The Mechanics of Tomorrow – Nyama Choma and an Apprentice

The day dawned as bright as only the equatorial sky can be. There is no smog to shroud the city, no cloud to spoil the unending view upwards, just a purity of light and a brightness born out of a consistent closeness to the sun.

Two black kites circled and called to each other with a mewing, earnest call and then swooped and dived in unison, their mating ritual gathering pace. The low grunt of the lake hippo’s carried across the air from the bay where they reside (“hippo bay” would you believe?). Scarlet sunbirds, yellow weavers and yellow bellied bulbuls played amongst the jacaranda flowers and a small monkey ran across the lawn far below.

I watched from the balcony for a while. I am waking early at the moment, pulled from my sleep by the gentle warmth of the dawn, then torn from my bed as the sun quickly rises and floods the room in bright light.

I am not complaining, there are many worse places in the world to wake up.

I am constantly reminded of how beautiful this world is and how lucky I am that God called me to work in this lovely corner of it.

I jumped in to the shower and squealed with delight. Warm water. The electricity had been off yesterday morning, which meant that the water heaters somehow loosely attached to the shower were unable to work their magic. But today was wonderful  and I found it a struggle to get out.

I had arranged to meet Moses and Anton at 10:30, for the hour or so’s drive up to Bungoma. We had planned to visit Noah.

Noah’s story is all too common.

He lived with his parents in Malava, a small village on the Uganda border in Western province. The village was quiet and funds were tight. Rural existence even today centres around a small holding, which provides food for the family as well as products to sell at the market. In western province this often means growing vegetables, keeping chickens, having a field of maize, and then, if the family is lucky and has more land, perhaps growing sugar cane for the local industries.

Noah got bored with village life, he heard stories from his friends of life in the cities, of freedom from school, from rules, stories of friendship and camerarderie

Attracted by the prospect, Noah left home when he was 9 years old.

He got lifts on the back of the sugar cane lorries, jumped into the back of trailers and eventually made the long journey to Kisumu.

Sadly, he then discovered the other side of street life, the bullying, the gangs and the glue. He found himself hungry, alone and afraid.

The Trust met up with Noah during our street outreach programs, and he was part of the second intake of boys into our rehab home in Kibos, with Franco, who I wrote about yesterday.

Unlike Franco, Noah’s parents were easier to trace. The Trust got in touch with his family and enabled a very tearful and happy reunion.

Noah remained with us for four years, completing his primary school studies, before moving back to live with his family. We continued to support him in our home resettlement program and he went to a secondary school close to Malava.

But after Form 2, Noah found the going too tough and, aged 18, asked if we would support him with an apprenticeship. Paul James worked with him and his family and Noah got offered two years of car mechanic training in a workshop in Bungoma. He was thrilled.

Today we were going to visit, to check on his progress, to make sure there were no regrets.

Anton arrived at 11:00 but couldn’t locate me (I was sat on the terrace watching the lizards scuttle up and down the trees), so it was almost twenty past when we left.

The drive to Bungoma was good, the slow climb out of the lake basin on the road to Busia, across the equator at Maseno, through Luanda town and then turning right for Mumias on a well made road. The countryside is lovely, dotted around with rural homesteads, most now planted with maize almost ready for harvesting, the tall stems protectively nursing cobs of corn like a mother holding a newborn child. Elsewhere cassava plants grew tall, banana trees lined the paths and tall eucalyptus, the main tree used for building, because of its tall straight growth, dotted green and fertile hillsides.

Eventually we arrived at Mumias, the home of Western Provinces largest sugar factory. Some 50,000 farmers grow cane for the factory, which produces over 60% of Kenyan sugar and exports over 20,000 tons to Europe each year. The company has branched out in recent years, producing energy from the by product of the sugar and exporting over 26 mega watts (which sounds like quite a lot) back to the national grid.

The evidence of the factory is seen all around, from the fields rich with cane to the over loaded tractors and trailers on the narrow main roads.

 

After a couple of hours drive we arrive in Bungoma. It is a small, dusty town with a busy market running the length of the road in. Paul James is unsure of where to turn, but after a couple of near misses we eventually find the yard where Noah is training.

He is delighted to see us. He spent his time with us at Kibos, with Moses and Tatu, and is happy to see Moses again. I shows us around the yard and introduces us to his teacher and mentor, Charles Odour.

Charles receives us warmly and tells us that Noah is a good student. They are a busy yard, starting before 9 each day and finishing at 6, as the light begins to fade.

Noah is renting a small house nearby and, though he relies on the support of the Trust, who pay for his apprenticeship, he is maturing into a lovely young man. He will be allowed a couple of days off at Christmas, and will go back to his family in Malava, some half an hour away when he is done.

After spending a little time with him, we leave for the journey back to Kachok and to the evening fellowship at the rubbish tip.

 

It is mid afternoon and we have plenty of time, so Moses suggests that he buy us all lunch.

This is an opportunity not to be missed. He tells us there is a place, just beyond Mumias, where the specialise in “nyama choma” - roast goat. We pull in outside a small pub and Moses leads us through the bar to a large and spacious eating area at the back, where a charcoal barbecue is puffing out fatty smoke.

Moses orders and shortly a plate of chapattis appears (for me) closely followed by a mound or three of ugali (for Moses, Paul James and Anton) – I haven’t quite acquired the taste of the stodgy maize flour staple yet, perhaps one day!

Then a man appears with a large wooden board, a slab of meat and a large knife. I hope earnestly that either 1. The meat is softer than it looks or that 2. the knife is not as sharp as I think it might be.

The plate of chopped meat is put in the middle of the table, along with a second bowl of goat intestines in a buttery soup.

 

As I chewed on my meat (it takes a while) I thought again, how blessed I am to be working with this team. We share more than just work, we share a passion, we share a friendship and we share a couple of ribs of a scrawny goat.

With full stomachs and sore jaw muscles (I suspect that may have just been me) we head back to Kisumu. The sun is dipping lower over the lake as we descend once again to its shore and we make our way towards the fellowship at the rubbish tip we have been running for many years now.

From such places will come the mechanics of tomorrow.

Given the chance