Back Again?

My mom recently sent me an article about Kenya.

As I scan over the news of the slums... the HIV positive children, discarded by their parents... 2 year olds that can't walk or speak.... 9 year olds, sleeping in cribs... even the stories of baby elephants in the sanctuary that we happened to visit...

I feel the tug.

First, it starts as a tingle. Then it becomes a tender, familiar pull...

Then, a nice, firm, tug.

"I need to go back... I'm ready to go back" I think.

I write it on Facebook.

Almost immediately I get a response.

"I'll pay your airfare, if you provide the locale."

WHAT!?

LONG story short, an old friend, with a heart to help people, work hard and "do SOMETHING", offered plane fare, if I would take her with me.

My friend, Clara, contacts me the next day, not only having the locale, but the work, itinerary and most importantly, the invite to go.

Clara and her friend, Nicole, started a project called The Transformation Initiative, (TTI).

Clara needs to check on the program and prefers (wisely), not to go alone.

While in Africa, we will be taking care packages and solar lights to the families that TTI supports, visiting the homes of each of the children and checking on their progress. Aid workers will assist with the in-home visits for those with HIV/AIDS. We will also be checking on the orphan feeding programs that TTI supports and much more.

Clara has also asked me to teach the women to sew, or at least, help with their sewing skills.

Most of this will take place in Kisumu, which is north of Nairobi, on Lake Victoria.

In Nairobi, we will try to get into Kibera, the largest slum and also check on some of the programs that are offered to HIV babies in some of the local children's homes.

There is also talk of Tanzania and, Kilimanjaro....

SO, what to do? The trip is in the beginning of February. YOIKES!

My prayer requests....

1- for my facebook friend... (did I mention that it happens to be the same friend I mentioned in an earlier post, that was told she was going blind, but now has perfect vision?)

2-finances. Plane fare covered (assuming it will be!), there are a lot of ground costs... Food, cars, housing, visas... etc, etc.

3-safety and wisdom

4-my family. :)

Check out TTI's website if you get a chance.

http://transformationinitiative.org/GetInvolved.asp

If you want to donate to their project, or my journey (make note of donation being for me), it would be best to do it there... you will get a receipt for taxes.

Rain

Where the river is supposed to be... picture water...

This morning, I received an email from our young interpreter, Joseph, from Bissil.

"God has been good to us... blessed with rain, our rivers are full of water..."

lastly

It has been 3 months since my return from Kenya.

It feels like an eternity.

Here is a snapshot of the last 2 days spent there.

The trip to the elephant rescue. Seeing baby elephants, scarred and battered, but on the mend and playful. I had never noticed that elephants smile.

Wild warthogs, grazing on the side of the road. This made me sing songs from The Lion King.

Baboons walking down the streets of Nairobi, or sitting on the side of the road, eating bananas.

Michael says they are so smart that they come out of the woods and walk right up to the fruit stand, extending their hands until the shop keeper gives them a banana. We ask if people are afraid. He says, "No, we just give them what they want and they leave us alone." Hmmmm...

Nakumat. Kenya's version of Walmart, only, the thriftiness of Walmart was lost in translation. Nakumat is quite expensive.

Conversations about genital mutation and circumcision of both boys and girls.

They circumcise everybody in Kenya. You are ostracized if you are circumcised in the hospital or by a doctor. You are completely shunned if you are not circumcised at all.

For boys, it is a right of passage.

The Maasai take their boys, usually between the ages of 10 and 12, out into the bush.

Hunting knives are used.

No anesthetic.

No sterilization of the knife.

The boys are not allowed to show pain or fear.

Girls are circumcised for control. They are not allowed to show pleasure.... to have pleasure.

Rachel tells us they cannot even respond to their husbands while making love. If they do, they are bitten and beaten publicly, for being a whore. Girls too, are circumcised as pre-teens. Also, without doctors or anesthetic. The complications are endless... the scars...

We were supposed to go to Kibera on our last day in Nairobi.

It is Kenya's largest slum. The second largest in Africa.

Over 1 million people live in 1 square mile.

It is estimated that 1/5 of the HIV/AIDS population of Kenya, lives in Kibera.

Having no space to build toilets, they use a system called the flying toilet.

Defecate in a plastic bag... toss it elsewhere.

We didn't go.

To witness it firsthand, then hours later, board a plane home...

We couldn't go.

Exchanging addresses and phone numbers.

Hugs.

Tears.

Photographs.

Being stopped for a bribe going into the airport. The corruption here is great. They can detain us for not paying them... we can miss our flight. Michael gets out and says something to the police. They shine their lights on each of us and wave us through.

The chaos of Nairobi's airport.

Scanning my eyeballs to get on the plane.

I wonder what they are checking me for?

Can those scans see through my eyes... can the see what I saw?

I try to peak at their screen to see what pops up.

They block my view and tell me to go.

Getting on the plane with a bunch of kids that are all wearing various assortments of Maasai adornment. It is all from the market. I can tell. It's glossy and new, not smeared with smoke residue. I feel in my bag for my beads and wonder if I should put them on. I decide against it. I don't want to show off that I am a lion killer.

Sitting in the same row as Amy Grant on the plane from Amsterdam.

She is beautiful and seemingly incapable of aging. Also polite, friendly and reading from those new computer books. I feel sad for her. There is nothing better than the smell and feel of a good book. Computers are cold and don't smell like ink.

Disembarking in Detroit.

The woman telling me I am Kenyan.

"Only in my heart.", I say.

But, I feel what she is saying.

Putting on my beads....

Needing to feel fierce.

Coming down the escalator and seeing my children's faces first, then my husband's and my parent's.

Being home and feeling like someone had ripped off a piece of me and deposited it in Kenya.

Sleeping for days, not caring about the rules on jet-lag.

Getting an email from Joseph saying...

"They are predicting us to have elnino... The rain is coming."

Getting on Google to check if Joseph translated properly... surely he meant something else.

But he didn't interpret wrong.

Last month, the weather forecasters predicted that there will be El Nino rains sweeping across Kenya between September and December.

Market day in Nairobi

Maasai Market in Nairobi

This shot was taken just seconds before I was swarmed...

(click to enlarge)

Rachel took us to the Maasai Market later that afternoon.

The contrast between the market in Bissil vs. the market in Nairobi, was startling.

Still vibrant, the bustle and hustle of it all is a bit different.

The hustle starts the moment they see my stark, white skin. It isn't hard since I am the only pale face among the masses.

I barely make it out of the car before I am accosted, harassed and manipulated.

My second to the youngest, competitive, survival of the fittest attitude, kicks in instantly.

