The Surge before the Storm

Why have a plan when having no plan makes things so much more interesting?

My original plan for the month of August was to spend every waking moment doing the following:

1. Making lesson plans and other classroom preparations
2. Learning Swahili from a book

That sounds boring, doesn’t it?

Instead of that, in the past couple of weeks, here is what I have been doing:

I went to a final profession of vows for 4 Capuchin Friars (Capuchins are a type of Franciscan). That sounds interesting, but what happened the night before was more interesting. I stayed up until the early hours of the morning polishing off a bottle of whiskey with two Capuchin brothers in their dorm room, discussing the legendary yet mysterious land of America and the land of the Luo tribe of Kenya (which is where Obama’s grandmother came from and these two Capuchins). For those who are worried, we weren’t intoxicated (we woke up the next morning without headaches), but we were behaving like three typical African males: enjoying life with good drinks and good friends. In fact, that seemed to be the resounding theme of our discussion on the land of the Luo—they are known throughout Kenya for seizing the day without ever thinking (i.e., worrying) about tomorrow. For example, you can tell who is a Luo at a bar, because instead of ordering one beer at a time, he will order 8 beers and proudly display them at his table. Or, from personal experience, a Luo might also stay up until early in the morning drinking whiskey with friends, even though he will take his final vows to be a Capuchin Friar the next day at 10 in the morning.

Here is a picture of one of the Luo brothers who is named Charles or, more commonly, “Obama”:

Here is a picture of the 4 Capuchin Friars professing their vows the next day: 

The ceremony lasted for about 4 hours (although it started over an hour late), and the church was so packed that there were almost 50 people who had to stand outside. After the ceremony, the celebration continued with feasting and dancing until midnight.

The day before, Fr. Chris celebrated a wedding mass in the same church. This was another 3-4 hour ceremony, although the singing, dancing, and laughter was so enthralling that the mass only seemed to last for an hour. It is refreshing to see people truly celebrating their faith. At the end of the ceremony, Fr. Chris decided to call the male grandparents from both sides of the families to come up to dance together as a sign of unity. Below is a video of it (wait until the end of it so that you can hear the level of engagement and excitement of the congregation (sorry it is difficult to hear the music…)):

The next week, two college students, both of which work at St. Bridget's Friary where I live, asked me to attend a funeral in the remote area where they grew up. The ceremony was at the home of one of the college students. Her home is nestled atop a hill where you get a panorama of inexplicably beautiful rolling hills filled earthen houses, which are surrounded by farms of coffee, mango, maize, beans, and banana. Here are some pictures of one of the local ladies on her farm:

The funeral happened in typical Kenyan style: with singing, dancing, mounds of simple foods from the local farms, and spirited speeches (although all of this was a bit more somber than a usual Kenyan religious celebration).

Before the funeral, I had the pleasure of eating my lunch with the elders inside of the house. The meal was Githeri, which is a mix of white maize, beans, and a few chopped veggies. Here is a picture of the Githeri (notice that this is what the entire meal consists of):

While eating, I saw the picture below on the wall. Analyze this photograph for a second:

If one does the calculations correctly, 2006 minus 1885 is 121 years. Hmmm? I thought this was absurd. I inquired about the photo, and I discovered that this man was the builder and owner of the home I was in, and he happened to be the ancestor of what seemed to be everybody at the event. Already, this man has 365 descendents from just him and his one wife. Then, I said it is not possible that this man lived to be 121 years. Benedict, one of the college students that I came with and who is a descendent of this man, retorted that he was a farmer who grew enormously strong and healthy with his constant labor. He spent his life producing coffee and other equatorial crops, along with walking hundreds of kilometers to Mombasa with his crops carried by donkeys and cattle in order to sell his produce. The man never even saw a doctor; but, when sick, would simply go to his “shamba” (meaning “bush” or “farm”) and find a few herbs to take as tea. His diet was composed mainly of fruits, vegetables, and grain, but rarely did he eat meat. He lived as a servant to his family, with simplicity and faithfulness and without a drop of alcohol, yet he was constantly jovial. For these reasons, he lived to be 121 years.

It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe he actually lived to be 121 years, but what does matter is this man lived an incredible joyful, fruitful, prolonged life, and the reason why he lived so long is because he lived so simply and humbly—remaining content with just his basic needs being met and with constantly serving his family with strenuous manual labor. If I have discovered one thing in Kenya, it is this: it does not take much to be happy—in fact, too much will make you unhappy. It sounds like Stephen, who I think should be taken as a hero and a model, completely understood this. 

