A Chance

Leaving all the stress and struggles of daily life in College Station to go help the mission efforts in Africa would seem to be the obvious decision, if there ever was one. Who wouldn't want to leave all their troubles behind and take off to an unknown land? That's the catch though, you can try and leave your troubles-but your troubles won't leave you. They in fact pursue you with relentless determination. It is no easier for me to designate my time with God daily, than it was back home. I am not constantly on fire for the Lord, or this inspiringly passionate person. Yes, sometimes I am so consumed with a passion for the Lord I'm not sure how to handle it-but other times, I'm complacent, I don't know what to say to God, or how to talk to Him. I get comfortable, I feel safe. I feel immuned. I know these are probably normal feelings for everyone, but I was naive in thinking that leaving your current setting will automatically leave your problems there as well. God says multiple times in the Bible to seek Him. To seek means to pursue, to follow, to find, to search. I feel that I’ve been more of a drifter lately, and everyone knows that it is far too easy to drift away from God than towards Him. He says to seek and you will find when you seek Him with all of your heart. He makes it sound so simple, what should have been said is when you finally decide to put down your cell phone, your computer, your books, your t.v., your friends, your music, your games-and seek ME, you will find Me. Easier said than done. These thoughts have been on my mind a lot lately and is definitely something I am trying to work on. As of lately, the team made the 9 hour trip to Malindi, Africa. Malindi is on the coast, and an absolutely beautiful place. The Indian ocean is right outside our door. Monday morning the team headed out to the Mahenzo school which is located at what everyone calls “9 poles.” 9 poles is out in the “bush”, as in there are mud huts and a lot of coconut trees, mango trees and pretty much exactly what you picture when you think of Africa. The women carry water on their heads and all! At the Mahenzo school, we have worked all week on tearing down one of their huts, in order to make a new building of stone. This has consisted of digging trenches, lining them with rocks, carrying cinder blocks and making cement. (It’s pretty hard work and our guys have done an amazing job!) The girls have helped as much as we can, and learned to carry jugs of water pretty efficiently on our heads! Me and a friend, Taryn, both were sent to the medical dispensary to take inventory of all the new medicine they had acquired from previous medical missions. The medical dispensary is the only medical facility for miles and miles and it employs one doctor-for 7,000 people. He and the cleaning man are the only two there all day. It was extremely insightful talking with the Kenyan doctor as he described the frustrations of having no help, hoping his support from the States held up, and having to take the entire inventory manually as he has no computer. The doctor explained how prevalent AIDS is to Malindi, and that most of the children at the school are AIDS orphans. As Taryn and I talked with the doctor, we told him about Made in the Streets, and what we had been doing the past month. When we finished explaining it something he said really permeated in my mind. He explained that he thought it was great that we would give the kids a home, and an education. He said, “give them a chance.” That phrase caught me off guard. If it had been coming from anyone else it may not have. But here is a doctor, that works by himself, he makes 100 shillings per doctor visit which is a little over a dollar. He lives in the “bush” meaning he lives in a mud hut. He is entirely supported by a church in the States-and relies on them to keep him running. His career rest on the generosity of people thousands and thousands of miles away. Yet he has a home and a place to sleep and a family. He has had an education and when he asked for the kids of the streets to be given a chance, I don’t think he was hoping for them to have a chance to be successful or have things in life, but I think his hope was for them to have a chance to be happy. A man who lives in a mud hut, wants those kids to have the chance to become educated, to have a home, to be clean, to have friends, to not be in a constant state of delirium due to drugs, to have a chance to experience love, to be given a chance to know God, to be given a chance at happiness, to be given a chance at LIFE. There are about 170 kids at the Mahenzo school, and they are the cutest kids I have ever seen in my life (I want to bring them all home!) Most of them don’t have parents, but they are some of the happiest kids I have ever met. They have been given a chance.