Polite at first, I simply say "no thanks".

Once I realize I have an entourage of salesmen and women tugging, yelling, negotiating their way into my pockets, the politeness fades.

Polite completely dissolves when 2 vendors, fighting for my attention, start pushing and yelling, with me stuck in the middle.

I ask them to stop. The man, is trying to persuade me to buy his 7 foot tall Maasai spear, the woman has fabric. They continue to fight over me. The woman shoves the man.

"Unwise", I think to myself, wondering how long it would take the man to use the spear he was waving through the air. In a flash of a moment, I see the spear come down and right through my dress. I look down at my dress and without a beat, grab the spear. Yanking it from the man's hand and my dress, I wave it at him.

"I said, STOP! And if you THINK I am going to buy this spear from you after you STABBED me with it...!"

Shoving it into his chest, I point my finger at him and walk away. He is so stunned, I don't see him again.

Michael, our driver in Nairobi and my fearless escort, "WOW! You are a tough lady."

"I surprise you Michael?"

He laughs and says no.

Getting a glimpse of celebrity, I have a new appreciation for anonymity. I am literally shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, with approximately 10-15 people at any given moment. More wait to shove their way in. I am being yelled at from across the market,

"S'cuse me, s'cuse me! Miss! Miss! Look what I have for you today!"

"Oh, but that is not what I am looking for."

"Hakuna matata! It means...."

"no worries... yes, I know." I've seen the movie, I think to myself. "You are right, there are no worries, because I am looking for something else!"

"oh, MISS! You are not being nice... just LOOK at what I have."

I have mastered the turn and ignore.

I find a soapstone chess set for my husband.

They want to sell it to me for 2000 shillings, or a little more than $25. I walk away.

Vultures, circling, see and hear this and rush in with the promise that their chess set is better.

"How much?" Is all that I consistently say... that and "NO."

They put it back to me.

"How much do you want to spend? Let us start with that." It is simple for me.

"I have 300 shillings." I only have 1000 total and I have more to buy than a chess set.

Huffing and puffing, bulging eyes and all, they stare at me like I have lost my mind. I shrug and keep walking.

I continue to get pulled and pushed. Leon steps in. Looking back and forth, he raises his arms and parts the Red Sea of Maasai. He is well over 6 feet and his wing span is great. I hustle past him and watch as nobody dares pass him.

The chess vendors continue to pursue me.

There price starts to go down, but I continue to bluff.

"One of the vendors down there has some chess. I think he will go down more than that. Thank you."

"OH, but MISS! His is not as nice as mine. LOOK!"

Again, I keep walking. I have noticed that stopping is dangerous, so I keep a consistent shuffle and try not to make eye contact.

I cannot show them how much I enjoy the hunt. How I really am the pursuer, but I am stealth and slow in my game. Creeping along until I find what I am looking for.

It is closing time, so I am at an advantage. Everyone is desperate to make one more sale before we leave.

I go back to the original chess vendor.

"Look. I have 300 shillings."

Staring at me the vendor says no.

I nod and walk away.

"Miss! 450 shillings?"

I walk with a soapstone chess set, 3 bracelets, a Maasai machete, a Maasai spear and a drum-like guitar. I spent a total of 900 shillings. Converted, that's about 12 dollars.

Michael tells me that they are all talking about the "white" lady.

"What are they saying Michael?"

"They are saying that if every white person was like you, they would be out of business. You got very fair, low prices... very fair."

Maybe next time I will pay what they ask. WHY? To be generous. But, first, I will negotiate down to a fantastic price, then hand them what they originally asked.

For me, it was a game. For them, it is life.

Ngong Hills and the Olepolos church

Congregation of Olepolos Church

click to enlarge either picture

"As long as there is poverty in Africa, there will be AIDS."

The statement rings in my ears.

I understand it.

I don't like it.

There still needs to be education about preventing disease transmission. We still need to smash some of the misconceptions and lies that are being spread.

Having sex with a virgin, does NOT cure AIDS.

Scrubbing your body after sex, does NOT cure AIDS.

My friend, Heidi, just went to S. Africa, where their current President was accused of rape. He made an announcement to the country that he couldn't possibly have AIDS, as he had taken a shower afterwards. They are also told that if they eat well, lots of carrots, beet root, onions... then that will prevent the spread of this disease!

I tell all this to Thuo Peter.

He nods, but he knows what he knows.

None of that matters, there is still poverty, still hunger.

It is time to go.

In the car, I have a pamphlet about Bloodborne Pathogens. I happened to bring it along, sure I would find someone that needed it. I hand it to Thuo Peter and tell him to read it and pass it along.

"This," I say, pointing at the pamphlet, "is what people need to know. It is the truth."

"Where did you get this?" He asks.

"I teach it back in the United States."

(I recently received an email from Thuo Peter saying that he has been "given new information" with the book I gave him and he was very thankful.)

We arrive back at our home in Nairobi and all go our separate ways, ready for showers and clean clothes. Washing away the layers of dirt from Bissil, I feel a sense of relief followed by grief. What would it be to never wash this filth from your skin? To never feel the dewey softness of fresh, clean skin? The smell of Johnson and Johnson wafting up from your baby, swaddled and pristine after a bath? To worry about parasites... snakes, mosquitos?

I have never been more thankful for a lukewarm shower.

The next morning, we are scheduled to preach at Pastor Joshua's church, Olepolos, in Ngong Hills.

We drive up the narrow dirt streets, navigating around donkey carts and people pushing their way up the steep grade. There are tin shanty's lining the road. Discarded signs, made into homes.

The church is small and looks more like a campsite pavilion. The bathroom, a hole in the ground about 50 yards from the front door. It is an outhouse, but we are told that if we need to go, we are to take a man, "for security".

I decide I won't need to go.

We are lead to the stage and sit, waiting for the congregation to arrive. It is a small church, the majority of people being children. Wanda asks me if I have anything.

I say no.

The music starts, Leon finally has a guitar and is able to participate. Pastor Joshua stands in the back, singing and dancing the traditional Maasai dance.

I look out at the children. They are dancing, jumping, singing.

"I have something."

Wanda nods, "okay."

I am handed the microphone.

"I want to talk to the children today", I say as I walk down to stand with them.

The Sunday school teacher tells them to stand back up.

"How many of you know that God loves you?"

Most of the children raise their hands.

"How many of you know that God speaks to you?"

None of the children raise their hands.

"How many of you have dreams?"

All of them raise their hands.

I tell them about dreams. About hearing "Mungu Tosha" the first night I arrived.

