A reality exists in our world: there are a limited few who have resources and a massive majority who do not. The ones who “have” are generally in some way responsible for why the poor are poor in the first place.
Some people feel so bad about the fact that they have resources when others do not that they go into poorer parts of the world with lots of resources to give away.
Some people are motivated by compassion instead of guilt, and they do the same thing.
Still others have a need to feel needed, and go into all the world to save it, in the hopes of feeling important in someone else’s eyes.
Whatever the motivation, often what happens is that a flood of resources makes it to a particular area, along with directions on how to use it. What the do-gooder doesn’t realize is that there are great assumptions about what is needed “over there”; all based on what they know from their life lived “over here.” Unwittingly, they impose their own cultural biases upon their recipients. They are happy to give what they think is needed, with little input from those who actually know the context where the help is needed. Since the end result is that much needed resources get to a much needed area, both parties move ahead.
But what happens down the line?
Sometimes a dependency is created, and those in need are given a fish instead of learning to fish, and are therefore facing a future of trouble, especially if their donor’s funds dries up or the donor dies.
Sometimes Imperialism is resurrected. New, Western colonization pops up in the strangest places – slums feature flavors from a culture thousands of miles away. It’s a bad fit, like telling a cat that it needs to act like a dog – it’s just not going to work for very long.
Sometimes the long term result is worse than it was in the first place because the motives and the mission were inherently flawed.
Our approach to making a difference in the slums of Nairobi, Kenya, is not at all like the above. Our approach is modeled after the design laid out by one Nairobi’s largest church’s pastor, who applauds the desire to help coming from the West yet laments the travesties noted above. He recommends that indigenous people call the shots, and that genuine relationship between the two be maintained.
Chris, David, Kerry, and Dan were raised saw that in their home-town slum of Huruma. They noticed that the orphans were falling through the system cracks. They were falling behind in school from lack of parental support. They rose to the occasion. They began tutoring children at a community resource center called Furaha, which in Swahili is translated as “Joy.” This tutoring would give the orphans a much needed boost, since living conditions make it difficult for them to receive much help from their guardians, who often are trying to raise as many as eight children in a very small space on about $1 per day.
With unemployment hovering around 70%, the likelihood of continued economic hardship is certain. And if education is neglected for the orphans, their future prospects are severely limited. While they would love to be self-sustainable, the reality is that without outside assistance, that dream could take several generations to materialize.
That’s where we come in. We have resources we can share.
What we don’t have is a clue – how could we possibly know what needs to be done half a world away? We don’t know. We must rely on those who live and breathe the context to direct whatever assistance is provided.
We have gotten to know the leaders of Furaha and found them to be exceptional in their character and commitment to giving the orphans a chance for a better life. Their goal is to be sustainable as soon as possible, and then help other similar programs begin in other parts of the massive slum. The more centers that exist, the more children can be helped.
Based on our relationship with them, we ask them what they are experiencing, and what they sense they need to provide long-term help. Naturally, since our resources are limited, they must prioritize their projects based on urgency and long term impact. We provide what they don’t have and cannot get – resources.
With our ongoing support, they are able to begin multiple small businesses based on a micro-loan program whereby funds are loaned to individuals who want to begin a business, who then pay it back so that another person may do the same: a peanut butter production business, a bead-stringing jewelry business to begin with (each require a little under $200 to get going). Leadership training for the Furaha leaders is made possible because of our generosity. And lunch is provided for 400 students every school day – this means they will have the caloric means to maintain attention and actually learn.
In return, we are the greater beneficiaries. We may be tempted to think that we are the only ones helping them. But the reality is they teach us a great deal – lessons we need to learn.
That’s how relationships work.
It is possible (but not necessarily likely) that over time Furaha could get these things going without outside help. But how many hundreds or even thousands of kids would lose out during that period? And how much would we lose out for not knowing them during that time?
Here’s the deal… We are family. We are the family members who were born where resources flow abundantly. Our brothers and sisters in Kenya were born into a resource drought. We don’t know how to do life in Kenya. They do. We wouldn’t know what to do to help them live abundantly in spite of their challenging circumstances. But they know how. What they don’t have are resources to realize their life potential.
