The Flood

As I write this blog entry, I am still trying to sort out what I need to tell from last week. This was one of the most intense weeks we have had here in Nairobi, and all the events that happened are running wild in my mind. It is Sunday night, and the weather outside is absolutely gorgeous. It never gets much higher than 80 degrees, and the nights are always in the 60’s. The climate is not what I would have imagined typical Africa climate to be. Nairobi’s temperature has been close to perfect in my opinion.

Yesterday, we got to enjoy a full day of soccer at the Rift Valley Academy. The school is up in the mountains and overlooks the Great Rift Valley, which is utterly breathtaking. I am at a loss for how to describe the God-given natural wonder, so my best advice is to google it! Matt, Erin, and I came back and had a delicious spaghetti dinner outside at the Tidenbergs, and across the street a party was going on with a really good live band. I got to spend the night with the White family, and I stayed up until after 1:00 AM listening to the Gator game on Yahoo Sports. It was the first time I had either seen or listened to a Gator game this year, so that made my night. That was my Saturday. Also this week, we had warthog meat for dinner, Matt and I beat two Indian guys in ping pong at Graffins College, and we all got to chaperone a middle school movie night at Rosslyn High School. Those are a bunch of random occurrences from the past week, but let me share with you a couple of other things that took place.

On Monday, we were picked up in the morning and taken to a couple of Hindu temples in Nairobi. You couldn’t believe how many Southeast Asians live here, and with many of the Indian people comes the Hindu influence. There is a whole group from the International Mission Board devoted to reaching Hindus in Nairobi, so they took us to the temples so we could learn a little more about the Hindu culture. We left there saddened and somewhat depressed, seeing so many people praying to statues and believing that the only way to get rewarded in the next life is by living a good life. Their religion appeared to me to be heavily based on performance. I know that my performance in this world will never be good enough, so I am extremely thankful that I can’t work my way into heaven. As followers of Christ, we know that our hope for salvation is in God’s grace alone, not in any work of man (see my earlier blog on the Gospel message). I did leave the temple tour grateful to the Lord for saving me and for living inside of me. We serve a living and mighty God, and a statue cannot contain the majesty and glory of His name.

By far, the funniest thing that happened this week, depending on how you define funny, was the flooding of the guesthouse. As you may recall, the guesthouse is where Matt and I sleep. After watching a movie and deciding to turn in for the night, I walked back to our house. I went straight into the bathroom, missing the fact that our place had been flooded. It took me about ten minutes, after being in the bathroom, to figure out that we had a major problem on our hands. Matt walked in and we discovered that there wasn’t just a little bit of water, but there was actual flooding in every room. We called for Tim, Annie, and Erin to come over, and then the damage control began. We spent a couple of hours that night sweeping the water out the front door with a couple of brooms, taking the food stored in the storage room into the main house, and picking up anything that was on the flooded floor. We stayed up that night until 1:00 AM, and spent much of the next day sorting the good food from the ruined food. We were supposed to do a medical mission day on Tuesday, but we couldn’t go because of the mess that was on our hands. Apparently, Hannah (the Tidenberg’s daughter) had left the faucet turned on in the laundry room while the water pump was turned off. Because the pump was off, no water flowed through the faucet, so she didn’t realize the faucet was in the “on” position. Later that night, the pump turned on when no one was back in the guesthouse to notice the faucet was pouring out water. To make matters worse, the drain was clogged. As you can tell, that is not a good combination. It was a crazy night, but it was a hilarious and effective team-building experience. What a great memory!

Now, let’s move to the intense moments of the week. I don’t want to overhype them, but I can honestly say I will never be the same because of what I have recently seen in Nairobi. This week, the tears rolled down my face for the first time since living in the village. I cannot fully express, and never before had I completely imagined, how bad some of the living conditions can be for those trapped in extreme poverty here. On Thursday, the three of us had the chance to go with a missionary named Jerry Stephens into the Kibera slums. Some of you may have heard of Kibera, considering it is the third largest slum in the world and the second largest on the continent of Africa. I had heard of it before, but until I got to step foot on the Kibera grounds, I never truly understood or grasped how people are forced to live. The stench was disgusting, children were playing in the sewage water, and 8-10 people were living in little 8x8 foot “homes” with a single room. Being in Kibera at night can be very dangerous because of the excessive crime that runs rampant.