About how God speaks to us in dreams and visions. How He loves us enough to whisper in our ears when we are afraid. I tell them how God had been whispering to me about Africa since I was younger then they were. How if they listen closely, they will hear too.

As I hand over the mike, Nelly whispers in my ear that a number of the women are, "positive".

I stop in my tracks for just a moment, unsure of why she tells me this.

There was a certain tone to the comment that made me want to wrap up the women and take them home. They had such hunger in their eyes. Desperation. They wanted to be healed, cured from this death warrant. I looked at each of them. At their children clinging to their necks.

There was the wrenching inside of me, seeing this sickness shred and discard these families... wrenching these mothers from their babies.

It is a devourer, HIV/AIDS.

Leaving Bissil

Click to enlarge... Giraffe

We were supposed to go to Kilimanjaro, but hadn't made it there. Leaving Bissil, I look out, over the plains to where Papa Samson had told me it was. On a clear day, early in the morning, we could have seen it. I had a certain longing to see it, step foot on it, stand at the base, in awe.

Kilimanjaro is the tallest mountain in Africa and even more interestingly, is free standing.

Like it's saying, "no other mountain can compare, so I stand alone."

It also has snow at the top. "Big deal" you may say, but it is not far south of the Equator.

So, I would have stood in awe.

Instead, I stare at the open space where I know it should be.

I will it to appear, but it doesn't oblige.

"Next time", I think.

I watch as the land whizzes by. I wonder how the transition back to green will feel for me.

There is a certain amount of relief, knowing that in a few hours I can take a warm shower and change into clean clothes. I think about the parasites in the sand and fight the urge to scratch my skin off. Regardless, I feel like I am leaving myself behind. I feel grief.

The car is extraordinarily quiet, Wanda, asleep in the back... Leon too, I think.

I ask Barnabas about his job as a Safari driver. What is the most exciting thing he has seen.

He tells us a story about a lion and a water buffalo.

"We came upon a lion and buffalo fighting." (Picture this with a wonderful African accent...)

"We could not tell who was winning. They are both so strong.

The lion's pride was standing off to the side, the other male lions watching, waiting."

"Did they not help him out of respect?" I ask.

"Yes. It is how it is. He must fight his own fight.

The buffalo stabbed the lion with his horn.

Right before the lion died, he let out the loudest, strangest sound.

It was a terrible cry. I have never heard a sound like this before.

At that moment, all the other male lions came in and killed the buffalo, the dead lion,

still on his horn. Then they let out a roar and walked away."

"Barnabas, they didn't eat the buffalo?"

"No."

"Barnabas?"

"yes"

"Are there lions out there?"

"Yes, somewhere."

I look out at the open plains. The grass is growing here. It stretches toward the sky, swaying to the rhythm of the wind. I can imagine the lions out there. Lazily napping under the Acacia trees, the grass, blending their manes into the background.

We are brought to Rachel's school, The Serare School, for lunch and are fed like kings and queens. Pastor Joshua sees my sashes from Pastor Simon and Margaret and says, "You are highly decorated. This is the highest decoration you can get as a Maasai warrior."

I caress my beads, wondering again how I got here.

The school girls dance and sing for us. They teach us some of their moves and laugh with us at how awkward we are. They wear clean uniforms and have freshly braided hair. These are the more fortunate children that have parents with "good jobs". The contrast between them and the children we just left behind, is painful.

Rachel informs us that we will "rest" and have tea at her small house. We arrive to a spread of food that would feed us for a week. This is tea.

Rachel's son and daughter are there. Her daughter works for one of the television stations

in Nairobi. She studied in Australia. Her accent, crossed between African and Australian, is unique and stunning. It matches her beauty.

Her son, Thuo Peter, is finishing what I believe to be his masters degree.

He pulls me outside to talk. I excuse myself and ask if I can first try my family again.

I have tried many times, with no success.

I reach my mom and start to sob uncontrollably. She starts to question if I am okay and I can barely mutter, "yes".

I try to explain my anguish, but thousands of miles from home, it just fills my parents with worry. My father picks up the line and I ask,

"Will you come with me and save them? Dad? Tell me you will come back with me. It is so dry."

The line goes dead.

I still have only reached my husband for a second and have been unable to speak to my children.

Thuo Peter misunderstands my tears. He thinks I dislike Africa and want to go home.

I am too tired to explain that it is the opposite.

He speaks to me for close to an hour about science, chemistry, physics...

I smile and nod, absorbing nothing that he says.

Then, as we are about to go he says,

"Americans come here and try to educate about HIV/AIDS. They do not understand.

As long as there is poverty here, there will be AIDS.

You see, you have a woman with children.

She has no job, no money, no husband.

She can look at HIV/AIDS and say, "I could die of that in 7 or 8 years, or, I could die next week because I have no food. My children will also die, from starvation."

So, she takes the risk, and sells herself to buy food for her and her children.

As long as we have poverty, we will have this deadly disease."

Thuo Peter and his mom, Rachel

Last day in Bissil

Music by: John Mark McMillian, "I Dreamed There Was a Fountain"

From the CD, "I Dreamed There Was a Fountain"

Music by: Molly Williams "Lay Your Head Down",

from the CD "I Dreamed There Was a Fountain"

It had rained.

I go back in my room and sit on my bed. Face in hands, I start to cry.

I don't take lightly what had happened the night before.

I analyze, question, feel unsure of myself... "LORD, I do not want to give a false word!"

He confirmed to me several times that it was a word I was supposed to speak.

But then, it rained.

How could I question that?

I felt relief.

It was to be our last morning in Bissil. We were scheduled to have a private women's meeting, for the women of the little tent church. Then we would say quick goodbyes and head back toward Nairobi, to Ngong where we would have an outdoor revival that night.

I sort through my clothes, trying to choose the ones with the least amount of dust. They are all dirty with the exception of my pajama pants, so I keep them on and throw a dress over the top. Face it, I was wearing socks with sandals, I was beyond caring about fashion. I do, however, carefully put my sash from Pastor Simon over my neck.

I head to breakfast and find Papa Samson waiting for us. He hugs me.

Maasai men do not show affection. Papa Samson is a trailblazer.

"Good morning, Papa." I say.

He nods and sits down.

The room is silent. We all look at Papa Samson, waiting.

He starts to speak, but gets caught by his tears. He covers his face, contorted from this unfamiliar burst of emotion, and rushes outside.

"Ohhhh, to see a Maasai man cry... " Nelly goes into a lengthy explanation of why this doesn't happen. We all put our heads down and eat, knowing it to be true.

Barnabas picks us up and we head to the church to meet with the women.

