October Prayer Letter – Five Years in Kenya, 2001-2006

This month marks five years since I first came to Kenya. That very first time was one month after the horrific 9/11 attacks. Common sense might have indicated that staying home would be the safe and prudent thing to do. Americans had been strongly advised against air travel – especially abroad.

However, I firmly believe that the best place I can be in the whole wide world – is in the center of God’s will. And so, compelled by the Holy Spirit, I came. In these past five years, I’ve never doubted that Kenya is where God wants me.

That said… I am often aware of my vulnerability. Danger does lurk around me. In five years, I’ve had four pickpocket attempts, two of which were successful – one very recent. My Nairobi house was broken into – and I’m not referring to the visit paid by the Sykes monkey :)

Almost daily I ride extremely unsafe vehicles on atrocious roads with rather foolish, maverick drivers. From time to time, I even ride my bike on those same atrocious roads crowded with those same foolish, maverick drivers. To be frank, I risk life and limb just walking on a downtown Nairobi sidewalk.

Besides dangers, there are various other aspects that are, at times, disconcerting about living here.

Well water in rural areas (including my place at Matunda) can sometimes be far too dirty for consumption. In urban areas, the electricity can be shut off at any moment and the tap can run dry – both without warning. Even when it is available, the tap water isn’t safe to drink unless it’s boiled or filtered. In many places, I squat to relieve myself in a crude hole. Even in modern premises, the toilet facilities leave a lot to be desired. Toilet paper is rarely provided. Internet connection is often non-existent or as slow as molasses.

Basic sanitation, in some places I frequent, is almost non-existent. Mounds of unsightly filthy trash harbor disease-causing bacteria. Smoke from small fires and the stench from such things as raw sewage and exhaust fumes pose breathing problems.

I’ve had three snakes and at least that many rats – not mice – eager to share my living quarters. I’m almost incessantly disturbed by bed-bug bites. I’ve had malaria, typhoid, typhus, and amoebic dysentery.

Surrounded by poverty and lack, the concept of praying for ones “daily bread” has taken on new meaning for me. Because unemployment hovers at 50%, idleness and homelessness are rife. Orphans number in the hundreds of thousands – most due to AIDS. It’s not at all unusual to see blind people or victims of leprosy and polio.

People beg from me constantly… Many have seemingly far-fetched expectations of me… Likewise, they make assumptions about me… Children as well as adults openly stare at me… They sometimes say ignorant and annoying things to me… It’s not unusual to be overcharged… all because I have white skin. (Non-blacks living in Kenya total only 2%.)

At times, the seemingly incidental cultural differences wear me out. To be honest, there are many unspoken cultural restrictions that interfere with daily life.

Adequately greeting one another is of utmost importance and one must basically request permission to leave even an informal gathering. “Jumping the queue” (cutting in line) is tolerated. The service industry is virtually an unknown concept. Simple errands can be almost unbearably time-consuming. Pedestrians do not have the right-of-way. Kenyan English – practically a foreign language to me – can make communication exhausting; I’m never really sure that I and the person I’m talking to are on the same page.

On more than one occasion I’ve forced down a second helping of food I didn’t enjoy in the first place, all in an attempt to not offend. Speaking of food, the limited variety of Kenyan cuisine looks funny and often tastes equally strange. What is ugali? The meat is nearly too tough to chew, the pears taste odd, and the oranges look peculiar. The corn used for human consumption is more like what we feed our cattle. 

Cheese, which is hard to find, just isn’t the same as what I’m used to in the States. Kenyans drink their yogurt. Pop is called “soda” and isn’t served with ice. I only know one place I can get Dr. Pepper and it’s overpriced. French fries, called “chips”, are greasy and come with a strange tasteless concoction called “to-mah-to sauce” for which you sometimes pay extra. Salt clogs up in the shakers and black pepper is a rarity.

I cook without the luxury of a refrigerator or a microwave and do my laundry by hand. I’ve bathed where there was no door and on numerous occasions urinated behind a bush. I’ve slept on a most uncomfortable homemade mattress and attempted to sleep with cockroaches scurrying all over me.

I’m far, far away from my family – my parents, my children, and my grandchildren. I miss my friends and I miss my church. At times, I miss the familiar culture of home. I miss the comfortable, free, and easy way we Americans interact with one another. I miss the ability to unreservedly be myself, and in turn to be accepted for who I am.

But, I must say… I do love it here! Kenya is home. In spite of the numerous challenges and frustrations of living in a foreign country and interacting in a foreign culture, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

God, in His wise and sovereign plan, designed me specifically for this purpose. It’s a special fit, a custom-made assignment.

My God-given ministry is very much relationship oriented. Because of that, He has caused me to fall in love with Kenya and her people and connected me with some wonderful folks.

I minister wherever the Holy Spirit sends me – to the rural areas or the urban centers; the mud hut village or the filthy, overcrowded slum; the coast, the fertile agricultural areas, or the semi-arid plains.

I encourage tired people – on the street corner or while riding my bike; in the matatu, the grocery store or market, orphanages, the post office, people’s humble homes, or at church. I speak to one and all – the native black (or white) Kenyans, the expatriates, or the displaced refugees.

I strengthen the weak knees of the seemingly insignificant people – the underprivileged and needy; the down-and-out; the neglected and forgotten; the overlooked and hurting. I give an encouraging word to the tired and weary. I bring good news to the poor; I comfort the broken-hearted. (Isaiah 35:3, 4; 50:4; 61:1)

I am ever poised for my next “well encounter”. Endeavoring to not overbook my time, I never want to be too busy to give someone the time of day.

Perhaps it will be with a discouraged pastor, an underpaid cyber café worker, or a worn-out newspaper boy. Maybe it will be a fatigued matatu conductor or a depressed street vendor of fruit, vegetables, or flowers. Perhaps it will be a homeless man lying on the side of the road. Or possibly it could be a young child selling roasted peanuts to pay for his schooling. Perhaps it will be a confused high school or university student trying to find their way in life. It could be an exhausted small-scale farmer struggling to survive or a bored watchman. 

Maybe I’ll encourage a forlorn sheepherder or a dirty stone mason. Possibly it’ll be a dejected businessman or an overworked and underappreciated store clerk. It could be a sweaty “jua kali” welder barely eking out a living under the hot sun or a “mtumba” (used clothing) hawker who hasn’t made a sale in days. Or maybe it’ll be an over-burdened single mother, a jobless father, or a grandmother raising her orphaned grandchildren.

Somehow, my simple knack of conversation lifts the spirits of those with whom I come into contact. I take the time to stop and to truly listen. I show genuine interest. I sympathize with their frustrations and disappointments. I laugh at their humor. I pay attention to their stories and affirm their dreams. I give others permission to be themselves and to follow their path.

It seems that everywhere in this great big world, there are lonely and discouraged people. They just want a listening ear, the simple remarkable gift of a smile, and someone to call them by name.

God has asked that I serve Him in this capacity in a foreign land – Kenya. I intend to be faithful to this task.

Please join me in this prayer I recently received from one of my readers -

“May Deb focus on all You have assigned her, Lord. May she not waiver to the right or to the left. May her spirit always be in tune with Your Word. May she continue to pull down strongholds in her mind as well as shatter the myths established by this world. May Your character, Lord, continue to be formed in her and become evident to all she encounters – that they may know without a doubt that she is the son of a King! May her holy anointing remove burdens and destroy yokes. May she walk in the dominion God has given her, now and forevermore! Amen.”