When we first got there, we hung around the outskirts of the slum waiting for a Kenyan youth pastor to take us on a tour, and we made friends with several of the local children. Samson and Daniel are the two kids that are still weighing heavily on my heart and on my mind. Daniel doesn’t have a clue about the location of his father, and I’m not sure if he has ever met his dad before. Samson’s mom is sick in bed with tuberculosis, and it is likely she will not get the help that she needs. His Uncle Matthew was killed by AIDS. However, these two boys had some of the sweetest smiles I have ever seen. Daniel and I got pretty attached, and he walked with me hand in hand into the center of the slum. Daniel was on one hand, and a boy named Nashon was on the other hand. We walked towards the heart of the slum for about 45 minutes, and then we turned around to go back. The thing that infuriates me the most is the fact that the government does nothing to help. In fact, the government keeps a lot of the money that gets donated to the slums for themselves. They don’t give any care at all for their people. In a recent poll, the Kenyan government was voted as one of the most corrupt governments in Africa. It makes me sick to think that some of these politicians are millionaires, and they embezzle money that is sent to help people who are trapped in the pits of poverty. The Lord says that vengeance is His to repay, but we can pray for the deliverance of many of the Kenyan people from the bondages of sin, poverty, crime, and disease.

The Kibera trip was the big happening on Thursday for the team, but the images of what went down on Friday will forever be burned into my memory. Friday morning, we got up at 4:30 AM and were picked up by the Gandys at 5:15. Let me say here that I am not a morning person at all. Anyways, they got us and took us into downtown Nairobi where we were to minister to street kids by praying for them, feeding them, and possibly doing first aid. After one of the Kenyan pastors from Ridgeways Baptist Church taught Bible Study, we all got the chance to break up into groups and pray with the men and children. We call it a street kids ministry, but in all actuality the people that showed up on Friday were street men. Nevertheless, I will refer to them as street kids. The conditions on the street are difficult and dangerous, and many of the street kids have to steal to survive. They are infamous for being incredibly savvy at picking pockets without the victim figuring out what is going on until it is too late.

After praying with them and giving them milk, we thought we were going to leave. However, as we were getting ready to go, a man strolled up in his wheelchair. His legs had obviously been amputated. He couldn’t speak much English, but we were told that he had diabetes. This was not his only problem. We don’t know for sure, but it is possible that there were some type of bugs eating away at his skin. His fingernails and his fingers were being destroyed by something. One of his thumbs had absolutely no fingernail anymore. The bones in what was left from his legs had pierced through his skin and were clearly visible. Whether it was an infection or an insect, something had eaten away at his skin here as well. He said that he was having this problem all over his body. We knew he had to go to a hospital, or he could possible die in the next few months. He was in very poor condition. His friends wheeled him to Kenyatta hospital where they treat street kids for free. I vividly remember the picture of pain that was on his face as Mrs. Gandy sprayed peroxide on his fingers, and I held him to hopefully provide some amount of comfort. Later on as we talked, I was brought to tears over what I had just seen. For a short while, I was very upset with myself for not being that sad or disturbed during the moment. I don’t know if it was the fact that I had seen a lot of poverty and sickness in the village or what, but I am thankful that God used this man to soften my heart again. I pray that I would never become numb to the hurt that is so prevalent in the world.

What I can’t get over is why I was born in Daytona Beach, Florida, and this man was born in a small village in Kenya. I did not choose where I was born. I did not choose my family. I did not choose my home, Christian parents, or a good neighborhood. I guess asking why is not necessarily the correct response to the situation. The correct response is to fall flat on my face to worship the Lord and praise Him for everything He has given me. I know that every good gift comes from above, and He has dealt bountifully with me. I left that morning with an overwhelming sense of awe and gratefulness to the Lord for all of the blessings that He has so readily lavished upon me. I was reminded of how easily that could have been me on the street. By no merit of my own am I where I am today.

It struck me that I come to these people on the street for one hour, and then I leave to move on to my next destination. For these people, they live on the street all day every day. Stop and think about that for a second. For most of them, there is little hope to escape the street life. The only hope that they have is Christ Jesus. That is why the street kids ministry exists. We know that the only escape from the torment and pain in their lives is a relationship with the Lord. Their emptiness causes them to turn to drugs and alcohol to take their mind off of their sorrows, but Jesus Christ alone can fill them up. I believe that with all of my heart. Never before had I sensed such spiritual warfare in my presence, but I believe that the Lord is going to give victory to some of those street kids. I have said this before, but I want to say it again: I certainly hope I am not coming off as preachy. That is the last thing I want to do. I am just relaying a story to you that has impacted me and will hopefully change the way I live forever. I was crushed and broken by seeing how people actually have to live. I am praying that the Lord would give me patience when I go back to America, because I know that the first time I see a kid yelling and complaining to their mom about something in Walmart, I am going to want to share with them how good they have it compared to people all over the world.

What an incredible week! Thank you, Lord, for revealing Yourself to me through dark and depressing circumstances. I know that God is interested in seeing how we will treat the least of these among us, and I believe there are these people in America as well as Kenya. Please pray that the slum we are going to this upcoming week will be delivered from the crime, abortion, and sexual immorality that is entangling the people. Please pray for the salvation of souls. I still cannot believe I am in Kenya. Thanks so much for your prayer support, your encouraging emails, and your financial support. As Christians, we have been blessed beyond measure. Asante Mungu, wewe ni mzuri (Thank you God, you are good).