Chapter 4 – An Expanded Cast of Characters

Introducing Baba Amos and Mama Milkah

Thursday marked the return of two very significant members of Baba Nyumbani. The head parents at the orphanage, Amos and Milkah, had been away attending to family matters. The community upon arrival warmly accepted them.

Eli had been raving about Amos, and I was very much looking forward to meeting him. On first glimpse, Baba Amos didn’t wow me in stature or size. I think I was anticipating a giant father figure with a voice of gold and face that defined wisdom and strength. Instead, I got a short man with a boyish face and a smile that defined mischief.

We shook hands and I immediately felt that we were destined for a lot of light-hearted experiences together. It did not take long for me to realize why the children looked up to him – Amos possessed a child-like heart. He was very appreciative to have us come visit, which is always nice to hear as a visitor from a foreign country.

Feeling accepted was certainly a non-issue for us during our stay at Baba Nyumbani. Going in, we were not asked to provide documentation about who we were, what we believed, or whether or not we had engaged in any criminal activity over the course of our life. We were their guests, and they unconditionally provided for us, showing servant-like love for us in their accommodating ways.

I don’t know if we would be willing to open up our doors in much of the same way in Canada. We like surrounding ourselves with people of the same socioeconomic class, race, and beliefs system – preferably with no metal illnesses or criminal records. And although there are exceptions to this very blanket-like statement, I look at my own circle of friends and really wonder how often I look to accommodate people that differ from me on various levels in terms of class, upbringing, race, and beliefs.

I attend the Meeting House church and one of our current series have addressed our addiction to comfort and our unwillingness to get “uncomfortable” by aligning ourselves with people that are less privileged by our American Dream standards. When we do get involved, we tend to throw money at different outreach initiatives, that while providing an excellence service to the community, often cause us to miss the value that actually spending time with the less privileged can bring to us.

I could sense the joy that the kids and adults at the orphanage felt from showing love to charity cases like Eli, Jared, and myself. They enjoyed hearing about our jobs, families, interests, and education. Are we that naïve to think that we cannot feel that same joy learning from and working with people that have grown up with disadvantages that we cannot even begin to comprehend in our own communities?

Forces are at work that have lead us to believe that there can be NO effective communion between rich and poor, abled and disabled, stable and broken, or Canadian and African – and even if it were possible it would not be worth the risk. This is among the greatest tricks the devil has ever pulled – that real community that transcends race, social class, beliefs, and culture, cannot exist, is too risky, and offers little reward.

Open up the Bible to see who Jesus came to align himself. Religious elite? Don’t think so. Roman dictators? Jesus scoffed at Pilate’s so called “power”. He came for the hungry, the poor, the foreigners, the sick, the sinners, the suffering, the lost, and the broken. Do the people we hang out with have similar attributes? Food for thought. I’d be the first to admit that I fail in my outreach efforts, something that I have been trying to remedy since my return from Africa.

Jesus has paved the way by showing us his heart for serving those who would be considered least among the men. He questioned the religious order, who were more concerned with observing the written law, rather than the actually concerning themselves with the heart behind Torah. Organized Christianity has become eerily similar to the practices of the Pharisees in the time of Jesus. Many churches place protecting traditions, viewpoints, and social orders in the front seat, throwing “dirtier” tasks like outreach and community service in the trunk.

My goal over the next year is to align my heart with the compassion of Christ. I’ve had plenty of inspiration – both at home and abroad – now all I need is a little courage, will power, and support. Pray that I may experience Jesus’ heart outside my zone of comfort!

I also met Amos’ wife Milkah that evening. She was a larger woman (taller than Amos actually!) who also met us with unconditional acceptance. She had her young son Asaph with her, who happened to be the youngest resident at Baba Nyumbani. Throughout our time at the orphanage, Milkah was always on the go – whether caring for her baby, preparing meals, leading devotions and worship, managing chores, or even playing soccer with us – her service seemed endless, and yet you would be hard pressed to find a time when she was downcast or resentful.

