Planting Seeds

It is my last morning in Kisumu for this trip. It has been brief, but full and I have loved seeing how our children have matured into lovely young men and women, as well as meeting new children who joined our family since I was last here.

As the lift was still not working, I carried my bag down the 10 flights of stairs (76 steps) that reach up to the 3^rd floor of the hotel. Each step crunched underfoot.

You see, the rains have brought out the bugs and, each morning before the cleaners have made it round with their bucketful’s of water and their wide sweeping brooms, the passageways crunch with the shells of beetles and flying things, lying, mostly, dead on the floor. I mention this only in case you are ever tempted to come with the Trust to Kenya one time. 

You would be welcome in the rainy season, but you should know that there are bugs.

Each night I have crawled under a mosquito net and laid down to sleep, listening to the incessant buzzing of the tiny insects looking for a tasty vein or two. Apparently it is only the females that bite, the males preferring nectar to blood. Make of that what you will – though I will confess that I am on the nectar side of that choice!

Female mosquitos are particularly adept at feeding, they are able to sense human breath and to know, from subtle differences in temperature on the skin, which veins are nearer the surface and where they will best drink their fill. How I wish my local surgery had similar technology, for when they need a small sample of my blood!

It is strangely cosy under a mosquito net which, despite the nearby buzzing, gives a sense of comfort and protection – a bit like listening to the rain pouring down outside a window, whilst inside the fire is on and a cup of hot tea steams.

I had, therefore, slept well last night and woke refreshed for the day. I had a hot cup of Kenyan tea in the dining room, then packed my things up for the day.

Moses and I had planned a morning in Kibos, I wanted to walk around the couple of acres of land we own there, look over the gardens and the vegetables that will supply our food over the coming months.

Daniel at KBS

On our way we called in to KBS, the Kenya Bureau of Standards, located in a lovely large compound on the Kibos Road from town.

Daniel, who is at Moi University and who I had met on Sunday at Kachok, is doing a short internship at KBS, furthering his studies before returning to college next month. 

He is really enjoying his time there, though he tells me that he would love to return to KEMRI (Kenya Medical Research Institute), which is located by the lake shore on the road to Maseno. He spent a few months there earlier in the year which he really enjoyed.

“I need to get good grades” he said, “I know I have to work hard”. He is currently forecast a 2^nd Upper Degree in Biochemistry.

I so hope that he makes it.

We left the calm of KBS for the busy dust road to Kibos.

“What is this?” said Moses, looking ahead to where a large plume of dust rose from the road. It is usually fairly bad around here as Matatus speed up and down the road, avoiding the bumps and potholes, throwing up a wave of red mist in their wake, but this morning it was much worse than usual.

“This wasn’t here when I left” he said.

As we edged closer, all became clear.

“Aaahh”, said Moses, nodding sagely, “It is election season”.

If that was meant to help me to know what was happening, then I am afraid I failed the comprehension test.

A huge yellow mechanical thing, a cross between a JCB, a plough, a snow plough and a roller was plying the route, first churning up the road with the spikes of the plough before returning with the smooth snowplough / roller to remake the road in a smoother image.

In early August Kenyan’s will go to the polls to elect their President. On a more local level, there will also be elections for the County Governor, for the local senate and the assembly.

It is at election time that many roads get fixed, so the good job of the Governor will be remembered by the people.

Today it was the turn of Kibos.

Gerald by the Garden

Impatient casualties of the road-mending lay stranded in the large piles of earth thrown up by the machine. Matatu’s that couldn’t be bothered to wait until the JCB plough / roller thingy returned to smooth the mud had tried to force their own way through, only to become grounded in the middle of the road.

We waited, and followed the road the kilometre or so to Kibos, then on to our place.

A few weeks ago the land was ploughed and Gerald planted it with Maize and Sorghum in time for the rains to come. The green shoots are now starting to push their heads into the sunlight and the first weeding has got underway. Kunde and Sikumawike grow, interspersed with the Sorghum and a further plot has been planted with cassava. 

