Farewell to Kenya....for now by Rudy Miller

Within a few hours Kate and I will be boarding our flight back to Norfolk. We are beginning to be concerned as to whether our plane will be on time, will we make our connections or get a comfortable seat. Our minds are already detaching from the reality of the past two months in Kenya.

Only our emotional good byes with Kenyan friends restores the reality of the present. We need to remind ourselves our friends are not getting on the homeward flight. No….they are staying to fight the good fight! Its times like this that makes us remember….

Mother Joyce greeting Emmanuel good morning in his new home, then changing his diaper.

Anita, at Mutomo Hospital, wondering how she will bring malnourished baby Mumbua back to health and keep her that way.

Ruth, Director of the Joy Home, receiving her third phone call of the day, pleading with her to please admit another at-risk child.

Simon’s impassioned prayer for his health.

Teacher Matrina rushing home to make a meal for several of the Allamano school children who have no meal or home for the evening.

Cliff, a medical officer in the Korogocho slum, trying to arrange a $3.00 bus fare for a patient needing life saving surgery at Nazareth Hospital.

Will we ever have the patience or fortitude of our Kenyan friends? Perhaps God is using these folks to change our hectic lives.

   

Mutumo's Children by Rudy Miller

For the past four years Kate and I have been drawn to Mutomo, Kenya. We are not certain why. It’s remote; 5 ½ hours from Nairobi, hot, arid and challenging to our U.S. comfort zone…..sporadic  electricity and no hot water! Yet we continue to return.

In the work of fighting HIV/AIDS Mutomo Hospital is famous. It has one of the highest percentages of children inflicted with HIV in Kenya.  841 children are under treatment at Mutomo;  47% of all their patients.

We began our visit to Mutomo Mission Hospital in the Pediatrics ward. Face after face, child after child cries for help. Duncan 6 months old, 5.0 lbs, Mary 1year old, 11 lbs. Seventeen children fill the ward struggling for life in the midst of malnutrition and HIV. We sat with the children and their guardians, we touched them but there was little we could do other than listen.

The next day we visited four homes and distributed food provided by Tree of Lives. All the sites were very remote and desolate. No food was obvious at any of the sites. Some folks were planting but the last harvest was long gone. At all homes couples were missing…..husbands or wives were dead or had left. Yet, there was an abundance of children, we greeted a total of 23 children. School was not a priority for those seeking only food or water for the day.

On our last evening we shared dinner with our Mutomo hosts. Anita, Sr. Mary and Sr. Bridget. Each are professional healthcare workers who manage the hospital. As each described their journey to Mutomo they all agreed they had only planned to stay 2 to 3 year.  Yet, 5 to 15 years later they were still there, hard at work, drawn by the same hand of our Lord who also draws us back!

You can help support this great cause. Visit www.treeoflives.org to learn more and click here to donate now.

Lawrence by Dan Magee

A week ago Monday, I met Lawrence in the hospital while making rounds with Pastoral Counselor Vinton.  He was tiny and frail.  Having been born HIV+, he never had extended health, and was a regular patient in the hospital over the years.  

We met and talked for a few minutes.  The strength and determination behind his eyes shone through clearly.  He may be in here right now, like many times before, but he had things to do, and a life to get on with.  After we left, Vinton told me a little more about his situation, confirming that Lawrence took life in stride and did not let it get him down. 

A little later in the day, we were walking down a ward, and through the open space, we saw striding down the opposite ward a very purposeful column.  They turned out to be Lawrence’s main teacher, the school principal, and an armed guard escorting them (big rifle on his shoulder).  It turns out that there is a very strict schedule for the taking of end-of-term exams for the students here.  If the exams are not completed before the final date, there is no credit granted for that year’s work, and the student must take that year’s classes over again in order to proceed to the next level.

Lawrence is 17 years old.  The exams to be taken and passed would allow him to proceed to University level.  Vinton advised this is unusual progress for many students, a tribute to Lawrence’s academic ability and desire to succeed with his education.  Further he said, it is highly unusual for a student with Lawrence’s medical condition that took him out of school so often for treatment and recuperation at home and in the hospital, not to have been held back for a school year at any time.

We passed by the group a couple more times that day.  I took great interest in the work that went into creating a spot for Lawrence to take his exam.  The beds in his room all lay flat – no back support for him to sit up.  No desk surface for him to write his answers.  They moved from ward to ward and tried various pieces of furniture before he was finally propped into a sitting position with pen and book in hand. 

The next couple days at the hospital, we saw the group: Lawrence taking his exam, alone in the room, the guard keeping watch, the teacher or principal nearby.  Apparently, the exams took three full days to finish.  Vinton told me everyone receives the results of their exams when they are posted in the newspaper sometime in December or January.  Pass or fail, everybody knows; many before the students themselves. 

Last night, Vinton told me that Lawrence passed away over the weekend.  I cried.  

Sounds of Nazareth by Rudy Miller

Nazareth Hospital comes alive at 7AM every morning. Evening medical staff gives way to the day shift, beds and medications are prepared and the outpatient department opens for business. Last week, as I walked by the hospital kitchen at 7AM, I was taken by a sound……the kitchen staff was  singing…..”What a friend we have in Jesus.”

Nazareth Hospital’s vision statement reads…”witnessing Christ through a healing ministry offering holistic care.” Yet, vision and song are only significant if the words are lived out in the lives of people. Most Kenyan’s view of Christianity is not bound by denomination. They see their relationship with Christ as relevant at 7AM as on Sunday morning. I believe that is incarnational living.

