Ngong Hills and the Olepolos church

Congregation of Olepolos Church

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"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.