The Rabbi

Prolonged Silence

Many days and many hours I've committed my mind to writing this next blog post. But everytime i sit down and bang on these keys I am overwhelmed by the confusion.

I want these post to not just contain the facts of my latest journey, or what exotic animals I saw today, but to instead give clarity and logic of why the developed world and the third world are in 2 different dimensions. I want the post to contain thoughts of hope and visions of change.

I just can't do it though. I can't make sense of it all. I can't put the variables into the equation to get solution to the problem.

There are great stories of hope. They are the gift from God that help me survive to the next day. Most come from the Gospel-Embodying Edward Simiyu.

When I resort to writing though, things get so hard. Things get so complicated. I journal and journal hoping to come to somewhat of a conclusion, I hope that structuring sentences in Microsoft Word will revive the pressure of uncomfort my experiences cause, but it only seems to pump more uncertainty into me.

So this is the reason.
The reason I've left you subscribers with nothing to reader from this struggling 21 year old.

The rain doesn't always fall like it is now. I can't count the endless periods of sunshine. But when i enter into essay mode, I go to the wrestling mat with the great evils of this world. And it seems that my but always gets kicked.

So I just have to escape, and where better to do that than Simba Village(refer to the Simba Post for that sunny day I was referring to).

This is where you prayer participators and encouragement donors bring remedy.

I will do a better job of updating this thing though. I'm confident that the sun will rise and this sorrowful message will be followed by one of intense serenity.

The Kingdom is here. And the Kingdom is coming.
Love is here. But Love is coming. Help Bring those.

benya

On the Road Again (if you really want to give them the credit of that name)

And just when I thought I’d be a better blogger again and post more often. I’m heading out for Ngong/West Pokot/Kitale and actually head to a mission conference thing today,
so it will be another week and a half before I see Nairobi.

Monday I once again get to experience Heaven on Earth when I go back to Simba Village. That time should be nothing short of amazing. Then Thursday it’s back up to the Jamba Juice of Kenya and I’ll get to maybe have that Pokotian smoothie.

Today I leave to join the evangelism team on a “Soul Winning, Healing Performing Crusade.” Hmm. How’s that for a fall break? The guy who’s always a skeptic is of corse a bit skeptical, but I’m really hoping to see some beautiful things, even if they shake up this etch-a-sketch that have all my theological beliefs. If you’re into that prayer thing, have at it. This is Africa though, and this is the third world. I think this different world may spin a little differently, and maybe many of the rules that we think hold everything together don’t exists in this different world.

The past few weeks I’ve interviewed about 50 men and women who have HIV. That experience in and of itself is about a 5 page adventure so I’ll spare you all for the time being.

Get ready for some change though. So much change has happened in me, I’m sure that a bit of it resonates off of me. This is looking evil in the eye. This is breathing in poverty and evil. These are the stories that make atheists, atheists. At the same time though these are the stories that give you no other option, no other way to live than the way of Jesus, the way that truly changes the world.

The coffee hasn’t brewed on that one though yet. If you got past the first line of the last post, the fruit for this hasn’t yet ripened in me yet.

That one requires an intense heart breaking on the spot, and I have too much of a day to live with a bleeding heart.

May you Baylor champions fall break and break well.
-benjamiah

Thanks Carne Dawg For Righting Me to Write

You might want to skip this post if you’re looking for the latest Benya headlines and what’s going on in the outside world around me. Most of these thoughts come from the internal psychological safari that I’ve been on for as long as I can remember.

If for some odd reason you’ve been reading this blog and haven’t ventured onto the UBC website there provided by ←THAT link there, I grieve for you (an exaggeration of course, but I do hope that I can grieve because our world has TOO MANY links, i.e. we are oppressed by the immense number of decisions we have to make because there are TOO MANY choices…again in another post, not this one).

If you’ve neglected the left side of this page though you are truly missing out on an incredible benefit to this life of yours. If you click UBC and navigate through to the sermons page the book of your life can open to a whole new chapter. You can have the beautiful opportunity to hear all that is Josh Carney, the new teaching pastor at UBC.

I glorify that man right now because he is the reason I write right now. I just listened to the latest sermon at UBC (which is so creatively titled “Parents Weekend”, that is almost as creative as another UBC great, David Crowder Band). To expand on that, I’m quite disappointed in that title Benjamin Dudley. I thought it was quite a brilliant masterpiece, yet the Podcast title isn’t even grammatically correct.

I write right now, even though I’m to wake up in 2 hours to go feed street children addicted to a drug with Boniface, followed by a full day where I go for a evangelism conference and am to preach tomorrow afternoon, because I was just inspired by my community. Through his fast paced, engaging, heart-wrenching, inspiring, table turning Zion song of a sermon he preached, I decided to sing a song right now, even though I probably won’t sleep until another 24 hours.

I think that through his sermon, I got to know myself a little bit better. I think that through his sermon, I learned more about the song that I sing that brings me to my Creator. I think that through his sermon, and I learned that I was different, I learned that I do things differently, but that’s ok and that I can make it following this Teacher of ours(by doing things differently, run on sentences is included).

I’m writing this right now because I think I’m a 150%-50% person. I waste a whole lot of time. A lot of times, I only run at 50%. I don’t know if it’s a lack of discipline or if its just another few good months and years of maturing that I have to do. I think that sometimes that I just kind of kick back and take the trolley of life until the next big adventure comes up. And if there’s work to be done, I’ll wait until my spirit is adventurous enough to do it.
But the other half of my time (making this description numerically equal) of the time I’m 150%. I’m extremely efficient, productive and in my element. I can work no matter the hour, for example now, its 2:30 a.m. and I’ve been up 20 hours. Of course this writing could all be rambling rubbish, but I think I’m getting something out of pounding these keys.

So many times I compare myself to others and get down on myself because I just don’t feel productive. I just don’t feel like I’m making good use of my time and don’t feel like I’m squeezing all the juice out my fruitful life. Maybe though, I don’t produce through a slow moving juicer that’s slowly squeezing a multitude of fruits. But maybe I release my nectar all at once, after I’m fully ripened, like the handheld juicers.

I’m sure there are many more dimensions to my situation. I just found shalom though this moment where Holy Zion resounds off these lips.

So that is why, if you’ve made it this far in this latest long-windedness, these blogs probably come sporadically and always exceed 1000 words. The time in between I’m just trying to get a big breath in again because I’ve already breathed the rest out. I do hope though that my lungs learn to fill a little faster. My spells of idle productivity can be a bit depressing.

We could probably pull out our Africa card at this point. It’s about time to start applying these ideas to the giant continent of mystery I currently reside on. Perhaps when we come to Africa to “fix” things we should learn that cultures are different. And we should embrace the fact that their way of doing things is just as beautiful as our way of doing things. They make take longer to do a certain task, but that doesn’t mean the juice they’re producing isn’t as sweet. What if we started to embrace cultures that a different than ours, instead of trying to replace it with our own conquering culture. Maybe our culture and out system of beliefs isn’t any more right than theirs is. I see the negative effects of where this mentality was present many times in the spectrum of Church.
HIV is engulfing this nation as well as this continent. Poverty is unbelievable. For every one person that I meet that makes more than 4 or 5 dollars a day I meet 30 people who make less than a dollar a day. But where is the church in all of this? The church addresses personal sin and personal redemption which is great, but what about these social issues. What about this: Woe to you teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices—mint, dill, and cumin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law—justice, mercy, and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former. You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel (Matthew 23:23). (If the Carne Dawg has really inspired you to sermonize check out Rob Bell from Mars Hill Bible Church’s latest sermon Gnats and Camels. He’ll explain it all for ya.)
Now remember, I’m a searching wrestling 21 year old so really, I don’t know that much; i.e. don’t take this with just a grain of salt, but a whole tin of it. When I look at how some of the traditional African customs are lived out I see something that closely correlates with teachings of Jesus. There are no orphans or widows who are left to fend for themselves. Sure many of the violent traditions are evil, but so many of their traditions are so good. Social issues are on the forefront in African culture, but now I see in many churches they aren’t even talked about at all. City Harvest is surely an exception. But I’ve interviewed about 50 men and women who are HIV+ and maybe 3 or 4 have told their church bodies. Something is seriously wrong here. Where did such teachings come from?


I also write right now, because I just simply have a great desire to. I knew a few sentences of a few paragraphs, but when I sat down and typed, much wiser wisdom (except for the wisdom of better word choice obviously) filled all the holes in between my thoughts. Something was created in this practice of writing. Sure the crop may not be that enriched, but I’m at least starting to practice the farming of written ideas. This inspiration came from the knowledge and wisdom that Parents Weekend was packed with. These brilliant ideas and theories presented and I just had to be a part of that process. Sure none of the ideas on this page are at all very revolutionary or are anything new, but I just wanted to participate in something like that. The scholars mentioned didn’t just learn A then learn B and AB came out. These scholars studied and studied, but creation didn’t take place until they processed their learning, deconstructed and constructed the puzzle pieces of different ideas, and C was a result of idea A and idea B.

