If you have stress when you dance like this ….

I woke to a refreshing breeze coming off Lake Victoria. I had slept fitfully, dogs barked in nearby compounds, hippo’s grunted amongst the shallow water hyacinth and bullfrogs maintained a steady chorus of calls throughout the night. I wandered downstairs (the lifts, inevitably, are “out of order”) and into the dining room of the hotel for breakfast. A smiling face greeted me. “Welcome back Tim”, she said, “we have missed you”.

This is why I like coming to Sunset. It is a hotel whose best days seem to be behind it, but the grounds are lush with tropical trees and foliage, brightly coloured birds sing amongst the purple jacarandas and monkeys wander through the trees from the nearby park. But most of all, it’s the people. There is always a smile, always a greeting and it always feels nice. The chef cooked me an egg, “Fried”, she said, “but softly”. It reminded me of my English skin in the equatorial sun – fried, but softly!

Refreshed by hot tea and toast, I sat on the terrace and waited for Moses, who collected me exactly on the regulation 20 minutes after the time we had agreed.

We took to the dusty streets of Kisumu, making our way through the busy market traffic to Kibos. There has been a revolution in the roads in Kisumu. Chinese contractors have built new flyovers connecting the airport road with Nairobi road and with Kondele, the busy suburb we pass through on route to our home in Kibos. It saves many minutes of fighting through aggressive matatu drivers and avoiding stray tuk tuks wondering across the roads to avoid pot holes and speed bumps (it always amuses me how people fly over the speed bumps but slow down and edge cautiously around the potholes). Maybe the council has a strategy! As I say, it saves many minutes – or it would do if people actually used the right side of the road, didn’t jump out of every junction, didn’t pile their motorcycles and boda bodas with every conceivable and improbable item of furniture.

Thirty minutes after the agreed time we arrived in Kibos. It didn’t matter, it never does, it’s just my Englishness that understands time in a different dimension and tries to adhere to it. 

Maybe I will learn, one day!

We entered the church at Kibos and I walked towards my usual seat at the front right of the church, greeting familiar faces and new friends as I arrived.

Then Nellie got up, Benson took his place on the keyboard, Moses on the guitar and the music started. And the praise started. And the dancing started. And the time … well, it didn’t matter. Nellie has sung worship in the church ever since it was started, around 12 years ago. I love her passion and her movement, she sings with her whole body, the rhythm is projected in her song and in her dance and it is infectious. Moses once told me that I dance “like a muzungu (a white man - I don't think it was a complement!)”, but I don’t care, I clap and, when I recognise a song, I sing along too.

Then Moses took the microphone and began to sing, clap, dance, jump around and everything else. He must have been cooking in his suit, (perhaps softly!), but he led worship with joy. “you cannot dance like this and have stress”, he cried out through the microphone, “if you dance like this and have stress you will need 50 litres of anointing oil!”. I laughed and laughed.

When the worship was done I greeted the church, passed love and thoughts from all in the UK, from Pam and from Nicky, from Harry and Madeleine, who went last year, from Rebekah, who's raising money for an outdoor classroom, from the members of Ackworth Boys Brigade who will be going out again in October (they can’t wait to see you again!), they were joyful to know that they are in our thoughts and our prayers. And suddenly it felt, well, less like a trip and more like a family.

I preached a message from Matthew 5 and Moses led us in prayer. Two men who had come for the first time then greeted the church (visitors always get invited to the front to say hello). The said who they were, that this was their first time, that they were not “born again” but they have heard God speak to them and they would like to be, so Moses and I prayed with them. I felt really moved. My family has two more members.

We rushed from the church and jumped in the car again, this time bound for Kachok.

Kachok is the little tin shed church by the municipal rubbish dump in Kisumu. The very first time Nicky and I went to Kisumu we visited the dump and heard the stories of the men and boys who scavenge there, eking out what living they can from the plastics, bottles and metals discarded by others. 

It is a disconcerting place to walk into if you are not familiar with it. The hut is alive with flies, tapping out every worship rhythm, dancing around your feet and buzzing out their own songs.

But it is also a very moving place and, as I entered, familiar faces greeted me – John, Cosmas, Gurang, Daniel, Kevin, Mary, people I have met with here over many years, whose presence is a testimony to belonging to a place and serving a particular people.

Moses led us in worship again, the tin hut alive with song, with clapping and dancing. I greeted the people again, bringing news from the UK and a word from the bible. Then John invited Daniel to share a testimony.

I have written about Daniel before when I visited him at Moi on his first year at University as he was settling in. He is a wonderful young man. We met him when he was 12 years old, a street boy, finding food where he could. John had taken him under his wing and tried to help him and both Nicky and I met with him at Kachok fellowships over a number of visits. We agreed to support him through the Trust, first at primary and then at secondary school. 

Life has been hard for Daniel. His mother suffered a stroke when he was young and has struggled to support him. She is now in hospital and has been there for almost 6 weeks, having suffered a relapse. Daniel appealed to the local MP, who has helped with the hospital fees, but things have not been easy.