We are told that the women desperately need and want the meeting, but many of them will not be able to attend. It is Saturday, a day when the women take buses, walk or hitch a ride, to see their children in boarding school.

Sometimes, hours away.

They have no choice.

There is no school in Bissil.

We arrive to find 3 beautiful, traditional Maasai women, sitting in the tent.

As I stand waiting for the rest of the women, one of the 3 wraps her hands around my sash.

She fingers it carefully, looking closely at the beads.

She meets my eyes and smiles. She points to the sash and then to herself.

I say, "Oh, did you make this?"

Joseph steps in and says, "Yes, this is Pastor Simon's mother. She made that for him."

I look at her and tell her how important this gift is to me, how I understand it's significance.

I cannot tell if she smiles with pride at my compliments, or the fact that her son gave me such a gift. Pastor Simon, like Papa Samson, is also trailblazer.

Woman in the center is Pastor Simon's mother

I am completely wrung out from the night before. We all are, but Wanda has an amazing ability to shake it off, stand up and preach. I think she could preach in her sleep, it just flows out of her.

She had told us that she was preaching from the Song of Solomon. "I know I may be walking a slippery slope..." she says, "but they need to hear this."

There are 2 or 3 men in the meeting. I wonder what their response will be.

I look up to see Margaret at the door of the tent. She is motioning for me to come outside.

I go.

"I am very sorry, but I must catch the bus. I have a very long ride and if I do not hurry, I will not be able to see my eldest daughter." Her eyes well up with tears.

"I understand. Please, GO!" I say.

"I brought you something."

She reaches in her bag and pulls out another sash. She puts it over my opposite shoulder.

It has a different medallion than the my first one and it occurs to me that it is for a woman.

"This is for a Maasai woman who has killed a lion."

I am completely speechless, only capable of nodding my head.

Then she hands me a bag and opening it says, "And I want you to have these... it isn't much, it is just all I have."

I suck in my breath as I see that she has given me her shoes.

They are leather sandals that have beads sewn on to the straps.

The heal is uneven from her walk, the impressions of her toes, permanently imprinted on the leather. I want to argue but know that it would insult her more than anything. How can I take this women's shoes?

We hold each other. She is strong and quiet. Stoic.

She kisses my cheek and turns to go.

I stop her.

"Please, we need to have a picture of us together."

Contrast

I wake to the sound of Leon stomping his feet outside.

I jump out of bed, sure that I had overslept.

Stumpling around, I find my key and open the door.

Leon turns, still stomping his feet...

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I have mud on my feet...  it rained."

I look past him to the ground.

"What?"

Wanda shouts from her room.  "RHEBA!  IT RAINED RHEBA, do you HEAR ME?  Rheba?  IT RAINED!" 

Music by:  John Mark McMillian, "I Dreamed There Was a Fountain"

                   Molly Williams, "Lay Your Head Down"

Both titles from the CD, "I Dreamed There Was a Fountain"

buildings in Bissil  

(taken in a moving car...)

Market day in Bissil

Market day

Maasai women

Sermon

Irene and her husband, Pastor Simon

Pastor Simon and his daughter, Deborah

"I have ached for Africa for as long as I remember. I believe God was whispering in my ear, even in my mother's womb...."

"Africa.... Africa.... Africa...."

I stand, looking at the congregation. How did I get here? What had shifted to make this dream, reality? It was like being transferred into another realm, unknown, but familiar.

I explain why I carry my camera everywhere.

"When I was a very little girl, I would watch the TV... I would look at magazines or newspapers. I would see the photographs that had been taken of starving children in Africa. Their belly's round with starvation. Flies making themselves at home on their bodies. Their eyes staring into the camera, desperate. I would see pictures of mothers holding their babies, limp and lifeless....

Somebody took those photographs. I looked at them and was moved. I was moved enough to want to come here... To want to do something. I carry this camera so that maybe, just maybe, one of my photographs will move someone else to want to come here and help you."

I continue.

"For many years, my heart has ached to bring water to Africa. I came, not knowing you had no water. I came not knowing the state of your land.

My first night here, I told your brother, Samson, I want to learn Swahili and Maasai. He told me he would teach me. That night, God spoke to me as I was falling asleep...."

"MUNGO TOSHA."

"God. Is. Enough."

Hoots. Hollering. Clapping, stomping....

"God is enough", I repeat.

"I don't know Swahili. He spoke to me in Swahili! Who am I? I'm just a girl who aches for you... for your land, for your people.

I went to bed very late last night. I was asleep for about 20 minutes when God awakened me."

"Isaiah 35", He said.

"Let me read this to you.

Isaiah 35.

The Desert and the parched land..."

I read each line. My interpreter following from the Maasai Bible.

"'the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus,

² it will burst into bloom;
it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.

The glory of Lebanon will be given to it,
the splendor of Carmel and Sharon;

they will see the glory of the LORD,
the splendor of our God.

³ Strengthen the feeble hands,
steady the knees that give way;

⁴ say to those with fearful hearts,
"Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come,
he will come with vengeance;
with divine retribution
he will come to save you."

⁵ Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
and the ears of the deaf unstopped.

⁶ Then will the lame leap like a deer,
and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wilderness
and streams in the desert.

⁷ The burning sand will become a pool,
the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
In the haunts where jackals once lay,
grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.

⁸ And a highway will be there;
it will be called the Way of Holiness.
The unclean will not journey on it;
it will be for those who walk in that Way;
wicked fools will not go about on it.

⁹ No lion will be there,
nor will any ferocious beast get up on it;
they will not be found there.
But only the redeemed will walk there,

¹⁰ and the ransomed of the LORD will return.
They will enter Zion with singing;
everlasting joy will crown their heads.
Gladness and joy will overtake them,
and sorrow and sighing will flee away.'

I see people on the floor. I hear weeping. My legs are quaking in the heaviness of God. I can barely stand and am thankful to have a pulpit to hold on to.

"God gave me this word for you in the night. He told me what to say.

All night He spoke to me.

Then, around 6am, I finally fell asleep. I had a dream.

In this dream, I saw a wall of water coming from the west.

This wall, the rain, was swooping in, fast.

I started to pray in my dream, excited, knowing the rain was going to restore the land.

I prayed so loudly that I woke myself up, sure that I had woken up my friends.

I listened, sure that they would come to see why I was yelling. Nobody came. They hadn't heard me.

I fell back asleep. Instantly, I was taken back into the dream, only this time, I was walking down a dirt road, arm and arm with sister Nelly.

We were out for a stroll.

We rounded the corner, and were stopped in the middle of the road.

Wildebeests were stampeding across the road.