So I’m going to sing this Zion song with hopes that it fits a somewhat adequate model of worship. I’m going embrace the talents I’ve been given, but not compare and desire other people’s talents or how they do things.

Thanks Carne Dawg, for picking up your music pick, and guiding me and directing me to sing this song.

Finalionly

That has got to be the worst blog entry title ever. But it works because I have been the worst blogger ever these past 2 weeks. I apologize to all my fans, so sorry Mom, Dad, Mimi and Poppi.

These past 2 weeks have been all over the place there have been great top ten all Kenyan days and there have been days where I’ve felt like a worthless piece of slum garbage. Which I think is good. I’m living life and not on vacation anymore. I’m experiencing everyday struggles and joys. I’m no longer seeing Kenya through the O MY GUI (gui is the Kukuyu word for god) I’m in Kenya!!! I’ve take those lenses out of my eyes that caust the giddiness. This is a good thing. A really good thing in fact. I’m living here now and not just staying here. I think I’m understand how small world is. I think I’m finding out that you can find home just about anywhere on earth (I say this with a cell phone and internet access.

I think though, that since I’m living here and not just here to see the animals (a blogpost soon to come) these experiences are becoming a part of who I am. This life has started to molecularly attach itself to me. It’s more than having a memory or and experience; its much like having a brother or sister (since I know EXACTLY what that’s like). But when you grow older and maybe separate from that sibling, I’m sure there is a deep feeling that part of you is missing. You have more than just childhood memories, but you are physically, emortionally and spiritually a part of you (ok the physically is where you have to stretch it a bit, unless of course you’re Siamese.) So…here’s to you Kenya, brother…or sister.
Here’s a better analogy where I actually know what I’m talking about. Think about a close friend, which for me are my siblings. In college, the group of friends that you make becomes a part of you. They live in you. You have more than memories of throwing tortillas off the Suspension bridge into the Brazos, or watching a lightning storm at the highest point in Waco in Cameron Park, or when you were one time dancing with a friend in San Antonio and pulled a neck muscle; but instead these people become a part of your soul.
I feel a bit of emptiness being separated from my family and friends because they are engrained in me. The same relationship is being developed though with this country and its people. Its becoming more than just memories of blood drinking warriors or mothers of 5 that are HIV+, but Kenya is starting to intertwine with my DNA.
I don’t know if there is a formula or time period for this complex to take place. Maybe if I was as intune with humanity as I was created to be I this connection would develop with every human I came in contact with and every place I traveled to. Maybe these things should become a part of our souls.

But what do I know. I’m just a crazy 21-year-old (as of Tuesday) who took 3 months and a semester off to go see what this Africa/land full of beauty/land full of oppression is all about.

But now,
Onto Simba…(The Simba Village Orphanage for those out of the loop)
2 weeks after I’ve gotten back. It was the thesis behind the lame blog title.

That place is love. Simple as that. I’m determined that Heaven will be very much like that (another preview of an upcoming blog)(whoa, can you even do back to back parenthesizes, this kid must have not been in school for the past 6 months; for all the brains behind this upcoming blog and concept, check out Wine and Heaven, a sermon by Rob Bell…google it or buy it at marshill.org.)
Anyways, back from the ridiculous ride on the mechanics of my brain pattern…Simba was refreshing. Many of the previous posts were a bit somber just because of the sights I was seeing. But Simba was the boost of simple love and simple joy.

UBC, I’m madly in love with you. Thank you for introducing me to Simba, thank you for discovering Simba. Thanks for discovering Heaven on Earth.

I can’t do this. I can’t articulate the feeling of love I felt that radiated off of the kids. I think and many of my experiences of God’s love have come through people. God did bless humans so he could bless others. God did pick humans to be his source of change in the world. But how do kids who have no parents receive this blessing of love? How do they experience the source for life with only 15 staff members for 150 children.
I think these kids maybe feel this great thing called Love with no middleman. They’re tapped into the Source.
And I think that the reasons that the kids absolutely love for people to come visit is so they can share this Love.

So, everything is just a big love exchange at Simba. You go because you thing you’re bringing love but end up experiencing a Love greater than the love that you though you were bringing through the kid’s Love. Don’t get me wrong here, the kids love you coming to love them, and you’ll love loving them, while they love you, and a the same time you’re all Loved. It’s quite a Lovely experience.

So what is this Simba Village place?

Simba Village: where you can kick a soccer ball for 4 hours with the equatorial sun beating down on you with flys and mosquitos swarming all around here, yet you still say, “there is no other place I’d rather be that right here.”

Simba Village: Where you can have a conversation with a four-year-old about how 2 gallons of soap is good for a bug, then 1 minute later have conversation discussing deep theological issues and how creation happened.

Simba Village: where its Africa, THAT’S NOT NAIROBI. No Smog, No sleezy
politicians, No crazy Mutatus. You’ll never understand the beauty of that.

But what exactly is this organism called Simba Village?
Its an orphanage for about 150 kids, however I only got to see a third of the kids because the rest are at boarding school, the cheapest and most orphan negotiable boarding schools. The majority of their funds come from sponsors and support. They seek to be independent and more self-sustaining, so the kids can have a better life and so that there will be more of that Love thing going on for more kids.
The biggest project: the farm
They have cabbage, bananas, green grounds, zucchini, tomatoes, cows, sheep, goats, and pigs as well as many other fruits and vegetables growing on about 5 acres. This farming has some great multidimensional blessings radiating off of it.

Radiation One: The farm provides food. 150 kids is a lot of mouths to feed and can be quite expensive if they’re eating 2-3 meals a day. So the farm feeds the kids, and the dinero is used for school fees instead of food.
Radiation Two: The farm provides jobs. Local familes who are barely making it have oppourtunity to send the man of the household to come work the land. Not to mention the Love experiences they get to encounter through the kids, a luxury no on would pass up if they ever stepped foot on this holy ground.
Radiation Three: The kids also get to work the land. Instead of just sitting around or getting bored with the same games and few toys, they get the opportunity to Do Something (just like UBC!) And not just something, they get to be a part of a whole system that’s gone out for thousands and perhaps millions of years, the process of agriculture. Planting, harvesting, growing, learning, soil, wind, rain, vinyard; go read the prophets of the OT and see what language they use to describe heaven
Not to mention the self entitlement knowledge they gain. They learn the beauty and necessity of working; and they better understand scripture and Jesus’ parables.
The scriptures say if you don’t work, you don’t eat. I think there is more to those words than just the literal meaning. I think work is not only a physical thing, but also a communal, emotional, spiritual thing (if you don’t already see those four words as synonyms for spiritual). If you don’t work, you don’t get to eat the bread that is life, you don’t get to grow and lean and experience process, you don’t get to learn what it means to eat of the spirit.

This catalog of radiation could go on and on.

Another project they’re working on is a biogas project. To put it simply, they drain or scrape all the people/cow poo into a big drum, and the methane gases that are emitted over time as decomposition happens are converted into electricity. Lower electricity bills, again, means more opportunities for the kids and schooling, and less western dependence.
A new boys dorm is also almost finished. You can check out some pictures at the flickr sight that’s linked to the left
←----------------there.
They also just finished a new multistall outhouse unit. And the waste runs strait to the biogas. Not to mention the piglets that are popping out of the sows faster than you can fry bacon.

The place…its good.

The joy you receive grows exponetially when you hear the stories of some of these children. One example is of a 17-year-old Masaai girl. Her parents died when she was 12 and her uncle sold her off as a wife to an old man to be one of his many wives in exchange for a few heads of cattle. She ran away to the police, who brought her to Simba. She made it before they could do anything to her. The police brought her to simba, where she has truly fould new life, where she has found resurrection.

More on Simba is to come, but I couldn’t give it all to you now. Desperate Housewives, Grey’s Anatomy, and The Office are all in full swing from what itunes tells me. The cliffhangers are pleantiful, and Benya in Kenya is no different. More accounts from this heaven are coming.

If this thing was 1800 words long this time I can’t imagine what it will be after I spend a week out at Simba.

So stay tuned for a special 2 hour episode next time.

And next week…Karen come backs to Scranton…AND SHE’S PREGNANT.

Yea, the drama will be that good

-bc

Simba isn't here yet; he ran away because Scar told him he killed his father

There I go...I went and did it again and waited a week until I posted.

Sorry, to all you UBCers(if you guys are still reading this) this isn't the Simba Village update. I did go, it was amazing, i'll get pictures up when I can, but the internet has been terrible here, one whole service provider is completely out nationally, and times are just a bit crazy.

I interviewed some men and women with HIV today for 5 hours. I've written 15 pages of different stuff in the past 2 days. I'm a bit burned. I want the Simba Report to be as good as that other great Report, The Colbert Report.

Meanwhile, maybe you'll indulge in a little article i wrote about Edward's nephew.
Read as you please, and feel free to critique anything and everything. This I think may be published in the newsletter or on the website, so I’m sure it needs some work.
......

