Cultural Respect

The world is a huge place with billions of people from thousands of cultures. We just recently passed the 7 billion people mark on the planet. This means that there are people from various different walks of life, each with their own particular worldview. A worldview is a particular philosophy of life or conception of the world. I’m a firm believer that just as no two people are alike, so no two worldviews are alike. Yes, people who grow up in the same family, neighborhood, suburb, city, state, or country may have aspects of their worldview which are the same, but when it comes down to the nature of an opinion, it is something formed in the end, whether through influence of others or not, solely by an individual.

With the uniqueness of every single individual on the face of the planet, we must learn to respect others and where they come from. Part of this fact means that we must come to terms with the fact that others have been influenced in ways different to ourselves. Giving respect to others means that we have a feeling of deep admiration for them or their character which is elicited by their abilities, qualities, or achievements. Inherent to respect means that we must forget about our nature and our character and focus on the other. In my time spent in other cultures, I have seen those who live with cultural respect oozing from their lives. They look to other cultures and are amazed by the new and glorious things which they can learn from them. Sadly, I have seen the opposite as well. I have seen individuals go across cultures and always use their worldview and culture as the benchmark for grading the other culture. What are the downfalls of such a perspective? Such a perspective leads individuals to refuse to learn from others. It causes humanity to be inward focused and be concerned with the self rather than with the community. There is so much to be learned from other people and their cultures. Our experience with them allows us to acquire knowledge about them and who they are. As Christians we believe that God created us in his image. I believe that being thus created means that in others we have a chance to see a glimpse of God. When we fail to reach out to them, we fail to reach out to the God imaged in them.

A Journey to the Ends of the Earth

This past summer I got an email from a pastor in Vancouver, B.C. wanting to connect about Africa, while he was in the KC area. He would be heading to Kenya this fall and wanted to touch base on my experiences in Africa. The crazy thing was I had met him around 15 years ago when he and the evangelism professor at my now seminary came up to Omaha, NE where my parents were pastoring for a weekend. It was great to meet him and dialogue about Africa, theology, etc. A few months ago he asked if I’d like to join them on their trip to the towns of Narok and Naroosura. I definitely wanted to do this. It would be a great opportunity to see how God is working outside of the Nairobi area here in Kenya and to see some parts of Kenya I’ve never seen before.

This past Thursday, it was time to depart with the team for the two towns. Off we (Pastor Grant, his son, a man from their church who has been working with their project, the NCM coordinator for the field, and the driver/project lead when the team isn’t there) went. The drive to Narok was beautiful! The first part of it was all too familiar. The journey takes one up one of the main highways North of Nairobi, then splits off to the northwest. That drive is one that I have taken before and is incredibly awe-inspiring. You begin by climbing up around 2,000 feet in elevation out of Nairobi. Then when you exit to the northwest, you descend into the Rift Valley. Along the route are numerous mahindi choma (roasted maize) sellers. I am mahindi choma’s biggest fan, and so I had to suggest we stop and get some. All of us in the van were now fully loaded with this lovely snack (all for a mere 20 cents each). Then it was back to the views. I saw those views for around 33 months during my stay at Rift Valley Academy, just a stones throw from where we were.

This view includes the valley floor below, two volcanos rising from that floor, as well as the sides of the valley towering above you. The road to Narok slowly rises back out of the beautiful valley to the city. There was one time on our journey when I remember thinking, “this is sure a long hill.” Right after I thought that, the thermostat on the minibus we were traveling in, blew. Hot water began gushing from the bottom of the bus. We stopped almost at the crest of the hill. People came running down from the top of the hill to help out. Our driver talked to them in Swahili and asked them to bring a mechanic down. After about 25 minutes we were back to a new normal. The solution? Just take the thermostat out and keep going. It basically worked! We just had to make sure the minibus had enough water for the rest of the trip.

We made it into Narok safely and arrived at our hotel. On the way there, Bessie, the NCM coordinator, had called a man to tell him to meet us there. She referred to him as the chief. We would meet him there and then head out to the area where his home is to check out the new church which had been built on land he had donated. It took me a while to register who this man was. We picked him up as well as one of the Africa East Field Media crew and headed out to the location. It was about 30 minutes from town. I suddenly began to register that this was the actual chief of the area. You wouldn’t have guessed it by his appearance or demeanor. He was’t concerned with his status and didn’t want us to be either. The church property he took us to was huge! It was out in the midst of pastoral lands. Cows were being herded on either side of the church. It was in a beautiful spot, and had so much space.