Elephants, giraffes... they were all rushing back to the land.

They were coming back.

There was green grass again for them to graze, water for them to drink.

In my dream, your land had come back to life. The drought was over. The animals had returned.

God speaks to me through dreams. He WILL restore your land. Your people."

I tell them about the banners. I show them the water banner and explain how I came to make it.

"God told me to wave this banner. I will wave it and you may worship, pray, sing, whatever you feel led to do. When I am done, I will give this water banner to Pastor Simon."

I look at Pastor Simon. He nods, tears coming down his face.

"Pastor Simon, I want you to take this banner and wave it in your church. I want you to go to your wells and riverbeds and wave this banner. I want you to proclaim rain over your land. I want you to take this banner with you to the interior churches. Wave it there and proclaim rain. Allow the Pastors of those churches to wave it."

The musician starts playing his keyboard.

I take a deep breath.

"wait...

After I wave this banner, God asked me to do something that is very hard for me. Something that makes me uncomfortable. I do not want to be disobedient. I hope you all will allow me to do it"

I look at the goat poo covering the floor and try to think of ways to get around what I am supposed to do. I see the men and women on the ground, faces pressed into the earth. Hands and arms outstretched in front of them, they lay, weeping. I am ashamed to have worried about poo.

"I have this anointing oil. God told me to anoint each of your feet before you leave here tonight. Men, women, children... all of you."

I can barely breath.

I lift the banner as the music starts to play again.

I turn and see Pastor Simon's wife, Irene. I grab her hand and give her the resurrection banner.

We stand hand and hand, waving water and resurrection over the people of the church.

I whisper in her ear.

"This is a resurrection banner. Go with your husband and wave this when he waves the water banner. God wants to resurrect this land. He wants to see life here again. He wants your people to come back."

At the time, I didn't recognize what I had done. I didn't see that by asking her to wave the banner with her husband, there would be an atmospheric shift and a proclamation of unity.

I hand Pastor Simon the water banner. Oil in hand, I anoint feet, ankles, shoes. Wanda asks if she can help. In my haze, I look at her and nod. I am so outside of myself in this moment that I don't realize I have excluded my team.

The dust seems to have taken a permanent position on my body. I feel a bit like Pig-Pen from Charlie Brown... a cloud of dust chasing after me wherever I move.

I sit back down, satisfied that I have not missed any feet. I see Pastor Simon in the back, waving the banner, totally engrossed in God.

Bishop Osai stands and thanks us for coming.

He tells me I remind him of TD Jakes.

What?

He follows it by saying that TD Jakes had come a few years before with a similar message.

(phew. I mean, I love TD Jakes, but I don't know if I want to LOOK like him!)

Then he asks the congregation to come and bring us offerings.

"Whatever you have.", he says.

Pastor Simon stands and places a long, beaded sash around my neck. It is worn like a beauty pageant sash. I know this is a big gift.

I watch as people come and adorn us.

I start to cry as I see an older, traditional Maasai woman, crown Eilene with thick chain of beads.

I put my head on her shoulder and say,

"Eilene, you are being adorned like a queen. This is what I saw the first day I met you!"

"This is what you saw..." she says.

We are both sniffling.

We get up to leave and I say to someone,

"What does this necklace mean?"

"Oh, that? That is the highest decoration you can receive."

"What? Really?"

"Only Maasai warriors who have killed a lion receive this. Only men."

side note:

(Pastor Simon is the Pastor of the little tent church. Bishop Osai is over all the churches in the area.)

Market day

Maasai market in Bissil

If you look closely, you can see the traditional Maasai man. They are the ones wearing short "skirts". The women here only wear full length skirts.

My exhaustion has crept along at a steady pace. The hazy disconnected feeling becoming unbearable, I pass on lunch, hoping to close my eyes for a moment before our afternoon session. Curling up on the bed, my eyes covered by my hair, I think of my mom and how I have seen her sleep this way. I haven't been able to reach any of my family.

"Rheba, it's time to go!"

I wonder how the lunch hour went by so quickly as we head back to the little tent church.

Ilene is now pumped up. Refreshed and excited.

She stands and tells the congregation,

"I came here thinking I was going to pray for the sick. What happened? I had to come all the way to Africa just to get healed."

She proceeds to tell them about her kidneys and all she had been through to get to Kenya.

Then she tells them about the Pastor's meeting and how we all prayed for her and her kidneys were healed. I felt like I was watching Eilene come alive for the first time on the trip. She was on fire. Her deep southern drawl adding emphasis to everything she said.

"I felt my kidneys get all hot and start to move! God can heal you!"

At the end of the meeting we began to pray for people. Almost the entire congregation came forward. I closed my eyes and just tried to hear God. I touched hands, hugged, kissed, cried and sometimes just prayed silently. I looked up and saw a woman waiting for me. She had a rash over her whole face. She would not take her eyes from me.

An old woman, traditional in her dress, stood before me. I instantly put my hands on her face and softly covered her eyes. The thick smell of charcoal was surrounding her. Later, I would see that my hands and cheeks were smudged with charcoal residue.

I asked her if she was blind.

There was no response.

I motioned for the woman behind her to come forward.

"Do you know, is she blind?"

She shrugged and asked the question in Maasai.

"Yes mum, she is blind."

I prayed.

I continued to pray until I heard Nelly ending the meeting.

I looked up to see the girl with the rash turn and go. I wanted to chase after her, but she was gone before I could plow my way through the people.

It was market day in Bissil. Everyone was out. Vendors staked claim on various plots of dirt, throwing down a blanket and topping it with their wares.

I walked out of the tent to see the vibrant spread of people, smells... color.

Instantly, the opportunity to meander through the chaos overtook my desire to sleep.

"Oh, NELLY! Will you bring me to the market?" I stifle the, 'can we, can we?'

We dropped the others back at their rooms and Nelly, Samson and I headed to the market.

I tell Nelly that I really want to find some fabric to take back and maybe she could negotiate for me.

Instead, she takes me down an alley and through a corrugated tin gate.

"I want you to see Purity's house first."

Purity is a member of the congregation. She has big ringlets that remind me of my daughter, Olivia, and a bright, beaded dress. Nelly tells me that she has 7 or 8 grandchildren and that her husband is dead. Purity looks 40, maybe even younger.

Her house is built of corrugated tin. There are 3 couches, a chair and an entertainment center. She has a variety of rugs and tables covering the floor, so I can't tell if it is packed dirt or concrete. No kitchen, just a sheet covering the doorway to her bedroom.

