Kenya 2012

After 5 years, I returned to Kenya for seventeen days as a chaperone with a high school group from my alma mater. We were a group of 23- 16 high school students, 5 teachers, and 2 elementary students. I hadn’t met any of the team before the trip except for one of the teachers Dave Layton who I had had when I was in high school 12 years before.

We departed from the Seattle airport on July 19 and flew the fourteen hours to Dubai in the

U.A.E. Dubai was a fascinating place to visit—built up from an obscure port village, it has become the showcase city of the Middle East demonstrating Arab wealth and power. There was a sense that it was trying a little too hard at times to outdo the West. It also reminded me of a Las Vegas kind of city, built up out of the desert with very little authentic historic culture there. Everything was new and “modern” from their metro to their architecture. There was a lot of boasting of uniqueness in Dubai. I am glad I visited, but wouldn’t want to ever live there!

We stayed in a hotel 10 minutes away from the airport, and I enjoyed a room to myself with a view overlooking a large construction site below. I fell asleep to the sounds of Muslim prayers on a Muslim TV station showing images of thousands of pilgrims who had made the pilgrimage to Mecca for Ramadan. I woke early to watch a hazy sunrise out my high rise windows. After a buffet breakfast the following morning we all piled in a tour bus that gave us a two-hour tour around the city. I think my favorite part was getting out on the white sand beaches of the Persian Gulf (or as the tour guide said the “Arabian Gulf”). The water must have been close to 90 degrees, and it was amusing to imagine Iran just across the gulf through the haze.

Then after a four-hour flight down into Africa, we arrived in Nairobi. We cruised through customs and reconnected with all our checked luggage (something that doesn’t always happen). We met our contact at the airport, Maureen, who would be our main Kenyan coordinator for our visit.

Somehow we were able to pack our 30 bags and ourselves all into a rented bus and we rumbled down the road into the suburbs of Nairobi toward our guesthouse where we would stay that night. Returning to Kenya felt very smooth and easy. Unlike one’s first trip somewhere that requires new categories to be developed and everything seems so new and different, returning to a foreign country that you have a familiarity requires less processing.

We settled in our guesthouse and ordered pizza and soda. Dave and I went out for a beer at a local bar and enjoyed catching up and talking about what we expected of the trip. The following day we went out to breakfast at a very nice coffeehouse/restaurant. It was the best breakfast I had ever had in Africa: omelets, fresh brewed coffee, toast, and jam.

We finally got underway later that morning on the 9 hour cross country bus trip from Nairobi in central Kenya to Kisumu in the west. The bus ride was what was to be expected: vistas of the Rift Valley, poor villages, children waving to our bus, clamoring vendors whenever we slowed to a stop, and a herd of zebras.

Soon in grew dark and we entered through the busy streets of Kisumu. I grew somewhat giddy at seeing the familiar streets and buildings, and excitedly noted all the change and development that had occurred in the past five years. Forty minutes later we had pulled through the gates at the farm, and Marit (my friend from Bainbridge) and Shebby (one of the boys who live on the farm who I had known from living on the farm) came out to greet us. It was wonderful to be back and they led the way to a newer building that I had helped while it was still under construction years before but had never been in. They gave me the master bedroom in the house, which was very kind of them.

The next day we began our acclamation process: meeting our cook (who proved to be an excellent chef for our whole trip), taking a tour of the farm, and meeting with the compound pastor who talked to us about how to navigate through culture shock. That night all the teachers in the group met at my house to what became a nightly tradition of Gin and Tonics while debriefing the day. Those nightly meetings became one of my favorite parts of the trip: good people, good stories, and good jokes.

On day 3 we took a trip over the high school beside the farm. Our hosts ushered us adults into the Headmaster’s office to sign their guestbook and found my entry I had made when I had come to speak at their chapel 6 years ago! We sat in on a math class with an excellent teacher, and introduced ourselves to several of the classes. The whole school assembled in the quad for a presentation of introductions and gifts. We gave them some soccer balls and some school supplies, and they made some lengthy speeches.

