Roller Coaster Love

Maybe I shouldn’t be writing an email/blog on a roller coaster emotional day. This is because I usually end up blabbing, making no sense and/or saying more than I should.

I love this country; I love the people in this country. I get angry with this country; I get angry with the people in this country. But I wouldn’t change a moment in this place. I wouldn’t change the love, the anger, the heartbreak, the joy, the laughter or the tears for anything.

This may come out the wrong way but there are times when I wish I didn’t love the way I do. I look at a child in pain and I come home and cry for them. I look at my street girls and hear their stories, their struggles and my heart aches for them.

I love...I love deeply, passionately and give my all. I understand why we’re told to guard our hearts. My heart has been broken so many times. And it’s not just from a past friendship, a past relationship; it’s from the love that I feel for these Kenyan people, for the children of this country. I have trusted and been deceived; I have befriended and my life been threatened; I have loved and not been loved in return…but I keep coming back for more. I keep loving, never giving up.

This is my home…until God says otherwise. These are the children that I love; that I would honestly die to defend. When the post-election violence came, I understood (although maybe not as purely passionate as a mother/child) the need to protect my children. I understood the “do whatever it takes to make sure my children are secure, are okay and away from harm.” I understood love in a different way, a different level.

So although at times I wish I didn’t love the way I do, it’s who I am and deep down, I’m thankful for that. Are the heartbreaks and the tears worth it all? Absolutely! To hug on a street child; to hold my kids at HBF every weekend, to encourage and hug a grandmother who’s trying to raise her grandchildren….it’s worth it.

My heart will mend….it always does. The tears will dry up…they always do. The love for the people of this beautiful country will never dry up. I can’t wait to see what the future holds in this place. I’m excited to see what God does here; in me, in our ministry/organization and in the people of Kenya.

I hope you all continue to be a part of this roller coaster ride with me.

Love you all,

Meredith

xoxoxo

Police Checks, Riots & Traffic Jams

Sarah, our intern, as well as my younger cousin, arrived on Friday morning in Kenya. Her plane was to arrive at 6:05 am in Nairobi. I was at the airport at 6:15 am (knowing that I would still be on time as it takes a lot longer than 10 minutes to get off the plane, through customs, through the Visa counter and collect luggage.

I went over to the screen that shows the arrival times of the planes. I found Sarah’s flight, all excited…knowing I would see her shortly. I looked over to the last column on the screen and it read: DELAYED. I looked at the ETA and it read 8:00.

Well, this was certainly going to change our plans. I had booked us bus tickets from Nairobi to Kitale for 8:30 am. We were obviously going to miss the bus. So I grabbed a seat, an orange juice and people watched for the next two hours.

Sarah arrived, safe and sound with no problems. We grabbed a taxi to downtown Nairobi, picked up a shuttle bus from Nairobi to Eldoret (we take another mode of transportation from Eldoret to Kitale when we do the shuttle bus) and were on the road by 9:50 am. The excitement of the 8.5 hour ride ahead of us.

We were driving for about an hour, when we came up to a police check. The police officer motioned for us to pull over, which we did. He then came over to the window and told the driver to pull the vehicle over to the other side of the road and out in to an open field. We did. They started pulling other vehicles over and having them do the same thing. All of us lined up in a row.

Then another officer came and pulled off the insurance stickers of all the vehicles lined up and took the driver’s licenses of all the drivers. They then told us to drive down the road and stop there. So again, we did. We arrived to find a police truck with 3 men in long white coats (like doctor’s coats). We were the second vehicle to arrive there; they again had us line up side by side to each other vehicle coming in.

We soon found out that the police were doing complete vehicle inspections, like checking the brake system, making sure the lights and turning signals were working, etc. Within 15 minutes or so, there were about 40 vehicles lined up. And although we were the second vehicle there, it didn’t matter. The “inspectors” were so disorganized that what could have taken our vehicle 15 minutes of in-and-out service, took over an hour and a half.

Not only were the people in our vehicle upset, but so were the passengers of the other 40 vehicles. People began chasing the police officers around, yelling at them, demanding that they be released to go as the police were wasting their time. I too was getting frustrated. Not only because I had been up since 5:00 in the morning but because I knew that I would be cutting it close now to entering in to Kitale after curfew time (there’s still the curfew due to the tribal clashes in Mt. Elgon – which have subsided I might add!). I went to this one police officer and explained to him the situation. He asked what vehicle I was in, I told him and he said he would see what he could do. He forgot about me. Moments later, Sarah and I could hear shouting and saw people running. The angry passengers had started a mob around two police officers, the ones who seemed to be heading up the whole operation. The people began shouting at the policemen, raising their fists at them. The police never really flinched.

