Paper clips and scotch tape, isn't it?

I hope this somewhat odd title captured your attention! I have made many new discoveries about the African educational context over these past few months, and I'd like to share a few of them with you.


TAG ENDINGS... You may not know what these are, so here is an explanation from an ESL teacher. A tag ending is the ending we tack onto a sentence to make it into a question. Think of sentences like "It's a nice day, isn't it?" and "You live in North America, don't you?" Well, one of my jobs this semester was to observe the teaching of our professors, as part of our effort to improve education at KIST. Imagine my surprise when I heard some of our African faculty say sentences like "We can see that God is at work everyplace, isn't it?" and "We looked at page 32 yesterday, isn't it?" Turns out, "isn't it" is the catchall tag ending here. So, I've been having some discussions about "isn't it". Everyone assures me that this is "not correct", but is rather because of a lack of English development. So... we're working on "isn't it", aren't we?!


WHAT CAN YOU EASILY MANIPULATE WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED? Have you ever thought about that? What objects can you handle without difficulty, without looking or thinking about them? I bet paper clips and scotch tape would be among them. Well, I got another surprise when I asked my first-year students to turn in their final project paper-clipped together. They had been working all semester towards a final essay, and had collected notes, an outline, and several drafts. I provided large paper clips, and asked students to each bring up their pile of papers and paper clip them together before handing them to me. This, I thought, would be a quick procedure. I was not prepared to see students struggling to know how to use a paper clip. It seemed as though some had not used them before, and even the ones who showed some familiarity took much longer than you or I would to clip together a packet of papers. Paper clips are just not a part of the daily life experience for many students before they come to us.
The same thing happened with a roll of American scotch tape. Here all they usually see are plain rolls. When I handed my students the advanced technology of tape with a built-in dispenser, I could see some looking it over, impressed with how much easier it was than tearing off a piece of tape with your teeth.

Rod speaking to a large women's meeting -- at a 6:30 a.m. service!

Now equipped with some new understandings of the life experience of the people among whom we minister, we are moving forward in many ways. Following are a few pictures of our recent endeavors to make the difference He would have us make in this context. Enjoy the pictures. And... if you do not receive our ministry letter which gives more details about some of these events, just write to me at jan.dormer@gmail.com!

We were amazed at the response as women came forward to pray.

The choir in a church where Jan gave a talk on marriage.

Our KIST teachers learning to make lesson plans!

Our KIST talent show

Talent show judges -- "American Idol" - ish

Finally, we are SO GRATEFUL for our missionary family here at KIST! The Baylors, Baltes, Nicholases and Dormers at our Christmas meal in the Dormer house.

Preaching and Teaching

We recently celebrated our 25^th wedding anniversary, and consequently I’ve been pondering that “two become one” phrase. Let’s see… I’m a teacher and I married a preacher. Now, he is  teaching as well as preaching, and I am preaching as well as teaching. How did that happen?! Well, however this “iron sharpening iron” has happened between us, the results are very rewarding for us at this stage of our lives. Here is a glimpse...

Teaching some of the 88 students of four nationalities at KIST

Rod teaches a class called “Expository Preaching”. He happens to teach right next door to me, so I can sometimes hear his probing questions. An interesting one the other day was “How is preaching different than teaching?” I wanted to take the students in my “Principles of Teaching” class next door to join the discussion. We may do that someday.

My favorite Swahili word has become Mwalimu. That means “teacher”, and it is what I am most often called here. There is no better calling than being a “mwalimu”! In addition to “Principles of Teaching”, I teach “Introduction to English”. The students all already speak English – quite well, in my opinion. But this course is intended to prepare them for the academic reading and writing skills that they will need in their studies at KIST. My students were surprised to discover that they are also learning theology in my English class! We are using a great new text produced by colleagues at Wheaton College, Exploring Theological English (http://www.exploringtheologicalenglish.com/). So, my 32 students are learning theological vocabulary, concepts and writing patterns. To get class started each day, I also teach listening skills in the form of listening to new songs and filling in blanks in the lyrics. The Brazilian guitar I received from my parents as a high school graduation present is still serving me well!

We are also “teaching” here by providing resources. Our first initiative was to bring 12 copies of my brother Jay’s book Daniel (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgMovWDSVv8) to our library. Thanks to Jay and our Sunday School class in Indiana for providing these books for KIST! The students cheered when I ceremoniously presented them to the Principal during chapel! 