Here is one last story. Last Thursday morning, I left Nairobi for a small rural town known as Kithimani in order to attend an ordination. I was told by Fr. Christopher that we would be returning the following day. By now, I have learned enough to know that we would NOT be returning the following day.

We arrived on Thursday immediately after the ceremony, which is something Fr. Chris actually planned and which meant we were there only for the feasting and the dancing. That’s exactly what we did. Here is a picture of me dancing/posing with the kids:

Here is a video of Fr. Daniel, the newly ordained priest, and the rest of the congregation dancing: 

That night, we decided to stay until Saturday for Fr. Daniel’s first mass, which would take place at his parents' home. This left Friday to be used as we pleased, so we traveled to Masinga dam, which consists of a massive hydroelectric facility used to help power Nairobi. Here is a picture of us at the lake (Fr. Daniel is the one on the phone... I am the one in typical American attire...):

The mass on Saturday was an all day affair. Fr. Daniel, Fr. Chris, and myself drove to the house where the mass would be held. Two hundred meters outside of the house, we were met by an energetic crowd who took Fr. Daniel out of the car and danced and sung around him in a procession all the way to the vicinity of the house, which is where the place had been set up for mass. Here is a picture of the procession:

If I discussed what happened at Fr. Daniel’s first mass, it would just be a broken record of what I have said before (singing, dancing, and spirited speeches...). Instead, I will just say that I met a few children and played with them throughout the duration of the event. Here are two of the kids:

After lunch, Fr. Chris decided he would sneak out of the event, so that the people would not demand that he stay until the next day in order to continue the celebrations and discussions.

Fr. Chris and I left the event with his sister’s son and daughter. Therefore, we had to take them home. Once we arrived at the house, his sister and her husband, Patrick, were there. They told Fr. Chris that I should stay with them tonight, so I could experience a night with a rural farming family, and then I could go back to St. Bridget by public transportation. I thought this would be nice, but I hadn’t begun lesson planning yet, so I tried to come up with an excuse. I utterly failed… and good thing, too! I ended up staying Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, because they kept on adamantly urging me to stay, and I couldn't resist.

For those three days, I went without electricity, without running water, and with 100% pure Kenyan, organically and locally farmed, delicious home cooked food. They even slaughtered one of the chickens running freely outside for me, so that it could be cooked immediately for my lunch!

Patrick, the father of the family, is a teacher; but, as typical of most Kenyan educators, is only paid 20,000 shillings a month, which is a mere $250. This means that Patrick must also farm on his 8-acre shamba in order to provide for the simple life of his family. Here are a few facts about this Catholic family: they live in a house built by their own hands with bricks made out of the dirt from around their house, they still use bulls to pull their plough, they drink fresh milk from a couple of dairy cows, they eat fresh eggs from their several chickens, they eat meat only about once a week, a large percentage of their grains and vegetables come from their shamba, they have never owned an automobile, they have an outhouse, they bathe with a bucket and a sponge, and they are incredibly close due to the fact that they cook and eat every meal together, clean the house together, farm together, play “football” together, and sit around their lantern at night and talk and pray together.

Imagine spending three days with such a family! How could one pass up such an opportunity?

Along with participating in all of the daily activities that I discussed above, I had the opportunity to visit the school where Patrick teaches at (and where his son and daughters go to school), to attend mass at the local church, and to travel around the local area to visit some friends.

Here is a slideshow of the visit. Note that it starts with the mass on Sunday, then goes to the visit to my friend's house who was back home from her studies to become a nun in Germany, and ends with photos of Patrick's house and family:

The surge of traveling and experiencing Kenyan life is coming to a close, as I am gearing up to start teaching at Pumwani Secondary School next to one of the slums in Nairobi. I suppose now it is time to start planning for teaching; or, better yet, should I even plan at all?

The Man With(out) a Plan

In Africa, things don’t always go as planned. In fact, it is rare to even have a plan…

Our Mombasa trip didn’t go as planned.

Before we left for Mombasa, the largest city on the coast of Kenya, Fr. Chris told me that it would be a relaxing 6 hour drive. This is not how it happened. On the way to Mombasa, we stopped for a free lunch at a small Catholic school that was nestled in a rural village. To get to this rural village, we had to drive for thirty minutes on a treacherous dirt/rock/mud road. While the lunch at the Catholic school was pleasant, the consequence of the side trip wasn’t. On the way back, as we traveled on the treacherous dirt/rock/mud road, one of our tires was punctured and became flat. That was nothing—we simply replaced the flat tire with the spare donut and continued on our route.

