The Wedding

My hosts, including Fr. Celestino, Fr. George, and Peter (the seminarian), greeted the wedding party upon arrival.  They were met with high enthusiasm and esteem.   As I followed them into the church (also constructed from metal sheets), I noticed the reverence afforded them along the way by each person they passed.

Once we entered the church, the choir began to sing.  They had no musical accompaniment aside from a pair of drums, but their voices were such powerful instruments that anything more would have been a disservice.  The choir was just the first indicator of the jovial wedding mass to follow.


The ceremony started with the choir clapping and singing as my hosts re-entered the church wearing green and white ceremonial clothing behind a group of dancing children dressed in either blue or red.  They were followed by the wedding party (to lots of cheers).  The children were amazingly joyful, and danced with such excitement it stirred the urge to dance along. 

Watch the processional here

Despite the unfamiliar beginning, mass was the same as I've witnessed in the States.  Father Celestino loaned me his personal book to follow the mass in English, since it was conducted in the Swahili language.  Fr. George usually gives mass at this location, but today, as an honor to the newlyweds and people of Kiambia, Fr. George asked Fr. Celestino to give the homily.  I scanned the room while Fr. Celestino addressed the people and noted how he engaged them so well.  Occasionally, when she thought that Fr. Celestino's words were especially poignant, the woman next to me translated them so that I could share in the message.

This ceremony became the first of many occasions where my hosts regarded me as a V.I.P. in front of a crowd.   Towards the end of the ceremony, Fr. George told the attendees that he wanted to introduce each of his guests and called for each of us to say a few words.  Fr. Celestino went first and gave me an impressive introduction, citing my academic achievements and military service.  When he gave me the microphone, I thanked the newlyweds and the entire group for such a warm welcome and despite what Fr. George had joked earlier, I did not have an official message from their beloved President Obama.  I also participated in the traditional cake feeding.  After the bride and groom cut the cake, they feed each other.  Then, they feed their best men, women, parents, and priests.  Since Father Celestino insisted that I sit to his left, they fed me also.

As an aside…I cannot overstate the amount of love and adoration Kenyans have for President Obama…when Fr. George asked the crowd whether any of Obama’s cousins were in the room, everyone raised their hands and cheered.  He is also referenced as their son and brother.  My hosts told me there was a national holiday in Kenya the day after he was elected, with some other African nations extending their holidays for up to 3 days.  Interestingly, the love for our President is solely due to his Kenyan heritage, with most residents not knowing his stance on many issues or choosing to ignore them for the sake of being proud of their son.  My hosts, for instance, would not support our President as a candidate for office in Kenya.  When I asked them whether they supported President Obama, they responded “We support him, as President of the United States.”

As we departed the ceremony, I thought to myself that I had never experienced such a joyous occasion.  There was no Champaign, no flowers, no band, harp, or DJ.  The bridesmaids dresses were safety pinned at the rear.  Yet, all of the wedding participants seemed to be having the time of their lives, celebrating nuptials with two small sheet cakes and three bottles of soda.  All of the wedding attendees, apart from my hosts, were residents of Kiambia.  

That afternoon, Fr. Celestino gave me a tour of the city as we drove toward city center.  Once in the city, we went into the office of the Pontifical Mission Society, where Fr. Celestino is the director.  There, I had the privilege of meeting Bishop Peter Kihara, Bishop of both the Pontifical Mission Society of Kenya and the Catholic Diocese of Marsabit.  That evening, my hosts took me to dinner at a very nice restaurant where I had a tasty spinach pizza in addition to a piece of Fr. Celestino’s barbequed goat.

St. Joseph’s Nursery and Primary School

10/29/2012

Today, Fr. George took me to Holy Trinity’s school (St. Joseph's) to visit his 160 students in nursery-school through class 8 (pre-school through 8^th grade).  We walked through the sanctuary, which is under construction to place the pulpit at the head of the church rather than the side, over to the head mistress’ office.  Once we walked through the door, a young student jumped up from his seat with a handmade sign that read “Welcome Destiny Moore.”  The sign was adorned with real yellow dandelions that had been pushed through the board.   Soon, another student rushed out and stood beside the other, holding one side of the artwork.  The first one told me that they had the idea to create a welcome token for me and had gotten the permission of the head mistress to create it and wait at the front door to present it.  Once I took a photograph with them and learned their names, they hastily made their way back to class.

I spoke with the headmistress, Mrs. Muhoro briefly before she took me on a tour of the school.  She explained that students in Kenya go through primary school to class 8, and then become candidates for high school, which consists of forms 1 – 4.  Most of St. Josephs’ students’ parents pay tuition for them to attend and the church sponsors 20 students from those profits.  Despite holding classes for 160 students each day, the school does not actually have a building of its own.  Rather, teachers hold classes in the church hall, a private house, and a storage container.  Fr. George hopes to raise enough funds one day to build a proper school on the grounds, which also lacks a safe play area for recess.  