We’re not their saviors, we’re their family. So let’s do what we can for the ones we can.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Beginning Relationships…
Before we headed to Huruma – Nairobi, Kenya’s second largest slum – we paid a visit to Steven Marori, Director of Kenya’s branch International Christian Ministries (based in Bakersfield). Awaiting our arrival were two of the four men we would get to know very well – Dan and Kerry – two of the founding members of Furaha Community Center. The agenda for our meeting was primarily to establish a relationship between the Furaha leaders and this ministry, which provides a variety of educational opportunities for Christian leaders. By the end of the meeting, we learned of an upcoming leadership seminar that my friend and GHC colleague, John Jackson, would be leading, and another seminar coming in November. We knew two things immediately: there was no way these young leaders could afford to go to either seminar, and that we wanted to get them there!
We made our way to Huruma. You know when you’re getting closer. The roads change to dirt from pavement. The structures shift from mostly sound-looking facilities to make-shift buildings constructed from wood, tin, and cement. Trash is everywhere – not because people don’t care, but because these streets are not serviced adequately. Open and flowing sewage ditches which, combined with the trash problem, create an unmistakable aroma. The streets were lined with stand after stand each marketing a one line of goods: socks, shirts, pants – each at a different store. Vegetables, chicken, grilled corn, goat head soup, goat leg soup, a butcher shop. You could find four of each of these stands on a block. You might even find some of the goods being sold of a blanket in the middle of an intersection.
Furaha Community Center is located right in the thick of Huruma. A sign painted on a sheet metal gate announces it’s location. As our mini-bus (think of a Toyota version of a VW Eurovan with 10 seats plus a driver) pulled up, we got out and were immediately welcomed by a large group of Furaha volunteers – some security, some social workers, some leaders. We walked down an alleyway to their offices and community room, where we were introduced to each other. These new friends are the ones responsible for making Furaha click day to day, providing education for 400 children on a dime, most of whom are orphans, a clinic for HIV+ women, and a limited-collection library that is used by many families in the slum.
After a short wait, we were escorted to the school area – a 20x60 commons surrounded by lean-to classrooms made with 2x4’s, plywood, and tin roofs. The commons was filled with the students awaiting our arrival. Mostly dressed in their uniforms (not required but clearly preferred by the students), the behavior we witnessed was remarkable. Certainly, there was excitement in the air – these kids knew guests from afar were arriving; guests that look quite different than your average Kenyan. But in spite of the hype, the children were incredibly well behaved (I’m thinking of my own kids’ elementary school lunch room and assemblies as reference). They were excited but calm, really welcoming but also respectful. We shook their hands, saying hello as they welcomed us to their school.
We were seated in front of them, while the school’s head teacher led a brief ceremony to welcome us to their school and city. They sang songs – and I mean they sang songs – that communicated their love of God and their joy to provide us hospitality. After the brief program, we toured each classroom where the students were ready to teach us a song and share their areas of discipline with us.
We also saw what we couldn’t see – hunger. There was no announcement letting everyone know that there would be no lunch that day. They never have lunch. That’s the problem. For them to do simply satisfactorily in school, they need calories – especially the second half of the day. Many of the kids just don’t get through the day (if they come back at all) because their bodies are simply giving out. A primary agenda of ours was to see if a feeding program would make a lasting difference for these kids. The truth is, food would make a massive difference for their future, because it would mean education. Everyone knows the phrase, give a man a fish and they’ll eat for a day, teach a man to fish and they’ll eat for the rest of their life. In this case, giving them a fish (beans, actually) is teaching them as well.
After lunch with the leaders (which we of course paid for), we discussed the agenda for the rest of the week before piling in the bus and heading to our hotel in Nairobi. We were all wiped out by early evening – the 10 hour time difference was catching up. My first impression: the center was living up to its name, which is Swahili means “Joy.”
