Journal from Sunday

Our brains are interesting beasts in the way we look to process new circumstances by tying them to previously cataloged experiences. New things frighten us because we feel powerless and out of control. I practically acclimated myself to Kenya before arriving here through a patchwork of Jamaican experiences, friends anecdotes and television specials. How ironic that we need to deconstruct our perceptions of a place we have never been before in order to engage fully in new cultural settings.

Yesterday morning I was a bit disappointed that we didn’t get to see the Nairobi Marathon which passed close by our guest house. By the time the 15,000+ runners were passing by, we were plenty comfortable in our seats many kilometers away in our friend Peterson’s church. One of the many incredible things about my job is that I get to worship with brothers and sisters around the world. The drive to church was nearly as interesting as church itself. It had rained significantly over night and so the roads were slippery. We drove around downtown Nairobi and into the countryside as we headed towards the church, passing many markets, growing fields and a variety of villages. We drove past the largest slum in Kenya and it is quite overwhelming. The markets near the slums look like stables and are accompanied by a strong odor. I’m not sure I would have felt comfortable wandering these markets, though they looked fascinating. I’ve said it before, but I just love visiting markets and believe that they speak very loudly as to the culture and diversity of nations. Yet another reason to hate Walmart!

The church was located off a main highway and the connecting road was potholed, muddy and quite narrow with water filled ditches menacingly buffering the thin byway. We took a cab there and it was probably the most unfun road I’ve ever been on, and I’ve been in quite a few ghastly roads in developing nations. I couldn’t comprehend sliding so much on a mud road; it was like a sheet of ice.

My boss was preaching at the church and he was actually speaking about churches roles in the communities where they are located. He spoke on how we are to intercede, identify and influence the communities where we are placed. It was an interesting sermon considering that we had recently driven past the main slum in Kenya where half a million people live in some of the worst poverty imaginable. Thinking about neighborhoods and loving the people where you live and loving where you live was so foreign to me as my boss preached because frankly, right now I don’t really have a home right now and when I picture “my” neighborhood it’s back in West Philly and no where near South Florida. I question whether I’ve sold out to my core beliefs, I’m uncomfortable not living in a “poor” community. My life model has been to live carnationally in a marginalized community and live out a ministry of presence. That’s not my paradigm right now and I don’t know how to deal with it and whether or not I’m being true to myself with my current job. My flesh reaction to the sermon was, drop me off in the slums and pick me up in a year or two, I got to get out of this suit, this pseudo-corporate job and South Florida.

My boss gave a good sermon, he spoke very loud and oddly enough, I found his cadence somewhat reminiscent of Dwight Shrute’s, “Workers of the world unite speech.” I’m not sure why, but I started thinking about that and then my mind bounced to thinking about the Swahili song we sang in the English service that I didn’t really know what was about, but it had the word “Hakuna” in it and come on, that’s funny. I’m so immature sometimes, I’m going to go with I need a balance for all the serious and heavy things that I find myself drawn towards. Maybe I needed a temporary reprieve from the weight of the brief offertory testimony. My boss gave a great message, but my heart was most touched by the brief testimony of another guest that morning. Pastor Zoa was in graduate coursework with Peterson’s wife and was staying with the pastors family since he’s from Zimbabwe. I like to consider myself to be a good white person, “aware” of many things going on around the world, but I had no idea about the situation in Zimbabwe. The pastor was asking Zoa questions about the current situations in Zimbabwe where corruption, political unrest and a failing economy have thrown the country into utter turmoil where the average salary for a month can only purchase a loaf of bread and a soda. They somewhat joked that Zoa was a billionaire, quickly following that up by saying that a loaf of bread costs 55,000,000 Zimbabwean Dollars.

He broke down in tears and was clearly overwhelmed as he processed things audibly and faced in a new way the gravity of his people’s situation. I spoke with him at length at lunch and after the service and his congregation is on the outskirts of the slums of Harare and the church is made up of approximately half wealthy folks and half people from the slums. I can’t imagine what the dynamics would be like when the situation is so drastic and so in your face. I asked him how the wealthy dealt with the immediate confrontation of poverty in their congregation. He said that people that were uncomfortable with the poor left the church long ago and that those that remained were committed to being the church and that there was more tension than normal, but that it was to him a great picture of the gospel. I sat there at lunch and thought, man that’s where I should move. I want to be part of that kind of church.

We went to lunch at a Kenyan restaurant and I can’t imagine what Pastor Zoa was thinking. We had this green thing that looks like jello, called eeole that sounds a bit like, e-i-e-i-o and that’s what my boss calls it, but it’s this conglomeration of potatoes, green beans, corn and some other vegetables whipped together and put in a mold before being served. English football is huge, huge in Africa. Interestingly, I’ve started to get a bit more into the Premier League and international club teams and I can hold a conversation and understand the significance of the Liverpool vs. Chelsea game on Sunday that everyone was watching at the restaurant we went to. Other than the green food and everyone watching soccer, the only thing that was different about the restaurant experience were all the flies outside and the camel tied to the parking gate.

My bed here at the Presbyterian guest house is very firm and I sleep through most noises at night, including the early morning prayer call from the mosque next door. It’s rather loud apparently and my boss can’t believe that I don’t wake up. The traffic is awful around the neighborhood especially when it’s around prayer time at the mosque. There’s a tiny balcony attached to my room and it’s a good thinking and writing spot with a nice little view. Nairobi has all these giant three to four foot tall storks that are just huge and are everywhere and they graze about in the backyard with the vibrant flowers of the Kenyan Springtime in the shadows of the huge mosque that consumes much of the landscape. The sun sets over the mosque displaying beautiful colors on the minarets and metallic domes as the sun down prayer sets the backdrop of the end of the day in West Nairobi.