There’s Something about Joseph

Joseph the Brave, Joseph the Kind-hearted, Joseph the Athlete, Joseph the Protector, and Joseph the Friend/Mentor… probably the most inspiring of all the adults I encountered in Kenya, Joseph was an influential figure and a perfect example of a man living a life close to God’s own heart.

Joseph worked on the farm and as part of the security staff at the orphanage. He was among the eldest members of the staff. He was also among the most active: He laboured just as much as anyone in the fields and barns, he played soccer regularly, he made time for worship and prayer with the kids, and he was always ready to help the first person that showed signs of need.

I took to Joseph largely as a result of the warmth that he put into greeting us on every occasion no matter what the circumstance. Every time I ran into Joseph he greeted me like a brother. He always offered a hand, a smile, and a word of blessing. He took interest in us and volunteered his time to teach us archery skills, milking techniques, and other Kenyan customs. He showered us with attention and kindness in a way that truly inspired.

We had nothing to offer Joseph from a “necessities of life” standpoint, and yet he welcomed us fully into their community. If that’s not a great example of someone living out the faith to the fullest, I don’t know what is. When we departed from the orphanage, Joseph was among the last to wish us farewell; I expected no less from the man who showed us nothing but Christ-like love over our stay.

You will hear a story in the chapters to come that outlines more of Joseph’s incredible character and strength – stay tuned…

Helloooooo Nurse(s)

We were gifted the opportunity to share our Kenyan experiences at Baba Nyumbani with three nurses from Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto. Alise, Angela, and Jess had arrived at the orphanage several days before our rough landing on the Kitale airstrip. Alise and Jess were making their second visit to the orphanage; their first visit was as members of a medical team less than a year earlier. Angela, like myself, was making her first trip to Africa. The three had a working relationship with Annette back home in Canada, the eventual cause for their initial involvement with the community at Baba Nyumbani.

Alise, Ang, and Jess were absolutely fantastic with the kids. Their focus for the trip was very obvious – bring as much joy and love to the kids as literally possible over the course of their stay. They were so “kid-focused”, Eli and I often wondered if there was something wrong with us. However, over time, our relationship with the three of them did warm and we were able to share a lot of meaningful times as a group.

I understood, though I did not ask, that Alise, Ang, and Jess were not what one would categorically label as Christians. I got the vibe that they were a bit turned off by organized Christianity. It caused me to wonder a bit, after everything they experienced, that if churches in North America were somewhat similar to the worship, prayer, and community at Baba Nyumbani, they would be more receptive to Christians and wonder a little bit more about what this Jesus fellow was all about.

Jesus was all about what Alise, Ang, and Jess had come to do at Baba Nyumbani. He was about spending time with those with less, bringing joy and hope to those that appeared insignificant by the World’s standards, and sacrificing His time and resources without little tangible reward.

So there you have it ladies, you were another one of my inspirations in Kenya. You are people of unsurpassable worth modeled after God’s very own heart. I meant it with upmost sincerity when I said we would have big shoes to fill after you left!

Walter’s Wonderful Wife Alice, Rascal Son Simon, Brilliant Boy Shatti, and Precious Daughter Deborah

Walter and his loveable family became very much a part of our life during our two and a half weeks at Baba Nyumbani. Alice and Walter functioned as the second parent set at the orphanage, and were just as pivotal to the growth of the kids as Amos and Milkah. Like Milkah, Alice was always busy. Whether she was preparing meals, cleaning the office, doing laundry, having worship and devotional time with the kids, or looking after her own three young children, Alice rarely had time to sit. But like all the adults I spent time with at the orphanage, she performed her duties cheerfully and always treated us with great kindness.

There was no kid at the orphanage that craved our attention to the extent of Simon, the middle child of Walter and Alice. Simon was intrigued by everything about us: our light skin colour, the fact that we couldn’t understand a word he was saying, our hairy forearms (he would purposely try to inflict pain on us by pulling out our arm hairs), and our ability to give him piggy-back rides and other rides that helped him defy gravity, among other attributes.