AIDS has brought great pain and great destruction to Africa. Even Pastor Edward Simiyu’s family hasn’t been spared. In 1994 Edward’s brother-in-law was added to the great number of lives taken from this great evil. Just two years later, the wife, Edward’s sister was also taken. This left Edward’s nephew, Collins Kitonga, as an orphan.
Its one thing to lose your family; it can seem as if your whole life has totally been stripped away. But there is in a fact a dimension of low even greater: being stripped of the life you lived and dreams that you had as a result of greed relatives. This is the story of Collins Kitonga.

Life was good for Collins and his family. His father was an architect, they had a nice home in Nairobi, and he and his siblings attended a good school. In 1994, everything changed. Collins father fell sick, and later passed away. They discovered it was HIV that took his life.
The family began the huge struggle of coping with such a tragedy, but things got even harder when the funds had just run too low and they had to move out of the city and into the country. The children had to give up great privilege and advantage of being in public school. They moved to upcountry to Bungoma. The hard times had only begun though. HIV wasn’t through reeking havoc with this family.
Shortly after Collins cleared secondary school (or high school), HIV took his mother. Total chaos and uncertainty was to follow for Collins and his siblings. They all split up, desperate to find a place to stay for the time being. Much of the family was anything but compassionate and hospitable to them. Many relatives took the land that the Kitonga kids should have inherited. The money that their parents had also disappeared from their inheritance. Not only did they have to cope with the fact that they had just lost their parents, and this was HIV that took them, but they also were stripped of their hopes and dreams of a good education.
Collins lacked the scores needed to get federal funding for a university education. The death of his father just played to a great a toll on him, that it was hard to focus and finish secondary school as strong as he’d started.
So for six years he was nomadic; he had no home. Sometimes he’d stay with his grandmother, other times it would be an aunt or uncle. There was no hope and nothing but great sorrow if he looked to the future. He only looked to survive to the next day.
Hope finally came though. Collins’ aunt offered to pay college fees. He applied and began attending Graffins college to get his diplomat in hospitality. This is much like a junior college degree in hospital management and administration. The greatest blessing Collins has seen in a long time came when he started looking for housing. He didn’t yet have the money to stay in a hostel, so he went to his uncle’s, Edward Simiyu, house to see if he could stay there for the short time that it took to raise that money.
Edward, the kind and extremely hospitable man that he is, saw it foolish that Collins go to school in Nairobi and live in a hostel. So Collins finally found a home with the Simiyu’s. It had been since 1995 since Collins had last felt the comforts of home.
The six years of hopelessness and the many days of pain and agaony were restored in just a few months in Nairobi. Edward served as a great mentor, a father, a guide, an advisor, and a humble servant in Christ to Collins. In 2004, within a year of living with the Simiyu’s, Collins surrendered his pain, his past, and his life to Christ. He had spent some of the past few years attending a few different churches, seeking to get involved somehow but it was just too hard to find a church home being on the move so much.
After the first year Collin’s aunt stopped paying for his education. There was little worry that there would be struggle. Edward quickly picked up the blessing of empowering Collins with an education. It was just another instance of Edward embodying Christ in Collin’s life.
In 2006, a new hope came. Edward has been involved with pastor training conferences all over Kenya and all over Africa. Edward also used to serve with the African Evangelical Organization (AEA). He led one pastor’s conference at a new school in Bujumbura, Burundi that a former colleague of the AEA had started. The school was the best that Burundi had ever seen. It was a four-year university that offered many different degree programs. Burundi though has the worst economy in the world, so school fees are very low. This university, ironically, has the name Hope Africa.
And that is where Collin’s next great hope came from. Edward returned to City Harvest Church with information about the college and offered some possible financial aid as well. Collins was the first to jump at the opportunity. He had the opportunity of adding a four-year degree to his résumé.
Edward and City Harvest didn’t provide just a little bit of financial aid, but Collins has a full ride. His first semester he almost didn’t get in, but because of all the work that Edward does for the university, they paid Edward a sum that went right back to them for tuition.
Collins is now in his second year at Hope Africa. He is studying Business Administration, still hoping to pursue a career in hospitality and hotel administration. Burundi is a French speaking country, so classes are taught in both English and French. English speakers are required to learn French and French speakers are required to learn English. This will be a great asset for Collins as he continues to pursuer a career in Hotels. He’ll be able to communicate with guests from all over Africa and all over the world. He’s spent the whole first year learning French and this year will start working on his core classes.
I had to opportunity to spend a week with Collins before he returned to college. He was truly a great friend and has turned into quite a Man of God. He is a progressive thinking Christian in a place where tradition is sometimes worshiped more than God is. He has great wisdomEdward Simiyu shines through Collins. A light and source of hope radiates off of Collins and that has truly come through Edward’s kindness and mentorship. When we speak of the Resurrection, this is it. Christ restored the whole world when died on the cross some 2000 years ago. He brought holy restoration then, and he brings Holy Restoration now. And he has empowered those who He loves so much to do his work. He has empowered people to be his hands and feet. This, is the good news. Edward, in Collins story along with so many others, has embodied this Gospel, and has been this good news, and you and I can also participate in this partnership with our God to restoring this world, to restoring creation.
Collins story is truly one of hope. He’s gone from losing everything; his parents, his education, and his future, to discovering that Jesus has risen. Resurrection happened then, and as you can see in Collin’s life, Resurrection happens today.

How bout them apples??

Not much has happened since I posted last night.

I have no profound thoughts to share (as if anything on here is really that profound).

I just wanted continue on with my streak, elongate my record for consecutive blog posts.
It’s been four days now but unfortunately that will be broken tomorrow, unless there is a internet connection in the bush.

I did finish a book and start a new one.

I did gain an immense amount of wisdom from Edward and feel greatly encouraged just to be in his presence.

And I leave for Simba Village Orphanage for 3 days in a few hours.

It’s sweet sweetness.

And hopefully this may create a bit of inspiration to go watch 2 greats: Good Will Hunting and Little Miss Sunshine.

-bc

Still Waiting for Prince Ali! Mighty is He! Ali Ababwa

That Edward…he’s got it figured out. Always full of wisdom, always full of love. The latest adoration comes from the way he’s raising his kids. No TV, no video games. Looking back I don’t know if I could have survived, but now being in the college mode and after finding my true love, books, I’m sure it is something truly remarkable to find this love at an age half of mine.
Jean (9) and Andrew (6) aren’t yet avid readers, but that is soon to come. I recently put Praise Habit in Jean’s hands and she did the first chapter or so in one sitting. Not bad for nine years old. The name Crowder had something to do with. These kids love dcb more than they do stuffed animals…really. I can’t even imagine what would happen if they actually did make a stuffed animal of Crowder.

They do own a few DVDs to still embrace the beauty that is cinema. Another of the many uses of a laptop.
We watched Disney cult classic Aladdin the other day. And then the next day. And then again also the next day. Andrew even runs around quoting Jafar a good bit of his day.
After watching Home Alone 2 the other day, it was good to be reminded of the States and all the craziness that it is: New York City, kids using Talkboys, and 11 years olds setting up complex obstacles in an abandoned house that electrocute and catch thieves on fire.
When I miss Kenya though, I can simply pop in Aladdin.

So much of the culture in Aladdin is similar to the ways things are here in Kenya. In fact some of the rural marketplaces in Aladdin are more advanced than those found in certain parts of Kenya. The little shops consists of a few pieces of wood as well as a simple wooden rack to place the goods or the food. You’ll see raw fish, cooked fish, sheep heads, goat intestines, fries, and every cheap fake China good you can think of.
It was so intriguing to sit there and watch Aladdin and see him dressed in his rags and still look better than some here, especially the Pokot.

And there are street rats, just as Aladdin. The life isn’t as glorious as it looks in the movie. And I’ve yet to find anyone who has a clever thief of a monkey that can communicate through charades. At one point in the movie a store keeper threatens to cut off Aladdin’s hand for stealing a tomato. That would be a kind punishment for theft in certain areas here. The sentence for stealing is immediate lynching. They usually don’t enforce such a harsh crime for petty thievery, but the citizens will most certainly hang you if you’re caught stealing a car or something somewhat valuable. And the police do little or nothing about it. I hear many times they’ll participate.

I also think that Kenya is just as economically polar as well. In Aladdin, there was the palace for the Sultan which was immensely wealthy, and then there was everybody else. Here, there is the government, which is immensely weathly, and they there is everybody else. There are a small number of wealthy, but the government really has some deep pockets. The Members of Parliament make over $200,000 a year (more than our House Members make I believe) in a country where most make less than a dollar a day. Today I went to the National AIDS/HIV Control Center (NACC), which is an office of the President. They are located in the nicest building I’ve been in yet. It was around 10 stories tall, all glass with talking glass elevators. Their offices are opposite of Virgin Airlines offices, one of the largest airlines in the world. The Director makes well over $150,000. And this is the government’s agency to fight AIDS. Edward said out of all the funding that goes into NACC, maybe 50 percent actually goes out to help those dying from this virus.
This country definitely has its share of Jafar’s.

Time machines truly do exist. They come in the form of whatever transportation you use to get from the West to a third world country. You can simply move, even in Nairobi, from the days of Aladdin to the present day time period of Toy Story. I’m surprised Disney hasn’t profited off of this ride yet.