The people decided to block the street so no one could drive through. There were about 100 of them, blocking the street, shouting. Within 10 minutes or so, there was an army truck in the area breaking up the riot.

I then found another officer, one of the head guys and I explained to him the same story that I had mentioned to the other officer. I told him that Kitale area is strict on the curfew and that if we are late in the city, we could be arrested. He turned to me and laughed, “You’re an mzungu (white person); they won’t arrest you.” I said, “I’ll have you know officer that they have arrested a white person for missing curfew, a catholic priest at that. So, understand sir, that they aren’t playing games in that area and neither am I.” He laughed again at me and turned away.

About five minutes later, that same officer walked by me, and I said aloud, for him to hear, his badge number. He immediately looked at me, stunned and rushed away. Not even two minutes later, he came back to me, “Which is your vehicle, madam?” I pointed to it. “I’ll see what we can do.” In less than 10 minutes, at approximately 12:40 pm, we were getting back in our vehicle, en route to Eldoret.

We reached Eldoret at about 5:45pm. I asked Sarah to stay close to me because the Eldoret stage (where all the public service vehicles come in and out of) is a busy and sometimes dangerous one, if you don’t know where you’re going. As we turned the corner, to find our vehicle to Kitale, a man asked me if I was going to Nairobi. I said that we were coming from Nairobi and we were going to Kitale. At that, he started to grab the bag that was in my hand (Sarah’s luggage). We began playing tug-of-war over it and I kept telling him in Swahili to leave it alone or I was going to beat him but he wouldn’t listen. So with my other hand, that had another bag in it, I swung at him and clocked him good in the side. He finally realized that I was serious and let go of the bag. I turned around to check on Sarah and found him doing the same thing to her. So again I yelled in Swahili at him but he wouldn’t budge, so I went at him full force with death on my face. Thankfully, he saw at that point that I was serious (again!) and let go of her bag.

After 20 plus minutes of waiting for a vehicle to Kitale, it finally arrived. I got Sarah in to the vehicle, secured my seat (as it was only a seven passenger) and made sure that our luggage got on it too. Then started the fight with the driver of the vehicle; he wanted me to pay more because of our luggage…quite a bit more. But I refused. I gave him a bit extra because we did have a lot of luggage but I wasn’t going to allow him to rip me off. So we bantered back and forth and I stood my ground, much to the excitement of the other passengers in the vehicle. The woman sitting behind me said that I was right and that I shouldn’t give in. The gentleman at the back said, “I like your style of doing things, African woman.” We all had a good laugh. The driver gave in to me and we were off to Kitale…or so we thought.

We made it about 10 kilometers outside Eldoret and then we came to a complete STOP. We learned that there was a big graduation ceremony at the Barracks (new soldiers in to the Army). It’s once a year (I think!) and it’s at this one place for the whole country so you have thousands of people trying to leave the place at the same time….on one lane highways. But when you mix thousands of Kenyans from all over the country, trying to leave one place at the same time and impatience, you get a massive dead-stop traffic jam. People took a one-lane highway and made it three lanes…all in the SAME direction. So us innocent folk, who just wanted to get to Kitale and surrounding area, were stuck. For two and a half hours.

Thankfully, we had a van full of fun people. We made jokes; we talked about politics (that is always fun and interesting!). When they found out that this was Sarah’s first time in Kenya and that she literally got off the plane that morning, one woman said, “Please don’t think that this is the way Kenya is all the time. Please don’t go back and tell your people about this.” She was sad that Sarah’s first day could be the worst day for her.

But thankfully Sarah was a trooper, totally awesome and rather than getting frustrated, she enjoyed every minute of it.

When we finally reached Kitale, it was 10:50 p.m. It was 11 hours since we had left Nairobi…this was supposed to be an 8.5 hour trip. Thankfully, there were taxis at the place where our van dropped us off at and we were able to get home. When we arrived at our house, we found Daniel and Tim waiting outside for us to help with the luggage. When we got in the house, we found dinner waiting on the table. Sarah and I were starved; it had been since 2:30 pm, since we had eaten.

We were exhausted. I really don’t remember my head hitting the pillow. I think I was asleep in mid-air. It was such a great time and adventure. I’d do it all over again.

Love you all,

Meredith

xoxoxo

Show How Good the Shepherd Is...

Last week, Danel, Larry, Tim (our intern), Daniel and I, spent a few days in Nairobi, along with our social worker, Anne and our good friend Robert. Our purpose in going to Nairobi was to begin the Widows’ Project in the Soweto Slums (near the International Airport) with seven widows.

We also visited a school in the Soweto Slums that a group through Transformed International is assisting in feeding the 150 children at lunchtime, some times the only meal a child will eat that day.

My job and desire during the time at the Soweto school….to play with the children. And yes, I did just that.