 
Preaching – in lots of places!

We are often invited to speak and minister  -- both at KIST and in other places. A frequent topic for us is leadership, and what it looks like in Africa. Rod recently spoke at the ordination ceremony of our Deputy Principal, Jeremiah. His topic was “David, a Leader of Integrity”. Notice the garlands Rod and his translator, student Matthews, are wearing -- no, it's not a a preview of Christmas. These tinsel garlands are given for honoring people. Jeremiah was wearing about 20 of these during his celebration service! 

I recently spoke at the Banyore Girls’ Chapel – picture 1200 high school girls clapping and dancing and waving their hands and you’ve got a glimpse of their worship service. What leadership potential! I was given the text Mark 3:7-19 to preach on, and from that I pulled out five leadership principles of Jesus: prepare, dare, care, beware, share.  Can you find those five principles in that passage?

All for now. I will endeavor to get back to my monthly blog posting! Kwaheri! (Bye)

Safari!

Danna Jo, Shogo, Jenna and Brendan

It has been a wonderful, eventful and precious ten days with our daughters, Danna and Jenna, and their boyfriends, Shogo and Brendan. This is our first missionary home without our children, and my request for our 25^th wedding anniversary, coming up on Sept. 20, was to have our daughters come “home” for a few days. An added bonus was that their boyfriends could come along, giving us a chance to get to know these special young men a little better, and giving them a glimpse into the missionary life that our girls have grown up in. 

Don't they look African?!

Together again!

Brendan networking computers

A Bible story and coloring.

The girls loved playing Sogo's drum!

We spent the first week here at KIST, where they all contributed in various ways, such as networking the office computers, organizing the card catalogue in the library and helping with a community health outreach. The girls and I also got to record some of our songs in the CBH studio, and the kids had African outfits made.

Then in the second week, we went on SAFARI! Enjoy the pictures, and learn some Swahili!

Tembo

Twiga

Punda milia

Duma

Kiboko

Simba

j

The great migration of the wildebeests (nyumbu)

Looking like a Masai?

Real and fake Masai!

On safari, the day before they went back.

It was definitely a great way to celebrate our 25th. God is good! Bwana Asifiwe!

A Tale of Three Graduations

I know… long time no blog. I have been busy flying to and fro and teaching night and day. Not to mention book deadlines. (More about that in a future blog.)

But the topic of this particular entry is graduations – three of them on three continents in three months!

An Ending

"We made it!"

I will start with the middle one. In June I was in Indonesia for an ending: our last graduating class in the M.Ed. program there. These students completed their Oral Defenses over a grueling three-day period and then marched to Pomp and Circumstance and became the proud owners of M.Ed. degrees. They are humble, wise, intelligent, and spiritual women who will make a mark on Christian education in Indonesia. As proud as I am of our graduates, it’s hard to see things end. But as my wise mother says “Things in ministry are often just for a season.” And so the Indonesian season of my life has drawn to a close, though I continue to encourage by email, and will hopefully be taking a group of Indonesian teachers to the “Christian English Language Educators” conference (http://www.celtconference.org/) in Hong Kong in January.

"I promise to read this book..."

As a graduation gift, I gave each one my brother Jay’s book on Daniel (http://www.amazon.com/Daniel-Business-Politics-Jay-Edwards/dp/1615794972). In the picture you can see them repeating after me “I promise to read this whole book….” I stopped short of requiring a reflection paper on it! One of my students wrote just a few weeks later that she had already read the book:

Wow, a very inspiring book. The situation that Daniel faced was very relevant to the current situation now. It reminds me to trust the Lord with all our heart and to obey Him. He has great plans for us..... Wow, His plans were so amazing! A Hebrew slave was the second most important person in the entire kingdom! It’s a really wonderful story and I hope I can learn to be a “Daniel” in this modern era. (Ida, the writer, is front and center in the picture.)

A Beginning

Just two weeks after arriving back in Indiana from Indonesia, Rod and I flew back to Kenya. People asked me, “Does it feel like you’re going home this time?” The answer is no. After two years in the States, I was just beginning to reach the “home” feeling in Winchester, IN. So… “home” is a ways off here in Africa. But… it does not feel stressful, which is a great step forward in acculturation!

With two of our graduates -- and their leis!