…Wow, that’s 2 post in a row that have been a bit depressing (in fact maybe they’re all this bad). I’m sorry for always presenting the negative. Kenya really is an amazing place. I think these people could be the most kind and hospitable people on the earth. And there is hope. There is so much hope, even in the government. I guess I’m just trying to bring the shocking facts, the facts that keep my eyes staring at the ceiling as I attempt to sleep many nights, trying to fathom how such catastrophes are present on this earth. There’s more of the positive surely to come though.

In fact if Edward was the only source of love and the only picture of Jesus that came out of Kenya, I’d still consider it a noble country simply because of him.

ALRIGHT! …

I’m off to Simba Village Orphanage come morning. I couldn’t be more thrilled about that experience. I’ll be there until Sunday or Monday, so pray if you please!

beni

Livestrong Kenya: Not as a cancer survivor, but as a cancer preventer

First of all, Robert Kent please come join me over here, your help is greatly needed…

AIDS is truly a ruthless evil that is oppressing so many in Kenya. It is something that almost seems uncontrollable. Its more than just a result of one sexual sin but is the result of a whole system of sin. I heard one scholar say that he once went into Kibera, the slum here in Nairobi that is home to 1.2 million, at a late hour in the night, a very dangerous thing to do, and was shocked at what he saw. All of these young girls began approaching him saying “16 shillings, 16 shillings.” He asked his guide what these girls were doing and his guide replied that these girls were offering themselves for the night for only a quarter. They had worked other jobs during the day, but didn’t make ends meet so their brothers and sisters who they now take care of because their parents died of HIV. If they don’t do this, their family could starve. So AIDS isn’t just spread here through a bunch of a bunch of adulterers, but as a result of this whole systemic oppression of poverty. I believe that and actually question how those girls got jobs. Its next to impossible for a girl to get a job.

This post isn’t about AIDS though. It’s about a great evil that seems to be building steam (or more so smog)fast. It’s also about a great evil that can possibly be prevented if actions are taken and leaders rise up.

This posts by no means has any scientific basis, just theories.
So many people here look rather odd. So many people here are magnets for my eyes. I can’t look away from their faces or their necks. These aren’t the Masaai who have stretched necks and hold plates with their earlobes. These aren’t tattoo artists who have highly decorated faces. Instead, these are business men and women, slum dwellers, bus drivers, and everyday Kenyan.

But probably 1 in 15 or so has been tainted with a tumor. I know not what the cause is of all these tumors, but I may have an idea. People don’t do anything about their tumors unless they are very wealthy or become extremely sick. People can’t afford to get checks ups or pay for any treatments for cancer. There is no such thing as health care here. Even Edward who has been suffering off and on from pneumonia isn’t quick to go to a hospital. He just doesn’t have the time or the money to get a full check up. So these tumors, as you can imagine, grow to be quite larger.

AIDS may not take the most lives here in the next 20 years (in fact I hope that it is suppressed so greatly that it is at the bottom of the list) but if things even continue to digress, cancer may kill more people then. I’ve met so many people who are HIV positive and also have cancer. One has terrible stomach cancer that is eating her up. Another has lost an eye and simple covers here eye with gauze everyday. And I haven’t even had the chance to engage in conversation with some of these tumor infected men and women.

A great Christian, teacher, writer, activist, and doctor has enlightened me with a possibility of the cause of these tumors and many instances of cancer. His name is Matthew Sleeth M.D. and he’s authored a book entitled Serve God, Save the Planet (Don’t worry, the book was printed on 100 percent post consumer paper). He isn’t out to be an cynical environmentalist who has one more thing to say about global warming, but just simply presents what he has seen in his line of work over the past 20 or so years.

Dr. Sleeth was an ER doctor and eventually because chief of staff at that hospital. It was a quite an achievement for a boy who grew up on a dairy farm and had suffered from dyslexia. He discovered that his passion for people’s well being led him into a different direction that practicing medicine when he began to see an increase in chronic diseases such as cancer and asthma. He mentions these facts in a sermon he taught at Mars Hill Church in Grand Rapids: when he was in high school it was unheard of to have asthma, he knew no one out of 1200 students who did have this disease, but now had done many surverys amongst young people and found as many as 1 in 4 have it; in third world of Central America he says its just rampant; and cancer, when he started medicine, some 20 years back, the chances of a woman getting breast cancer were 1 in 19, but today are 1 in 7 and 1 in 6…He thinks the cause of this great increase in these diseases is directly caused by the environment that we live in. Because of the increase in the consumption of fossil fuels and neglect to environmental consciousness, he says, more and more people are losing their lives way too early.


Maybe you have different beliefs. Maybe you even have facts that can support your beliefs. But go sit a few hours behind a running car. Go sit a few hours behind a running 18-wheeler. You will get sick. And again, I’m not medical professional but if the Surgeon General can prove that inhaling cigarette smoke can cause cancer then I think its very possible that the emissions from our cars can do the same…the millions and millions of cars that we drive.
Sleeth even asks the question-Why are there so many Cancer Reseach Centers and not any Cancer Prevention Centers.

We may drive millions of more cars, but never before have I been so thankful for the EPA. The emissions here in Kenya are TERRIBLE. I should really take up swimming now because I’ve learned to hold my breath for longer than a minute. Only 15 percent of Kenyans drive, but you would never know that in Nairobi. Every road has an archway of black smog hovering around it. Ever been behind an old 18 wheeler when it turns on a green light at an intersection. You know all that black smoke that is emitted out of its cab when it has to rev up its engines to pull so much as it comes from a complete stop? That’s what most vehicles emit here ALL THE TIME. Kenya didn’t even start using unleaded gas until last year.

And maybe you drive a car here in Kenya. Maybe you’re one of the few who also actually uses the air conditioner and rolls the widows up instead of having them cracked for your AC (I actually don’t know if this “few” even exists, I’ve yet to meet a person who uses their air condition in their car). Ok, so you’re a bit safer. What about that 85 percent though that don’t have cars, who walk right next to the street, for there is no where else to walk, or who ride in the public transportation system, the Matatu, which always has its windows down and has seats where you can actually see the carbon monoxide caked onto the headrest. These people might accidentally breath in some of these toxins.

If Dr. Sleeth is right, these abnormalities that I see on so many people, these tumors, could be caused by all this sickening air pollution.

Edward even suffers now from pneumonia. He grew up running and trained to be an Olympic athlete (and nearly made it). He believes the health problems he’s having now could be a result from all the smog he breathed in (and breathed in hard at times) when he would run and train along side the road. He also said that his kids used to always be sick when school was in session, because the road ran right past the school.

And the government….I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START. Critics of America and outspoken reformers please refocus your attentions. The American Government is truly a Utopia compared to this political piece of flying toilet. Downtown, if you litter and a city councilmen or watchmen catches you, you could be thrown in jail, beaten, seriously threatened and abused, or robbed of all your money through fines. However, in most of the slums you can’t walk on the ground without stepping on a piece of trash. What hypocrisy! Why would they be so legalistic in one area, but then totally neglect the real issues of the slums? And another thing these heartless pharisees did was outlaw all public cigarette smoking on the streets. Why don’t you go smoke a pack of cigarettes and then go stand behind a Nairobi dump truck for 30 seconds and see which causes you more harm “law”makers.

They deserve a bit more credit, Nairobi was the most dangerous city in the world 5 years ago and I’ve yet to feel unsafe or threatened now, but some serious reformation is needed. Maybe Senator Obama can shift some of his focus on Kenya at some point in his political career. They’d all follow him in a heartbeat (he’s highly adored here, since his father is Kenyan.)

There are so many struggles and so many hardships and so many evils here in Kenya. Poverty, AIDS, starvation; they are all taking so many lives. What if AIDS had gotten more attention when it started spreading? Could we have prevented it? What if we had used our brilliant weather technologies and predicted drought before it happened and sent food to the people before everyone was starving. These are all HUGE What Ifs where we can second guess if we best used our resources and efforts.
Well What If, we prevented another one of these What Ifs. Here is an opportunity where with a little bit of education, support, and activism, an evil can be prevented from reaching the status of great evil or systemic evil. How amazing would it be if cancer were prevented from engulfing this whole continent just as AIDS has? I know there are so many HUGE problems in Kenya, I just don't want another to be added to the list.

What if we prevented yet another atrocity from escalating here in Africa? Would it give up the hope that change is possible? Would it inspire us that we really can bring the Kingdom and eradicate all these hells on earth, these hells in Africa?
Change is possible.

Otherwise…Lance Armstrong I have a song for you…Its Only Just Begun
…anyways, there’s my rant and reflection
I’m to interview many women from HIV support groups today. There still remains so much to tell,
-benajah

And again, to find a whole new way to live out your calling as a human being, check out Serve God, Save the Planet by Dr. Matthew Sleeth

And also check out http://www.servegodsavetheplanet.org/

If a picture is worth a thousand words...then these posts just got alottttta longer

I know you all have checked back here daily to see all the old photos and to see if there are any new ones.

Well the news is good. I finally have created a page that contains the best of the 1367 photos I've taken thus far.