We made our way to Huruma. You know when you’re getting closer. The roads change to dirt from pavement. The structures shift from mostly sound-looking facilities to make-shift buildings constructed from wood, tin, and cement. Trash is everywhere – not because people don’t care, but because these streets are not serviced adequately. Open and flowing sewage ditches which, combined with the trash problem, create an unmistakable aroma. The streets were lined with stand after stand each marketing a one line of goods: socks, shirts, pants – each at a different store. Vegetables, chicken, grilled corn, goat head soup, goat leg soup, a butcher shop. You could find four of each of these stands on a block. You might even find some of the goods being sold of a blanket in the middle of an intersection.
Furaha Community Center is located right in the thick of Huruma. A sign painted on a sheet metal gate announces it’s location. As our mini-bus (think of a Toyota version of a VW Eurovan with 10 seats plus a driver) pulled up, we got out and were immediately welcomed by a large group of Furaha volunteers – some security, some social workers, some leaders. We walked down an alleyway to their offices and community room, where we were introduced to each other. These new friends are the ones responsible for making Furaha click day to day, providing education for 400 children on a dime, most of whom are orphans, a clinic for HIV+ women, and a limited-collection library that is used by many families in the slum.
After a short wait, we were escorted to the school area – a 20x60 commons surrounded by lean-to classrooms made with 2x4’s, plywood, and tin roofs. The commons was filled with the students awaiting our arrival. Mostly dressed in their uniforms (not required but clearly preferred by the students), the behavior we witnessed was remarkable. Certainly, there was excitement in the air – these kids knew guests from afar were arriving; guests that look quite different than your average Kenyan. But in spite of the hype, the children were incredibly well behaved (I’m thinking of my own kids’ elementary school lunch room and assemblies as reference). They were excited but calm, really welcoming but also respectful. We shook their hands, saying hello as they welcomed us to their school.
We were seated in front of them, while the school’s head teacher led a brief ceremony to welcome us to their school and city. They sang songs – and I mean they sang songs – that communicated their love of God and their joy to provide us hospitality. After the brief program, we toured each classroom where the students were ready to teach us a song and share their areas of discipline with us.
We also saw what we couldn’t see – hunger. There was no announcement letting everyone know that there would be no lunch that day. They never have lunch. That’s the problem. For them to do simply satisfactorily in school, they need calories – especially the second half of the day. Many of the kids just don’t get through the day (if they come back at all) because their bodies are simply giving out. A primary agenda of ours was to see if a feeding program would make a lasting difference for these kids. The truth is, food would make a massive difference for their future, because it would mean education. Everyone knows the phrase, give a man a fish and they’ll eat for a day, teach a man to fish and they’ll eat for the rest of their life. In this case, giving them a fish (beans, actually) is teaching them as well.
After lunch with the leaders (which we of course paid for), we discussed the agenda for the rest of the week before piling in the bus and heading to our hotel in Nairobi. We were all wiped out by early evening – the 10 hour time difference was catching up. My first impression: the center was living up to its name, which is Swahili means “Joy.”
Welcome To Our Home
On our second day in Kenya, we went back to Furaha – our home base – from which we set out on a walking tour of the slum, with several stops along the way. The purpose of the day was to help us understand the environmental context which is home to somewhere between 350,000 to 800,000 people. Our first stop was the home of a couple who are doing their best to raise their children (and then some) as they struggled simply to survive. The father is HIV+, and is fighting TB. We later learned a remarkable thing about the man – he was still there. Most men leave their wives and children if they become infected with HIV. This one stayed, and was highly praised by the social worker who accompanied us. We would also later appreciate how nice this first home was. Even though it was a very simple 8x10 room, the dozen or so other homes shared a water spigot for cooking, a toilet that could flush (not quite like a Western toilet, however), and a bathing room with a spigot.