A Papaya tree

Half a dozen Papaya trees grow on the edge of the vegetable patch, offering a little shade and the prospect of some tasty fruit. The banana trees, which died off after last year’s harvest have now started to produce fresh shoots and Gerald is planning to split them and plant the around the plot once more.

Gerald has come to work for us over the last year or so. Originally from Busia, he now lives at Kibos, taking care of some of the older boys. I was delighted to meet him this week and know that we will work well together over the coming years.

Soon it was time to leave, to head off to the airport for my final hop back to Nairobi and the overnight flight back to Paris and then Manchester.

We sped back over the new Chinese built flyover to the newly surfaced Busia / Airport Road. 

Kisumu has changed a lot in the years that we have been coming, it has grown and modernised, new industries have come and land prices are soaring. The sugar cane factory in Kibos is booming, taking harvests away from the traditional plants at Mumias. In the next couple of years a new, Chinese built, standard gauge railway will connect with Nairobi, where a link will open in a month or two all the way to Mombasa and the ports.

But for all of the infrastructure, for all of the apparent progress, there are still many children in desparate need. 

For every Daniel, succeeding at university, there are a dozen Wayne’s, not knowing who can help them, without a hope in their lives.

My experience is that the children don’t need a hand out, they need a seed planting. Like the maize and the sorghum planted in the gardens at Kibos, if they can find a little help, protection and water when things get hot, then they can become the most mighty and wonderful plantings of hope.

Thank you for reading my blog through this week, I hope I have managed to share something of the Isaiah Trust family, of my brothers and sisters, children and grandchildren in hope.  

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Tales from Nam Lolwe

Monday saw the spring equinox, when the sun is directly over the equator, when the days last from 6am to 6pm and life is at its hottest in Kisumu. Moses and I had travelled the roads of Nyanza and Western Provinces, meeting up with some of our older boys & girls, now young men and women.

But today, with the sun still high in the sky, burning down on the beautiful gardens of Sunset Hotel, we had planned to swim.

We arranged to meet at 11:00, to give the sun time to rise above the Yellow Oleander, the purple Jacaranda and the red Flame trees that line the grounds of the hotel and to warm the waters of the pool from the relative cool of the night air.

At midday they hadn’t arrived, so I went down and slipped into the pool. It was a perfect temperature. I swam through the calm waters, surreptitiously avoiding the many insects, both large and small, that had succumbed to the pools watery depths, enjoying a little down time in what had been a hectic week.

I swam a few lengths of the small pool, then stood for a while in the water, watching the many coloured birds in the trees above. Below the pool, beyond the grounds of the hotel, I watched a pair of zebra wander through the trees with a few small impala for company.

As I sat, submerged in the cool depths, I saw Moses and the children coming down the path at the hotel above. I waved and he waved back, then led the children down to the pool.

We paid the fee for visitors and the children quickly changed before heading into the shallow waters of the pools short end.

It was lovely to see them all. I had met a few of them at Kibos on Sunday when we had gone to church, but we had rushed away to get to Kachok, to attend the service there too, so I hadn’t spent time with the children at the house. Dennis and James, two of the more confident swimmers, were soon jumping from the diving board at the deep end of the pool, their splashes rippling across the water and drowning those who were paddling.

Malenya (or “Wayne” as he is known in the house, though nobody could tell me why!) is the smallest of the new boys at Kibos, he is 8 years old. Wayne lost his mum in a tragic accident when he was just five. She was lighting a paraffin stove to cook food for the family when the stove exploded and she was very badly burned. After a short while in hospital she died of her injuries, leaving Wayne alone. His father fled and hasn’t been seen since. We don’t know why he left, but it is an all too common occurrence that children are abandoned by single parents who can’t face the responsibility to bring them up.