I've only got the latest photos posted but more are soon to come.

Just go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/13757671@N07/

I'll post again shortly, stay tuned!

-bc

Don't Mess with Ches

As I continue to wrestle and try to wrap my mind around such big issues and struggles that most Africans face everyday, I continually find peace and wisdom. As I’ve mentioned before, it’s many times hard for me to understand this faith-healing thing.
As a logic-seeking westerner I think that the answer to such big questions is out there. I continue to read through a book called a Generous Orthodoxy, which is quite mystical in and of itself because it was written by Brian McLaren, a friend of Edward’s who actually sat in this very spot on the couch that I write this blog entry. I was recently reading a chapter entitled Why I am Mystical/Poetic. He includes a passage from G.K. Chesterton’s Orthodoxy. It reads:

"Imagination does not breed insanity. Exactly what does breed insanity is reason. Poets do not go mad; but chess players do…Perhaps the strongest case of all is this: that only one great English poet went mad, Cowper. And he was definitely driven mad by logic, by the ugly and alien logic of predestination. Poetry was not the disease, but the medicine…He was damned by John Calvin…Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite. The result is mental exhaustion…The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits…The madman is not the man who has lost his reason. The madman is the man who has lost everything except his reason…Materialists and madmen never have doubts…Mysticism keeps men sane. As long as you have the mystery you have health; when you destroy mystery you create morbidity (12-13, 15, 21, 24)."

I hope and I pray that my faith continues to expand past what can be explained, what can be rationalized. I encourage my brothers and sisters who are also in this violent sea of trying to find logic in everything to ease their paddling and find peace on the waters of the mystical. For me at least, once I slow my paddling (and hopefully I’ll come to a stop at some point) I can start to look around and see all the beauty, all the wonder.

….I apologize that my entries continue to come slowly. I did treasure sleep a bit more than usual this week and also had my first run in with a bit of a health issue, a minor eye infection. All is well now though.
This week has been the best by far. As I continue to deny myself and be fully present in the ministering and the loving that is going on, I experience God’s wonder in an unexplainable manner.

This week I think I’m going to start some Kiswahili tutoring and also will get to start writing some reports and profiles on the HIV support groups. I’m sure it will be a bit different than Rent.

May you discover God’s wonder and his glory in that that cannot be explained.

-benya

Pokot Pt. 2: Sunday Bloody Sunday

(A continuation of the last post)
Apakamoi was our guide. He is Pokot and has worked for peace resolution amongst the tribe. He’s one of the few Pokot that has made it out of tribal life and into an education and collegiate studies. He’s worked as a peacemaker and peacekeeper with World Vision and other organizations. His story truly is proof that the resurrection happened and that the resurrection is happening.
I heard of hardship. I heard of death. I heard of traditions that promoted destruction and hatred. Apakamoi was the one of three children that were still alive out of 14. Many times in Africa, when twins are born, the one born second is thrown out. In his family there were 5 sets of twins, so he lost many siblings simply by this. He actually was the second twin born, but by the grace of God his uncle took him to raise him. Otherwise he simply would have been thrown out the window.
Because of disease, starvation and, just simply living out in the bush he lost most of his other siblings. Only 3 remain.
He now spends his time ending those injustices. Ending the fact that so many are starving and hurting because of bloodshed and war.

This began soften my heart. It began to wear away the apathy and the ignorance from being so far away from anything like this in the comforts of America. The rigidness and calicing aroung my heart, around my ablility to be able to feel, began to soften. It was much like being in a swimming pool. After you’ve been immersed for a certain amount of time the skin on the tips of your fingers and the tips of your toes begins to soften. It took this immersion in poverty and turmoil to truly soften my soul.
And this was only the beginning.

The next story is one of utmost agony. It painted a portrait in my head that will never leave my attic.
His name was Emanuel. The Pokot have inhabited an area that straddles Uganda and Kenya for years. So since lines have been formed, since borders have been established, its been difficult for them to stay in just one country because they have no concept of a government that can limit in such a way.
So Emanuel recently lived on the Uganda side. That is his home. The Ugandan side is also closer to a river, so the livestock, crops, and people are much healthier and plentiful. His wife was pregnant with his first child. The crops were growing well thanks to the unusual amount of rainfall. In Uganda though, the military gets bored sometimes. They sometimes carry out orders to a violent extreme or even act on their own will.
In mid August, the Ugandan Army began raiding the Pokotian village with great force. They were trying to force the Pokot back into Kenya.
I actually had the oppourtunity to cross over and Uganda and shake the hands of the Ugandan Army (some border patrol right). This men truly were careless and ruthless. They shook my hand with excitement, very happy to see a mzungu, with a backyard brew in one hand, holding their AK-47 like a 5 year old holds a water gun, finger on the trigger ready to go off and accidentally kill a few villagers and with flip-flops on. I wouldn’t feel safe as a Ugandan and would definitely feel threatened if I wasn’t a mzungu.
When the Army raided, they shot in every direction and at many villagers trying to instill fear in them so they wouldn’t return. Apakamoi got a call the day of the attack, and rushed out to the village with a vehicle ready to transport any victims of the army’s evil hostility.
When he arrived he found that Emanuel’s wife had was one of the victims of the spray of fire. He immediately loaded her into the small van with hopes that she would make it.
What was to follow is an image that will never leave my mind. Apakamoi called me over, as we sat around the fire, to show me a picture he had taken on her phone. They didn’t make it to the hospital on time. She didn’t get to see her first-born child born. She didn’t get to receive the unlimited love that her husband Emanuel had to give. The picture was a picture of her, covered in blood, perished as a result of evil.
A picture is worth a thousand words. This one though didn’t produce a single one. I had nothing to say. I had nothing to appreciate. Evil is hard.

Emanuel now was on the Kenyan side. The sense of community is so great that he had been given a meal every few days. He had the clothes on his back. But Emanuel had nothing else. He’d been driven out of his home. He was a Christian, so he only had one wife(most had many wives because the mortality rate is so high, that the men have as many children as possible so their legacy can live on). And the first child he was soon to have, was now also gone. All had been lost. All that he knew was gone.
It was a truly a divine decision though that he had taken the name Emanuel when he became a Christian, which means God With Us. Emanuel hadn’t lost everything. He still had his faith. He still had hope. And he had even more hope for restoration after he’d seen a team of Americans come all the way out to West Pokot.

There wasn’t much shape left of my heart at this point. Much had been broken. But I could finally began to understand pain that these people experience everyday. My world had been turned upside down. I could now be thankful for every breath that I am given. I could now begin to comprehend how blessed we are as Americans. I could now begin to Live, and Live for something Bigger.


This is only the beginning. I’ll be traveling back to West Pokot in mid October. Construction on the bore hole will have started. It will be a glorious thing witnessing the construction of New Life. I am anxious to return. I can’t wait to see these brothers and sisters that I’ve recently discovered, even if we are as different as night and day and live in completely different eras, maybe even different millennia.

(stop reading and go to the next post if you aren’t Rocky Balboa and have a stomach that is like iron)
Ah, and I almost forgot…The Pokotian smoothie: Since it is the wet season, they don’t practice the blood and milk ritual. They’ll eat real food instead since its available. I did witness (and videotape) another common practice though that again left me speechless.
The warriors cooked a goat for us everyday. And when they kill a goat, they spare nothing. EVERYTHING is used.
So, to kill the goat they pierce the jugular vein in the neck, hold the goat up, and drain it of all of its blood into a gourd. They had also obviously had done this hundreds of times because the gourd was just the right size for all the blood. The goat remains alive for the majority of this process as well. As you’ll see, if I can ever this video posted on YouTube(and watch at your own risk, or if you don’t want to eat in the next 24 hours), the goat cries out many times even though it has such little blood pumping through its veins.
What happens next? Do they keep the blood to make the meat even juicier? Do they boil the blood and mix it with other things? Why wait though?
They immediately starting passing that thing around and began sucking it down. They looked like a bunch of alcoholics passing around a bottle of Jack Daniels, they sipped it down so fast. Blood congeals quite quickly, I discovered that evening. They stuck their hand down into the gourd to squeeze out any clots and to better liquefy this new Bloody Mary concoction.
They roasted all the big pieces of meat. With the stomach, they cut it open, fed the digesting food to whatever animals and pets they had, and then cut the stomach up to boil. They also added the intestines (after they squeezed the crap out of it…haha literally) the liver, the heart, the brain, and everything else to boil. The skin was used as a mattress. And the bones, they would crack open the bones and suck all the bone marrow out. Mmmm, nothing like a good ole downing of bone marrow.
I didn’t eat any of the boiled meat the first night, but did the second. I really enjoyed the goat soup though. It was the water that they had boiled the meat in. The goats eat a grass that gives the meat a salty taste, so I overall believe that the Pokot are pretty good cooks, even though they love a big handful of blood.

So…until next time, that’s Pokot.

I’ll also try and create a yahoo account where you can see pictures. And the keep looking out for the Goat Draining on YouTube.

Rhythm is finally coming also. I should be posting more. As long as I still have the energy to relive these experiences in words.