We hit the ground running, with our big event of the year – GRADUATION – racing at us. Graduation here at KIST involves much more than the actual event. Board meetings, visitors, seminars – so much takes place during this particular two-week period at the end of July that at times we all just hope we’re still alive after it passes. Thank God for a great team of missionaries here getting everything done! I wasn’t a lot of help – you will recall the teaching night and day and book deadlines.

I did contribute one thing to graduation though: the KIST choir. I chose “The Lord Bless you and Keep You”, which I thought would sound lovely for the “dedication” portion of the ceremony. Of course all those Amens at the end only sound lovely if voices land on the right notes, which turned out to be much more of a learning curve here than I anticipated. I discovered that Africans, or at least these particular Africans, do not sing in half-steps. I have yet to hear an African song here comprised of more than three chords, and it is these simple melodies that make up the beautiful, four-part harmony African music that I so enjoy. But… the song I chose has many more than three chords, not to mention some harmonies that I have come to realize sound strange to some African ears. But… the first time my choir actually heard all four parts together on the “Amens”, and realized that they “got it”, you could hear the cheering and shouts all the way from the chapel to my house. They were SOOOOO pleased with themselves! It wasn’t perfect on graduation day, but it was pretty, and they were proud, and they want to do more songs like that. Sorry no picture of the choir in this blog, but I promise one in the future. We have only just begun!

The video wouldn't upload -- try to imagine the singing!

The choir wasn’t the only “beginning” at this, our first graduation at KIST. The whole atmosphere was hopeful and joyful. Graduates marched in not to Pomp and Circumstance, but to an upbeat African choir. The ceremony was held outdoors, with a meager audience at the given starting time of 10:00 but a substantial audience by around 11:00, when the diplomas were being handed out. (This is the meaning of “African time”.) After the ceremony, graduates were greeted by family and friends with tinsel “leis” – some proudly wearing a dozen or more of these leis. To see a wife, mother and grandmother (playing a drum!) walking, singing, and drumming to honor the first person in their family to acquire a Bachelor’s degree – well, you just can’t help but feel privileged to be in this place at this time. Africa is our new season.

A Change

Parabens! Selamat Wisuda! Hongera! Congratulations!

Finally, I’ll take you all the way back to May, for a graduation which needs no description… our daughter Danna Jo’s graduation from Taylor University. We didn’t shower her with tinsel leis or serenade her with African drums (for which I’m sure she is thankful!), but we are just as proud of the beautiful, caring, God-fearing young woman that she is today. College to real life is kind of a tough transition, made tougher when your parents are in Africa. But God is amazingly good through all the transitions of life, providing grandparents, a sister nearby and special friends as she seeks God’s will in a job and a future.

And… part of that future lies in Africa! Danna Jo and Jenna, along with two special young men, will be visiting us here at KIST in just about a week, and staying for ten days. Can you see the smile on my face just thinking about my daughters coming here? Maybe then it will begin to feel a lot more like home! :)

Education -- in the box

Our campus is right next door to Banyore Girls’ High School – a residential school housing nearly 1200 girls. Take a moment to hear and watch them in the video above......! You can’t not notice 1200 girls next door. We often hear them singing, and sometimes attend church with them. This is a bit awkward, because the only empty seats are those on the stage, so this is where we must sit whether we are participating in the service or not.

The sides that you can't see are equally full of girls!

After the service a few weeks ago several girls came up to talk to me. Two of them, Deborah and Leticia, began their conversation with me by asking, “How is your spiritual life?” Whoa – I haven’t been asked that in awhile! God was perhaps amused watching me sweat a little trying to grasp what was intended by the question, and also get over my gut reaction of “who are you to ask me that”. It finally occurred to me that, whatever the girls’ meaning, God might be trying to get my attention. I did indeed need to consider the state of my spiritual life. Nowhere is it easier than on the mission field to neglect a life with the Lord in favor of work for the Lord. We Westerners probably don’t ask each other that question often enough.

Back to Deborah and Leticia… they went on to ask me if I had any books they could read. I got the impression that they don’t own any books except their Bibles. I thought of our full bookshelves back home – books just sitting there, not being read by anyone. I asked the girls about the library at their school. They said it has “some books” (I will have to go check it out to see what this means), but that with so many girls, it’s hard to get them.

