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.