Drop it Like its Pokot Pt. 1

I am deeply sorry that it has been so long since I have posted. I was in Pokot and think that I got stung by a wicked mosquito. Not one that carried malaria, but one that carried Writer’s Block.
But here we go…
So I just got back from West Pokot. You know, where the tribe that’s 400 years back lives, the Pokot, and they have 7-10 wives just so they can maybe have a few kids because the mortality rate is so high. You know, that place where they were recently introduced to clothes, and just 3 or 4 years ago the men wore no clothing. Still not clicking? We’ll it’s the same place where they shot all missionaries or white man that tried to enter 5 years ago….Yea I had no idea that such a place existed either.
I didn’t know that the RAV4 that the City Harvest team and I traveled in last Tuesday would serve not only as a 4WD vehicle but also a time machine. We could have traveled back a good 400 years to the days of the early American settlers first encountering the various Native American tribes of the East Coast.

The journey there was quite an interesting one. We made a safari stop in Nakuru where we saw thousands and thousands of flamingos, a few lions, many zebras, etc. The most shocking sight was yet to come though.
They speak of the road being terrible in Africa, which they are, but for me I got to catch up on some z’s. With all the ups and downs, right and lefts, and slides in the mud, my mind thought it was being rocked to sleep. And I slept well surprisingly. I even woke up many times with drool all over my shirt for my mouth had been bumped open and the slobber had shaken out like a Gungan king. Intriguing, I know.

It took us 3 days to make it to West Pokot, a province only 300 miles from Nairobi. The rains delayed us a great bit and we couldn’t get through many parts until the sun baked the earth dry. We finally made it there by Thursday.

Our mission in West Pokot was to establish contact with this warrior tribe, the Pokot, share the Good News, the Whole Gospel (Actually, that is a arrogant statement to say that the Gospel we were preaching was the Whole Gospel. There are so many layers in the scriptures and such complexities that our imperfections couldn’t possible bring every aspect of this Good News. More to come on that later, for I think I’ve exceeded my limit in this parenthesis).
I actually just wanted to take that revelation and give it its own paragraph. So here.
Maybe instead of the Whole Gospel I’ll call it the Transcending Gospel for it transcends over the then, the now, and the future. In Africa and in parts of America, it seems as if we leave a good bit of the Gospel out. We focus only on getting people saved for the next life. What about today?
Edward, the great rabbi that he is, says many times when we focus only on getting them to repent and ask for Jesus that we’re bringing them out of one hell only to leave them in another. We are to bring the Kingdom NOW. We are to bring Heaven to Earth.
So this Transcending Gospel seeks to not only invite people to Heaven tomorrow, but also to bring Heaven to them TODAY.

So, to finally answer why we went to Pokot: to bring this Transcending Gospel. Explaining that, we came to preach the Good News and invite people to Christ, and to bring them the source of life, water. We came to establish contact and tell them that we are bringing a bore hole, a well.(One which has been funded by thee holy and wonderful UBC)
A brief bit of Pokot history: they have been a nomadic people historically, because they live off the meat of the land. They’ve recently learned the beauty of cattle grazing, but live in a very dry area. To survive, like every other human being, they must have water. Many had a great source just a few kilometers away from where we were, a river, in Uganda but were recently forced out by the Ugandan Army. Many lives were lost, many homes were destroyed.
So now, after the raids, 2000 Pokot live in the surrounding area we served at, and they all share the same bore hole. 2000 people, one small well to supply for all. Some walk up to 5 miles each day to collect water. And with such the great influx of people, the well is experiencing great stress and could break any day.

City Harvest seeks to bring a source of Water that will quench the soul, by bringing a source of water that will quench the thirst of peace in their hard lives of suffering.

Many have recently been displaced, and have no place to live. The people know very little about farming, for there isn’t any water to water the crops. And livestock(cattle and goats) isn’t plentiful because there isn’t any water. The people are hungry. The people are thirsty.
The people live the same way now as they did hundreds of years ago (except they now wear clothes, which they didn’t do as of 5 years ago). There is no room for enlightenment because all their time is spent on getting to the next meal. There hasn’t been any enlightenment brought in because these people have truly been forgotten.

And as I mentioned, they are warriors. No need to fear though, because this sect of the tribe was the most aggressive, the strongest, and the mightiest. We had no reason fear in case of a raid, for these great warriors would protect us. Those village raids happen quite frequently. People really want cattle because they really want to eat, so stealing cattle in violence is another popular evil amongst the Pokot.

With all these things though, with all these great tragedies, I still wasn’t fully present for the first day or so in Pokot. It all seemed like a movie. It all seemed a little bit unreal.
I also was kinda bored. We were sitting around a lot in meetings that were carried out mostly in Swahili and Pokot. And, I wanted to have fun.
I think I had fallen under the spell of seeking and entertaining Mission Trip. The ones where we are entertained by the people, or are entertained by ourselves. We always want these ventures to be adventures, where we’re always having fun and feeling righteous for our pilgrimage to wherever we are serving.
But many times the best possible thing we can do, is just be there. The best possible thing we can do is just to witness, to see, and to breathe it all in. Breathe in the pain. Breathe in the suffering. Breathe in the evil. For if we are fully present in these situations, then they stay with us. Then we remember the smell of poverty. Then we remember the sight of malnutrition. Then we hear the cry of the oppressed, just as God hears it (Exodus 2)
I think I finally realized I was in Pokot the last night we were there. We sat around the fire waiting for our goat to cook, and heard the story of Apakamoi Rensen. The sounds started rubbing dirt into my eyes so I could see. My blindness to the suffering was healed and I could finally feel. I could finally experience. I could finally hear the cry of the oppressed.

Blake Barfield envies

My blessed brother Blake Barfield has always wanted to have a Pokotian smoothie. It made his list of things that he’s got to do before he dies.

To make a Pokotian smoothie, one gets half a cup of fresh milk from the udder, then pierces the neck of the cow just enough to get blood to spurt out. This fills the other half of the glass, and now you have a bloody smothie. This drink is taken everyday by the Pokot people.

On Tuesday, I journey to West Pokot, somewhere on the border of Kenya and Uganda, to bring the Gospel, the good news. This doesn’t mean just preaching words at them they they may not understand. We will be preaching but also be constructing a well for them to have clean drinking water. (They make up 1 billion of the earth’s 6 billion that don’t have clean drinking water.) They are a nomadic people and most of their time is spent only in search of food and water. We bring the WHOLE Gospel* (A journal to come on this soon.)

And of course, I’ll get to have that Pokotian smoothie. Probably many times since that’s sometimes all they eat.

Read more about them here…so here’s where I post the wikipedia or researched site…but wait, can I access any of the internet besides the bare minimum. False, so go research yourself.

Edward did say though that the 27 hour journey here was a cakewalk compared to this journey. Its 12 hours to go about 300 km and the roads I hear are just terrible. Unlike anything we can imagine.

We leave Tuesday and return next Monday.
Keep those prayers going. Write PFP on your hand: Pray for Pokot

…..and pray that I don’t turn into a cow vampire

Sorry I won’t update for such a long time. Sorry I haven’t updated in such a while to being with. The Internet has been very slow and hasn’t even worked many times.

I won’t fail you though. Many posts to come in the near future. Don’t forget about me here.

Keep the emails and messages coming. They’re bloody good!

Baylor-go to chapel today. A friend of Edward’s is speaking in Chapel today. His name is Brian McLaren.

Thanks for your love. Thanks for your selfishness. Keep embodying Christ

Love God. Embrace Beauty. Live Life to the Fullest.-Kyle Lake

-benya

And then came the trainwreck...

(actually written last Friday)

And then came the trainwreck…

Slow breaths…Deep breaths…take it in, but keep control. You are the one who will be here for 3 months, you can’t cry in front of the team that is here for only 2 weeks. But the mud. But the trash. But the pain in the eyes, the open wounds that reveal bone. The poverty that radiates. The addiction that has taken every child, every man, captive.
And then I can’t it back as tears began to seep from the ducts.

These were thoughts that ran through my head when I finally was run over by the train. The train of oppression and poverty that most children of God suffer from here in Kenya. After 1 week here, I had finally gotten my hands dirty(both figuratively and literally.)

We visited the street children and street dwellers for the first time this morning. We brought bread, milk, and the Gospel to a sight that most have never seen. They gathered next to mounds of trash, wet, muddy and freezing and came stumbling towards us when we piled out of our van. We gave them food, bread, and a friend. We heard their stories.
Most didn’t’ make but maybe a dollar a day. They washed cars of the wealthy (because you are wealthy if you drive a car, only 15 percent do in this metropolitan city of 4 million) and pick though heaves of garbage looking for plastic to recycle. Then, if they are amongst the fortunate, they travel back to Kibera, the largest slum in Africa.
…and that was just Monday morning.

I apologize for not posting in almost a week. The internet connection here is very poor and it has been out in most of Nairobi for the past 2 or 3 days.
I also haven’t written or journaled because I didn’t know how I would handle it. Even though I’ve only spent a few hours a day of this first week in the slums and with people suffering from AIDS/HIV, they still have been the most overwhelming sights I have ever seen.