Daniel excelled at secondary school, gaining really good grades in his KCSE and is now in his final year at Moi University. Every week he comes back to this little church at the dump, to the place where his life changed. He shares his stories, he encourages the younger children, helps to serve the food and drink to those who turn up to the church. He is working hard, hoping to gain a scholarship to do a masters. I hope and pray with all my heart that he succeeds. “I want to thank you people for all that you have done for me”, he says, “if you hadn’t believed in me I wouldn’t be where I am. I know that your blood does not flow in my veins, but you have treated me like your son and I am grateful”.

In the Isaiah Trust we believe that our family is broad, that we are brothers and sisters together, irrespective of the distance between us or the colour of our skin. I might dance like a muzungu, but my brothers are African.

And no, I don’t need all that anointing oil. Not after today.

Reflections

On Thursday afternoon I caught the short flight from Kisumu to Nairobi after saying my goodbyes at Sunset Hotel.

Sunset has become like a second home, a place of familiarity now, whilst I am away. It is a government run hotel and as such hosts numerous conferences and seminars – this weeks was run by the Kenya Red Cross – but it always seems friendly. Kisumu seems to have no shortage of new accommodation, sparkling hotels are springing up each time I go and by comparison with some Sunset is looking a bit tired. The paint is a little faded, the air conditioning, in the words if the receptionist “will work, but unfortunately it pours with water – and I mean it really pours”.

It didn’t really seem to matter to be honest, the warm nights sheltered inside a white cotton mosquito net were followed by the simple pleasure of sliding back the door to the small balcony each morning and feeling the cool caress of the African dawn. 

Across the balcony, the canopy of trees, the purple flowers of the jacaranda and bright red of the flame trees paint the morning with colourful hues. After a couple of hundred metres the lush tropical greenery gives way to the ever present backdrop of Lake Victoria and the huge African sky reflected in its still morning waters. A dozen or so small sails in the distance reveal the small boats with their fishermen, bringing in the nile perch, tilapia and omena which will grace the tables of the wealthy and the poor of this city.

I left with some sadness, it doesn’t matter how long I come for, it is always hard to leave. Moses, Paul James, John and Tatu have come to see me off and we exchange warm thank you’s. I hope to see them again soon.

It has been a good trip for seeing the progress of the work. Many of the children that came into the programmes in the early days, when we were very much feeling our way, are now graduating school, going to college, or joining apprenticeships. The road, like the many miles of tarmac and dirt tracks that I have driven over the last few days, has occasional and sometimes significant pot holes, but that doesn’t mean that the journey isn’t worth it and I am glad that we set off.

Nicky and I are working to see if Moses can get a visa to come and visit the UK next year. 

We need to put together an itinerary for him, ideally visiting a number of different churches, talking about the street children he works with and some of the challenges, difficulties and the transformations we have seen in them. At the heart of the Trust’s ministry is a belief that God’s Spirit has the power to change lives and that God’s heart is with the poor of this world. 

We have seen so very many prayers answered and God’s hand in the development and progress we have made.

If you would like Nicky or myself to share with your church, school or group about the work of the Trust, or if you would be interested in Moses visit next year, then we would be delighted to talk with you.

Please do get in touch. If you don’t already, then please also consider following us on Facebook, where we post regular updates on the children and also on our fundraising opportunities – www.facebook.com/isaiahtrust.

I wish I had the means ...

I wish I had the means to show you the beauty of the African night. A million stars, their flickering lights stretching end to end across the horizon, clusters and constellations painting a milky glow, each planet uniquely and beautiful made, lit by the light of ten thousand distant suns.

And I wish I had the means to show you a million hungry children, each uniquely and beautiful made, living on this remarkable continent. Each born with their own mix of skills and talents, teachers, professors, doctors, physicists, pastors and sportsmen and women in the making, each wondering when they will next have food or clean water, each wondering what the future holds.

Last night we held fellowship at Kachok, later than usual, after our long drive to Bondo and Siaya. As we finished our prayer time, in the little hut next to the rubbish dump, I looked up and was touched once again by the sheer majesty of what I saw.

Looking down I see the mess of human existence, but looking up I see nothing but wonder.

And I wish we had the means to do so much more.
 

Today it will Rain

“It will rain today” said Paul James, as he and Moses pulled into the hotel car park to pick me up.

“How do you know?” I asked, looking up at the clear blue (and, it has to be said, cloudless) skies and sweating under the heat and humidity.

 “Because it is warm” he said.

There followed a ten minute debate on the relative temperatures implied by the terms “warm” and “hot” – with my premise being that anything over 30 degrees might reasonably described as a little hotter than “warm”.

Today we planned to visit a number of children we are supporting in Luanda, Siaya and Bondo, three towns to the west of Kisumu in the heart of Nyanza Province. The road to Luanda has always been good, but it is now undergoing a major upgrade, at least as far as the brand new International Airport Terminal. As a result, the road has been transformed into a dust bowl, stirred up by the petrol wagons, tankers and trailers  that carry their goods on to Busia and the border with Uganda.