Purity has tea that is prepared, so I realize I have been expected. I sit, dazed, knowing I should accept the tea, but saying no instead. Nelly asks me to pray. I obey, but am unsure what I am supposed to be praying for. As we stand to leave, a few of the Pastors walk in. They too, knew I would be there. They converse in Maasai. I look back and forth wondering what will come next.

Samson, Nelly and Purity

Nelly informs me that many of the Pastors have to leave to go back to the interior and they want me to pray for them. A total of about 10 Pastors have found their way into Purity's home. They sit and look at me expectantly. I think of how strange it is that I am standing before these leaders and they are looking to... me.

I am humbled and tell them through tears about God speaking to me in the night. I tell them how I was to anoint the feet of everyone in the church and since they would not be there, would they allow me to do it now. Nobody speaks.

They look at each other, bend down and unlace their shoes. There feet, dusty and worn.

Dry.

I go from foot to foot and pray as I anoint each Pastor.

Some have their hands clasped, heads bowed. Others stare straight into my eyes as I come to them, their glare, piercing.

The room, silent.

Nelly stands and motions for me to come.

The sunlight and sounds of the market, pull me back to the street.

I dodge piles of poo, urine and garbage, looking at the sandals made from tire treads. Fabric thrown over ropes, strung, tree to tree. Clothing, beads, fruit and vegetables have been brought in to sell.

There is a circle of Maasai men. They are huddled like football players. I ask Nelly why.

"This is the way they speak to each other. They are just having conversation."

I desperately want a picture, but the spears in hand dissuade me.

I find some beautiful fabric and ask Nelly to inquire about.

She speaks to the vendor and all but spits in disgust as she pulls me away.

"They see this skin" she says as she touches my arm.

"They try to take advantage."

I nod, sure that their price is still lower than I would pay in the US.

We are approached by a tall man. He runs up shouting, "I've been HEALED! I've been HEALED!"

He had been standing at the back in church as everyone had gotten prayer, too shy to come forward. Nelly had seen him and called him forward saying that she thought something was wrong with his shoulder. He had not been able to use his arm because of excruciating pain, so we prayed for him.

He keeps touching me. "it's better, see?"

"YES!" I say, watching him rotate his shoulder.

"You are very pretty."

Ummmm.... "thanks".

"very, very beautiful."

"Yes, my husband thinks so too."

I wonder if I am going to have to borrow one of the Maasai spears.

He proceeds to follow us through the market, jumping up and down, excited to repeat that he is healed.

I think of the blind woman. Can she now see?

Pastor's meeting

Some of the Pastors

"I have something too," Wanda says, "but it's a rebuke."

I look at her and nod, "good.".

We are scheduled to have a meeting with all the Pastors from the "interior".

Maasailand is so vast, that the people refer to the most remote locations, deep in the bush, as the "interior". Nelly accompanies us to the meeting, where we are ushered in through the small door of the rented church office. The room is about 15 feet long and 1o feet wide. Along one wall, are all the chairs for church, stacked and ready, but taking up valuable space in the small office. There is a desk and a window and of course, pictures of Obama, taped to the wall.

As I walk past Joseph, he asks if I slept well.

I reply, "no, but it's okay...".

I find my spot on a bench that hugged the wall and watch as the Pastors start piling in. Chairs are distributed where they can fit, but most of the Pastors are left to stand. I believe there are between 14 and 20, plus Nelly and the 4 of us. We are shoulder to shoulder on the bench, me sitting on only one of the two cheeks I have. The Pastors, most of whom were in the meeting the night before, had varying degrees of expectation. You could see it written on their faces. Some trying to look casual, nonchalant even, but the intensity of their eyes focused on Wanda, giving them away.

Ilene got up and spoke about how the doctors had told her not to come. How she wasn't healthy enough, but that her "physician" was far greater than any physician on earth. She talked about her past. About being healed from addiction and ultimately in how God healed her to be able to come all the way to Africa.

I spoke about my lifelong desire to be in Africa. About the yearning to see this land, even from a very young age. I explained why I had a camera around my neck at all times. How important it was for me to document what I saw.

"I don't take pictures because I am on a vacation, or am a tourist, I take pictures to move people. When someone looks at my photographs, I want them to recognize the crisis you are in. I want them to see your pain."

I tell them how God spoke to me in Swahili the first night I was there.

I remind them, "Mungu Tosha."

They clap and cheer their agreement.

God is enough.

Then I tell them my dream. Just the dream.

One of the Pastor's eyes get big. He watches me. He scrunches up his face, trying not to cry.

They bow their heads, nodding, clapping, agreeing... hoping.

Wanda stands and tells the men that she has a word, but some of them might not like it, but she hopes they can handle it.

"I'm going to talk to you about Daniel and King Nebuchadnezzar again."

She reminds them of Nebuchadnezzar's dream about the tree. How it stretched to the heavens. How the animals of the land found shade beneath it's limbs. The birds, finding nesting places on the branches. About the abundant fruit and beautiful leaves of the tree.

She tells them how big and strong this tree was, how it has dominion across the earth.

Again, the men are starting to shift in their seats. Some lean forward, heads down, others do not take their eyes from Wanda.

She proceeds.

"Daniel tells the King, 'You are the tree...'"

She tells them Daniel's interpretation. That King Nebuchadezzar has "puffed himself up" and will be driven away from his people. How he will live with the beasts and eat grass like cattle.

She tells them that all is not lost. That the stump and roots of the tree are left. That his kingdom will be restored when he acknowledges heaven.

Then she pauses.... "...When you renounce your sin by doing what is right, and your wickedness by being kind to the oppressed. It may be that then your prosperity will continue." (Daniel 4:27, NIV)

Some of the men cry. Some sit back quickly, like they have been slapped.

They got it.

The women and children have been oppressed for so long. How could there be restoration to the land, the people, when this is the case? Here is a woman, delivering this word, her husband sitting beside her, supportive, loving, kind. They see the example.

Joseph stands and tells everyone that he wants to pray for "Mum". Eilene has most affectionately been referred to as mum, by everyone she has met in Africa.

He tells us how God awakened him at 5am and told him that she needed healing of her kidneys.

We all stand in a circle, join hands and pray. Ilene cries.

She tells us later that as we were praying, she could feel her kidney shift and move inside of her. She said she knew God had healed her.

As we leave, I am approached by the man who had been trying not to cry.

"We have the same calling I think," he says.

"I too, have a heart to bring water to this land."

I nod, saying, "I see that from your response... what is your name?"

"Noah." he says.

Noah

The "All Nighter"

"Isaiah 35"

I am so tired.  Only asleep for 30 minutes, surely someone isn't trying to wake me already.