Later that day six of us from the group walked over the school to play in a soccer match with the boys. We were split up on each team and one of the American girls scored the only goal much to the delight of the animated crowd.

The next day we took a visit to the local primary school, where I had directed a rendition of A Midsummer Nights Dream 6 years ago. We were instantly surrounded by dozens of Kenyan children all clamoring for the picture to be taken and then to gather around the camera to see themselves in the picture. The school also assembled for introductions and presentations. The school choir was preparing to compete at the national level in the next few weeks and they sang us several of their songs that were truly remarkable.

Later we went to visit an old sugar cane factory that had been shut down for over a decade. It was full of rusty columns of smoke stacks and old conveyor belts. There were some moments of walking along darkened sheet metal planks 60 feet in the air, hoping that the old beleaguered flooring would withstand the weight of our group’s crossing. At one point we had to trek through a floor the stank of bat droppings. It felt like a set from Indiana Jones or some apocalyptic movie. I kept thinking, there is no way a school group would be allowed to go a derelict factory like this in the States fraught with danger, but it sure is exciting to walk around this place!   

For the next three days the group went out to survey in surrounding villages in the vicinity of the farm. We worked for at least eight hours a day going from house to house speaking with residents about their health history and access to medical care. The survey was developed by two doctors, one an American and one a Kenyan, to develop the medical mission of the farm. Since 90% of the peasants we interviewed didn’t speak English, the Americans in our team mostly sat patiently in the homes as the Kenyan leader spoke in Swahili or one of the local dialects. Then when the verbal questions on the survey were complete, we would take the measurements of height, weight, blood pressure, and dental observations of everyone that lived in the house. It was a great way for these American students to get a sense of life in rural Africa. We spent hours in mud huts and walking along red dirt paths through maize fields, forests, and pastures with cows, goats, and sheep grazing contentedly.

One of the days that the rest of the group went surveying, I went into Kisumu with a smaller group to do some errands. I went to the Anglican cathedral tailor who took some measurements of me for a robe and a clerical shirt. Then we had a delicious lunch at a top notch Indian Restaurant, and walked across town to wait for our ride home.

At the end of our first week, we took a hike up the Nandi escarpment to the Nandi Rock. It is a beautiful but grueling hike straight up maybe a thousand feet. After resting at the top and enjoying the views over the whole valley where the farm is, one group went on for another four hour hike while the rest of us took a 45 minute walk through the gorgeous landscape of Nandi—green rolling hills, huge exposed granite rock, red dirt, herds of cows, and small rivers all untouched by roads or electricity. It is the quintessential idyllic pre-industrial lifestyle that we sometimes picture.

The next day I rose early and ate breakfast in the dark with a group of eight. We had two taxis waiting for us outside to take us into Kisumu. We drove through the vacant streets as the sun slowly crept over the horizon and we soon arrived at the Anglican cathedral just after 7am. I had been asked to speak at the early morning service to the young adults. This week the Anglican Archbishop of Kenya was visiting so they had set up an outside service that could seat 700. The first service was about a third full, just over 200 people. I changed into my robe and the officiating priest and I processed to the altar. A worship band composed of college students were singing earnestly some Kenyan choruses in Swahili. We proceeded through the Morning Prayer service and I preached a sermon on the future of global Christianity coming to Africa and challenging the youth to choose wisely in the decisions that would shape the character of African Christianity.

After the youth service we went to take an hour break at a hotel restaurant and had breakfast. When we returned I arrived just in time to slip into the procession before the bishop and archbishop. I found a seat amongst the priests of the diocese in the back row and settled in for the four hour service. The archbishop’s message was remarkably similar to the one I had given at the first service, which several of the priests noted to me later. After speeches by all the VIP people present including a politician running for office, we processed out. I briefly met the archbishop and greeted the bishop that had confirmed me 6 years ago. The rest of the group had left a couple hours before the service had ended and I accompanied a group of 60 VIP folks from the church to a pool side hotel restaurant for lunch. Even before everyone had finished eating there were more speeches made in honor of the visiting archbishop, and gifts were presented to him. I left and went out to chat with one of the younger priests who had been studying in theology in Pittsburg. When all was said and done I spent about 10 hours that day at church events. I was exhausted the next day.