After checking out the church we came back to the hotel for the night. I rested for a while before heading down to dinner with my roommate Charles, who was the driver, to meet the rest of the team. Dinner was tasty. After playing farkle with Grant, it was time for bed. Charles and I talked long into the night about culture. It was such an intriguing conversation, I didn’t want it to end, but was starting to fall asleep. As I rolled over to close my eyes, Charles told me, “I hope you don’t mind that I sleep with the TV on.” “Oh no, not at all!” I replied. Wondering exactly what sleeping with the TV on meant. It literally was blaring for the duration of the night. I woke up during the night to hear many intriguing things coming from its’ interior. In the morning I woke up to Christian taebo, things like, “okay now, left foot up, back straight, now kick, and kick, and kick,” greeted my ears for about an hour.

It was time for a big breakfast before heading out to Naroosura. All of the day before Bessie and Charles kept on telling us to wait for the wildlife tomorrow whenever we saw a measly impala on the side of the road. I didn’t really know whether to believe them or not, but I would soon believe their words from the previous day when the sights around me helped out my lack of faith. We went back to the same turn off for the chief’s plot of land he had given for the church. But then, we slowly realized that Bessie and Charles weren’t lying about another thing they said the day before: the road for today. The road is a worn down dusty road through thousands of acres of Maasai land. In many places it had been washed out, so you’d simply follow a new path to get back to the good section of road. It was a bumpy and harrowing experience. A couple of times I seriously thought we would tip over and remember once saying vocally, “Oh Lord help us!”

As we passed through a series of thickets, we were soon out in an open area. When I think of the Lion King, I think of this area. It’s a vast, wide open savannah filled with wildlife. Wildebeest, impala, zebra, ostrich, dik dik, eland, kori bustards, and other animals are scattered about for miles on end. This area is semi-close to the Maasai Mara game reserve. Yet here, the animals are not restricted by park boundaries. Truly an eden! Slowly we began to see more and more Maasai homes and their inhabitants scattered about. Maasai houses are made of mud on all sides, including the roof. This is different to your typical mud hut which has a thatched roof on top. The Maasai have great respect for cattle, and so juxtaposed to the wildlife were these domesticated animals grazing as well. It took about 3 and a half hours to go around 80 kms. Then we began to see more modern houses rising from the countryside. A town had to be close. Bessie had called the local chief to tell him we were near. We went straight to his office and picked him up. He looked much more official and had a nice army looking hat on with a baton carried in one hand. He climbed aboard the minibus and off we went.

Our destination was further than I had realized it would be. We drove through the countryside to a series of hills. We began to ascend those hills and saw various Maasai folks farming or working around their homes. As we climbed, the road got worse and worse. Finally we reached the settlement. School buildings partially funded by this team and also by the Church of the Nazarene as a whole began to rise from the Kenyan countryside. Hundreds of students fluttered about as we arrived. I spoke with some of them in my very broken Swahili, telling them my name, where I was from, that I liked their school, and asking them who they were and where they were from.

After a short time of checking things out and the initial greetings, we went on a short hike down into a ravine to check out a water project which had been started with help from the church in Vancouver and NCM (Nazarene Compassionate Ministries). It was nice to have a chance to walk around in this beautiful area. The water which feeds the stream comes from a natural spring up in the hills, making the water very clean. The goal of the water project is to divert the water into a water catchment area and then pump it back to the school. This would provide irrigation to the land and allow them to start growing their own food in the area. This would help to cement a true partnership as the local people take ownership of the land and farm it for their own good and purposes. On the hike back from the ravine, I chatted with the headmaster of the school. He was from the area, and a local Maasai as well. In desiring to know more about their culture I asked him, “what are your staple foods?” He replied, “it used to be milk and blood.” “That’s all? Really?” I asked. “Yes, that’s all. But now we have begun to eat other vegetables and the like because of the influence of others.” I was amazed by that conversation, and again just so thankful to be interacting with this group of God’s creation which still lives quite similarly to how they have for hundreds if not thousands of years.