We visited the last home late in the day – the tenth or so such home visit. Like most of the others, the woman we got to know was HIV+. She was raising her two children (plus others) alone – her husband left years ago. Her particular dwelling was especially challenging. To get to her home, you simply followed an open trench sewage ditch flowing through Huruma. When it turned a corner, so did you. This sewage ditch runs along the outside wall of this woman’s home. It literally sits slightly above her home, as her place is built on an incline. Not only does she not have electricity, no running water, and no toilet, but when the rainy season comes, the sewage ditch overflows – you guessed it – right through her living room (which is basically her entire home). Try raising kids in that.
In the middle of the day we got to sit in on Furaha’s clinic for HIV+ women. After introductions were made, the women sang a few songs – partly for us, and partly for their mutual encouragement. The songs were songs of faith, courage, and battlecry – to educate more and more women about the dangers of HIV and the steps they can take to protect themselves. The leader of this session was a dynamic woman who is living with HIV herself. She told her story: “How was it that I became infected with HIV? I am a smart woman! I married a Christian man! I was sure he was faithful! I am a Christian! People like me don’t get HIV. But even though I am HIV+, I am not ashamed. I am proud. I am still alive. I stiff have life to live. And I want to help other HIV+ women live theirs, too.”
Once a woman is diagnosed as HIV+, their husbands leave them to fend for themselves because they do not want the stigma of being associated with the disease. Note: in the overwhelming majority of cases, they women are infected by their husbands who contract the disease from engaging unprotected sex with local prostitutes. These men leave their wives and children. They are often never seen or heard from ever again.
One difficult challenge Furaha is trying to meet deals with anti-retroviral drugs used to combat AIDS. For most, these drugs are free – provided by non-government organizations (NGO’s). We saw their delivery trucks during our walking tour. The drugs don’t work well, however, on an empty stomach. Most of these women barely cover rent and water. They might get a 6 oz. serving of what we would call a very dense, white, bland cornbread for the day. That’s it. And it’s not enough to allow the drugs to do their job. Furaha, therefore, provides milk and bread at their clinic, so that the women can take their drugs along with food.
Before we headed back to our hotel, we met again with the leaders of Furaha. We learned that the women diagnosed with HIV+ were often rejected by local churches because of their disease. Since I knew I would be leading a cluster meeting of local pastors in a couple of days, it became clear that this was certainly an area we needed to address.
How can you put into words such an experience such as we found walking around? You cannot see the endless rooftops of shanties. You cannot remember watching your every step as you navigate through garbage-laden streets and alleyways. You can’t smell the smell. You can’t see the faces of those who saw us and wondered what we were doing there. I never felt that we were in danger, especially since we were accompanied by Furaha volunteers wearing “Security” t-shirts. We certainly saw despair, but that’s not all we saw. We also saw much joy in the faces of children. We saw dedication in the eyes of the Furaha leadership. We heard hope in the voices of women living well who are also HIV+. These people are living in extreme poverty, but their spirits are not impoverished.
As a Westerner, I began to realize that I was going to be helped as much or more by them as I would help them in return.
We visited the last home late in the day – the tenth or so such home visit. Like most of the others, the woman we got to know was HIV+. She was raising her two children (plus others) alone – her husband left years ago. Her particular dwelling was especially challenging. To get to her home, you simply followed an open trench sewage ditch flowing through Huruma. When it turned a corner, so did you. This sewage ditch runs along the outside wall of this woman’s home. It literally sits slightly above her home, as her place is built on an incline. Not only does she not have electricity, no running water, and no toilet, but when the rainy season comes, the sewage ditch overflows – you guessed it – right through her living room (which is basically her entire home). Try raising kids in that.
In the middle of the day we got to sit in on Furaha’s clinic for HIV+ women. After introductions were made, the women sang a few songs – partly for us, and partly for their mutual encouragement. The songs were songs of faith, courage, and battlecry – to educate more and more women about the dangers of HIV and the steps they can take to protect themselves. The leader of this session was a dynamic woman who is living with HIV herself. She told her story: “How was it that I became infected with HIV? I am a smart woman! I married a Christian man! I was sure he was faithful! I am a Christian! People like me don’t get HIV. But even though I am HIV+, I am not ashamed. I am proud. I am still alive. I stiff have life to live. And I want to help other HIV+ women live theirs, too.”