In particular, Simon always wanted Eli and myself to himself. If that meant pushing his younger sister Deborah out of the way or squeezing his way through other kids to sit directly next to us then so be it. He would do anything to snag our attention, regardless of the situation. Most of the time he was impossible to resist. And when we did, we could always expect to hear one word: KUJA! Kuja simply means “come.” It was always “Eli Kuja” or “Jon Kuja”, in no particular order, and if one of the calls failed we could expect to hear the other within mere seconds. Despite his constant bombardment of attention seeking, it was nice to feel wanted, even if it was by a three-year-old rascal.

Walter and Alice had an older son name Shatti. Shatti excelled in school, and as a result, Walter was forced to honour an agreement that promised to reward Shatti a new pair of shoes if he got top marks in all of his classes. I’m not sure if Shatti got those shoes – Walter liked to procrastinate a lot, more or less for comedic effect – but we learned by experience that Walter is a man of his word during the course of the trip, so I’m pretty sure Shatti’s feet are leaving the dream right now.

Finally, little Deborah, was such a blessing to our group. Not only was she the cutest little two-year-old, she was also resilient to the bullying of her two older brothers, she was an entertainer, and she was not intimidated by anyone. She was an absolute joy to read to, play with, and just sit with contently. My favorite memory of Deborah was her circus act couch summersaults where she would propel herself onto the couch (usually with a little help), and often land directly on her head and get up perfectly unscathed. Too cute.

Chapter 3 – Kitale Town

Unlike on my first morning in Nicaragua, there was no wake-up call to get me up and out of bed. As a result, I didn’t awake till 9:30 that day, pretty late by Kenyan standards (the kids were up between 5 and 6 everyday).

My team members from my Nic trip certainly can attest to my love of sleep and desire to savour more of it (was I ALWAYS the last one up? I can’t remember anymore...). It’s not even really that I’m not a morning person; I love the results that come from getting an early start and checking off productive actions of a “to do list” prior to midday.

I think it’s really just my desire to please my body’s physiological clock as much as possible. Being a guest at an orphanage with no major work requirements gifted me the luxury of “physiologically” babying myself. As a result, most days I got up when my body compelled me. Selfish maybe? Way-to-take-care-of-yourself-Jon smart perhaps? Lazy? Whatever you think, that was the stance I took and that is all I have to say about that.

After stumbling into the office for breakfast, I recalled the plan to go into town for the morning. Seeing as it was already nearly 10, Walter was ready to take us in the minute we had had our fill and gulped our last sip of chai tea.

DETOUR #2

African Chai Tea is superior to all of the hot beverages I have ever consumed. This is coming from a coffee addict, people. I started up on this stuff and never looked back. Usually I need at least one coffee to get me through a day. Not in Kenya, not with Chai around.

Chai is the perfect blend of tea leaves, spices, and hot milk combined into one delectable concoction of a hot beverage. It gave me the kick I needed each day, and probably supplied me with a lot more nutrition value than all those coffees had back home. Although, it might have been unhealthy how much of it I consumed when given the chance. We’ll call it a wash.

I tried Tim’s Chai when I got home from the trip and literally cried it was so subpar. So I’m back on the Joe again unfortunately. What I would give though for an authentic Kenyan Chai Tea right now!

At the orphanage, Chai was what everyone had to drink, all of the time. The workers drank it for break in blistering, peak day temperatures. The kids had it with all of their meals. All of the dairy milked from the farm went directly into the Chai. Even the youngest kids were sipping Chai for breakfast. I had no problem embracing this philosophy of Chai everywhere, Chai always. Although hot Chai after working the fields? C’mon now, that’s just ridiculous.

Okay that’s enough about Chai. I’m sorry you all can’t experience it and won’t rub it in any further.