"Isaiah 35"

"but...I'm really tired."

"Isaiah 35"

I am not a person that has memorized scripture.  In fact, the only one I could actually quote you without thinking long and hard is John 3:16. 

About 3 or 4 years ago, I prayed and asked God to help me to know the Word better.  I asked Him to increase my understanding.  He likes to do this by giving me very specific scriptures at the appropriate time.  He captures my attention this way.  By faith, I open the Bible to the scripture I have heard. I never know if I will even find that scripture.  What if there isn't an Isaiah 35?  Maybe it stops at 34...(in this case, I did know there was a 35, but sometimes I don't)

Isaiah 35:

Joy of the Redeemed

 1 The desert and the parched land will be glad; 

       the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. 

       Like the crocus, 2 it will burst into bloom; 

       it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy. 

       The glory of Lebanon will be given to it, 

       the splendor of Carmel and Sharon; 

       they will see the glory of the LORD, 

       the splendor of our God.

 3 Strengthen the feeble hands,
       steady the knees that give way;

 4 say to those with fearful hearts,
       "Be strong, do not fear;
       your God will come,
       he will come with vengeance;
       with divine retribution
       he will come to save you."

 5 Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
       and the ears of the deaf unstopped.

 6 Then will the lame leap like a deer,
       and the mute tongue shout for joy.
       Water will gush forth in the wilderness
       and streams in the desert.

 7 The burning sand will become a pool,
       the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
       In the haunts where jackals once lay,
       grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.

 8 And a highway will be there;
       it will be called the Way of Holiness.
       The unclean will not journey on it;
       it will be for those who walk in that Way;
       wicked fools will not go about on it. 

 9 No lion will be there,
       nor will any ferocious beast get up on it;
       they will not be found there.
       But only the redeemed will walk there,

 10 and the ransomed of the LORD will return.
       They will enter Zion with singing;
       everlasting joy will crown their heads.
       Gladness and joy will overtake them,
       and sorrow and sighing will flee away.

Read it again if you need to.

"The desert and the parched land....

... burst into bloom...

... eyes of the blind will be opened...

... burning sand will become a pool...

... thirsty ground bubbling springs...

... grass and reeds and papyrus will grow..."

I am fully awake now.

"what else God?"

He proceeds to tell me exactly how to deliver my message. 

What to say, when to say it.

Then He adds,

"Once you have given this message, you will wave your banner.  You will praise and worship.  You will anoint the feet of every person in that tent."

"Seriously?"

"These feet walk this land, work this ground, have toiled and labored.  Anoint them.  Bless them.  Unify them."

I am awake all night.  Listening.  Praying.  Excited about this word.  Nervous.  

I don't want to bring false hope.

What if this is me trying to "solve" things?

How could it be?  I don't have a pantry full of canned food like Wanda.  

The birds are twittering outside, happy for morning.  It's 6:00 am and I NEED sleep.

Too tired to turn my light off, I cover my head with the blanket.

Leon is supposed to knock at 7:15 to wake me.

I see the wall of rain swiftly approaching from the mountains on my left.  This wall of water is so thick, I have never seen anything like it.  I start to pray.  The rain is coming. I pray louder, begging it to refresh the land.  I pray so loudly that I wake myself up.  

Sure that I have awakened everyone else, my heart pounding in excitement, I listen for someone to ask if I am okay.  I had to have been screaming, but nobody heard me.

I cannot believe it.  "The rain is coming", I say to myself as I fall right back to sleep.

Instantly, I am taken back, but now I am arm and arm with Nelly.

We are strolling down a dirt road.  Friends, out for a walk.

We round a corner and are stopped in the road.

The wildebeests are rushing back to the land.

The elephants, the zebras... they are all stampeding back to the land they once grazed. Nelly and I celebrate.  I look at her and say, "They have come back.  There is grass again!"

I awaken to the knock on the door.  "Rheba.  It's time to get up."

The land is being restored.  

The rain is coming.

The animals will return.

There will be no more drought.

The famine will end.

My burden for these people is being lifted.  

I walk to the cafeteria.

"I got something", I whisper to Wanda.

"You got something?", she replies.

I nod.

Banners

  "I don't know what it is, but something happens when you wave those banners.", Wanda had said on a phone call before we left for Kenya.  "Please, bring your banners."

I had given them all away.

The night before we left for Kenya, I was standing at my sink.

"What kind of banner am I supposed to make?"

I had not been inspired to make anything in particular, so I had procrastinated.

"WATER." I hear.

"Water?"

"yes, WATER."

Okay.

"and... RESURRECTION."

Okay.

So I made a water banner and a resurrection banner.  

Rolled them up, packed them and wondered who I would give them to.

What exactly is a banner?  An object that fanatical Christians wave to invoke emotion?

Maybe sometimes.  

Why would one chose to make a banner or for that matter, wave one?

Banner, by Webster's definition: a piece of cloth attached by one edge to a staff and used by a leader (as a monarch or feudal lord) as his standard.

Okay, so I am not a leader or a monarch... (although I do have one tattooed on my foot!  ;) )

Banners are not only biblical, but they are also historical.  

Psalm 20:5
We will shout for joy when you are victorious and will lift up our banners in the name of our God. May the LORD grant all your requests.

Psalm 60:4
But for those who fear you, you have raised a banner to be unfurled against the bow.

Isaiah 5:26
He lifts up a banner for the distant nations, he whistles for those at the ends of the earth. Here they come, swiftly and speedily!

Jeremiah 51:12
Lift up a banner against the walls of Babylon! Reinforce the guard, station the watchmen, prepare an ambush! The LORD will carry out his purpose, his decree against the people of Babylon.

And, of course, one of the favorites...

Song of Solomon 2:4
He has taken me to the banquet hall, and his banner over me is love.

These references go on and on.  

So, that's biblical.

Where is the historical?

For centuries, banners have been used as a rallying point in battle.  Assyrians, Egyptians, Greek, Romans... they all fought under their respective banners. Even today, the "Colors" are so revered that army battalions consider them a lifelong honor.  Banners were/are used in battle fields and wars, even the Civil War, to identify different camps.  The Japanese used a banner named, Sashimono, to identify themselves in the battle field.  The Sashimono was especially important during the feudal wars in Japan, in the 15th and 16th centuries.

Italians use banners in their annual Palio races to distinguish between different contrades, or districts.  At the end of the race, the victor is awarded a silk banner.

Even as Americans, we wave banners at rock concerts, football games, swim meets.  They identify who we are rooting for.  We even flick a lighter and wave it in the air as a tribute...  Or when there is particular emotion involved in a song.  Is this not a form of banner?  