Back at the school we chatted with the locals and saw where a new Nazarene church would be built. You could tell that God was working amongst this people group and helping to bring about education and agriculture to their lives. It’s not like that will be their savior, but such things would provide help in the case of things like severe drought. There would be something that could help them outside of their sustainable lifestyle. I’m wrestling with what it means to help others and if they need it, and that seems a logical helping point for this group of people.

Towards the end of our stay in this settlement, the team had a time of gift giving to the school. They had packed many school supplies back in Vancouver to bring to them; things like pencils, markers, erasers, crayons, soccer balls, etc. It was a joyous occasion to see the people accepting the supplies. Many of the students, parents, and tribe elders gathered together into one of the classrooms. The Maasai women sang a song of thanks and gratitude to God for the gifts.

As is typical in many African cultures, the people had prepared some food for us. This is not just a meal, but it’s an act of gracious hospitality. People use their resources to give of what they have in order to express their hospitality to others. I honestly don’t know if there are many things that compare to such an act. It’s a time where everyone says, we are humanity, together, sharing with one another. It is essential to accept such acts of hospitality. I’m thankful for parents who emphasized that to me during my growing up years. Rejection of food is rejection of the people and who they are.

After the food we said our goodbyes. In the Maasai tribe, people, especially the ladies, will take off some of their jewelry and give it to you. Pastor Grant and his son were given a necklace and a bracelet respectively. I had never seen this done before, and it really made an impact on me. Once again reaffirming my love of African hospitality.

We were soon off to a pastors house to drop off some items and then on to another pastors house for more food. Not gonna lie, I love Kenyan food. I think I ate far too much in those days of our journey. It was neat to be able to fellowship inside of this pastor’s home. It was my first time in a Maasai house. The food and fellowship was great and after a short time we were off. We needed to get back to Narok before dark as the road to there is so horrible. As we left, a Maasai woman gave me a necklace. A moving experience, as I stated before. We then braced for the ride back. We saw beautiful sights as the sun set over the African plains. Wildebeest and their fellow animals dashed around. I’ll never forget those sights.

Back in Narok we were bushed. We ate dinner and hit the hay. Saturday we made the journey back to Nairobi. Mt. Longonot, one of the dormant volcanos previously mentioned, looked a lot more formidable from this side of the valley. We chatted, laughed, ate more Mahindi Choma, and finished off our trip.

I’m so thankful to Domenic, Pastor Grant, Graiden, Bessie, and Charles for allowing me to tag along on this journey. I’ve been given a deeper respect for the Maasai people, and most of all for the God who is working amongst them and who created them.

84 Days in Memory of Grandpa

November 14, 2008. For most, that was just another ordinary day. For my family it was our last day with my Grandpa. Grandpa had battled cancer for a while, the battle growing increasingly tough for him that previous summer. I remember one day as I was gearing up for my senior year, feeling the urge to scrap my housing plans for the year and instead move in with my Grandpa and Grandma. I had been set to move in with two friends and a new student in one of the senior apartments on campus. It would have been a fun year with them! But instead, I went and had dinner with my grandparents and told them what I had been feeling. I moved into the main guest room in their house and got settled for the year. Little did we know that just a matter of days later, things would begin to get more gruesome for Grandpa.

It got to the point where he was having to go to the bathroom multiple times a night and needed someone's help to get there. A couple of nights, I spent the night on the couch next to my grandpa's chair where he slept. I remember how horrible he felt having to lose his dignity in front of me as I helped him go to the bathroom. I kept on reassuring him that I really didn't mind. I honestly didn't. This was a man who I loved dearly. He'd been my role model all my life. I can remember following him around at their home in Colorado as he did various things. He always had some sort of a fancy project going on. Sometimes I didn't understand what these projects were about, but I followed him around and helped him nonetheless. One summer in the late 90s my grandparents were gearing up to sell their house in Colorado Springs and move to the Nazarene missionary retirement center in Temple City, California. I went out to help them clean and fix up various things. One loss of dignity moment that came long before Grandpa's final months was when I walked upstairs during that time to find my gramps fresh out of the shower standing in his birthday suit just chatting up a storm with my grandma in the hallway. Grandpa let out a "Whoops here" and scurried off into his room. We laughed about that a lot afterwards.

