kenyapartnership.org

Arrived safe, sound, and with all our luggage in Kenya late Sunday night. Bright and early Monday morning (late evening according to our body clocks) we headed back out to Uganda. Had a successful meeting with the National Permanent Secretary of Health in Uganda, who is very interested in working with us on many different projects. He set up another meeting for later in the week to finalize the details of the relationship and discuss more specific ideas for working together in Uganda. Also met with two Members of Parliament, from a group of women who passionate advocates for the importance of prevention and education in healthcare across the country.

Tomorrow we have a meeting with the Vice-President of Uganda, as well as many other meetings with lesser dignitaries. A four-hour drive will deliver us to the clinic where we will be working, near Masaka. We’ll have a full day there on Thursday, and then back to Kampala for meetings on Friday before returning to Kenya.

It’s the rainy season, but the skies so far have been all bark and no bite – a few drops have fallen, but we’ve yet to get poured on. Kampala and Entebbe are both on the coast of Lake Victoria, the largest freshwater lake in Africa, and the view from the landing plane was incredible. We’ll do our best to keep you posted!

After two weeks of being back in the US, I finally get enough time to put away all the Kenya papers and artifacts in my office. Doing pretty well too. Very fond memories, a smile on my face for all that happened. Laugh and shake my head as I put away the “Made in China” machete. Hang the painted cloth of the mighty Maasai women posing in front of the their hut, nodding with appreciation at it’s beautiful colors.

Then I come across a letter from Maxwell. My first. I reread it. He thanks me for coming to the Boys Home and that he hopes to be a pastor like me when he grows up so he preach the Word of God.

The reaction of my body comes with such force — the shaking hands, knees buckling, eyes welling up with tears. I have to sit down and take deep breaths. Then uncontrollable sobbing.

I don’t even know for whom I am weeping. Maxwell? Africa? Me?

I will never be the same and I thank God for this blessing.

When the tears subside enough, I grab a pen and a piece of paper and do the only thing I can do in the moment. “Dear Maxwell . . . “

About Schmidt Clip

A criticism leveled at churches and charities is that they have fallen into the bad habit of creating programs to help the poor when in reality the only people they are helping are themselves, creating a toxic charity that needs to be reexamined and fixed. Good-intentioned people are actually hurting the very people they’re trying to help. The poor end up feeling judged, looked down upon, only worthy of charity and handouts that end up making them more dependent instead of learning skills to help themselves.

We discuss the issue at our morning devotions using a passage from Galations 6:2-5. Paul is writing to a presbytery (a network of churches) about providing aid. Paul seems to make two contradictory statements. At the beginning of the passage he says “Carry each other’s burdens” while at the end he says, “for each one should carry his own load.” Which one is it?

An examination of the passage solves the apparent contradiction. Paul is saying that we are to help the person in need until they are back on their feet. In other words, don’t do for someone else what they can do for themselves. Help others in a crisis but don’t enable them to become dependent.

I am so very impressed with how EAP is following this principle. Everywhere I look I see Kenyans in leadership and in training. They are being equipped. EAP is building an infrastructure for long-term sustainability as opposed to just helping in a crisis.

In fact, when the mission leaders of Saddleback Church saw their work in Rwanda floundering, they contacted EAP to learn how to build the necessary infrastructure that produces life-altering change. Later on their pastor, Rick Warren, contacted Colette to thank her. “You saved our mission in Africa.”

Angie rubs cream on a child’s head to treat a fungal infection. Her tender touch may come as much from being a mother to a 7 year old as it does to being a nurse at Hoag Hospital.

We’re at an orphanage in Narok, the main city of the Maasai. The Boys Home has 37 children and we’re here for the day.

Later on, I find Angie painting figures on the faces of the kids. There are some soccer balls and cats, but most are big, red hearts on the kids’ cheeks. Surprised, I ask Angie why she’s not drawing more figures that relate to boys.

Angie shares a telling story. “I asked a little boy if he wanted me to paint a cat or a heart. He said, ‘Love.’” Angie pauses, then adds, “They all want love.”

Sometimes we treat the body. Other times we treat the spirit.

Cindy Campbell is a social worker in Laguna Beach. Much of her energy goes toward helping the homeless find a bed for the night. Even Laguna Beach has needs. But Cindy has seen nothing like what she encounters in the barren countryside of the Maasai. Where does one start?

Cindy facilitates the discussion with the Maasai women on their greatest need. She is surprised by their openness and vulnerability. What they desire most is a support system where they will be able to help one another. Cindy is pleased. Her mind is already thinking about her next trip and how she can help organize them.

As we prepare to leave, a woman gifts Cindy with her beautiful bracelet as a reminder that she wishes our return.

There is a shadow that darkens the life of the Maasai warrior. Standing tall and regal in the midday sun, adorned in his red and plaid ceremonial dress with stick in hand, he’s become an iconic image of Africa. But behind closed doors he practices a ritual whose name until recently we dared not mention. We hear it though in the cries of the daughters.

We’re providing health care at a dispensary in the heartland of the Maasai. To celebrate our arrival, they conduct a worship service highlighted by singing and dancing to the sound of keyboard powered by a generator for which we provide the fuel. The vibration from the state-of-the-art speakers energizes the room. It’s uplifting.

Afterwards, the congregation divides into two groups along gender lines to compile lists of the community’s greatest needs. Then we regroup in the sanctuary to report our findings.

At the top of the male problems are the lack of jobs and electricity. The women complain that they do all the work (which by all accounts is true), that alcoholism is rampant, and that they desire a support system that will enable them to help one another.

