Beetles and Trouser Legs

“Where are we?” I asked, turning toward Anton who was steering the small white Toyota down an impossibly narrow track.

“We are here” he replied.

“Where is that?” I countered, pressing for a more informative answer

Anton thought for a moment. “I don’t know” he answered.

It sounded like the sort of answer Piglet might give Pooh when they are lost in hundred acre wood.

Paul James was guiding us from the back seat. It had been almost three quarters of an hour since we turned from the tarmac road between the towns of Luanda and Siaya in the heart of Nyanza province. We were paying a visit to Kogello, the ancestral home of Barack Obama Snr and, most importantly, the rural home of Paul James.

Unfortunately Paul James family lived on the opposite ridge to the Obama family, so whilst a beautiful new road has been completed to take you from the pot holed highways of Luanda to the rural homestead of America’s most famous African, there is nothing of the sort where we were heading.

We have worked with Paul James since we first came to Kenya just over 11 years ago. He is a gentle, lovely man, with a real heart for the children. In all of those years I have never visited his home, though he has invited me many times. Today however, our visits to meet up with some of our boys undergoing apprecnticeships meant that we found ourselves in Siaya District, just a few kilometres (and many windy muddy roads and tracks) away.

The day had started unpromisingly. The skies, so bright yesterday, were covered in a thick veil of grey clouds, heavily expectant with rain.

My stomach had reacted a little indignantly, I thought, to meeting yesterdays goat, so I had taken a light breakfast of tea and toast. As I sat on the terrace by the garden waiting for Moses and Anton to arrive a light mist of rain began to fall on the grass.

As I watched a beetle began, with apparent effort, to climb its way over the edge of the short wall and onto the polished concrete floor near my feet.

Light brown in colour, the beetle was larger than many I have seen before and I couldn’t identify the type. It scuttled along the floor, making a beeline for my feet. I gave it a little kick and it edged slowly sideways, before disappearing under my chair.

I have grown used to all manner of insects on my travels, and will put up with most things as long as they don’t bite me. But I am not keen on beetles.

It goes back to an incident in Nairobi a few years ago, when a particularly inquisitive beetle found its way up the inside of my trouser leg, almost to the knee. I was sat in the bar of a smart hotel on the outskirts of Nairobi, enjoying a quiet beer. Slowly I became aware of a tickling on the back of my leg, so reached down to scratch. As I brushed my trousers a large black beetle, the size of one of those little cars that children play with, fell out of my trousers, hit the marble floor with a loud crack and rolled across the bar area, coming to rest under the table of an elderly couple enjoying a nightcap.

So you will understand that, although I will tolerate them on the floor in front of me, I took the reasonable precaution of switching seats this morning.

Moses, Anton and John arrive and we made our way up the Busia road to Luanda, where the rain had become a steady English drizzle. Anton spotted Paul James by the side of the road, as he had gone on ahead of us. We parked up and walked down to a small, unpromising shack by the side of the main road. As we approached Ezekiel came out to meet us, his smile lighting up the morning.

Ezekiel has been training here since January, living with his grandfather a couple of kilometres from town. As with Noah yesterday, Ezekiel’s is a two year course, which costs around £200 in total. It is clear that he loves it, and also clear that his tutor and mentor is really pleased with his progress. Ezekiel was part of the same intake as Noah, coming to us in 2005 after nearly two years on the streets. He did not find academic work easy and dropped out of primary education before reaching KCPE, choosing to move back to live with his grandfather, whom we reunited him with.

He may not be academic, but he has a really aptitude for repairing the ubiquitous motorcycles, now the preferred make of taxi in the area. It is good to see him settled and happy. In a few months time we will need to buy him some tools, so he can start to build up a workshop of his own when he graduates.

Patrick also trains in Luanda and he, too, was classmates with Ezekiel and Noah, but his chosen apprenticeship is in metalwork, fabrication and welding. We called in to see him and once again received a warm welcome. All around the workshop were works in progress, window frames, door frames and security bars. I can’t believe there will ever be a shortage of work for such skills. Patrick has been training since March and his progress is good.

It has been encouraging this trip to be able to concentrate on visiting boys who have managed to begin a life for themselves away from the streets. They have all go a start, an apprenticeship, that will lead to a working, healthy future where they are able to stand on their own two feet.

We left Luanda, calling in on an old friend, Timothy Kariuti, who runs Neno Church (Neno means “the word”). Tim used to work for us in Kisumu, but had been displaced during the troubles after the last election. His heart and calling were always to be a pastor and he has followed his dream, returning to Nyanza Province to start and to build a growing church in Luanda.

Eventually the small muddy roads became too much for the Toyota and we jumped out, to walk the final hundred metres or so to Paul James home. All around us cassava and sweet potato grew from the fertile, volcanic mud. The bushes are fragrant and small pink and yellow flowers give off a strong aroma of mint. We walk through a couple of fields and then turn into the large open grassy enclosure, dotted with small traditional mud and thatch houses. 

“Welcome to my home” announces Paul James, clearly delighted that we have finally come.

At the top of the compound is a more substantial house, his mothers. Although she passed away a year or so ago, his family greet us warmly.

Paul James gives us a tour of the land and we walk through the maize fields, beneath paw paw, mango and guava trees and an avocado tree, straining under the weight of the fruit. Moses tried a leaf Paul James claimed would cure a cough, but spat it out quickly, coughing and spluttering, complaining that it was deeply bitter. We laughed a lot! He had to search for some sweet berries to counter the taste.

Then food is ready.

You can’t visit someones home without them preparing a huge spread of food and this was no exception. A big pot of chicken, fried meat, chappati, rice, cassava ugali (a dark sticky ugali made from the dried cassava root), vegetables and stew.

We ate like kings, enjoyed great friendship and much laughter.

I was quickly full, but as I put my plate down Paul James came over. He fished something from the pot of chicken and came over to me.

“You cannot finish”, he said, “you must eat this first”

The gizzard is a delicacy, reserved for the head of the house or honoured guests.

“But I am full”, I protested in vain, knowing that Paul James was honouring me.

I took it and ate what I could, my goat protesting stomach may have something more to say about that in the morning.

We left with such warmth, thanking everyone for their hospitality.

“You must take sack loads and sack loads of blessings to everyone in UK” they said.

I left, as I always do when I visit rural homes, humbled by their warmth, hospitality and genuine love. In the Luo culture a visitor is to be welcomed and honoured, to be fed and looked after. I felt blessed to be there, that a people who have very little spend the day preparing and cooking for strangers from another country.

They live in the moment, grateful for what they have,

It reminded me of a short passage from Winnie the Pooh

“What day is today?” said Pooh

“It’s today” said Piglet

“Aahh”, said Pooh, “my favourite day”