One of the memories I have of Grandpa during that time of his getting more sick was his faith still standing strong as ever. He would sit in his chair and read one of his newest Bibles. An English Standard Version leather bound Bible with a crown of thorns indented into the cover. I inherited that Bible after his death. In it, just like the rest of his devotional Bibles, Grandpa had underlined and scribbled different things in the sections that he was reading. In those last few days in his house in Nampa, Grandpa had been going through the Psalms. On August 13, 2008, Grandpa underlined Psalm 37:4 which says, "Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart." On the 29th he underlined Psalm 31:14 which says, "But I trust in you, O Lord, I say, You are my God. My times are in your hand." Next to that verse he wrote, 'my pain'. In other places he underlined various verses and put the initials of various family members next to them. In one such place he underlined Psalm 34:7 for my sister and I. That reads, "The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them."

By this stage in my Grandpa's life he was in lots of pain. Yet, his faith stood firm. His trust was still as strong as ever in his Lord. My Grandpa was a man of unrelenting faith. He faced so many different circumstances in his life, yet through all of the ones that I saw him face, his never let his faith in God lose any ground. In those days of severe pain, he was still being as sacrificial as ever and considering others needs and their struggles above his own.

Grandpa passed away about two and a half months after I moved in with him. During those last few weeks of his life on earth, his faith still stood strong. He saw visions of angels, prayed as fervently as ever, and lastly surrendered his life over to God, this time for eternity. The day he passed away my parents, my grandma and I were there with him. I turned quite horribly sick in his last few hours on earth. I threw up multiple times. As Grandpa was breathing his last, we sang various hymns; ones he had asked us to sing in the time before his death. That afternoon a couple of children's choirs were touring the care facility where he was. They too sang songs to Grandpa.

Grandpa passed, and as he did, in my sickness, I began to faint. Suddenly someone gave me Grandpa's oxygen mask. I breathed deep and alas I didn't faint. In Grandpa's death, he was still giving of his resources to help others, albeit unknowingly in this case!

My grandpa was 84 when he passed away. Today I will begin an 84 day challenge. Hopefully it will go longer than that. There will be some practices which I will take up, and others which I give up. Through this period, I hope to live my life more like my Grandpa. Not to put any savior characteristics on my Grandpa; but rather to try and live my life like a man committed to his faith, family, friends, and world. Thanks for everything Grandpa!

A Crazy Matatu Ride

Most Kenyans or people who live here in Kenya will laugh at that title and respond with something like, “Aren’t they all?” The truth is, yes, they are all quite an adventure in the make up. Matatus assume in many cases that they have the right of way in Kenya. Often times you will be traveling in a Matatu and they will pass another car even with head on traffic coming directly at you. Last Friday I was trying to get up to RVA for the weekend to see some old friends and watch the soccer teams participate in a tournament with other local schools. I’ll tell you more about this in my next post. But for now all focus on the Matatu ride and journey to Kijabe.