Only one item appears on both lists, the horrific act that sears the souls of the affected families—female genital mutilation (FGM). The mothers in the community abhor the practice but do not protest to the fathers. “We’re afraid we would get beaten,” they confess.

East African Partnership (EAP) is developing a creative response to the problem. A local pastor and tribal chief approach the father with an offer: stop the planned FGM and EAP will pay for the daughter to attend boarding school, along with a $25 monthly stipend for the father. It is costly and only works if the patriarch is cooperative.

I’m learning that poverty is basically a female issue.

This morning we pick up 79 children from the Girls Home and travel by bus to Lake Nakuru National Park to see the “Big Five.” On the way, the girls open letters from their sponsors which we have passed out. The bus becomes silent as the girls read and reread each word of love. They smile through their tears.

Along with viewing monkeys, zebras, rhinos, and flamingos, we have an encounter with a hoard of baboons. While we’re eating lunch in a park on cliffs overlooking the African plains, 20 homo sapien wannabees storm the picnic area, snatching peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of the children’s hands and piercing the plastic soda bottles with their sharp teeth to drink the Orange Fanta. The charge terrifies the girls as they scream and run for cover. It is the highlight of their day.

Before returning to the Girls Home, each child receives a hand-made dress from the Laguna Presbyterian Church, along with a colorful, beaded bracelet. (That’s 79 dresses from one church. I imagine what a Presbytery of churches could do.) On the bus ride home the children sing, laugh and cuddle up with our team members. It is the highlight of our day.

“If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands.” It’s a song I sang in VBS over 40 years ago but the kids here are shouting it out in a rhythmic unison. Anne, a retired school teacher, is leading an entire school in praise. She does this everywhere we go. Her energy and love for the children are contagious.

Anne heads the EAP sponsorship program which enables people in the US to fund the education of an orphan for one year. For $25 a month a person can literally take a child off the streets and into the loving environment of our Girls or Boys Home. On this trip Anne is personally picking up her fourth sponsored child.

“Stick your left foot out . . . “ The kids are giggling, falling over themselves in trying to keep up with Anne. She’s having the time of her life.

Anne says, “Children are children all around the world.”

The day after two Somalia-related bombings that left one dead and 24 injured, Colette and I arrive at the government offices of the Honorable Peter Mwathi. Security is tight. Soldiers armed with AK47s guard the entrance and the tension is palpable. We’d rather be back with the rest of the team in the safe environs of the Brackenhurst Conference Center, anywhere but Nairobi.

With his bodyguard standing behind him, Peter quickly ushers us into his office. I’ve been told that Peter is the right-hand man of the Vice-President of Kenya and touted as one of Parliament’s top ten politicians. In person, he does not disappoint. He’s charismatic, intelligent, and personable. He orders us tea and chapati (golden flatbread.)

The topic of the meeting is micro-finance, a program dear to the heart of Peter. Along with bringing needed capital into his district, he believes its implementation may be the key to his re-election. I’ve been invited in my official role as a clergyman who will lead us in prayer.

Peter’s secretary brings in the tea and I wince. I forgot to order mine black instead of the customary white. Kenyans don’t so much add milk to their tea as they add tea to their milk, meaning that my cup is 90% dairy. Earlier in the trip I got sick from this combination. A quick glance at Colette though tells me that as an American I must not offend our Kenyan hosts by refusing their hospitality. It’s my national duty.

Colette explains how the program will work. “A group of five Kenyans interested in starting businesses borrow $2,000 at 7-10% interest. The first two of the group each receive $1,000 of that. Once they launch their businesses and pay back the original loan plus interest, the next two get $1,000 and once they pay it back, the last person gets $1,000. So there’s an important ‘peer pressure’ component to the program.”

While she’s talking I’m sipping my white tea as slowly as possible, hoping that no one will notice it is still half full. The secretary re-enters the room and clears the table, except for my cup. I realize the meeting will not end until I am finished. So with one motion I raise the cup to my lips, close my eyes, and swig it down like an Irishman with a shot of whiskey on St. Patrick’s Day.

Colette politely ignores my indiscretion and concludes her presentation. “The success rate is 97%. Foreign investors can get a 7-10% return on their money with little risk. You won’t find that kind of deal anywhere else.”

The meeting ends on a high note and Peter is pleased. As for me, nature takes its course and I’m up most of the night. I sit here proudly though, knowing that today I have served both God and country.

The Bible uses two Greek words for time. Chronos is the measure of time. Chairos is the meaning of time.

For example, in America we clock everything. If a meeting is scheduled at 8 AM, it starts at 8 AM. That’s chronos.

In Kenya, a scheduled meeting must allow for meaningful relationships. If a meeting is scheduled for 8 AM it may not get going till 10 AM, depending on how many friends you run into on your way to work. That’s chairos.

Today, Colette, our leader, asks me to attend a meeting in Nairobi with her and Peter Mwamthi, a high-ranking government official who is a member of their Parliament, that we cannot be late for. It starts at 8 AM, which means that I have to get up at 5 AM. Colette insists I be on time.

I make it to the van with a few minutes to spare and we’re on our way. Then we run into children from our Girls Home walking to school. Colette orders the van driver to the side of the road so she can hug every single girl, every one. Knowing that we’ll now be late for our important appointment, I turn to Collette and throw my hands up. While continuing her hugs, she says, “Peter can wait. These are my girls.”

That’s chairos.