We had set off late, it was gone one, and the sun was burning the car, but we edged our way through the traffic with windows tightly closed, to prevent ourselves turning the same reddy brown as the African soil.

Eventually we left the roadworks behind and we were on our way, up the hill out of the Lake Basin and across the equator at the university in Maseno. I smiled. I have always found it strange that there is a university on the equator – where there are zero degrees.

There is a post marking the equator, where I have stopped many times with different groups of people for photographs. This time I noticed that an enterprising soul had bought the land around it and built shacks selling equator related nick naks for the benefit of deep pocketed tourists.

Needless to say, we drove on.

We arrived in Luanda and parked up, then walked the hundred metres or so to Patrick’s workshop. I visited Patrick last year, when I saw some of the apprenticeship schemes we are supporting. Then, Patrick was fairly new, but this time he was cutting metal like a professional, making the frames for windows, doors and gates.

He greeted us warmly and told us how much he was enjoying the training. He had learned a lot and was looking forward to continuing next year.

At his side was William. Like Patrick, he had also been in our home at Kibos, but only for a year or so. He came to us after a long time on the streets. He has no parents and had missed a great deal of school. He couldn’t face returning to class 2 at 14 years of age, so waited until he was able to go for an apprenticeship. He is from Luanda, so we arranged for him to train at the same metal working workshop as Patrick and, once again, he is happy to be there. After feeling out of place for so long, he now has something that he can work for. He has hope and a future.

We left Luanda for Siaya, passing the beautiful, brand new and completely empty smooth tarmac road to the Obama family residence, to visit Truphena, who is graduating a course in special needs education on Friday (sadly I will already have left Kisumu whilst her ceremony takes place). We are delighted for her and she is happy to have passed her exams.

In Siaya we also planned to visit Michael, who is training in a car repair workshop. As we set off the sky became black and the heavens opened (Paul “rainmaker” James sat in the back of the car smiling inanely). A tropical downpour rained down on us, covering the road in water and reducing visibility to almost nothing. 

We edged our way through Siaya town to the workshop and hopped out of the car through the rain, running for cover under the iron sheet shacks that form the workshops. We stood under the cover, raindrops running down our faces, our clothes wet and clinging.

“You’re looking for Michael?” asked the mechanic sheltering near us, “He is working in our other workshop down the road”

“thanks” we muttered ungratefully, and stepped back outside into the downpour, running to the now very steamy confines of the Toyota.

We jumped in and crawled slowly down the road until we reached Michaels’ workshop. Michael came through our original foster program and has been supported since he was very small, in primary school. He chose an apprenticeship in his native Siaya and is now 12 months in.

From Siaya we plotted a course to Bondo, along a good tarmac road. The rain finally eased, but this caused the tarmac to begin to steam. Rainwater began to rise from the hot road in thick, swirling clouds.

“When I was young”, Moses said, “My mum told me that when the road steams it is because your dead ancestors are cooking underneath them”.

“I used to be so frightened to walk on them I would run into the bush”.

We laughed, our damp spirits lifted.

In Bondo we visited Brian, a secondary school student from the foster program, cared for by a lovely couple, Reuben and Grace. 

Reuben works for an NGO in Northern Kenya, almost at the Sudanese border and Grace is a pre-school teacher. Brain has struggled in secondary school, but managed to by 10^th in his class of 62 this year. We encourage him to work hard, talking of other children we have visited in the program who are now seeing the fruits of their labour, achieving places at college or university or on apprenticeship schemes.

Our final visit of the day was to Henrietta, one of the girls in the program, whom I visited last year. 

We arranged to meet her in Bondo town centre and pulled over by the side of the road at the busy market. Paul James called Hennie, who came running to meet us. Once again, she was delighted to see us. Hennie is a beautiful bundle of energy, resourceful and ambitious to make the most of her life.

She jumped in the car and told Moses to drive on. We drive a few hundred metres, then turned down a track made muddy by the heavy rain, negotiating pot holes and pools in equal measure. 

After a short distance she told us to stop, outside a small row of apartments.

“This is where I live”, she announced, with delight.

We followed her inside to find a spacious single room, divided by two large sheets, on one side of which were chairs and a small table and behind which lay a bed.

Hennie has been looking for a course in community health, but whilst she looked she has got a job as a cashier at a local hospital, working 12 hour shifts and alternating days and nights, with a few days off in between. 

Some days, before she starts work, she cleans at a local government house to earn the small wages that pay her rent. She is determined to make the best of life and talks excitedly about a course she has found.

We give her the money to register for the course and she promises to send us a payment schedule for the modules that make up the two and a half year diploma.

We leave Bondo after a long but uplifting day, catching up on some I saw last year and seeing some take their first steps towards independence.

I ask Paul James what he thinks the future holds for these children.

“I think it will rain blessings” he says, and smiles.