Tuk Tuks & Bumpy Roads

“This is good”, said Pam, as we rattled along Nyalenda Road in a noisy old tuk tuk, “much better than a motorbike”.

The boys brigade were camping at Kibos, so Pam and I had said we would make our own way to church at Kachok and meet them there. I had suggested a motorcycle taxi, or even a boda boda, but Pam refused. “I wouldn’t feel safe on them” she said. It was hard to argue.

Kisumu’s roads are undergoing a huge upgrade which has left the city centre gridlocked and the side roads riddled with bumps and an eclectic variety of the largest and most obstructive vehicles ever conceived. At one point, outside the busiest supermarket mall in the town, new water pipes are being installed. This seemingly major undertaking apparently requires the use of a crane parked, helpfully, right in the middle of the road leading to the mall. Getting past the obstruction requires much tooting of horns, revving of engines and the use of a couple of Swahili words with which my 13 years of coming to Kenya have not so far made me familiar.

“Kachok church begins promptly at 9:00” said Moses the night before, as he dropped us off at St Anna’s, “we will see you there.”

Pam and I arrived promptly at 9:05, still rattling a little from the tuk tuk, to be greeted by one or two familiar smiling faces.

Moses arrived promptly at 11:05 (after running out of petrol en route from Kibos), by which time the small tin hut on the edge of the rubbish dump was bursting with people of all ages and all sizes.

By this time we had praised, we had preached and we had danced. As we had sung our worship the rhythm was enthusiastically played out on an old tin drum by a lady who looked old enough to be my grandmother. Either drumming is good for you or her sons had left home and she was missing something to beat.

Since Moses had brought his guitar (and our visitors from the boys brigade fresh(?) from their overnight camp, we somehow squeezed up and sang some more. It would have been rude not to.

“There isn’t room to stand and dance”, said Moses as he swung his guitar around the heads of the gathered congregation, “So just move your head like this”, his head lilted rhythmically from side to side. “If it becomes too infectious, then try to move your arms up in the air”

I love Kachok church.

On first inspection there doesn’t seem much to like. The rubbish is dumped just outside and the smell drifts unmistakeably into the little tin hut. Large black flies buzz around, swirling up around your feet as worship rhythms are tapped out

But this is church. People come here looking for God.

One lady, Jane, travels 8 km from her home to come to church here. Not so remarkable in England, except that she is blind. Travelling anywhere for her is an effort, but she loves the worship and the fellowship that she finds at Kachok.

Romanus shared testimony, how he burned 50,000 ksh of Marijuana (about £400 - a small fortune in Kenya) when he met Jesus. He now earns a living riding a boda boda, despite his failing sight. He had been knocked of his bike yesterday afternoon by a pushy motorcyclist, on the broken bumpy roads near the Mall, sustaining a few bruises. He had come, not to complain about the accident, but to thank God that he had been spared worse injury.

Kevin is in secondary school, he is eloquent and a great singer. He led us in worship and shared his belief that he could follow others from the dump site who have made it to university.

We shared needs and we prayed together, we prayed for the sick (there were many names shared), for life’s struggles and life’s difficulties. And we prayed in an atmosphere of hope.

It was a delight.

When we finished we went down to Kibos, for my second church of the day, and as I went in I met with some of our first boys, those who came to us early in the program. It was a joy to see them.

Dennis is living his life independently, earning a living selling nuts and eggs and more around the streets of Kondele.  He has a house in Manyatta and looks happy. He leads me by the hand and introduces me to his wife, Mercy, and their two lovely children Geoffrey and Moses.

We met Elvis and Moses Peace, going through training to be an electrician, Collins was back from university, Boniface was heading back to bible college to complete his diploma. So much to catch up on.

And here I sensed the same hope that I felt in Kachok.

We finished the day by the lake shore, with two matatus full of children, eating fish from the Hotel Furaha (it means “happy”). And it was a really happy end to a day full of hope.

For most of the people I have met today the road to where they are has been as rough as Kisumu’s dusty streets, there have been many bumps and obstacles.

But there is still hope.

And that hope is inspiring.