Mother's Instinct

Bananas. That was our goal as me, Traci and Kristin set out a few nights ago in order to save our fellow roommates from starving. Thankfully, braving the crazy drivers of the matatu’s (tiny vans packed full of people, the preferred mode of transportation in Africa) was not necessary as there are several stalls of vendors neatly lining the road selling all kinds of fruits and vegetables, so the trek was on. We had been walking for about 10 minutes when in the distance we noticed a group of shady looking guys. We knew the drill, keep walking and ignore them. Heads down, walking at a brisk pace, we walked past the group of men. As expected, the men proceeded to follow us at a distance too close for comfort. Now seeing as Traci is in a delicate state right now being about 7 months pregnant, this was a precarious situation. Much my surprise however, Traci whips around belly and all with her finger pointed high. My mind is racing, what is this?? A new approach? Are we introducing ourselves?? Should I follow suit? But as she stared them down with a vicious gleam in her eye, she utters in a voice that made my blood run cold- “I DO NOT WANT YOU TO FOLLOW US.” And as fast as she had whipped around, she whips back around and continues walking. Kristin’s eyes were as wide as mine. Deciding to make the safest decision, the men halted in their tracks and returned to their previous positions. It was quiet for a few seconds, then, “I don’t know where that came from,” Traci remarked, I think she surprised herself as much as she surprised us! The mother instinct is clearly no myth and Traci has definitely developed it. Me and Kristin are equally thankful that is has. We returned safe and sound with a bunch of bananas. As I am writing, the electricity is out, a frequent occurrence. I wrote a list earlier of things I need God to give me the strength to overcome here in Africa. I thought I might share a few:

1.     Toenails in my bed. (that were not mine.)
2.     Mosquitos inside my mosquito net
3.     A very leaky toilet
4.     Frogs in the shower

After reviewing my list, I don’t have much to complain about-I have far less problems than those around me. Africa is great, and Africa is tough, and Africa is my new home. Bring on the bugs.

Reality.