Leticia and Deborah

So this past week I searched for a book to give them. I found a thin book from the 70s, written for Christian teens, left here by a long-departed missionary. It is a book that I’m quite certain no American teenager would be interested in reading. Today I took this book to Deborah and Leticia, and they were thrilled. Oh for the ability to fill 1200 pairs of hands with edifying books. But, like all things Africa-related, it’s complicated. More on that in a future post!

Not long after the event above, there was a big day for the Banyore Girls’ School: the Prime Minister of Kenya came to dedicate their new dorm. The event was scheduled for 11:00. The Prime Minister arrived at 12:30. I was glad I had taken a book for the hour and a half of waiting. Around 10 VIPs of one sort or another gave speeches before the Prime Minister spoke, and all of the speeches of the day focused on the school’s high standing in the recent national exam.

As an educator, I became increasingly irritated with this emphasis on the national exam. You see, I’ve done a little investigation into education here. (Mind you, just a little so far. This is a “work-in-progress” report!) My curiosity was piqued as I taught the KIST students this past term and received essay after essay that all sounded the same. They all put together sentences in the same way, and spouted the same phrases and ideas. My urging to write about their own personal ideas and experiences was often met with uncomprehending looks. I got the distinct impression that you just don’t do that very much in Kenya.

I wanted to see what was producing such in-the-box thinking, and so I checked out the national exam. I found the English portion of last year’s exam online, and Rod and I both took the test. I don’t think either of us would have passed. Why? Because for so many of the questions more than one answer was possible. But in Kenyan schools they are taught that only ONE of the answers is possible. All others are wrong. There is no option to look at a situation from several different perspectives and conclude that more than one possibility exists.

So now let’s put all this together: 1) The national exam is the be-all and end-all of education here. 2) The national exam measures memorization of facts, and often not even real facts, as evidenced by my failure to pass the English portion of the exam. 3) There are very few books available (not to mention no access to internet for the majority) so the “facts” memorized in school are never challenged, and perspectives are not widened.

Result: existence inside a very small box.

Pray for me. I want to make a difference in education here, but it’s a catch 22: If I really improve education in a school or class, students will ironically likely do worse on the exams, and therefore no one will think that the education is better. Indeed, it will appear to be worse. If ever the wisdom of Solomon were needed, it is in education in Africa.

P.S. As some of you know, I am actually back in Indiana for a few weeks, teaching May term at AU and looking forward to Danna's graduation from Taylor in a couple of weeks! I had this blog ready to post several weeks ago, but the video wouldn't upload from Kenya. I hope it was worth the wait.

Making a House a Home -- in Africa

We are settling into yet another new home, on our fourth continent. During our 25 years of marriage I’ve had ample opportunity to discover that men and women process setting up house in a new country quite differently. 

Male perspective: Is there a bed and food? We’re all set!

Female perspective: Read on (and on and on…!)

First, let it be known that I am by nature a quick settler.  We have moved so much that I know what I need to do to make a house a home, and do it quickly. Usually that involves a few days on my sewing machine, multiple shopping trips, a few weeks of chaos, and then a settled house in less than a month. But this time I didn't bring my sewing machine. And this is Africa. It took us three months to find paint that wasn’t blue or red or pink. I apparently had my eye on a very strange color for walls: beige.

Things like hooks and paper towel holders are nonexistent here. But there’s a guy down an impassable road in a part of Kisumu where a woman would never choose to go who does beautiful ironwork.  So, we ordered some things made for the kitchen.  A month later we picked them up: the hooks were too narrow to hang up my utensils. We took another trip down the impassable road and tried to explain the changes that were needed. Another couple weeks they came back, and the hooks were the same. Oh well, I’ll hang different things on them. At least the ironwork is pretty.

We ordered a table and chairs for our porch from the same guy. Now,  I was not keen on experiencing the grimy welding district of Kisumu again, so I didn’t go with Rod to pick up the table. Big mistake letting a six-foot guy who doesn’t notice details do the final quality check on a table and chairs.  When I sat down at the table the table top came up to my chest. Oops. We never thought to specify a table height. Rod will be going back down the impassable road for another re-do on the table. Who knows when we’ll have it back again.

...to new!

My kitchen, from old...

Back to paint…. Getting the paint was only half the problem. The other half was the painter.  He asked for more money to “be careful”.  Hmmm. Do African painters have a pay scale according to how messy their painting will look at the end? Just wondering. We paid him more for the first job and then were told by someone that we had paid too much, so we negotiated less for the second job.  Now I can attest to the fact that he really meant it: he did indeed need more money to be careful. We still have lots of places to try to clean up after the second job.  I guess it turns out that even in Africa you get what you pay for.