Once a woman is diagnosed as HIV+, their husbands leave them to fend for themselves because they do not want the stigma of being associated with the disease. Note: in the overwhelming majority of cases, they women are infected by their husbands who contract the disease from engaging unprotected sex with local prostitutes. These men leave their wives and children. They are often never seen or heard from ever again.
One difficult challenge Furaha is trying to meet deals with anti-retroviral drugs used to combat AIDS. For most, these drugs are free – provided by non-government organizations (NGO’s). We saw their delivery trucks during our walking tour. The drugs don’t work well, however, on an empty stomach. Most of these women barely cover rent and water. They might get a 6 oz. serving of what we would call a very dense, white, bland cornbread for the day. That’s it. And it’s not enough to allow the drugs to do their job. Furaha, therefore, provides milk and bread at their clinic, so that the women can take their drugs along with food.
Before we headed back to our hotel, we met again with the leaders of Furaha. We learned that the women diagnosed with HIV+ were often rejected by local churches because of their disease. Since I knew I would be leading a cluster meeting of local pastors in a couple of days, it became clear that this was certainly an area we needed to address.
How can you put into words such an experience such as we found walking around? You cannot see the endless rooftops of shanties. You cannot remember watching your every step as you navigate through garbage-laden streets and alleyways. You can’t smell the smell. You can’t see the faces of those who saw us and wondered what we were doing there. I never felt that we were in danger, especially since we were accompanied by Furaha volunteers wearing “Security” t-shirts. We certainly saw despair, but that’s not all we saw. We also saw much joy in the faces of children. We saw dedication in the eyes of the Furaha leadership. We heard hope in the voices of women living well who are also HIV+. These people are living in extreme poverty, but their spirits are not impoverished.
As a Westerner, I began to realize that I was going to be helped as much or more by them as I would help them in return.
Safe House @ Kilamombongo
On our third day we headed into the countryside to see a feeding program in action. We arrived at a safe house on property outside of Kilamombonga. The 20+ girls who live at the site are all orphans. They all have tragic stories. Nobody finds a home here unless they have an awful story that puts them there.
In Africa in general, orphanages are a last resort option for kids who have lost their parents. If a child loses both parents, a relative usually will take him or her in. If there is no relative, a friend or guardian will usually step up to the plate. Unfortunately, the vulnerability of these children (as young as six) is sometimes taken advantage of. Molestation and even forced prostitution is not uncommon. This particular safe house gets such children out of harm’s way, nurturing them back to wholeness, paving the way for a solid future through education and support.
The school that was benefitting from a feeding program was not far from the safe house. The primary school was built by Del Monte foods, integrated into their property, adjacent to sub-standard living quarters they built for their non-living-wage employees. The leaders of the safe house are not exactly raving fans of Del Monte. They claim that the reason Del Monte only built a primary school is so that when a child is finished, they can go directly to the fields instead of moving on toward secondary school at a sizable expense. Also, Del Monte doesn’t pay a dime for the lunch program. It was suggested that this is because they know that a hungry child is an underperforming child who is more likely to become an employee because no other options exist. Furthermore, the living conditions put children at risk – many children have been molested and infected with HIV because their parents were not present to protect them – they were forced to work into the night when the children are most vulnerable.
The feeding program was a hit. From one massive kettle they fed 500 children from an efficient wood-burning oven/stove that was encased in ceramic tile. He kids were delighted to see us, and we thrilled to see themselves on a digital camera’s LCD screen.
While walking the grounds at the safe house, two of the Furaha leaders walked with me. They asked if my parents were still alive. I said yes, that my father was 75 years old and my mother was 73. They could not believe it. The average life expectancy in Huruma is 40! By their standards, I am an older man. This led to an interested conversation about why life expectancy is so much longer in the US than in Huruma. Where do you begin to answer that question?
