New Beginnings

This season has been very interesting for me with many new beginnings. First, the new insight I have gotten into the life of Kenya and its people, with all the undercurrents of politcal intrigue, overt social injustice and unresolved tribal sentiment that underlie our community. Second, wrestling with what to do about this new discovery and what it means for me as a student of the bible and theology in Africa. Third, working within the NEGST community through the work study program in the Communications Department writing articles on the Alumni, has brought me into close contact with church leaders that are literally shaping the destiny of the African church, and through this interaction seeking to discover can/do I have my own place within this story of the manifestation of the Kingdom of God in Africa? And finally, just yesterday I was voted in as the new Social Coordinator of the NEGST community, a docket that deals with the Social Welfare of the community - Health, Sanitation, Community welfare etc. After a short, yet challenging campaign period, the vote came in with a win margin of only 3 votes..Thank God its a Christian community or we may have had to have a recount + mass action, toss a coin...etc...(not funny).
Many new things...its an exiciting/scary season....
Father, show me the way...Your way, that I may walk in it.
Psalm 25:4 'Show me the path where I should walk, O LORD; point out the right road for me to follow.' NLT

Waiting to exhale

With bated breath, I write reviews on Christology in Africa, discuss Semantics and gradable antonyms (what does it really mean to say 'the word of Christ' verses ' words of Christ' in Colossians 3:16? Does it make a difference either way? When we go back to the 'original' language, will we find some profound differences to what we thought we knew that will change our faith forever? Or is it to make sure they(scholars) got it right the first time?...or maybe for African Christianity... continue to explore topics that no else wants to....like Genocide - 2 Samuel 21..or incest and rape 2 Sam 13…ever noticed how King David’s reign was just full of drama?) and cram for Greek tests and explore the meaning of the Kingdom of God and how it is manifest through the church in Africa today (Christianese for how the Kingdom of God is visible or apparent in Africa) with church meaning the people of God rather than an institution....the same church that supposedly makes up 80% of Kenyan citizenry...makes me begin to ask myself some hard questions about the health of the church in Kenya...we're not doing as well as we thought). The thing about holding your breath is that it makes living 100% kind of difficult. You don't really have the capacity to handle the usual weight and stress that life in its myriad of experiences throws at you (find yourself snappish, forgetful...consistently late...or you're just generally not as sweet as you'd like to be). But even in the 50% you’re operating in right now, life continues, and with the bated breath, there lies a glimmer of hope that threatens to kindle out of control. So every night, I watch the news, wondering can I exhale now? Should I be back to life as usual? Should I start celebrating yet? I may not be back in full swing, but with every breath there is a moment I pray that things won't go back to 'normal' but instead, things will change. So for now I live waiting to exhale.

Matthew 11: 28-30 NLT ‘Then Jesus said, "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke fits perfectly, and the burden I give you is light."

Freedom

It was interesting hearing the minister (Dr. Shaban) of Special Programs (which is dealing with the Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) crises), talking about the evacuation of people from the IDP camps. The good doctor informed the public that it's not government policy to resettle people in their ancestral homes, as every Kenyan has a right to settle and live anywhere in Kenya...yet the government, upon requests of those who have been terrorized out of their homes, is currently evacuating people from the IDP camps to their ancestral homes. It was sad listening to her, because it sounded like we have our policy, then there is the current crises, and the two don't meet...yet considering the pain and suffering that has occured, the decision to evacuate the displaced to wherever they desire to go, rather then secure their homes for them, is painfully understandable. Our policies are meant to guide our actions, yet at this point, they seem inadequate to the situation we now face. So now bus load after bus load arrives in towns and village centers all over the country, returning a disillusioned mass to start new lives amongst 'their own'. Freedom to live and work anywhere in this country is a right that is slowly being eroded to the point that dreams of free enterprise and the entrepreneurial spirit of our young people is being squelched almost irrevocably. Driven by fear, anger, revenge and despair, the average mwananchi is becoming more polarized by tribal sentiment...believing the only way to be survive, to be safe, to secure their future is within the cocoon of tribal based political patronage. As we wait with bated breathe for the political stalemate to be resolved, Kenyans need to begin to rethink freedom and security. How much does it mean to us? How can we resolve our fears and anger without giving up our freedom?

Heroes

Mama Muthoni (a 40+ single mum, with a disabled daughter, who works as a casual worker in my sister’s garden) told us about the chaos that was happening in her neighborhood about 2 km's from my house. Everyone who was not a Kikuyu in the area was being thrown out of their homes in the middle of the night, some suffering more then others with their property burned and even being slashed with machetes in some cases. The attack began with a fear campaign that lasted about a week, when threatening leaflets were poured all over the streets in different estates, warning the people that if they did not move out, the Mungiki would move them out. Having nowhere else to go, many stayed, thinking these were just empty threats...this is Nairobi after all, and nothing had happened all week. So on when the attack came, they were caught off guard. Mama Muthoni told us that she watched helplessly from her window as the Luhya's, Luo's and any other non-kikuyu's in her compound were gathered together, as the attackers prepared their machetes. Not knowing what else to do, she began to pray...pray for wisdom, pray for strength, pray for something...anything to happen. Eventually after listening to the cries outside, the pleading, the wails of anguish, she couldn’t take it anymore. Clutching her daughter in her arms she took a step...towards the door, out the door, into the cold night and towards the men, who looked upon her with disdain (Mungiki after all believe that women should be seen not heard), but she plucked up her courage nonetheless and began to speak, to plead, to cajole, to beg for the lives of her neighbors. Time ticked by, defensive stances were strengthened, no one seemed to be listening, then seemingly out of nowhere someone said..."OK, let them go, but make sure they leave the area and don't come back." Lives were saved on that night last week...not by some strong warrior or clever negotiator, but rather by a simple mum who has heard enough hate talk, and seen enough violence, and decided 'if I don't do anything, who will?' Hiro Nakamura step aside...we have a new Hero in town!