Curtains. I just wanted to walk into a store, find fabric to match my bedspread, and have curtains made. Not so easy in Africa. Turns out there’s no such thing as plain brown fabric in Kisumu (or plain anything, for that matter).  I finally found some off-white that I thought could work. I had a piece of fabric like my bedspread that I wanted attached as a valance. After ten minutes trying to explain what I wanted and being met with uncomprehending looks by the professional curtain making guy, I came home and borrowed a sewing machine. At least that worked well. And my resulting valance is actually quite nice.

Cushions and pillows. I ordered these made before discovering that I could borrow a sewing machine. They came back with the zippers in the wrong places, strange colors of thread used, and none of my specifications heeded. A foot of un-used zipper explained the strange lump I felt inside one of the cushions. (Do zippers only come in one length here? Do they ever think to cut off the extra?) 

Ceiling fans. The other night I dreamt I smelled a horrible smell. Then I woke up and knew I was smelling a horrible smell, but assumed it was from outside. Then our ceiling fan lights literally exploded, and I discovered where the horrible smell was coming from. Our ceiling fan motor had burnt out. The next day we got a new ceiling fan and enlisted our electrician at KIST to assemble and install it. Later we turned on the new fan, and the screeching and swaying that ensued was almost scarier than the explosion  the night before.  Turns out one of the fan blades had not come with the requisite metal holder to attach it to the fan. So this guy, ever resourceful, had the idea of just bolting it in himself. The importance of the slant and spacing of the blades was lost on him. I hope he knows electrical wiring a little better!

Cooking in a new place is always an adventure. Ingredients are different, and supplies are not constant. When was the last time you couldn’t find cream cheese at your local supermarket? We take stocked shelves for granted in the States. Not so here. Cream cheese, for instance, is elusive. So, I learned how to make my own substitute out of yogurt. I used it in my Grandma’s cheesecake recipe the other day, and it tasted pretty good. At least Rod liked it. (Then again, he’s the guy who didn’t notice that the table was four inches too high…)

Probably the hardest thing for me adjust to, yet again in a new country, is having house help. I know many of you ladies are probably thinking, “If only I had someone to dust, do the wash, and cook.” But cleaning is not an art form in a country where many live in mud houses. Laundry is done one way, and one way only, no matter what care labels may say. And cooking… well, sometimes too many cooks really DO spoil the pot. Most days I am able to appreciate my helper and practice my Swahili with her, rather than lamenting not being the queen of my castle. But occasionally I just have to give her some extra time off, for my own peace of mind. 

Now if you’re still reading along with me at this point, I guess you’re really interested, so I’ll share a closing story. This story is proof to me that God cares about our nesting instincts, ladies. It’s  about Tupperware. In Indonesia I had great Tupperware canisters, and I prayed  to have something similar in Africa. “And please God, I want red ones, to match my kitchen things.”  Okay, so there are really huge problems in Africa, needing tons of prayer, and I'm praying for red canisters. I wasn't sure if that was allowed or not, but I took my chances.

Then I was invited to go into the Linen Closet and pick out (free) household things to take to Africa. This is sponsored by the Church of God women, and is one of the best ideas ever. It’s almost worth becoming a missionary just to be able to pick out things in the Linen Closet (but not quite). When I got to the Tupperware section (which I had no idea they even had), there was a brand new set of canisters – with red lids! I was ecstatic! 

But the story doesn’t end there. In our move to Africa, one of our trunks was lost. You guessed it – it was the trunk with my Tupperware canisters. The trunk lid had arrived, minus the trunk. All the flight info was on the lid, and everyone we talked to thought there was no way we would ever recover that trunk.I thought that perhaps, after all, one does not pray for red canisters. In my defense I will say that I got over the loss quickly, bought local plastic containers, and prepared to have a happy life without Tupperware canisters.

My finished kitchen-- notice the canisters!

Imagine our surprise when, about a month later, we received a call saying our trunk had been found. I personally think it was those canisters. God was determined that I have them! 

So, if you’re ever tempted to think that God doesn’t care about the little things, remember my canisters. He does.

A Few Good Men

Hang on ladies…. In a future post I promise I will talk about the women too. But this blog is devoted to the African men here at KIST.