By the day’s end, we were quite impressed with the Furaha leaders, the safe house, and the feeding program. But not so much with Del Monte. Think twice before you buy those pineapple spears…
In Africa in general, orphanages are a last resort option for kids who have lost their parents. If a child loses both parents, a relative usually will take him or her in. If there is no relative, a friend or guardian will usually step up to the plate. Unfortunately, the vulnerability of these children (as young as six) is sometimes taken advantage of. Molestation and even forced prostitution is not uncommon. This particular safe house gets such children out of harm’s way, nurturing them back to wholeness, paving the way for a solid future through education and support.
The school that was benefitting from a feeding program was not far from the safe house. The primary school was built by Del Monte foods, integrated into their property, adjacent to sub-standard living quarters they built for their non-living-wage employees. The leaders of the safe house are not exactly raving fans of Del Monte. They claim that the reason Del Monte only built a primary school is so that when a child is finished, they can go directly to the fields instead of moving on toward secondary school at a sizable expense. Also, Del Monte doesn’t pay a dime for the lunch program. It was suggested that this is because they know that a hungry child is an underperforming child who is more likely to become an employee because no other options exist. Furthermore, the living conditions put children at risk – many children have been molested and infected with HIV because their parents were not present to protect them – they were forced to work into the night when the children are most vulnerable.
The feeding program was a hit. From one massive kettle they fed 500 children from an efficient wood-burning oven/stove that was encased in ceramic tile. He kids were delighted to see us, and we thrilled to see themselves on a digital camera’s LCD screen.
While walking the grounds at the safe house, two of the Furaha leaders walked with me. They asked if my parents were still alive. I said yes, that my father was 75 years old and my mother was 73. They could not believe it. The average life expectancy in Huruma is 40! By their standards, I am an older man. This led to an interested conversation about why life expectancy is so much longer in the US than in Huruma. Where do you begin to answer that question?
By the day’s end, we were quite impressed with the Furaha leaders, the safe house, and the feeding program. But not so much with Del Monte. Think twice before you buy those pineapple spears…
Old Story, New Paradigm
On this particular morning, we arrived at Furaha with time to kill before I was to lead the first ever pastor’s gathering in Huruma (daunting). After talking with a volunteer security guy named Patrick, we decided to take a hike about Huruma. I think he kind of got a kick walking around with me – I stood out like a circus clown – quite a novelty. We looked at various shops, I met some of his friends, and we ended up at the dirt lot where he and his friends practice soccer. Most of the team was waiting at the field. The coach wasn’t there yet, and he was the only one who owned a ball. So they waited. And waited. What else are you going to do in an area with 70% unemployment?
With no soccer happening, we headed back to get to my meeting on time, which didn’t really matter because we were on “Kenya time” – our 10:00 meeting eventually began at just before 11:00 AM.
While I was hanging around with Patrick, a man came with a bag over his should and stood in the middle of the intersection in from of Furaha Community Center. He cleared the trash from a small area, and then he laid down a large piece of cloth, upon which he set out shirts for sale. Patrick informed me that the shirts were “hot.” Clothes like these are donated by the ton to poor countries like Kenya. When they arrive, they are sometimes (if not often) confiscated by unethical airport workers, who sell them to a middle man who sells them to a guy like the one I was watching. In other words, stuff given from the US is sold to the very people we’re trying to lift out of poverty. This reality made me glad that we were working under the radar of those who would take advantage of our generosity for their personal gain, at the expense of those who need it most.
At the pastors meeting, I shared with them my background, education, and experience working with clusters of pastors as a mentor. Then I dove into a teaching on Jesus’ interaction with a woman at a well in Samaria. The power of this story is that is shows Jesus breaking a ton of cultural barriers that would have prevented him from doing such a thing. This woman has a reputation. This woman was likely shunned by her community. She was of a heritage that made her an object of disgust in the eyes of Jews. Yet Jesus, in spite of all of this, initiated conversation with her, and even disclosed his identity as the Messiah to her – the first person according to John’s gospel.
I chose this text because of the discrimination toward HIV+ women I had heard about. These pastors needed to be reminded that the Jesus they proclaim was one who went across the boundaries in order to reach people. If we are to emulate Jesus, we must do the same. This meeting also gave an opportunity for the clinic leaders to share their experience and opinion with these pastors – another relationship created, and another breakthrough initiated.