Wayne went to live with a distance relative in Kondele, though he wasn’t put into school, the family making him work in the house, looking after their own, younger child. Regularly beaten when he got things wrong and forced to wander the dusty backroads of Kondele during the day, his plight became known to one of the boys that used to attend our outreach program, and who now runs a small kiosk selling fruit and vegetables. He spoke to Moses about him, concerned for his welfare.

Wayne began living with us earlier this year and is beginning to feel at home with the older boys. I was delighted to see his smiles and laughter as we played in the shallows of the pool. Later this year he will start school, in Class 1.

Griffins, by contrast, is already in Class 7 – he will do his KCPE next year. Griffins is a bright boy, with good English, and I was able to chat with him for a while. He is currently 6^th in his class of 130 children and is hoping for a good grade in his exams. He loves science and hopes, one day, that he could become a Doctor, but if not, then something in the medical profession.

This week I have met Collins, Mary and Daniel, all of whom started where Griffins is, and all of whom are now at university. It gives me confidence that a bright boy, with the right determination can also make it.

As the boys swam, so another familiar face arrived. Florence, another of the older children in the Trust, had come from her university in Eldoret to greet us, all smiles and happiness.

I had carried a gift for Florence from one of the Trust’s amazing supporters, a handmade blanket to give her warmth in the cool Eldoret nights. Florence was thrilled with the present, “No one has ever done something like this for me before” she said, a beaming smile across her face.

She is studying for a degree in Geography combined with special needs education. She will shortly go on an attachment at a school for the deaf and is busy learning the sign language for complex rock formations, which she will be teaching in a secondary school.

Kenyan’s never cease to amaze me with their ability to learn languages. Florence already speaks three – English, Kiswahili and the local tribal Luo. She has now added sign language to her many other gifts and abilities.

The boys played, splashed, jumped and dived in the warm pool for two or three hours, before Moses called them out to get dressed. A chicken dinner from the shacks in town was offered by way of temptation – and they ran to the changing rooms like matatus vying for an important customer!

We all jumped into Moses small Toyota (I say “jumped”, sardines spring to mind!), and set off for town.

This evening, as I sit on the balcony at the hotel, a cool breeze comes off the hills surrounding the lake and flashes of lightening crack through the dark clouds, gathering to bring night time rain. The sun slowly sets the sky ablaze with golden light as it sinks into the watery depths of Lake Victoria.

One evening this week, as we had been driving, Moses had told me an old Luo story he had heard from his Mother when he was young. It spoke of "Nam Lolwe", the local name for Lake Victoria, from a time well before British explorers first thought of heading down the Nile.

“There was an old man”, he began, “who lived on the shores of Nam Lolwe. He didn’t possess a penny. The mice in his house held a meeting and all agreed that, even they, should move out.

His home was empty.

Then one day an old woman came to his house. They became friends and, after some time, she moved in. The old man’s fortunes began to improve, they kept a few chickens, then goats and then, even, some cattle.

One evening they argued, no one knows what it was over, but the argument was fierce. The woman threatened to leave and to take all of the animals with her. “You can’t take them,” the old man said, “It is me that has brought them here!” And with that, he threw the old woman from the house.

In the evening light she was seen walking down to the lake, singing an old, traditional song. 

As she sang, the animals, one by one, began to follow her, leaving their fields and their enclosures.

She walked, slowly, into the lake, the animals behind until all were lost to Nam Lolwe”.

“It isn’t a very happy story, is it?” I complained to Moses.

“My mother used to tell it to us as we sat by the fire in the compound at home” he replied, 

“She told us that we must never forget those who help us along our way”.

I have been delighted to meet, this week, with some of the older children who the Trust has been supporting in their journey to an independent life and future. They will forever be part of our family and I am proud to know them.

I am grateful too, to the many supporters of the Trust who have made their stories possible, who have “helped us along our way”, giving them a bright future.

Today I met with Wayne, Griffins, James, Dennis, Norbert, Ben and Maurice. The next generation of children in our family. I hope and pray for their futures too – may they know the fullness of life. 

Thank you for all you support.

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.