I toured the classes to see their conditions, introduce myself to the students, and meet their teachers.   All of the students showed the utmost respect to their teachers and their faces shone bright whenever they laid eyes on Fr. George, who always greeted them in a particular way: 

Fr. George:  “God is good…”

Children:  “All the time!”

Fr. George:  “All the time?”

Children:  “God is good and that is his nature! Wooooow!”

 

I was surprised to find that most of them knew that Washington, D.C. was the capital of the United States and absolutely all of them, from nursery class to class 8, knew of President Obama.  They beamed with pride as Fr. George asked each class if they knew the President of the United States.  They always gave a resounding “Obamaaaaaa!” in response.  

Once I’d gone to visit each class, all of the students assembled in the church hall, where they were to perform several songs and poems to be used for their upcoming graduations.  The younger students began with an adorable version of “When the Saints go Marching In.”  They were followed by the older children, who recited two poems, one in English, the other in Swahili.  Both poems were testaments to their school, teachers, and Jesus Christ.  It was obvious how much the students adore their teachers, school, and Fr. George.  Each student performed wholeheartedly with smiling faces.  They were very excited to profess this adoration to a visitor.   

I addressed the children right after their performances.  In compliance with Fr. George’s orders, I told them what degrees I have, where I live, that I was in the Army, that I now work with the Archdiocese in Washington, D.C., that I had to work very hard and that they could achieve their goals if they worked hard, too.  I showed them photographs of me in uniform and of my graduation from law school.  The children were enthralled.  They asked me questions about my education and things I did while in the Army.  I was very impressed by how intelligent and well informed they were.  As I left (or tried to leave) the school, the children surrounded me and showered me with hugs and more questions until I promised to return to say goodbye before I left.

After escaping the school children, I had lunch at the church and headed to the National Museum of Kenya with Seminarian Peter.  Seminarian Peter was very conscious of the fact that I knew next to nothing about what I was seeing out of the windows, so he made sure to talk about things we saw along the way.  One of the things he was proud to show was the "Super Highway", which stretches from Nairobi to Thika, approximately 43 kilometers (26 miles).  The highway was recently expanded from four to ten lanes and reduces traffic time between the two cities from 3 hours to 45 minutes.  A Chinese firm completed most of the engineering and construction work, but all of the highway workers I observed were of African decent. 

We arrived at the museum, where we met Fr. Celestino.  The museum offers no-fee guide service, which we used to enhance the experience.  Our guide, Duncan, was extraordinary.   He led us through the mammals found in Kenya, the evolution of human kind (with its origins in this country) the cultural cycle of life for various Kenyan tribes, and the history of Kenya until just after the won full self-governance in 1964.  I was grateful to have Fr. Celestino with us, as he contributed lots of additional knowledge that our young guide did not know.  The most surprising thing about the museum was that they allow pictures!  Seminarian Peter is an avid photographer and was able to snap pictures of everything as we observed the exhibits. 
Duncan also led us through the snake park, which held numerous snakes and reptiles from around the world.  

We ended the day at another nice restaurant suggested by Fr. Celestino.  I enjoyed beef patties, beef sausages, and wine while I conversed with my knowledgeable hosts.

The First Days

10/27/2012

I’ve never been so happy to see a shirt collar…

 “Father!”  I shouted too loudly as I sprung out of the chair in the travel agent’s office at Nairobi’s airport.  He stopped and approached me wearing the most comforting smile I’ve ever seen.  “Destiny?” He asked, arm extended, “I’m Father George.”  

In less than 30 seconds, I met Father Celestino, the coordinator of my trip.  Each of my hosts had been waiting for me with my name displayed outside of baggage claim, but I hadn’t seen them.  Since I did not have the foresight to write Father Celestino’s cell phone number on a piece of paper, it was only recorded on an email and notepad on my phone, and since my phone had a dead battery and since the internet connection at the airport was down, I could not call him.  It was nearly 10:00pm, so I asked a taxi driver if he would take me to the Hilton in city center (I’d be safe at the Hilton, right?).  After confirming that I did not already have a reservation, he kindly escorted me to the travel agent’s office.  Just as the agent was about to make the reservation, I spotted Fr. George’s clerical shirt.  