Back to the story… oh ya, we left for Kitale town. We walked from Baba Nyumbani to the main road that would take us into town. Walter hailed a taxi, and Jared, Eli, Walter, and I jammed into a taxi car that already had 2-3 occupants. I think it was two, sometimes you just don’t know. They cram these vehicles pretty tight! Taxi vans are even worse. People will literally hang out the side of them if it means catching a ride into town. Thankfully, I never had to experience that, but Jared would tell you that it’s worth the reduced fare.

We arrived in town and paid our cab driver 200 Kenyan shillings for the four of us. We got about 75-80 shillings to the US$, depending on where we exchanged money. So that ride had cost us each less than one dollar a head for a 15-20 minute drive. I was going to like cost-efficient Kenya.

The town if Kitale was a sight to behold. People were everywhere walking the crowded streets of a town that, at its core, wasn’t much larger than 5 square kilometers. Street vendors lined all the roads selling a wide assortment of goods. Here’s an example of some of the items you could expect to find on one particular strip in the city: socks, rugs, maize-on-the-cob, English Premier league jerseys, a megastore (transmatt supermarket was a personal favorite), pineapples, motorcycles, cell phone minutes, and seamstress services. It was definitely a unique smorgasbord of good and services!

I took the opportunity to look for Kenyan soccer jerseys for my two brothers, but Jared told me that they were difficult to find. Authentic Kenyan clothing had taken the back seat to the overwhelming importation of North American and European clothing articles. As a result, it was much cheaper to buy an authentic replica EPL jersey than it was to buy and even find a Kenyan soccer kit. I ended up buying my brother Eric a new Manchester United jersey, his favorite soccer team in Europe. On a later date, I followed that up with a Liverpool jersey for Matt.

The first experience with haggling in Kenya went over well. It’s always nice when you share a common language, which was the key difference from my attempt at Nicaraguan haggling (thank you April and Kevin Voorberg). After a satisfactory transaction, Eli and I made for the Coffee Shop, a nice little hub where we could enjoy some drinks, food, and internet access.

We regularly frequented the Coffee Shop during our time in Kitale time. That day I elected to have a light snack of chips (what they call French fries) and orange Fanta. Coca-cola and Fanta products are probably one of the few North American influences on Kenyan culture. I also finally let my parents know that I was alive and enjoying my experiences thus far via email.

One of the high points, while at the same time, low points of my day, included my first motorbike ride back to the orphanage. The greatest two things about riding on a bike are the efficiency, and breeze that comes from riding open cockpit. Our pilots took every opportunity to pass any vehicle moving even moderately slowly. Suffice to say, there were some close calls. Things that come to mind personally include: tailgating trucks with loosely bound lumber protruding out of their boxes, passing a taxi who at the same time is passing a truck on the shoulder of the road, and the ever popular forgetting to decelerate over pot holes.

But these are not the low points for a motorbike taxi trip. What ruined my experience was getting lost on the way back. I knew were in trouble when Eli and his driver left our plane of view. This was only be second time riding to the orphanage and I was not able to identify the proper markings. I was hoping Eli and his driver had stopped to wait but that was not the case. So my driver and I enjoyed a nice little detour.

The detour was long enough that we had to get some gas. I decided it would be a good idea to finance this expense, if it meant going back and figuring out where we missed our turn off. 50 bob (Kenyan slang for shillings) of petro got us back on the road. I eventually got my bearings and figured out where to go.

We met up with Eli and his driver who had turned back to look for us. They drove us the rest of the way to our compound where we thanked them for their efforts, and then exchanged God’s blessing among. Can’t remember getting a “God bless you” in the past from a taxi cab driver, and it just kind of struck me how we don’t take opportunities like that, even among Christians, to bless each other in God’s name in our communities. Why is that?

Without getting into a philosophical discussion as to why their culture is much more publicly expressive of their faith, I will say that you can definitely feel God’s presence much more in a place like Kenya. I have a list of reasons that would give support to the argument that God in Kenya is a much more visible character, but I will leave that discussion for a chapter to come.