First off, I left the ANU school grounds about 2:30 pm. I climbed aboard a tuk tuk with five other ANU students. Four of us were crammed into the back seat. Tuk Tuk seats are way smaller than car seats. It was a squish! We made it to the junction with the main road called Magadi road which then takes you to Langata road and then from Langata road you can get to many places in town. The matatus at the junction will take you all the way to one of the main Matatu depots in town which is based at the Nairobi Railway Station. Everything was normal until a spot which is normally about 6 minutes from the depot. All of the sudden traffic was at a standstill (I later found out that some were stuck in this jam for five hours). So our Matatu driver looked ahead and took the last turn possible before the jam. Off we went on a road that took us in a big circle around southern Nairobi. The problem was that we weren’t the only ones doing this. The normal ten to fifteen minute drive to Railways, as they tend to call it here, took about an hour and half. I had gone to this depot in good trust after a friend here told me I could get a matatu to Kijabe from there. I should have known by the look on his face he had no idea what he was talking about! I got to the depot and asked what number matatu I could take to Kijabe. They told me there were no matatus at the depot that you could take to get there. But they pointed me in the direction of a large green building that had some matatus I could take there. I walked over there hurriedly, for by this time I was already going to be a tad late to Kijabe. When I got to the green building, I found the line of matatus I thought would take me to Kijabe. Unfortunately, they didn’t! A driver pointed me in the direction of a boda boda on the street corner that could however take me to the place where you catch such a matatu to Kijabe. I climbed on back and he held up his helmet inquisitively. He said, “Will you wear this, or do you want me to?” Quickly I responded I would most definitely wear it. I have taken this risky form of transportation often in the more rural area around ANU, but never had I taken it in the city. An ANU student actually died this past year taking this form of transport. The city is full of all of the crazy Kenyan drivers one could desire. I hopped aboard and we dotted in between traffic for about fifteen minutes till we arrived at the correct matatu depot. This depot is not very depotish in nature as it really is only a few matatus at any given time and is designated only for Kijabe and surrounding areas. Many people who need to visit family and friends at the AIC Kijabe Hospital often gather here for a lift. Upon hopping in, I chose a seat in the front of the back cabin, i.e. not up by the driver. The front of the cabin is generally less claustrophobic. I also chose the outside seat by the door so I could get air when I wanted. Kenyans get cold easily. They also consider cold 75 degrees and below, so when matatus get stuffy, I like to have an escape to fresh air. We started out, and immediately I could tell we’d too be part of the crazy Friday afternoon traffic. It was okay though, because soon we’d be to the main road, the A104 which takes you up to Kijabe. Or so I thought.

My first sign that this matatu was worse than most appeared as I saw raindrops begin to fall from the big, dark, clouds which I had spotted as I previously circled through South Nairobi. As the rain drops started, the driver and his compadres up front noticed the windshield wipers weren’t working. What would we do? In the western half of my brain, I figured maybe they would have us all switch matatus since that is rather unsafe. However, the African half of my brain soon began to reason through the brainwaves with the chaps up front. In the traffic jam, one of the passengers up front got out and put the left wiper (in Africa the non-driver’s side wiper) straight out. in other words, pointing directly out like an antenna searching for a signal from the cars, buses, lorries, matatus and others we’d be driving behind. Problem solved! The left one stuck straight out and the right one cleared the drivers side of the windshield. But, after a few minutes of success, the wiper on the right failed to work. The obvious solution? Hit the windshield as hard as you can until it begins to slowly move into normal working order.

Those clouds I had witnessed previously, were as ominous in their contents as they were in their aesthetics. It was a torrential down pour. As we reached a new flyover in town, I began to see the rivers of water flowing down the road. These rivers continued almost until we reached Kijabe. So the next exciting aspect of the trip was found directly stationed to my left. The sliding door to the matatu was not sealed properly, if at all. Every single river or puddle we passed trough meant that I would get splashed. As the rain poured down, our bodies heated the inside of the matatu. The windshield was soon covered with the moist, warm air from our bodies colliding with the cooler air outside. I pretty much feared for my life the entire trip in ways above and beyond the normal fear I feel when in the bounds of a matatu’s shell. However, these drivers are experienced. They have driven through the deluges of of Nairobi and other places in Kenya before. There is a weird faith that I am able to put in them. A faith that I know what they are doing with our lives as we hustle upon the tarmac of Kenya’s roads.

We made it to the turn off at Kijabe. Every time we would stop on the way to release passengers and receive new ones we were inundated with the pervasive crowd of business people at the stops longing for you to purchase some roasted maize, sausage, fruit, vegetables, toys, etc. I would have purchased some maize, for I love that stuff, but I had a big lunch before the journey. Good thing, because it was a long one! We reached Kijabe in the familiar fog that gathers in those high areas in the hills. I thought we’d actually go down to Kijabe, but it was just a stop at the turn off. I’d have to find another means down. Thankfully, Deborah, a teacher at Kijabe Boys High was there to help me coerce the taxi drivers for a cheap ride down to Kijabe itself. We found some fellow travelers and we meandered our way in the taxi down the hill to the infamous school in the clouds. In all, the journey took about four hours to complete, a trip that can take as little as an hour or so, just as it did upon my return Sunday afternoon.

This is Kenya