The road trip

I recently had the opportunity to take an interesting road trip: me and 11 men (fortunately Rod was one of them) in a van to Nairobi -- 8 hours each way. The KIST faculty went to a three-day conference for theological schools. There are women on the KIST staff as well, but it just so happened that I was the only one who could attend this conference.

Jeremiah -- my language coach

I have never traveled with a van full of men before. After doing so I would like to dispel one prominent myth:  women do NOT talk more than men! You should have heard the chitter-chatter all the way there and all the way back!  And… all in Swahili. I took advantage of the situation to practice my very bare-bones Swahili. Jeremiah, our vice-principal at KIST,  was my main teacher. Since I was the only woman, I got to sit in the front while Jeremiah drove, so I practiced Swahili with him. I needed the Swahili practice to distract me from his terrifying driving. The phrase I learned most well that day was: Ninaomba (I am praying). I learned it well because I said it over and over again as he drove. He just laughed, and we made it home fine. Bwana asifiwe! (Bwah-nah ah-see-fee-way: Praise the Lord!)

During the conference in Nairobi something special happened for me: I was able to “see” the hearts and desires of these men, and I was touched. The odds are stacked against development and growth in Africa. And yet these men have hearts for the Lord, and committed themselves to growth at the end of the conference.  A veteran professor said “I realize now that we have not been making sure our courses reflect our vision and mission statements.” A younger man said, “I need to make sure that my life reflects my teaching; I need to be a model.”  These are good hearts. As I sat in the van with 11 men, I couldn’t help but draw a parallel between that group, and a similar group that changed the world 2,000 years ago. To what extent could a few good men here at KIST change Africa? I have lots of faith. Bwana asifiwe!

The KIST kwaya (choir). There really are lots of men in the back.

Another group of men that has gotten my attention is those in my choir! In the last few weeks I have become the KIST choir director – something I LOVE! My first move was to take away all the extra chairs in the choir section during practice, so that only those who had actually practiced could sit in (and sing with) the choir during the service. Evidently this was a revolutionary idea, and I quickly became known for bringing discipline to the choir. But back to the men… it was the tenors and basses who showed up most punctually and learned their parts best. In my choirs in Brazil and Indonesia this was never the case, so I am thrilled! (More on possible cultural reasons why the women are less engaged in a future blog.) At the chapel to celebrate communion we were able to sing “Let us Break Bread Together on our Knees” with all the parts, and even with dynamics. It was special. Bwana asifiwe!

Daniel recording sermons in Swahili

For the past three days we hosted a special guest in our home: Dr. Daniel Mdobi, who prefers the title “Pastor”.  He taught for many years at KIST, and now has returned to his native Tanzania, where he teaches and pastors. When we visited his church in Tanzania, Rod invited him to come and record some Swahili sermons in the CBH studio here at KIST. This visit just took place, and we are richer for having spent more time with this good man. Bwana asifiwe!

Rwandan attic cleaners!

As I write this blog, there are two more good men up in my attic, making a ruckus. Okay, this requires some explanation. These are two students from Rwanda who don’t have the money to travel back home after the term ends this coming week. So, we are providing a job for them: cleaning out the dirt, bird droppings, and  dust in our attic. I have had lots of allergies since coming here, and we think cleaning our attic might help. So now these men will be able to go home. The man in the glasses, Theodoli, has asked me to teach him to read music. Actually, many of the students want this, so that will be a fun class to teach next year! Bwana asifiwe!

As I conclude this blog I have a confession to make. God actually laid this topic on my heart a week ago, but I resisted writing it. You see, these good men also happen to be fallible men, and I got a little irritated with a few of them. For awhile there I lost sight of the “good” amidst the “imperfect”.  Has that ever happened to you? Fortunately God was patient with me even as I was impatient with others, and he reminded me of a couple of things. First, Africa is harsh and hard and unrelenting. It is not easy to persevere in receiving God’s light and passing it on to others amidst superstition, fear, malaria, drought, poverty, corruption, inadequate education, and a host of other conspiracies against God’s goodness and light. And the second will come as no surprise, especially to my husband: I too am imperfect. Please continue to pray for us all, as we seek to build on the GOOD at KIST, even through our imperfections. Bwana asifiwe!

Challenge: Surprise someone today by greeting them with Bwana asifiwe! Who knows what interesting discussion may ensue!.
 