When we arrived at Made in the Streets, it was dark it was quiet and it smelled weird. When we woke up, we woke to the sounds of giggly girls, African music and the sound of breakfast being made. Despite it being 5 in the morning, they were welcomed sounds and we gladly left the comfort of our cozy beds to join them. As the days rolled by here in Kimulu, we have gotten to know the girls, boys and their children. We have taught their 3 and 4 year olds in the nursery, we have cooked meals with them, we have had devotionals and had our hair yanked and pulled as they argued over who would do our hair. We have danced to Taylor Swift and made cute braclets with them, we have painted nails upon nails. We have done laundry, watched movies and sang songs to the Lord, a mixture of Swahili and English blending in harmony to the same God. We have laughed and joked and played, we have experienced teenagers and kids in their prime. I dreaded this blog, the blog that I knew would come but hate to write. The blog where everything changes. A couple of days ago we visited one of the major slums of Niarobi, called Eastleigh. We visited the home of these children. There are about a million people in this slum. This is where Made in the Streets originated. As we drove further and further into the slum, the trash increased, the people increased, the smell so thick it permeated every breath you inhaled, the homes made of sheet metal increased. The roads consisted of mud.Only mud. A few times I just knew we would have to get out and push our bus through the sludge. Fortunately we made it to the headquarters and filed out, pretty silent trying to take in the poverty that surrounded us. After being introduced to the staff there, we went with one of the missionarys and two Kenyan men base walking. The roads became impossible to walk on as they were mud pits full of murky water. People marched by guaking at the only white people in an entire slum of Africans and Somalians. I was so thankful we were guided by the Kenyans because you had to watch every single step, hoping this step wasn't the one to plunge you to your death in the mire that threatened to overtake every inch of dry ground. It may be fitting to say there was no "solid ground" here. Eventually we arrived at the first base. It consisted of a few men and girls, we were introduced and suprisingly were very welcomed. In fact, the missionary agreed to give my hand in marrige to whoever offered the most goats! The reaction was not at all what I expected from the individuals in the base. They were nice, happy to see us and very friendly! We shared a few verses and a prayer and they listened intently to what we said and agreed to pray for us and with us. We then moved to the next base, a group of men leaned against a broken down bus in the road, smoke so thick it burned your eyes and nose. Through the smog, we could make out plastic bags attached to the ground and then to a fence next to it. This pattern went on for a good ways. The men informed us that these were their houses. It was a plastic bag. Off to the side of the men a woman was covering herself with an umbrella. We approached her and she lay down her umbrella, revealing that she was holding a baby. We asked how old the baby was as she showed us her 2 week old infant. She lives on the streets-with a two week old baby. We again discussed the Bible with these men and as we left one man grabbed my hand and proceeded to give me a very long, inaudible speech with tears in his eyes, never leaving my eyes, one of the Kenyan men translated that the man wanted me to share something with him. Me, being the shy person I often am went completely blank. Me? What can I share with someone like this? I know nothing about his life and what he has lived through what could I possibly say that would mean anything to him? Then my favorite verse popped in my head. I shared Isaiah 49:16 "See I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me." I told him that God knew about his entire life, God knew his struggles, God knew his walls in life. And that God loved him anyways. That God was in love with him. That was all I had. He thanked me so profusly and I have no idea if he understood, but I realize that's not my job, that one is up to God. At last, we came to our last base. As we topped a hill, there they were at the bottom. Leaned against a shack in a row. A line of little boys about 8 to 10 years old. Grasped tightly in their hands is what I knew to expect but dreaded the day I would see it. A bottle of glue. A few lay sprawled on the ground covered in dirt and trash, a bottle of glue permanetly held under their nose for sniffing. Glue is the drug of choice in the slums, it dulls hunger and keeps them high constantly. One of the reasons it is so hard to get the kids off the streets is because they are so addicted to this drug. They are so high they can't think. All of us stood in awe, was this real? Did kids really live like this? All day. Every day. The answer is yes. One of the Kenyans kneeled down, and sat in the dirt with them. God has greater plans for you, he said in Swahili. They stared a blank stare, eyes reflecting a life spent rejected, high, abused, not even a glimmer of hope. He told them the story of missionarys in the Bible when they were rejected and people wouldn't listen to them, they would dust off their feet and go to the next town. But here we are, he said, every day. Back with you, to tell you God loves you, and we're not going anywhere. We left the base silently, as they returned to their glue. On the walk back, piles upon piles of trash surround us on every side. Merchants on the sidewalks sell the things me and you throw away. They sell our trash. They value our trash. Babies crawled across the piles of trash, sifting through it with the hope to find any ounce of food they can. So much trash. And so many people sifting through it. Looking for anything even remotly edible. It is so easy to see pictures of Africa, to hear stories like this one. To read books, and National geographics on the poverty of the world, of Africa. But until you see the babies. Until you smell the stench, until you hold the scarred hands of a man who has never known anything other than drugs, trash and abandonment, until you look at the face of the 2 week old baby who will eventually become exactly like this old man-if he lives that long, it is not real. It's easy to see the pictures on your computer from the comfort of your nice desk chair while the smell of your dinner enters the room and feel sorry for these people, but then quickly forget as you move to the next task in your busy life. But it is not easy to see the reality. And it is not easy to make a difference. With a million plus people, you may even say it is impossible to make a difference. I would agree with this. It is impossible for you and I to make a difference. But, "He picks up the poor from out of the dirt, rescues the wretched who've been thrown out with the trash, and seats them among the honored guests, a place of honor among the brightest and best." Psalm 113:7-8 The girls that I have laughed with and played with, danced with and lived with this past week, came from these streets. This was their home. And they are proof of what God can do, and what God does daily. I ask that your prayers not be with me, I am blessed. Pray for these people. Pray for the people that are forgotten daily, because they are real, and they are there among the trash day in and day out, and because God made them the same as He made you and me.