When we reached the first mid-sized town, Mtito Adei, Fr. Chris decided to have a mechanic fix the flat tire, so that we would not have to continue driving on the spare. The mechanic told Fr. Chris that the tube inside of the flat tire had been punctured too many times and couldn’t be repaired (this was the mechanic’s first lie). Therefore, he said that he would have to give him a “new” (second lie) tire that was tubeless. Fr. Chris accepted this and told the mechanic to begin (big mistake). As I observed this, I felt a growing need to intervene, but I was cautious since I am a novice at Kenyan argumentation and, to top it off, I am a Mzungu. When the mechanic replaced the flat with the “new” tire, I analyzed the “new” tire and noticed that its tread was more than half worn and there had been a gash in the sidewall that had been melted back together. This gave me my motivation to intervene, so I informed Fr. Chris and the mechanic. This led to a 30-45 minute argument between the mechanic and Fr. Chris. In the end, the mechanic won: not only did he get 2,500 Shillings (which is 5 times as much as the work was worth) but he also kept our flat tire that had full tread and a tube that was by all means fixable.

Forty-five minutes down the road, our “new” tire was flat. This time, we stopped at another mechanic, but we were a little more cautious (I had no reservations about intervening as soon as a problem arose). This time, we paid 150 Shillings and went away with our “new” tire in good working condition.

We left Nairobi at 10:30 A.M., and we arrived in Mombasa at about 10:30 P.M., making our trip more than double the expected time. After this drive, I was exhausted and ready for bed. This is where the fun began. First, Fr. Chris had stated before that we would stay at his cousin’s house, which would mean that our lodging and our food would be free. However, once we arrived, Fr. Chris didn’t know where his cousin lived, so he called him. The cousin never picked up. Therefore, we had to start searching for lodging. We stopped at 5 places around the outskirts of Mombasa before we found a hotel that was cheap enough. The hotel cost 500 Shillings a night, which is $7.50. After I killed the mammoth spiders and the beetles in the bathroom, the place really wasn’t that bad. I finally got to rest a little after midnight.

The next morning, Fr. Chris called his cousin, only to find out that we wouldn’t be able to stay in his place this week. In the end, Fr. Chris stayed with some priests at a church rectory, Joseph and I stayed at a decent hotel (which was $25 a night for the two of us), and Rhoda stayed with a friend in Mombasa. After the first day, the trip turned out to be a great time, although it cost double than what Fr. Chris told me (I used some of my money from teaching in Houston to pay for the trip).

Instead of boring you with written words about the trip, I will show you the trip in a slideshow:

Here’s my conclusion about Mombasa:

When I entered Mombasa for the first time, the most apparent aspect of the city was the fact that the majority of the people were traditional Muslims. Mosques filled with worshippers and men discussing were sprinkled on what seemed to be every block, the sound of the prayers broadcasted over megaphones from the mosques roared through the streets throughout the entire day, and countless men wore their traditional garments with their taqiyah (cap) while the women were covered from head to toe with only small slits in their clothing for their eyes. When you are in the city, you cannot help but think about the faith of the Mombasa people, because the presence of their faith permeates the entire city through and through.

I took the most from the prayer life of the Muslims. As you probably know, they kneel down to pray five times a day. I think this is a brilliant idea. It takes a strong, committed Christian to have such a prayer life. I feel it is too easy for us to lose connection with God and with the reflection necessary to lead a purposive life. Yet, if you commit to praying five times a day, you are giving yourself this time for reflection and, with such consistency, you are making prayer an integral part of your daily life.

Since their faith is so deeply woven into the heart of their lifestyle, it draws the community together, which is exactly what I saw in the small Christian communities in rural Kenya. However, I think it is difficult to achieve such a sense of community in large cities (such as a city the size of Mombasa). This sense of community, which comes with praying and discussing together and with keeping their mosques at the center of their lives (not just weekly but daily), allows their faith to be vibrantly preserved.


In case you are curious, now that I am back in Nairobi, I am focusing on a few things:

1. Learning Swahili so that I can have the basics down to help the students while I am teaching. I am using a computer program when I am not learning from the locals.

2. Looking through what I will teach at Pumwani, so that I can start preparing lessons.

3. Getting adjusted to Nairobi by exploring the city. I am starting to develop relationships with some people living in Nairobi, and I am still traveling with Fr. Chris as he conducts masses and attends events.

4. Eventually, I will go to the rural area to help Fr. Chris’ family on their small farm.

5. Above all, I am growing a beard! Since my students are not that much younger than I am, and since the beard makes me look several years older, it will place a further age gap between us. This is important, because many Kenyan girls want to marry a white man, especially because it would mean citizenship to a Western country...

I am waiting in great anticipation for the school year to start, as this will be a time for tremendous impact. Despite this, I understand the month of August will be necessary for preparing me for the classroom.