When we arrived, I peaked in to each class, the teachers and students welcoming me in. I found out what grade it was and introduced myself. The grade five class asked if I would sit in and learn a lesson with them. It was Math class, my LEAST favorite subject and it was grade five math…something I haven’t had to think about in a million years (or so it seems). But I did…and thoroughly enjoyed it. The math teacher, Moses, was fun with the children, using examples that they would understand and even had us busting out in laughter when he imitated stories or situations that always went back to the math problem on the chalkboard.

Then recess time came. My most fun EVER. I went out and started just talking to some of the children, when suddenly I heard a little cry behind me. I turned around and found this sweet little boy (who I later learned, his name is Basil) on the ground, sobbing. I immediately ran over to him, bent down and got him to his feet. I dusted off the dirt from the back of him, and hugged him, saying in Swahili that he was okay. His sobbing quickly left and he wrapped his arms around my neck. I picked Basil (ba-zill) up and then his legs immediately wrapped around my waist. I then began to cover his face in kisses much to the enjoyment of him and all the other children around. I then put him down, kissed his forehead and said all was okay.

Well, this then started a mob of children around me. And what did they want? They wanted me to kiss each of their foreheads. They wanted, needed, craved that physical affection. How could I deny that; why would I want to deny that? I then spent the next 20 minutes kissing each and every child’s head or cheek, most wanting more than one kiss. With each kiss, I told them that they were loved. I kissed dirty children, ringworm infested children, sweaty children...all of them. Each kiss was followed by a gush of laughter from the children; each kiss was followed by ten more screaming in Swahili “And me? And me?” These are the days that I enjoy the most; loving the children. Showing them that they are loved, because I know that God loves them, like He loves me.

I was listening to a sermon on Sunday (downloaded on my laptop from a church in the US) and one of the things that the teacher said was, “We don’t do things so that others can be saved; we do things because we are saved.” And then he said, “Let’s not just talk about how good the Shepherd is, let’s go and SHOW how good the Shepherd is.”

We are so good at TALKING, but when it comes to acting, we allow our laziness to kick in. Why is that? We can go to church on Sunday and talk for two hours about things that need to change in our church, our community, our town and even in our lives. But it just becomes talk. We leave church, saying, “Wow, that was a great message.” We may shake our heads in agreement of what is being said, we may even cry at what we’re hearing (that was usually me!) but then Sunday is over and the message is forgotten. The tears have dried up and it’s Monday morning life again.

I make sure that I tell at least one child every day that I love them, that Jesus loves them. That child can be at our friend’s place, Oasis of Hope or our children’s home, Hope Bright Future, or a street child walking the streets of Kitale. I wake up every morning knowing that my Father loves me; I want to pass that on to a child who may not know love.

Christianity isn’t about sitting in a building on Sunday mornings, singing a few songs, hearing a great sermon and going to Swiss Chalet afterwards (for us Canadians). It’s the relationship we have with God; it’s bringing glory to His name; it’s doing what He’s called us to do; it’s taking care of the orphans, widows, brokenhearted, distressed, etc. It’s not about us. It’s never been about us. It’s not just talking about doing it….IT IS DOING IT. It’s doing it for our Father.

Actions speak louder than words, doesn’t it?



Meeting with the widows....




Soweto River - covered in garbage and dumping station for feces...



Playing this crazy Monkey in the middle game, where they throw balls at you.



Taking a break from having a ball whipped at me. :-)



Recess fun!!!

Grade One's taking their lunch

My sweet Basil....

Through the good times and the bad....

Last Sunday, Daniel, his parents: Larry and Danel and myself went to Kisii (Key-see), which is a few hours from the Tanzanian border to stay and visit with some friends for a few days. We had such a fantastic time. It was nice to be in a home that was simple: deep in the village, no electricity and no running water. To be woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of the pouring rain hitting the tin roof and then woken in the morning by beautiful sounding birds. So peaceful.

Kisii is absolutely BEAUTIFUL, the land, the rolling hills, all of it is so stunning.





We spent one full day walking around deep parts of the farm land. Our friend Robert took us to the place where they dig up the soapstone, clean it off and mold it the so many of the items that we have bought from him in the past (plates, sculptures, etc). It was awesome to see where the soapstone comes from and how it was done. We probably walked about 6 or so kilometers that day. The weather was beautiful; the widows we met were beautiful and the children we hugged were even more beautiful.