Light and Darkness

Light and darkness. I’ve been thinking a lot about that the past few days. I have been privileged to grow up in light. I was raised in a family where God’s light shone brightly. I was born in a country founded on the light of Scripture. My education has given me ample resources to know how the world God created functions, and to think critically and logically (usually) about the issues I face. I am blessed – oh so blessed. Recent events here have drawn a sharp contrast between the light that I have known, and the dark side of Africa. It started 12 days ago…

Grace* is my house helper. She is a God-fearing woman who has been through more trauma in her 40-something years than I will probably ever see. She has had five children by a couple of different men, and is not married. Lest that strike you as promiscuous, consider local tribal traditions. Having children IS womanhood. Not having children is a curse, not only to the woman, but also in the family and village. And of course male children are required.These perspectives (and many other superstitions) lead to a multitude of problems: polygamy, AIDS, family in-fighting and feuds, and even incest and rape (terms not always used here when we in the West would find them applicable). Ways of describing events and relationships are much less defined, hindering our ability to really understand what has happened. When locals say “married” and “divorced” they may not be referring to actual legal status. This is the background for understanding Grace’s story. Despite her history, when I first met Grace I was struck by the radiance of her face. I soon came to discover that her joy was rooted in Christ.

Then, 12 days ago, the unthinkable happened. Her 15-year-old son, her oldest child, died suddenly of cerebral malaria. He was fine on Saturday morning, and by Sunday night at 9:00 he was dead. She had taken him to the hospital on Saturday night. He seemed to be improving Sunday morning. But then he took a turn for the worse, and passed away. He had just begun high school – an accomplishment and privilege here. Grace had so proudly told me about him just weeks earlier.

The funeral was ten days later. Rod and I and some others from the school attended. It was held outside, down a rough foot path, under a canvas tarp. The casket was open in a small lean-to on the way to the gathering. 

The choir. Notice that white is worn at funerals.

A choir sang at the funeral, then family members spoke. Grace began, speaking for an hour about her son and the events leading to his death. It was all in Swahili, and despite my recent three-week course, I couldn’t understand much of it. However, one of our workers was sitting beside me and translated a bit for me.

Grace speaking

After Grace and her mother spoke, the events of the funeral took a turn that I can only describe as an invasion of darkness, even though the sun was still shining. For the next hour and a half, various family members on the paternal side – the side of the father who had not raised the boy – attacked Grace and her family for allowing him to die. They even spoke of possible legal action. The paternal grandmother, who had just moments earlier been singing “alleluia” along with the choir, attacked the most viciously – even her family members made a show of trying to stop her tirade. I didn’t need to understand Swahili to interpret the total absence of compassion in this matriarch’s words. 

Later it got worse. At the burial, Grace wanted to stay until the burial was complete. Her parents, however, told her to leave when the casket was only half covered with dirt. There is apparently some superstition that staying to the end will cause others to die – or something like that which I’m sure I have not even begun to grasp. Grace refused. She wanted to stay to the end. And then, unthinkably, her own parents denounced her for disobeying them. They told her not to step foot in their house again.

After the burial was complete, Grace went to her church and spent the night there, alone. Of course friends tried to reach out to her, but she said, “I only have my God.” I think I would have felt the same. 

Today, Grace showed up on my doorstep. I was thrilled today to see her! Her parents, who are caring for the children, have relented a bit. She says she is still weak, but is planning on coming to work on Monday. Please pray that our home can be LIGHT for Grace.

The day of the funeral I had also been reading my seminary students’ essays -- the assignment was to write about a "moral issue". I wasn't prepared for what I would receive: unnervingly honest papers about polygamy, HIV, incest, corruption, and circumcision rituals -- including female circumcision for the purpose of "preventing prostitution". My students are educating me about the superstitions and traditions fueling these devastating practices. For the most part, our students know which traditional practices are destructive, and want to stand up against them. But they are often caught between two worlds – the light of biblical principles which they want so much to fully embrace – and family/village pressures and superstitions which they cannot easily turn their backs on. Kenya is supposedly 80% Christian. But how many of these “Christians” are like the matriarch at the funeral? The Bible says, “They will know we are Christians by our love.” What is the Christian population according to THIS standard? 

I guess we could ask the same question in our own congregations, couldn’t we?  Proclaim the Light. The Darkness is oh, so very dark.

*Not her real name.