I
find Kenya to be something of a paradox.
It is a place of immense beauty – the greenery, the flowers, the
friendly & hospitable people, the spirit of perseverance, the widespread
hope. And yet, it can be a place of
despair – the extensive poverty, the wide gap between the have’s and the have
not’s, the devastation of disease, the lack of infrastructure, the widows and the
orphans. Just as in America, it is not
either or. It is both. Good and bad.
Joy and sorrow. Beautiful and
ugly.
It
is my fifth time here. I still am a
foreigner and a tourist by most accounts, and I will always be a mzungu (white
person/Westerner). Yet there are moments
when I am acutely aware of how my coming back matters. My Kiswahili is very minimal, yet even
speaking a few words instantly breaks down barriers. I am better able to recognize and articulate
cultural norms, and tend to see more similarities with the Kenyans I meet than
differences. Sometimes I stare at the
world on a map and think of how there are so many places in the world that I
want to visit. And then I think how will that ever happen when I am always
saving my time and resources for another trip to Kenya. This is a selfish view, of course – one that
is focused more on a bucket list than on God’s calling or building
relationships. Luckily, every time I
return to Kenya, God changes my heart, and gives me renewed eyes. I regain the ability to see His hand at work,
and my small role in it.
I
realize taking on the mantra “small things, great love” or “dream big” runs the
risk of becoming cliché. Yet I find both
of those phrases to be more than just a nice saying or something to put on a
T-shirt. In the grand scheme of things,
the work Imani is doing in Kenya is small.
We are not eradicating diseases, alleviating poverty, or providing clean
water. Yet in our few days here, we have
witnessed how small things can change the course of one’s life. One of the boys who was given the task of
killing Andrew, the founder/director of Makina clinic, was offered the chance
to have a life outside of drugs and violence.
He ended up being our “bouncer,” showed us around Nairobi city centre,
and works at the clinic as security. We
met a lady who is one of the home-care clients at Makina. She is a widow, cares for 8 children, and is
HIV+, but has been doing well on ARVs (anti-retrovirals, treatment for HIV) and
makes a small income selling groundnuts.
One of the children we met at the Children’s Home was found in a sewer,
but is now clothed, fed, and taken care of.
The trajectory of these individuals’ lives, and many others like them,
are not small things. By supporting
places like Makina, Imani plays a role in these stories.
I am
blessed to be here. There are
challenges, yes, but ones that I will gladly take on to be able to express to
our partners and friends that we value the work they do and desire to have a
relationship. Sure, it is not easy to
travel all the way over here, to arrange housing and transportation, to become
accustomed to the time change, the food, the culture – but it really is the
only way to live out the “partnership” part of our mission. We often say we desire to “come alongside”
the Kenyans, and it means something to physically be here. To stand next to them. To walk the roads they walk. To eat the foods they eat. To laugh together. To share.
To pray. To love.
To
all of you following this, and to all of those supporting Imani, I say Asanta
sana, Kiswahili for “thank you very much.”