A house divided

The threats abound, rumors of Mungiki warriors in the forest, armed and ready to harm anyone who has an inconvenient name ....do we listen to the rumors or do we ignore the threat? If they are true, we rest uneasy, hoping that the combination of fervent prayer, reinforced by Masai steel and iron and double padlocks will keep the threat at bay...and if the rumors are false, all we have is an embarrassing story to tell about our paranoia. But yet, somehow we must keep hope alive, even in the face of machete's and guns, of fire and stones, of insult and hatred. This nation has survived to this day despite the odds...surrounded by strife and unrest, a haven of relative peace. A nation constituted as a result of locational and logistical convenience; numerous tribes, brought together because of enterprise, a producer of raw materials for the industries of the crown. Yet despite our forced amalgamation, despite the continued push towards development engineered (to some extent) to continue to support certain interests, we began to discover interests of its own. So now we are more than just producers, labour, a seat of power for some apathetic force. We are a people, forged together by shared life, shared experience, shared land, even shared ideals. So when they threaten me, my family, my own, they threaten more then just a statistic, a faceless girl, they threaten themselves, for how can a house, divided against itself survive?

Sweet Comfort

The street is busy, the dust unavoidable, kicked up by the thousands of feet treading to and fro, going here and there, making deals, selling things, meeting people, making a living, striving to keep busy in a world gone mad. Walking down the street, I have to weave in between the tight squeeze of people, fighting for space between matatus and hawkers, darting out of the way of oncoming traffic, determined to get to my destination in one piece. Finally I arrive, the smell wafting through the dark corridor a testament that they’re still in business. Thank God, there’s still hope in this dark world! The sweet smell of freshly baked concoctions of flour and sugar, margarine and chocolate, nuts and spices, all mixed into an array of heady flavours that are carried by a dusty breeze onto the sun baked street, tempting passersby to investigate the source, to see, to taste, to fill themselves in the comfort of sweetness, or so the crowds that darken this corridor with me testify.
After the bustle of the street a few feet outside, the silence inside is eerie. At least twenty people fight for space at the counter, quietly jostling one another in a bid to get the attention of the girls on the other side, hoping to be out of the stuffy room sooner rather than later, the faster to enjoy whatever treat tickles their fancy. The silence is uncanny for a tiny shop in the city centre packed to capacity. Everyone if whispering, so when my turn comes, I whisper too, pointing at my choice in the glass counter to indicate my order, then silently stepping back, nodding to person behind me to indicate they can take their turn. Everyone avoids looking at one another in the eye, the tentative smiles usually shared by strangers are gone. I squeeze my way to the register to hand over my cash, watching the girls behind the counter, attempting to remember which one took my order, as they quickly take turns, spooning and measuring at the weighing scale, dividing up the spoils for the hungry sea of customers. Finally the girl with the high pony tail catches my eye, and with a nod of her head directs me to a relatively empty corner of the counter so she can hand over the goods. The cheery thanks I am about to give is halted by the tired, dull look in her eyes; instead I mumble a quick thanks, grabbing my slightly warm brown bag of chocolate chip cookies. I walk out back onto the sweltering plastic bag littered street, looking forward to finding a safe haven to enjoy the sweet bliss of melting chocolate and crumbling sugary flour; as I join the rest of the silent masses in a short reprieve, filling my breaking heart with temporary relief from emptiness, with sweet treats and empty notions of normalcy.

Refuge

As Kenyans have been fleeing for their lives over the last month, many have sought refuge in Uganda. As they are now being moved into refugee camps deeper in the Ugandan interior in places like Tororo, the reports coming through are decidedly heartbreaking. The Ugandan residents of the area are complaining that the Kenyan refugees are busy misbehaving! According to a report on the BBC, inspection of the heavy jackets of some Kenyan teenage boys in the refugee camps revealed cigarettes and plastic bottles containing a strong local brew. Loosely reiterating what the Ugandan authorities said yesterday (not verbatim); ‘Prostitution has been banned, all smoking of Opium has been banned! Alcohol abuse and carousing has been banned!’ As my good friend Shem would say...My goodness! These reports bring to mind the devastating stories I have heard of child soldiers in Sudan and Sierra Leone...stories of children numbed of their pain; able to kill, hurt and maim, time and time again, fuelled by alcohol, illicit drugs and hate speech. There is no escape for the people from the results of violence and mayhem that the people have sought to run away from, these results are still there. The despair of those who have no hope has led them to further degradation, ruin and despair through empty pursuits. Even when we run away and are saved from certain death, we can remain hopeless even in relative safety. Our refuge does not come from the porosity of the borders of our neighbours and the goodwill of friendly states, our refuge must be in something more, for we cannot escape ourselves.

Psalm 91:2 'This I declare of the LORD: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I am trusting him.'
Psalm 119:114 'You are my refuge and my shield; your word is my only source of hope.'