I’ve wrested with so many things in this first week, as you can read in the essay that I wrote a few days ago but just now posted.

Basically, I was struggling with the differing Christian beliefs between Africans and Americans. This faith healing thing has always been a thing that I see as a bit skeptical. I’ve read theologians who say that miracles that we think defy science could eventually be scientifically explained, we just haven’t discovered that dimension to our universe our the formula that causes that to happen.

And as said in the previous post, many polluted the act of faith healing when they put a charge on it and asked for money so they could put more velvet in their studio and buy more eyeliner to complete their clown makeup.

But that was before. That was before I saw evil….

Friday we went into a slum named South B. We handed out and posted flyers advertising the hairdressing school that City Harvest is opening in this slum for the young girls
Many move to the city from the rural areas in hope of a better life (just like most cities in third world countries). Well, they get here only to discover that there is not a great amount of jobs for the uneducated, (or the educated for that matter, Edward got a degree in finance but after that still went stages of over 40 days where he had no food). Now all of the sudden though there are bills to pay. They have to find a place to live and rent, they have to find food, and if they are to get around and try to find opportunity, they need a bus fare. This is all new to many of them, for they came from tribal communities or worked the land where they could go weeks without spending a dime.
For a man, they can go find a manual labor job, work in a factory, or be a guard to any one of the suburban neighborhoods (all are gated, walled, and have an electric fence.) For a woman though, there are very few opportunities. One can become a house maid(who lives, cooks, and cleans with the family), but the middle class or upperclass is not even a tenth of the people, so it is very hard for a girl to find a job. There is one job though that will always be in high demand: prostitution. Many girls resort to this just to have money to feed their family. Its no wonder that 1 in 5 have HIV/AIDS in the slums.
Women absolutle love to have their hair done though. Braids, cornrows, you name it, they’ll do it. So with the high demand, if girls are properly trained, they can find work somewhere doing hair or beauty therapy.
And what does it cost for a girl to be a part of this Kingdom bringing School? A little over $40 for this ½ day 3 month school that totally changes peoples lives.
Anyways, after the 361 word tangent, we were handing out flyers advertising the school. We ran across one of the ladies that leads a HIV support group. She kindly invited us back to her house.
Fortunately, her 14 or15 year old daughter did stop breast feeding when we entered their home, preventing me from feeling terribly awkward. Their home was about half the size of a college dorm room, or about the size of a small one car garage. A garage for a Cooper Mini at least.
She told her story of how her husband died of AIDS back in 1990, and she had miraculously lived to this day. She most likely became positive because or the husband. She lost her job as a businesswoman and has since been a potato fryer. She sets up here fire and kettle on the street and sells French fries. Of course word travels fast in a slum, where the space inbetween homes is smaller than a dormitory hall. With the great stigma here many refuse to buy from her if they she has HIV. They believe that they could get the disease by eating her fries. She daily denies her self though and prays and meets with others who are in the support group that she leads. Not to mention the other 4 people that live with her She still lives though and radiates hope and life in an area that smells of evil.
Praying for her was such a difficult yet beautiful thing. To think of the pain that she has gone through brought tears that rain-ex couldn’t handle. But the joy, she was truly embodying Resurrection, even though her time may be limited, amongst those who have unjustly suffered from such a terrible disease.

What was this strange thing that blanketed this area.

It only got harder from here. Gladys, the kind grandmotherly support group leader, led me to another one of the support group members.
It was only 75 or 80 outside, but the place that we entered was like a pit of the slum. It consumed all the heat. It must’ve been around 90 degrees when I entered Jacquelyn’s home. Flys and mosquitos were more of a front door than the thin clothe as we entered. They swarmed around the pots and pans that hadn’t been washed in quite sometime. The home was ¼ smaller than the last house, making it smaller than a garage. Maybe a motorcycle garage. it had 2 beds for the 5 children and dying mother.
And then I saw her. Jacquelyn. She slowly emerged from under the tattered sheets that covered both her and her bed. I thought she 50 by her frailty but also thought she was 20 by her size. She was proably 40. Puss had dried under her left eye, and it looked as if a new trickle was starting. A piece of gauze covered her right eye. It was held to her skin by dry puss.

This blanket started to cover up the light.

Then she told her story. It was much like Gladys’s, she had contracted the disease by her husband and the husband had died many years ago. The guide from the church, as well as Glady’s were telling me how thankful she was and how God had truly blessed her by letting her have an eye operation. She had developed eye cancer behind her eye and it had given her an immense amount of pain. She had one operation, but it did no good. 4 months ago though the doctor finally removed her eye. She and the church were so thankful, because she could now SMILE. I saw behind the gauze when a wind gusted in enough to blow her gauze out of place….I think I could’ve done a better job taking her eye out. The sight was so hard to see.
She was so thankful though. She lay there, with her children outside playing, possibly looking through different piles of trash for some food, with the heaviest burden I’ve ever witnessed, but she was rejoicing because she could still smile.

Light was gone, darkness had set in. This WAS truly evil.

When they asked me to start praying over, I had no idea where to start. I sat there and I thought SCREW science, differing theology, philosophical views skeptism. I WANT TO BELIEVE THAT GOD CAN BRING A MIRACLE RIGHT NOW MORE THAN ANYTHING. I WANT FAITH HEALING TO WORK. WHO CARES IF IT SCREWS UP EVERYTHING THAT HAS STARTED TO HELP ME MAKE SENSE OF MATTERS….I WANT GOD TO HEAL THIS WOMAN MORE THAN ANYTHING.

It was truly an unforgettable experience.
(and sorry for the inappropriate language….this was very much an inappropriate language.

After reliving that for the 30th time I have no words to continue with…
Pray. Believe. Live.
bc

Think Outside the Box

(written last Wednesday)

The description of this blog says that it will contain more than just a narrative. I know that I have left so much out( a 4.5 hour church service, gymnast in Kibera, eating Ethiopian goat) but the following entry is a reflection and a bit of insight. I don’t think if I was sitting at home right now I would agree it, but things are different over here.


I’ve been having some problems with some of the theology being taught around this place(imagine that). The greatest example of corse is the prosperity gospel: that if you have faith and confess to Jesus then your car is on the way(since only 15 percent of people own a car). They even want nice cars after that. Not that this isn’t a problem in America as well though. In fact the Christian radio is played quite frequently here and some of the messages aren’t necessarily the most Love sounding things(just not a huge fan of claiming a holy war on someone because of a misunderstanding). So I’m sure some of misguided concepts come from the west.

Everyday we drive to work though I see countless posters and signs for Christian miracle and healing conferences and cents.
The miracles thing is an interesting concept. Yes I believe in miracles, but it seems as if they are advertised as if they are so rampant. The healing thing is also something that I find questionable. Granted, the miracles preached that repeat so often is the trash that comes on at 1 in the morning on cable asking for your money so some guy with a fat toupee and a botoxed face can get another grandmother Cadillac. He says if you send him one dollar he’ll multiplied it by 10 and so on. So with that disgusting image I find it a little harder to believe everything that people say is miraculous.
And at first, with my wrestling, confused, emerging, freed, frustrated, postmodern thinking mind I find it even more difficult to believe in such phenomenon as sight being restored just like that. Sure it can happen today but I call that miracle lasik eye surgery.

Rob Bell says many people usually think theology is heretical if they’ve never heard it before…So I think I was part of that many.

O the wisdom though that comes from Pastor Edward-it is so refreshing, so loving, and so open.

After hearing stories of how he has been healed before and how he has seen people that he feels are possessed by evil forces, I really started to wrestle with these concepts and actually started questioning his doctrine as well. What a dangerous thing that is that we constantly do. If somebody has one questionable thought or does one thing that we personally don’t approve of, we discredit everything they say and count them as “just another one of them.” O how destructive that is.

We had this conversation as we drove through the rain in Nairobi as we sat in traffic for 1.5 hours and as I enhaled a million parts per million of carbon monoxide from the mutatuas(public vans and buses) which have absolutely no filter or regulator, so I want to blame my sin of being judgmental on the conditions. It of course though was just me stuck and not thinking progressively.

Edward’s wisdom quickly gave deliverance though. He could tell that I was struggling to grasp and to believe his stories of miracles and of healing. He went on to say that he could understand why it would be hard to believe such things and to even see such things in America. With all that we are blessed with, he said, its almost as if there isn’t any room for miracles and healing. Maybe we’re embodying Christ and truly performing a miracle when a boy that has been diagnosed with leukemia receives proper care and can live on to become a doctor and perform the same kind of miracles. Maybe it is a miracle from God when someone who makes millions denies themselves and their family to live simply amongst the poor and give away all that they earn.

He continued on with saying that many here in Africa don’t have access to medical care and insurance or even a daily meal. Edward revealed that he had gone 40 days without eating before not just from fasting(which he used to do annually) but also because he didn’t have food growing up.(Talk about a success story-he goes from having nothing to attending Oxford). He said there wasn’t anyone around that had the resources that could bring such blessings… With no food, and no medical professionals, God did and does the healing.

Again, the wisdom and love that this man has is phenomenal.