My question.  If we are in battle, why then can we not wave our banners?  If we are "fanatical", is that not better than being lukewarm?  If we are rooting for OUR team, why then can we not cheer it on?  

What are the things you are passionate about?  Are they important enough to make your heart beat faster? Are they big enough to cry over?  Are they worthy of debate?

Would it be better for me to NOT be strong in my convictions?  Should I be wishy-washy?  

Is waving a banner... weird?  

Perhaps.  

But something happens when one is waved. 

The atmosphere shifts, moves, changes.  

This is true on the battle field.

In the football stadium when the fans are rallying for their team.

When a race is won.

In church.

There is always a change in the atmosphere.

So, that first night in Bissil, Wanda preached.

We went back to our rooms, exhausted and dusty. 

I tried to journal about our experiences that first day.  The dry wells, riverbeds... the Maasai house, the people we had met.  I gave up at about 1am, when the words started to blur on the page.  

Shutting off the light, I climbed into bed, worrying about the message I would deliver the next day.  

The message I didn't have.

Preacher(wo)man

Wanda knows how to preach.  

She says that when she got saved, the Bible was food for her.  Like she had never eaten, she devoured it.  She read it and "canned" it.

"You know, like if you were canning peaches or green beans?  You got your peaches over here and your green beans over there.  One day I may need peaches, so I pull 'em down.  Another day, I might need green beans... they're right there on the shelf, canned and ready, so I pull those down. When you "can" your food, it is preserved and is on the shelf whenever you may need it."

Wanda tells me how she pulls one those cans whenever she's preaching.  

The first night in Bissil, she uses her Daniel and King Nebuchadnezzar "can".

Since the church is just a foundation in the ground, a tent has been constructed in the middle of Bissil, as the temporary facility.  The tent is pieced together, with no roof over half of it.  It also has been vandalized.  Someone has come and slashed holes all along the walls.  Apparently, church is offensive everywhere.  

As we get out of the truck, we hear the music blaring and someone singing over the microphone.  We find our seats and take in the people as they slowly trickle in.  Many of the women come in their traditional, Maasai clothing, others do not.  None of the men do.  

The Maasai clothing is an eclectic mix of colors, patterns and beads, all of which are vibrant and beautiful.  99% of the traditional women, wear their hair cropped to their head.  Large, triangular shaped earrings, are sewn directly into the tops of the ears (at least that is what it looked like) and dangle down close to their necks.  Some of them have stretched lobes which they wrap beads around.  

The traditional Maasai man is intimidating in his glare.  Most are tall and very thin.  They wear a garment that reminds me of an African version of a kilt.  They mostly don't wear shirts, but drape a large piece of fabric, diagonally across their torso.  Many of them carry a staff of some sort and have a large knife, or machete tucked in their waistband.  The men also are decorated with beads and stretched lobes, which, when not in use, they pull over the tops of their ears so they don't dangle.  

I am reminded of the song, "do your ears hang low... do they wobble to and fro... can you tie 'em in a knot... can you tie 'em in a bow..."

Sorry, it just played in my head every time I would see their ears.  (how rude, I know.)

I wish I could post a picture of the traditional Maasai man here, but, well.... they were scary and I didn't have a telephoto lens.  They do NOT like having their picture taken and if you do manage a shot, they shake their staffs at you, or ask for money.  Since neither of these things appealed to me, I concentrated my camera only on the women.

Needless to say, we didn't see any of the traditionally clothed men in church.

The music starts to intensify as the crowd grows.  A new song starts and all the women giggle. They look at us with a cross of embarrassment and excitement.  One of them starts to dance. Another follows.  Soon there is a line of women, circling the congregation.  They are doing their Maasai dance.  

Bending at the knees, they take a step, bob up their head, pop their neck.... bend, step, bob, pop... bend, step, bob, pop.  It reminds me a little of a chicken, scratching at the ground, looking for food.  Me, being me, I have to jump in.  The poor women try to instruct me as we go, nodding encouragement as they laugh at me.  Bend, step, bob, pop....  it takes concentration.  I imagine this dance being taught at the YMCA, in Zumba and can't help but laugh.  

Nelly introduces Leon to the church and asks him to introduce the rest of us.  One by one we get up to say something about ourselves or give a message.  When it's my turn, I, of course, cry.  My emotions don't seem to have a cut off point and my exhaustion level helps exacerbate the tears.  I manage to squeek out some kind of message...  Something to encourage, but mostly, I just sniffled.  I see Margaret in the crowd.  She smiles her encouragement back.  I don't know what it is about this girl, but I am drawn to her.

As Wanda stands to take her place at the podium, everyone shifts in their seats.  They hover on the edge, aware that the main course is getting ready to be served.  The women lean, elbows on knees, hands clasped together, hungry.

The men, sitting separately from their wives, look like they are torn between eagerness and skepticism, or is it just my imagination?  Have they ever seen a woman preach?  

In Kenya, men and women don't do things together.  There is no partnership involved.  Women and men are not seen holding hands or being affectionate.  You rarely even see the man look at his wife.  There is no chivalry, no friendship, no companionship, no joy and ultimately, no love. Many women are literally not "allowed" to speak, move, DO anything, until their husband has instructed them to.  I understand this is a trend in many places around the world, but to witness it first hand, is painful.  

Wanda and Leon don't play by these rules.  Leon is a gifted musician.  His comfort zone involves a guitar strapped over his neck, while his wife preaches.  Leon plays, Wanda preaches. They flow... together.  Wanda however, is the mouthpiece.  A powerful mouthpiece.

This seems to set the men on edge.  Not all of them, but most.  

They just don't know what to do about a woman preaching in their church.  Not just one woman, but three!

But, Wanda can preach.  

She can't see her Bible in the dimly lit tent, so she doesn't even open it.

She stands, microphone in hand and takes a deep breath.  She looks at Joseph, he nods, she starts to speak.  

"Tonight, I'm going to talk to you about Daniel..."

Joseph is a good interpreter.  He follows Wanda's expressions, her inflections, her gestures.

I am sitting at the side wall of the tent, positioned to see the congregation's profile.

I watch as Wanda gets farther and farther into her message.  The men begin to shift.  They go from slouching to sitting up.  They begin to lean in, their eyes big.  Absorbing.  She's pulling them.  They are holding on.  

She talks about those "3 hebrew boys" and how they dance in the fire, a 4th figure beside them, King Nebuchadnezzar is confused....

  

I see a man raise his arm and let out a hoot.

Another claps his hands.

Still more are laughing and nodding their heads.

I smile and look at Leon.

"your wife can preach!"