It is rainy season in Kenya from late October though November, and it was raining on my arrival.  Of course, I fully trusted Fr. Celestino because of his diligence in coordinating my trip, but it was not until he told me to wait under the outside cover so that my hair would not get wet, that I felt a true connection. :-)  (for my “non-ethnic” haired readers…this is a big deal.)  Once the car arrived at the front of the airport, Fr. Celestino put my bags inside and left me in the care of Father George, the Father-in-charge of Holy Trinity Parish in Buru Buru, and my host for the week.   

My first stop in Nairobi was to a store similar to Wal-Mart, which sells everything from major appliances to boxes of cereal.   At the store, Fr. George helped me find gifts for the wedding we were to attend in the morning.  I wanted to buy them pretty wine glasses with a bottle of wine (doesn’t everyone like wine in pretty glasses?) but Fr. George steered me in the direction of a cutlery set made with black plastic and steel (I think it was steel).   He waited patiently as I pondered the very important matter of which wrapping paper to use and nursed me through the tragedy of the store not carrying an appropriate ribbon or bow.  Finally, (because I know your dying to know the outcome) in lieu of a ribbon or bow, I used a small notecard as an accent piece.  Surprisingly, (because it is after midnight in a store similar to Wal-Mart) after I paid for the gifts, one of the store clerks took them to a side table and wrapped them beautifully.  

We arrived in Buru Buru, phase 1, where a guard opened a gate for Fr. George to drive in.  The streets were pretty dark and there didn’t seem to be any significant activity going on inside any of the homes.   As we approached the church, another guard opened the church’s gate and allowed Fr. George to drive in.

We entered the church, an impressive building among much less elaborate dwellings, and Fr. George led me upstairs.  First, he showed me my room, which is a very large area with its own full bathroom.  There is also a desk and comfortable bed with a mosquito net.  Then, he led me to the living room and dining room where much food had been left for us to eat.  There were at least four separate dishes on the table, each looked delectable.  Since I had already eaten on the plane, I selected a small serving of spinach with tomatoes, onions, and other seasonings.  It was delicious.  After eating and having a lively conversation with the charismatic Fr. George, I went to my room to enjoy a shower and peaceful sleep.

  

10/28/2012

Is that a rooster????

I awoke the next morning to the sound of a rooster crowing outside.  Soon, as I began dressing, I heard beautiful voices from a choir in the sanctuary just outside of my window.  It was a very encouraging start to my first morning in Nairobi.  

When I entered the living area, I found my hosts getting ready to start their day.  Fr. Edward, a resident priest and Fr. George sat at the dining room table eating breakfast, including porridge, pancakes, coffee and tea.  I also met Peter, a seminarian awaiting his diaconate ordination and the final resident at Holy Trinity.  Fr. Edward offered me a seat at the table and we conversed about our respective countries.  He gave me a Kenyan name - Wanjiku.  This is his sister's name also and it originates from the Kikuyu tribe, of which Fr. George is also a member.

Soon, we met with Father Celestino and drove toward Kiambiu where we were to attend a wedding for two couples.  The neighborhood of Buru Buru is quite nice.  It is clean and there are trees and grass, just as in U.S. neighborhoods.  The homes are adequate for them, but not even close to the aesthetic standards upheld by the U.S. for subsidized housing. The roads are paved and the grounds are well kept.  I did not have even a sliver of anxiety about safety as we drove through the town.

We exited the car and began on foot toward the church located in the rear of the community.  The dirt walkway was very soft, since it had rained the night before and there were puddles of muddy water everywhere.  I found myself watching my step more than I could watch my surroundings (or maybe I just didn’t want to see my surroundings).   Kiambiu is a slum…in every sense of the word. Its residents earn an average of 200 shillings ($2.00) per day and pay up to 2,000 shillings ($23.00) per month to live in a place where trash lines the muddy pathways to their homes. Homes are made with either mud and wood or flimsy sheets of iron bolted together over dirt floors.  Vendors sit outside of shacks selling a variety of goods and meat, including rotting fish, swarmed with flies, lying on dirty wood planks in the sun. 

There is no piped water in Kiambiu.  Even if there was, the piped water in Kenya is not safe to drink.  Their only water source is a giant tank filled by the city government, for which they must pay 50 shillings (approx. 58 cents) per 20 liters of undrinkable water.  When the city does not receive ample payment for the water, officials lock the tank so that it cannot be used by anyone.  More affluent residents of Nairobi use bottled water for drinking.  In Kiambiu, residents must boil their water outside of their homes with community gas-powered burners or purify it with a tablet, which is usually outside of their budget.  

Despite the impoverished conditions, residents here are not bitter.  They are not even depressed.  Rather, they are happy and hopeful.  My hosts tell me that they attribute this to faith.  They believe that despite their condition, God is good.  They believe that God will enable them to improve their condition over time.  They are grateful for visitors, because visitors are blessings.