(this is a soapstone quarry)

(soapstone after being dug from the earth)

(chess boards being sawed...it takes about an hour for them to saw through that peice of soapstone)





Toronto Maple Leafs - representin' in Kenya!!!! :-)

Our mode of transportation to Kisii was a matatu (a 14-passenger van). The police in that area are extremely strict and there seems to be police checks every 2 kilometers. At one point we were stopped at a police check. The matatu, had two empty seats available in it (the driver knowing that the police were rough in this area)…all was right with the driver, the conductor (collects the money and assists the driver to stop and drop off/pick up passengers), the vehicle licensing and the amount of passengers in it. However, the police wanted their cut of money; they demanded a bribe from the driver and conductor. The driver and conductor refused; why should they pay a bribe when all was fine with the vehicle and the contents inside? The police officer didn’t like that they had refused the bribe so he wrote up a ticket. He said that there were too many people on the matatu (false) and that he driver was out of uniform (again, false!). There was nothing the driver could do at that point; the ticket had been written. He was going to have to pay for it….for what? Doing what the law required of him? Frustrating!

Then on the way from the deep village, back to Kisii town, we were stopped by police. I was sitting in the front seat with one of our friends and I saw the driver put a 100 shilling bill in his hand. The police driver came to my side of the vehicle and stuck out his hand to greet me. I refused at first, pretending not to see his hand. But then he put it in my line of vision and said, “Greet me, please!” I did. Then he turned the driver and stuck out his hand, asking him how he was doing (in Swahili). The driver shook hands with him, the policeman taking the 100 shillings out of the driver’s hand…all right in front of my face. I looked directly at the policeman, shook my head at him and said in Swahili that what he did was very bad manners. He looked very surprised that I knew what was going on and that I knew Swahili. He immediately dismissed us.

After spending two nights in Kisii, Daniel, Larry, Danel and I headed to Kisumu to spend a night there. If any of you had been following the post-election chaos here in Kenya, you would have heard that Kisumu was one of the hardest hit places. We wanted to go and see what damage had been done there.

As we walked the streets of Kisumu, we saw a few burned down businesses; all one tribe owned. It saddened me; it angered me. We are now starting to see the effects of the post-election riots. Many say the people have no one to blame for what is happening in the economy but themselves. As the country now sees the rising cost of food, of fertilizer for planting their staple food and the starving people, they are beginning to see the consequences of their (rioting) actions.

A burned down gas station.


Aburned down supermarket and bank.


A burned business.


There are still thousands of people displaced in Kenya, in their own country. These are people who can’t go back to their homes now or possibly ever. These are people who can’t plant their food in their gardens that would help feed them for the next year or sell to generate an income in their household. And for those people who do have their land still, the cost of fertilizer, necessities, etc. are so high; they can’t afford to buy them to maintain their gardens.

The cost of maize (which we buy for our projects every month) is rising EVERY WEEK. The majority of Kenyans can’t afford the increase of prices.

So what does this mean? It means that there will be a famine here, especially next year. It means that people are going to starve; people are going to die. We are already hearing stories of people dying around the country due to starvation. And this is just the beginning.

And here we have a new government now…the two rivalry parties now joined together in parliament saying that they will help the country get back on their feet. Yet with the new cabinet, the people of Kenya, the taxpayers of Kenya, need to come up with 33 billion shillings over the next two months to pay the new government (and added ministers and new Prime Minister) and their ministries (the new 2008 year budget doesn’t come out until the end of June so we don’t know the actual change for that budget yet). 33 BILLION shillings from people who are dying because they don’t have money to feed themselves. I don’t understand.

The MPs here (Member of Parliament) make a salary of 800,000 shillings a month; plus with their allowances, etc., that gives them over 1 million shillings a month!!! That’s over $16,000 US a month. When the average Kenyan lives off of less than $30 US a month and here the MPs is making over $16,000 US a month and yet they go after the average Kenyan person to come up with the 33 billion shillings (in two months) to support their salaries, their ministries, their allowances, their whatever else.

It frustrates me; it saddens me; it angers me; it breaks me. So why don’t I leave this place? Why don’t I just to come to the point of believing that there is nothing that I can do? Because I can’t. I know that we CAN help these people. We can bring not only food but hope and love to the people of Kenya. That’s what I am here for. I am here for these children, for these families who can’t do it on their own, not without the help, the hand, the love of another.

I can only pray that things get better here before they get (predictably) worse; I can only pray that so many of the people of this country, the place that I know as home, don’t die due to lack of food. I can only pray that another mother doesn’t have to cry over the loss of her child and the guilt of not being able to provide for him or her.

It’s a reality here, my friends. It’s not a Made-For-TV movie; it’s not a Hollywood tearjerker. It’s reality. People are already dying every day due to malnutrition. The only difference now: the amount of deaths per day will only increase. Children will lose their parents, parents will lose their children.

I’m not going anywhere. This is my home. I will care and love for every child I possibly can.

Pray for this country; pray for this continent. We need them….so much.

I love you all!
Meredith
xoxoxo