The meeting and the message were well received. Those in attendance lingered so long, in fact, that I was asked to dismiss them so that they would feel comfortable leaving!
The rest of the day was spent visiting business owners who got their start through the micro-loan program administered by Furaha, and funded by supporting churches from the US. They currently have over a dozen small business in the process, which means that more business will be funded in the future as the current ones pay back their loans. We saw a doll and jewelry maker, a vegetable stand owner (sell out daily), and a seamstress with numerous employees.
In addition to these businesses, the AIDS clinic run by Furaha also has a business that funds their program – a soap company. They have the desire to launch additional businesses as well.
Later that same day, we traveled across the city to meet with one of Nairobi’s leading pastors – Kenya’s version of Rick Warren. Our goal was to feel him out on ways to network the Furaha leaders with him and his colleagues. This pastor was leary of us for sure, and assumed that we were the typical White Saviors from the West, present to satisfy our own guilt complexes rather than actually do any lasting good. Even though we tried to express that we were basically following a model he affirmed, the meeting didn’t result in much.
We ended the day treating the Furaha Four to dinner at our hotel. And then called it a night.
With no soccer happening, we headed back to get to my meeting on time, which didn’t really matter because we were on “Kenya time” – our 10:00 meeting eventually began at just before 11:00 AM.
While I was hanging around with Patrick, a man came with a bag over his should and stood in the middle of the intersection in from of Furaha Community Center. He cleared the trash from a small area, and then he laid down a large piece of cloth, upon which he set out shirts for sale. Patrick informed me that the shirts were “hot.” Clothes like these are donated by the ton to poor countries like Kenya. When they arrive, they are sometimes (if not often) confiscated by unethical airport workers, who sell them to a middle man who sells them to a guy like the one I was watching. In other words, stuff given from the US is sold to the very people we’re trying to lift out of poverty. This reality made me glad that we were working under the radar of those who would take advantage of our generosity for their personal gain, at the expense of those who need it most.
At the pastors meeting, I shared with them my background, education, and experience working with clusters of pastors as a mentor. Then I dove into a teaching on Jesus’ interaction with a woman at a well in Samaria. The power of this story is that is shows Jesus breaking a ton of cultural barriers that would have prevented him from doing such a thing. This woman has a reputation. This woman was likely shunned by her community. She was of a heritage that made her an object of disgust in the eyes of Jews. Yet Jesus, in spite of all of this, initiated conversation with her, and even disclosed his identity as the Messiah to her – the first person according to John’s gospel.
I chose this text because of the discrimination toward HIV+ women I had heard about. These pastors needed to be reminded that the Jesus they proclaim was one who went across the boundaries in order to reach people. If we are to emulate Jesus, we must do the same. This meeting also gave an opportunity for the clinic leaders to share their experience and opinion with these pastors – another relationship created, and another breakthrough initiated.
The meeting and the message were well received. Those in attendance lingered so long, in fact, that I was asked to dismiss them so that they would feel comfortable leaving!
The rest of the day was spent visiting business owners who got their start through the micro-loan program administered by Furaha, and funded by supporting churches from the US. They currently have over a dozen small business in the process, which means that more business will be funded in the future as the current ones pay back their loans. We saw a doll and jewelry maker, a vegetable stand owner (sell out daily), and a seamstress with numerous employees.
In addition to these businesses, the AIDS clinic run by Furaha also has a business that funds their program – a soap company. They have the desire to launch additional businesses as well.
Later that same day, we traveled across the city to meet with one of Nairobi’s leading pastors – Kenya’s version of Rick Warren. Our goal was to feel him out on ways to network the Furaha leaders with him and his colleagues. This pastor was leary of us for sure, and assumed that we were the typical White Saviors from the West, present to satisfy our own guilt complexes rather than actually do any lasting good. Even though we tried to express that we were basically following a model he affirmed, the meeting didn’t result in much.
