people). They use livestock for bartering (exchange for goods) and for paying dowry (bride price). The animals are also used for milk, butter, and cheese – but are rarely slaughtered for consumption.

Much of northern Kenya is known as “bandit country”. Livestock rustling is a way of life – just as it has been for centuries. Many people die as a result of these fierce clashes. In fact, little regard is held for the lives of others. Instead, pastoralists receive praise for killing. A warrior who makes it home unscathed – and with lots of stolen animals – is a role model in the community. When a Pokot is killed in such a skirmish, it is said that he is "mourned with only one eye". In other words, his death was honorable. An ongoing fight between the Pokot and the Samburu communities has been raging for months, with raids and counter raids. As always, the issue in the drought-ravaged area is pastureland and watering points.

The Pokot have lobbied the Kenyan government to build a cement plant near Ortum, an area rich in limestone. This would produce many jobs. Right now, the prevailing attitude among the men is, “our only job is to steal cattle”.

During the first few months of 2006, a malaria outbreak in West Pokot claimed the lives of at least 72 people. It’s likely that many more died at home. Recently there was also a measles outbreak, with over 20 people – both children and adults – admitted to hospitals.

My guide for this trip was Geoffrey Masinde (an uncle to my young friend, Collins). After attending his church on Sunday, he told me, “It’s amazing how God works. I’m a Luhya and can hardly speak any Pokot. But God has me pastoring in West Pokot district!”

Monday morning we headed out on our adventure. While waiting at Makutano for our matatu to fill – it took almost an hour – a Swahili CD played over and over. Our conductor joined in unabashedly, singing songs such as “Nothing But the Blood” and “What a Friend We Have in Jesus”. Finally, all the seats filled up.

As we headed northeast past Ortum, Geoffrey pointed out the limestone pit. We descended down the Kamadira slope – the steepest and longest in Western Kenya – leaving behind the lush, green vegetation of the higher elevation. Continuing our descent through Marich Pass, the temperature got noticeably hotter. Most passengers shed their jackets. At a police roadblock an officer sought refuge under the shade of a tree. He held a Dasani bottle of water.
Our conductor, who knew Geoffrey, pointed out the nearby South Turkana National Reserve. He told us that lions sometimes roam the area. In fact, I saw many men carrying a bow and “kotit” (“arrows" in the Pokot language).

The pavement ended. As dust started coming in the matatu window, the conductor said something to me in Swahili. I thought he told me to close the window (the Swahili words for “open” and “close” sound similar to me). But, incredibly he wanted me to open it even more. I complied, even though it didn’t seem to make any sense. I’ve learned the truth of the adage, “never underestimate the wisdom of local knowledge”.

As we drove along, I gazed curiously out the window. Herds of a small breed of “aran” (goats) were absolutely everywhere. It was fun to watch them scamper around with their tiny legs. There were a few interestingly constructed shelters and houses, made of numerous sticks standing vertically next to each other in rows.