The following week was made up of more surveying days. On the last day I went surveying, my group surveyed the factory housing for the brand new sugar cane factory. It felt like I had gone back in time to the industrial revolution of the 19^th century in Britain or the US. These little one room concrete apartments were built by the factory and lived in by the families of the workers. I didn’t meet a single person over the age of forty. I saw very few religious pictures or posters (which was very common in the rural villages). And many of the apartments didn’t have sofas or chairs to host visitors. Here was an example of a group of young people “de-contextualizing” from their village life. For the sake of a better paying job (factory workers were making about $80 a month), they were leaving their values of hospitality, spirituality, and connection to their elders behind. It was a rather depressing place.

Midweek the group loaded up into a bus and drove a couple hours north to the Kakamega rainforest. We went to visit a youth correctional facility and played a game of soccer with some of the boys, which we promptly lost. As were taking a tour of the site, a huge rain storm came sweeping through stranding us in one of the dorm rooms (remarkably similar to the bunkroom in Cool Hand Luke). It was one of the most wild rain storms I had been in with close to hurricane strength winds and lightning striking just a couple miles from where we were huddled. Eventually the storm passed and we had the rapt attention of 450 boys who had been sent there for theft, murder, and rape. We literally sang and danced for them, and then presented a gift of soccer balls and other school supplies.

As we dispersed and were loading back into the bus, dozens of boys began shouting and running across the field. I hung out the bus door and asked what was going on. “Escape! One of the boys has tried to escape!” Our group grew a little nervous as the chaos of hundreds of convicts swarmed the field all yelling and running, without even a hint of a guard anywhere to be seen. I promptly closed the door and we sat watching the excitement brew around us. Soon we drove over to the prison gate, but were notified that the guard with the key was out on the manhunt. We waited for another 15 minutes, the key finally appeared, and the bus slid up the muddy road back to the rainforest.

We all slept in little bungalows that night and the next morning we got up early and hiked out to a look out over the entire rainforest to see the sunrise. It was stunningly gorgeous—the low lying mist hanging in the treetops like water swirling around tiny islands. The sunrise was one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.

The rest of the day we hiked through the rainforest and saw lots of white-faced monkeys and a roaring waterfall. One of the teachers, Brad Lewis, had been feeling rather sick for the last couple of days, and while we were off hiking he was getting tested for malaria. When we returned he announced that indeed was had malaria. When we returned to the farm the rest of the team got tested and it turned out that two other students had malaria as well. That would have meant that all three had been infected the night we arrived in Nairobi since it is a two week incubation period!

Later that week we took a tour of the brand new sugar cane factory. It was quite impressive with its massive efficiency and high productivity turning thousands of tons of cane into bags of sugar to be sent all over Kenya each day. It was much larger than the old defunct factory we had seen the previous week, but much less character. This was a demonstration in modernity’s capability of raw power.

The last full day I spent with the team we went into Kisumu and I went out to lunch with Maureen’s parents who as it turned out knew a couple from my church in Hawaii! We had plenty to talk about and had a great time together. I really liked Michael, Maureen’s father.

The last day I spent on the farm I got up and was surprised to find one of the high school boys at my doorstep. “I didn’t get to say goodbye last night,” he said, and we said our goodbyes there. Later Solomon and Shebby, two of the orphan boys I had known from my prior trips, came to see me off. The only way that I had found to get into town from the farm was by a tuk tuk (a little three wheeled bike) that delivers milk from the dairy all along the road to Kisumu. The tuk tuk ride was one rough ride, let me tell you. No shocks—squeezed in on the small seat with Austin the driver, crashing through two foot deep pot holes. My shoulder was bruised the next day from slamming into the side door for two and a half hours.

I was dropped off at the Cathedral, spoke to the college group, attended a energetic service at the Cathedral, had lunch with the college group, and was taken to the airport by my friends Joshua. 48 hours, 5 planes, 2 buses, 2 cars, 2 trains, and 1 tuk tuk later I was back in Hawaii!