We ended the day treating the Furaha Four to dinner at our hotel. And then called it a night.
It's The Relationships, Stupid!
It’s All About Relationships
Our final day at Furaha was all about relationships. It started with a tremendous program where each class performed a song, recited a poem, or danced. The Four brought in a group of young men who self taught themselves folk drumming and dancing, which they performed.
The program was nice. The lunch which we provided was also nice (these kids were hungry!). But the most fun aspect was just talking with our new friends.
Tabson, a pastor to the children, had lots to talk about along the lines of church, faith, and everyday life.
We laughed with the Four, ribbing each other in ways that can happen only between friends.
I talked with Dan about some real-life stuff that was hard, and we discovered that our respective paths had commonality.
Sure, it’s good to know that we left enough cash behind to start two new businesses – a peanut butter operation and a bead jewelry shop. We were delighted to leave enough money to make sure all of the Furaha leaders could attend the training event led by my friend. Of course, it’s awesome to realize that the funds we will provide for a food program will make a huge difference for the orphans in Huruma.
But it’s the relationship that matters.
In every home we visited, we were profusely thanked for coming. They were sincerely glad we came to see them where they lived. I asked one of the Four about this. They simply stated that our presence gave them hope because somebody was there, to meet them, to know them and their story. It somehow connected them to a world beyond the slums. It somehow communicated to them that they were of value.
No tourists swing through Huruma during their safari adventures. Nobody notices the extreme poor. So when we showed up, it meant more than a large check. Our presence was a gift in itself. A priceless gift that we in the radically-individualized, epidemically lonely West struggle to understand. We simply cannot underestimate the power of presence.
The truth of the matter, however, is that I took home much more than I left behind. These guys taught me something about sacrifice. The women living on less than $8/week taught me something about materialism. The HIV+ women taught me something about perseverance and courage. The children taught me something about joy. The reason this is true is because we are not the saviors, but that we are united by the same creator who calls us all children so that we can call each other brothers and sisters.
To be with them is to reunite with family. To support them is simply helping kin in their time of need. To abandon them is to walk away from the opportunity to be whole.
Our final day at Furaha was all about relationships. It started with a tremendous program where each class performed a song, recited a poem, or danced. The Four brought in a group of young men who self taught themselves folk drumming and dancing, which they performed.
The program was nice. The lunch which we provided was also nice (these kids were hungry!). But the most fun aspect was just talking with our new friends.
Tabson, a pastor to the children, had lots to talk about along the lines of church, faith, and everyday life.
We laughed with the Four, ribbing each other in ways that can happen only between friends.
I talked with Dan about some real-life stuff that was hard, and we discovered that our respective paths had commonality.
Sure, it’s good to know that we left enough cash behind to start two new businesses – a peanut butter operation and a bead jewelry shop. We were delighted to leave enough money to make sure all of the Furaha leaders could attend the training event led by my friend. Of course, it’s awesome to realize that the funds we will provide for a food program will make a huge difference for the orphans in Huruma.
But it’s the relationship that matters.
In every home we visited, we were profusely thanked for coming. They were sincerely glad we came to see them where they lived. I asked one of the Four about this. They simply stated that our presence gave them hope because somebody was there, to meet them, to know them and their story. It somehow connected them to a world beyond the slums. It somehow communicated to them that they were of value.
No tourists swing through Huruma during their safari adventures. Nobody notices the extreme poor. So when we showed up, it meant more than a large check. Our presence was a gift in itself. A priceless gift that we in the radically-individualized, epidemically lonely West struggle to understand. We simply cannot underestimate the power of presence.
The truth of the matter, however, is that I took home much more than I left behind. These guys taught me something about sacrifice. The women living on less than $8/week taught me something about materialism. The HIV+ women taught me something about perseverance and courage. The children taught me something about joy. The reason this is true is because we are not the saviors, but that we are united by the same creator who calls us all children so that we can call each other brothers and sisters.
To be with them is to reunite with family. To support them is simply helping kin in their time of need. To abandon them is to walk away from the opportunity to be whole.
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