I sat to the left with Edward and started processing and wrestling with his understanding.

So it was my progressive, questioning, usually skeptical thinking mind that possibly brought me into this, but it also helped me accept this(of course with the great help of Edward’s wisdom)

Here is what I came up with. We have put God in a box. He is whatever we interpret him as and sometimes only that. We have defined him by our own culture, our own traditions, and sometimes our own agenda.

There is no box for God. He probably doesn’t even live by our same dimensions.

Speaking dimensionally, it was my friend John Thornton who passed on this teaching to me. He said a teacher was teaching theology and had a dry erase marker in their hand. The teacher said that it is almost like we are trying to define a three-dimensional, in a two dimensional world. (There is a book that deals with this concept, I believe it is called
Flatland, but I’ll find that out.)
So when we look at the marker from one angle, it is a square, but if we look at it from another angle, it is a circle.
Relating this to theology, when we ask if God has given us free will or as predestined everything to already happen, so is it predestination or free-will? yep.

Perhaps when we speak of the way God is and the way He works amongst different cultures, countries, and time periods, He is a lot of times different. He transcends these boxes, these narrow theological beliefs, and these agendas that are developed by our two dimensional minds.

And it also depends how you are defining miracles. Edward said it is any extra-ordinary thing that happens in any extra-ordinary situation.

So do such extravagant miracles actually happen? I believe they do now. And I hope to continually tear away the cardboard that is storing my God.

And when I see the 14 signs for Christian healing tomorrow, I will have much less frustration and anger, and maybe perhaps a instead comforth

Finally, here is an insight that my brother Christopher Mack shared with me about this dilemma that I have been having. It has truly been such a beautiful encouragement

Our beloved Grandfather in the faith, asleep on this earth, but alive in the Kingdom to come will help you in this. Grandfather Chesterton from the church in England reminds us that it is folly to talk or predictability. That our so-called sciences are slaves to predictability. We would call anything a miracle where God ‘intervenes’ from the natural order, but this is not so. If that were the case, then most assuredly, everything is NOT spiritual. But you have learned a better way than this, for most assuredly, everything IS spiritual.

Hear from Brother Chesterton:

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, ‘Do it again’; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.”

“But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, ‘Do it again’ to the sun; and ever evening , ‘Do it again’ to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grow old, and our Father is younger than we.”

“The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical ENCORE. Heaven may ENCORE the bird who laid an egg. If the human being conceives and brings forth a human child instead of brining forth a fish, or a bat, or a griffin, the reason may not be that we are fixed in an animal fate without life or purpose.”

“It may be that our little tragedy has touched the gods, that they admire it from their starry galleries, and that at the end of every human drama man is called again and again before the curtain. Repetition may go on for millions of years, by mere choice, and at any instant it may stop.”

If this is the way of things, then most assuredly miracles are merely when our Heavenly Father decides to tell something to do something other than what we have expected. So look for miracles, both in the sun rising on the righteous and the unrighteous, in the transformation of your heart, but most assuredly in the physical and spiritual healing of those with you.


-Benjarobi in Nairobi
(Many of my insights here were inspired by a book called Generous Orthodoxy, indulge if you feel so inclined

Rescue is coming

(actually written friday, a new post will soon come)
Hopefully, where you have heard this phrase before was on a beautiful collision, A Collision. (David Crowder Band, if you don’t have it, but it on itunes it today)

Crowder's voice has been one of utmost comfort. He plays often in this household and I love it. He was the first voice I heard when I awoke my first morning and his name appeared on Jean’s shirt yesterday and Andrew's today.

No need to worry about me. I’m not at the lowest point where I see nowhere but up, but the song fits well with the theme of this entry.

My entry into the country hasn’t been what I expected, but still indeed beautiful. It is a much different entrance into any mission trip that I’ve done before. For example I’ve never started a mission trip without seeing an American for 3 days. That doesn’t sound long, but when’s the last time you went more than one day without seeing an American? It is different. My longing to speak to my family has wearied me. I’ve been blessed to have such loving parents. We are still so close that even at a college I talk to them everyday. That absence is also different.. My Skype doesn’t seem to work at Edward’s church and my American cell phone doesn’t call out or send text messages. It does receive text messages though, so if any of you ever get bored...

Along with the jetlag… I think when your body knows you’ll only be in a place for a week it says to the body to shut up and deal with it. That second flight was brutal. Whew it got long. A London stop will indeed happen on the flyback. So my weary body has emo’ed me up and brought along a little homesickness.

The excitement still only seeps in. Again when you are with a group and only have a short amount of time in a place, its like God injects you something that adrenalizes you through the few weeks. I still haven’t grasped the concept that I am in Kenya. That very well could change tomorrow though(Saturday, I write this Friday night and send it...?). So it has made for not a bad entrance, still a good one, but a different experience.

My friend Sarah visited me right before I left and her prophetic words have given me much hope and encouragement.

Those words: Process. Journey. Story. They have constantly reminded me that I have 3 months to experience the highs, the lows, the struggles, and the victories. Rescue is coming in this story. For my ignorance and apathy for the poor and the oppressed. Rescue is coming for the hundreds of thousand living with HIV just living blocks away from me with your prayers. Rescue is coming for us all.



Today I think was the first transition into this new chapter and was also a day where I saw His wondrous grace.
I went with Edward today to a college where he was teaching Chaplains at schools around the nation how to do just that, Chaplain. I’ve met Edwards’s staff but haven’t really had a chance to connect with them. These teachers I think were the first people that I truly found connection and friendship with. Kuruiki in particular was such a funny man. It is a 2 week course so the mornings are 2 hours and the afternoons 3. After the first session, which was very good, it was time for lunch. An immense amount of tire came upon me for it was 5 a.m where you are, my latest time to go to sleep. With this came that emotion. I began to do something that I rarely do and don’t know how to handle when I do: worry. I tasted the first bitter taste of homesickness with my rice and beef, for the 4th meal in a row. Then I remembered I was here for 3 months...thats uhhh like 90 days, like a whole semester. Hmm...longer than I anticipated. I did somthing that I’ve stopped doing as my life as become more and more comfortable in the U.S.: I did on the spot prayer. I asked for guidance, selflessness, and deliverance from this inner sorrow. I then remembered the words of Rob Bell and the reminder from Christopher Mack, my mentor-Our God is a God who hears the cry of the oppressed. He heard the cry of the Hebrew people and delivered them from Egypt. Rescue came for the Hebrew tribe. Not that I was suffering anything like that but this small bit of worry bound me.

I did believe I was being selfish praying for such small things while I was amongst such great evils. I sometimes hesitate to pray for small things for I fear that I am being selfish. I think that there are bigger things going on in this world, this country, and this world than my small problem. No problem is a small problem though to God.

After continuous prayer it wasn’t 5 minutes when I met a teacher and student of this class that quickly told me that her daughter now lived in Frisco, the suburb of Dallas...What a coincidence, maybe? After speaking about her daughter and her one trip to the states, I questioned how and how often she communicated with her daughter. She told me she can’t ever get a call out of her Kenyan cellphone (same problem that I had) but her daughter could buy a 1 hour calling card for 5 dollars. Her daughter always calls her and the connection works fine.
Wow, answered prayer, great relief, now feeling comfortable within 5 minutes.

Yawwwnn...I’m still kinda tired though at that point. I walked back for the second session of class with my new friends comforted yet still exhausted. I attempted to stay awake for the first five minutes but my eyelids got heavier than the rhinos. My friends also noticed this and urged me that it would be fine to go to sleep in class. I quickly agreed. After half an ounce of drool accumulated in my palm, or pillow at this moment, I got another nudge in the side. Half asleep, I was told to follow another friend, who led me out of the classroom and into a building where he said we were going to his “cubicle.”

He opened a door and gave me the key to what was his dorm room for the length of the time he was schooling at the college. And what a soft bed I soon discovered! A bed worthy of 2 and half hours of good sleep. I woke up very refreshed, temporarily and still to this point, free of jetlag. The worry had been lifted and the rest of the day was very enjoyable. Rescue is coming. Rescue came.

And concerning that prayer for small things struggle, as I started to clothes my eyes when I slept on my new friends bed I noticed a note that he had taped up above his desk so he could see it everyday. It read, “Greetings Child, This is God. I am going to take care of you today and all your problems. You just don’t get in the way.”
While I do believe that we are commissioned to be the living breathing Gospel and help conquer problems and such catastrophes such as AIDS, this was an instance where I just needed to trust God. And he spoke to me in many ways through the Kenyans on this day.

Tomorrow I may get that week missionary opening experience. We picked up four great people from Chicago(also a gift from God to aid my minor homesickness) tonight at the airport and will take a tour of Nairobi tomorrow. Up to this point, I’ve just kind of tagged along with people as they let me transition into Kenya. It should be a glorious day.

The process is emerging. Every good story is a struggle to get into. I do believe though that first chapter is being scripted now as you read this. Pray for this. I would very grateful.

I will begin working at City Harvest next week and will get an idea of what the next few months look like. Continue your prayers, your emails, and your support.

For rescue is coming

-benjamiah