Hope you’ve enjoyed reading so far! Hear are some of the chapters you have to look forward to in the near future: Of Football and Fanta, Kenya’s Got Talent, The Curious Incident of the Maize Thief in the Nighttime, and Pastoral Debut.

Also, just as an additional side note, these chapters will begin to become less about chronology, and more about capturing the overarching story behind the people and places that were a part of my incredible time in Africa.

Chapter 2 – Baba Nyumbani

Our flight from Nairobi to Kitale aboard 540, an East African airline, departed at 10 am. Eli and I had elected to fly the distance, while Jared chose to travel by bus at a cheaper rate. (Jared’s thriftiness will be outlined in further detail in chapters to come). Flying allowed us to reach our destination in a little more than an hour. We landed on a gravel airstrip in Kitale. The Kitale “airport” consisted of a small office building, one armed guard, and a barbed wire fence surrounding the runway perimeter. Yes, we had arrived in rural Africa.

We relaxed near our luggage until our ride arrived. Our welcomers were not long. A private van pulled up and Eli instantly recognized its occupants, Annette and Walter, riding in the front seats. For Eli, this was a reunion, as Eli and his father had made the trip to Kenya for ten days less than a year ago. For me, introductions were necessary and after our friendly exchanges we were quickly on our way.

Annette is a fellow Canadian working for the orphanage, handling book keeping and other managerial tasks. She would also be acting as our eyes and ears for the two and a half weeks we would be staying in Kitale. Eli knew Annette originally through the work of Harvest Community Church (the church Eli, Jared, and I were technically representing on missionary airfare).

Walter is a native Kenyan who is responsible for managing the ongoing operations at the orphanage, including, but not limited to: managing the farm, handling security, serving as “parent” for the orphaned children, and keeping Eli, Jared, myself, and all other visitors thoroughly entertained;).

The drive from the Kitale airstrip to the orphanage did not take long. We arrived at the Baba Nyumbani orphanage gate around 1. Baba Nyumbani is taken from the native Kenyan tongue of Swahili and when translated, the name means “Daddy is Home”. A worker opened the gate, signaling our arrival.

We were met promptly by dozens of kids all wanting to shake our hands. What a welcome; I couldn’t believe how excited they were to have white visitors! East Africans have a word in Swahili for white folk: Mizungo (which loosely translates to “white dragon”). Judging by their reception to us, they clearly didn’t buy the stigma that labeled us cruel devourers.

Once a path cleared, we drove to the office building on the far side of the compound. What an amazing facility! Originally, Baba Nyumbani consisted of dormitories for the children, a kitchen and dining hall, a director's 3-bedroom house (which I will refer to as the office), a small guesthouse and fully-equipped electricity. Over the past year however, through donations and hard work, the orphanage had expanded to include a second floor for the dorms, a soccer field equipped with nets, a basketball and volleyball court, and extra maintenance buildings.

The objective of Baba Nyumbani is to become a sustainable, micro community capable of generating income and providing excellence service for orphaned children. A deep well produced more than enough fresh, clean water for the children and the farm. They had a garden which is produced a variety of vegetables and fruits, and a dairy project consisting of 3 cows which was fully functional and producing enough milk to feed and help sustain the micro community. They had also invested in maize, a corn-like staple, that they hoped to sell at a profit when the market was right. On the road to self-sustainability if you asked me!

We unloaded much of our luggage consisting of gifts and other useful items for the children into the office for Annette to sort through while we made ourselves comfortable and unpacked our belongings in the guesthouse. Our guesthouse was a round, traditional mud hut, complete with a straw roof and concrete base! The room had three beds and a table, well equipped for Jared, Eli, and I to make ourselves at home for the next 2+ weeks.

I took the opportunity to recuperate from the vigors of travel; my back and lower body muscles, in particular, were strained from the two days of travelling. After a few hours of rest in the hut I felt rejuvenated enough to venture out with Eli and see what the kids were up to. We did some colouring with the kids for a while before it was time to prepare for dinner and start pre-meal worship.

The experience of Kenyan praise and worship is something that will be engraved in my mind forever. In particular, the first time I heard them sing and dance to songs of praise to God was a deeply moving and exciting experience. To hear songs of praise in both English and their native Swahili by young kids lifting their voices and limbs to God was simply splendid. Difficult to capture in words without experiencing it first hand. I will try to make some clips of their performances available soon. They have such a talent for singing and dancing!

We were formally introduced to the kids at dinner and offered up words of gratitude to them for their willingness to be our gracious hosts for the days ahead. We shook hands with all, and welcomed each other into a fellowship that would envelop our lives during our stay. A great way to issue in our time at the orphanage, and what for me, felt like the beginning of a momentous experience within the confines of Baba Nyumbani’s walls.

DETOUR #1

African Praise and Worship are two completely different things. African Praise is upbeat, louder, and more “mobile” than African Worship. African Worship is more like a prayer; slower, and equated to a pouring out of emotion over the gratitude of what God has done and the desires of the heart. I thought it was interesting that they made such a distinction between the two. The more you know!

Chapter 1 – Welcome to Africa, Jon

The reality of trip-taking never really sets in for me until I’ve practically boarded a plane or crossed over a border. The weeks leading up until Africa were no different. I accepted “the call” to accompany my friend Eli on a trip to Kenya a mere three weeks before our flights were to be booked. When he extended the invitation to me, I don’t really think he thought he’d get positive feedback, but after looking into it a bit and getting a feel for what I could expect, I decided that the opportunity was one that I could not pass up on. With work “sort-of” on the downswing, and me desiring to pursue other occupational opportunities, a sabbatical in Africa seemed practically mouth-watering, and ultimately, too good to pass up on.

When unique opportunities present themselves, I’d like to think that I opt to pursue more often or not. In the case for Africa there was definitely more risk – the cost was high and the time commitment was lengthy, but in the end taking this opportunity at a time where I could get time off, had relatively few commitments, and could afford the expenses won out.

On the early afternoon of Saturday, November 15^th, my parents drove me to my favorite Toronto airport (refer to the final chapter of A Servant’s Tale to find out exactly why it brings me joy if you so incline to) and waited with me to rendez-vous with Eli and his friend Jared. Jared was a friend of Eli who would be accompanying us on our flight and additionally had plans to attend university in Nairobi, the capital of Kenya. Eli and Jared weren’t long, and after combining our luggage, consisting of gifts for the orphanage we were destined for, into six oversized hockey bags, we got our British Airway World Traveler tickets, wished our parents farewell, and passed through the gate marked International Departures.

It was that point that really stuck out for me as my “wow-I’m-really-doing-this-here-we-go” moment. For the next 3 weeks I would be embarking on a journey to and through East Africa. I would be staying at an orphanage called Baba Nyumbani that I knew relatively little about, and would be capping it all off with a 3-day safari hopefully featuring all the incredible wildlife that Africa is renowned for. The details that I did know, I knew from Eli’s past experiences in the country, and that I decided previously, was enough for me to take a gamble on Africa.

To be perfectly honest, heading to a destination largely unknown, if anything, enhances an experience for me. To be ready for anything, to be open to things unexpected and unprecedented, to willfully follow and trust that there is something on a strange continent worth dropping everything and travelling to for – times like these give me chills of excitement – so rare are uncertain circumstances in the safety net of Canadian/American culture! In a nutshell, I was now fully immersed in the trip at hand, and I was effectively pumped!

And so we flew, our BA flights destined for London’s Heathrow Airport and subsequently Nairobi’s Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. A full day of travelling cramped in economy class seats built for frames much smaller than Jared’s, my, and even Eli’s body types. Thankfully, I was treated to an aisle seat for both flights, making my space restrictions slightly more bearable. In flight comedies such as The Other Guys and Dinner for Schmucks also helped ease the strain of travel.

Heathrow Airport was an amazing spectacle: an overwhelmingly immense, and yet architecturally stunning complex, diversely populated with enough people to fill a large city. More importantly however, our Heathrow stopover gave me the opportunity to get to know Jared a little better and get caught up in the life of Eli. And wouldn’t you know it, Fantasy Sports (specifically hockey) would be the topic that produced the most dialogue and would be the first common connection between the three of us (Thanks God, for providing some further justification for my time-consuming addiction!). But obviously our conservation wasn’t entirely restricted to sports and it was great to finally get to know Jared: his motives for coming, his outlook on his future, and his past experiences – the “Inner Jared” so to speak. I also benefited from hearing a face-to-face account of Eli’s happenings. Phone calls, Facebook messages, and emails really never capture communication properly, and now that we had sat down together I felt equipped to be as supportive as possible to him over the course of the trip.

After sleeping through most of the flight from London to Kenya, we touched down in Nairobi on Sunday 9:45 pm local time. Kenya is 8 hours ahead of us, for those of you at home trying to do the math (our stop over was not THAT long). Everything went smoothly at baggage claim, and we were met swiftly by our driver (who by no coincidence was to double as our safari guide for the last 3 days of our trip) and Ken, an associate of the orphanage who graciously agreed to allow us to spend the night before our final flight departed for Kitale the next morning.

My first intake of Africa caught me a bit off guard. Friendly people and smiling faces littered the reception area for arriving passengers. I did not expect this from people living in a developing country like Kenya. The air was warm and refreshing, near perfect, had I not been wearing jeans and a sweater.

We had not taken in too much of the sounds and sights of Nairobi at night before we arrived at Ken’s complex in the city. Ken had an apartment on the top floor. We were able to leave most of our luggage in Moses’ van as he would be picking us up and dropping us off at the airport the next morning. We made our way up and freshened up a bit. Ken’s home was very simple, but cozy. Dinner had been prepared for us, which was a welcomed treat. My first authentic Kenyan meal consisted of rice, noodles, beef sauces, cabbage, and chapatti, a type of fried flatbread resembling pita. After dinner and conversation with Ken, we graciously thanked our hosts (Ken’s wife had made the dinner preparations) and retired for the night. Despite the excitement I felt for tomorrow, my tired state made sleep come easily.

What I Learned in Africa - Prologue

Hello again audience! Some of you may remember me as the author of such stories as “There and Back Again: A Servant’s Tale by Jon Miedema”, “At The Dome” and “Whales”. “At the Dome”, and “Whales” kick started my dabbling in non-fiction prose way back in the first grade. The books were critically acclaimed by my first grade teacher Mrs. Paas, not to mention my parents.

From there, fast forward over 15 years to a trip to Nicaragua, a journey that rekindled my interest in writing and influenced me in a very profound way. I spent many days writing and retelling the story of a ten-day voyage in a poverty-stricken nation spent with a team of extraordinary individuals. The team, in addition to the experiences shared with them, challenged me in ways that have impacted my life to this day.

For me, going on “serve” trips usually has me returning with more questions than answers with respect to my place in this world and my perspective of my native culture. My 3-week trip to Kenya was no exception. As I begin to write this new story, the experiences I had will remain authentic and real to me, but my evaluation of these experiences will reveal things that I perhaps didn’t think about at the time and will hopefully help me make sense of everything. Or at least some of it. Hopefully most.

It is my most sincere hope that through this story I can give my readers a little more insight into what I experienced beyond “The trip was awesome. There were lots of giraffes. I endorse trips to Africa”. This is story is just as much for me as it is for the people around me, especially those that kept me in their prayers and supported me. As I stated in the prologue of “A Servant’s Tale”, if I can inspire even just one person to perhaps approach or see things from a different perspective through my story I would consider it a victory.

God is good, I can at least tell you that much after spending time with my African brothers and sisters in Kenya. So without ado, I bring you “What I Learned in Africa”, a story about fellowship, adventure, spirit, and hope.