Every day three Pastoral Counselors begin their medical rounds at Nazareth Hospital.  Each counselor is trained to bring compassionate care to medical healing. I spoke with Vinton, one of the counselors, who spoke of a mother who had just lost her first baby at birth. A shock in any culture yet extremely significant in Kenya. Vinton calmly spoke of praying with the mother and her family and giving them the hope of future children and family. Although he was tempted to flee from the grief, he turned the moment into one of encouragement.

Five years ago Tree of Lives established and continues to financially support Pastoral Counseling at Nazareth Hospital. Recently the program has been expanded by training local church members to deal with grief and depression in the midst of hospitalizations.

The kitchen staff is not unique to Nazareth Hospital.  All departments begin their day with worship and prayer.  What an inspiration to the patients they serve and a true example to me of living out the Christian life.

You can help support this great cause. Visit www.treeoflives.org to learn more and click here to donate now.

Children Raising Children by Jeanne Perin

It was a sunny day in the slum of Limuru yesterday. Betty and I were with Rachael, an HIV nurse, and Hannah, a Community Helper, a volunteer role vital to the work the clinic does in people’s homes. The four of us were  gingerly walking down a long, rocky, and clay-packed path with local children shouting “How are you?” at us.  As we neared the bottom of the incline, we came to a lovely garden where our client, Elizabeth, was hoeing. It was lush and meticulously kept and put our small backyard garden in Norfolk quite to shame.

She finished quickly when she saw us and led us around a building to her small apartment. What came into view around the corner was a tree with a ragged blanket under it where four distressed young children were seated. The oldest, about four, was holding and patting his 8-month-old or so little sister who was crying inconsolably. A younger brother sat next to him looking perplexed and unhappy while another baby girl sat crying with tears and more smeared on her face. Her pink jacket was wet with tears, the rest of her was soaked as well, and the entire sight made my heart stop and begin to break. My arms however, were immobilized. The impulse to pick up one of them was thwarted by the thought of getting wet and dirty if I touched them. I wasn’t up to their rescue, but fortunately,  Rachael and Hannah were. They each chose one and cleaned them as best they could. The smallest girl was tied on her big brother‘s back with a chukka  (all-purpose shawl ), and they gave the other girl to Elizabeth,  who was her neighbor, a familiar face. With the babies quiet, we convened in Elizabeth’s small but neat living room and Racheal conducted the interview, checking her progress with HIV and the ARV’s (antiretroviral) medications she is taking.

As has happened repeatedly since coming to Kenya, I’m humbled by my own inadequacy, the way I live out my own culture being too small to fully embrace a different one.  If humbling is what I need, as I suspect it is, then this experience was very constructive.  

And what about the children? Elizabeth told us that the parents left the three littlest ones in the care of the four-year-old.  The reason isn’t known, but it’s a common sight to see very young children put in charge of infants while the mom or both parents work or beg for food. The family is on my prayer list, and that’s the best I can do for them. Which brings me to the point of this blog – to be here effectively, we have to give up the notion to fix problems and instead, do what we can to help and not hurt and leave the rest to God. He doesn’t have a culture problem, and if I’m patient and trusting, he will help me grow out of mine.

You can help support this great cause. Visit www.treeoflives.org to learn more and click here to donate now.

Dancing at Joy by Valena Hoy

I’ve always thought of Joy as an emotion that is experienced, but here in Kenya, it is a place you can actually encounter.  Last night I had an overnight at the Joy Home where 20 precious children with tragic histories have a bright future.

After helping cook dinner with the Mama’s for a bit, I ventured into the dining room where upbeat Christian music was playing and the children were dancing…and smiling…and laughing.  I had literally walked into a place…a location of Joy.

Victor, one of our young boys, bounced right in front of me and grabbed my hand…and we danced…and smiled….and laughed…in this place of Joy.

“The Joy of the Lord is our strength.” Nehemiah 8:10


You can help support this great cause. Visit www.treeoflives.org to learn more and click here to donate now.

Songs of Praise for Kenyan Schools by Sally I'Anson

I can say with great assurance that my day, yesterday, spent walking through a Kenyan slum, was one of the best days of my life.  I was blessed over and over and over again.  Last, week I spent a day with Ann, from  the Holy Family Center and Jean, a community Health Worker in Kawaidah doing home visits in that community.  They arranged for me to go to two schools within the community.  This was a big favor as Mzungu are typically not invited. 

As Ann and I wound our way deep into the community to meet Jean her cell phone rang.  The ring tone is Michael Bolton’s remake of “Lean on Me.”  To each other’s  surprise we both began singing loudly and clapping to the beat and smiling broadly while tipping our faces up to soak in the sunshine and fun we were having together in spite of the grim realities of our surroundings.  I knew right then God was with us and was asking us to lean on him in his strength and glory no matter what we would encounter.

I was welcomed warmly by the deputy headmaster at the brand new Kawaidah Primary School.  He allowed me to observe part of a grade 8 English lesson and all of a grade 8 social studies lesson on the sources of revenue for the Kenyan government.  The classroom was large and the students were attentive, respectful and smartly dressed in their gray and blue uniforms and leather school shoes.  What I enjoyed most about the civics lesson was the teacher constantly and quite enthusiastically asking the students after each of his statements “Isn’t it?”  and “Are we together on this?” It was quite funny.  After exiting the classroom building into the school yard I was swarmed by more than one hundred elementary aged students pushing and squirming to get a hand close enough so that I could touch it.  I felt like God was dumping a full bucket of his love straight on the top of my head.  I was laughing and smiling at these children and marveling at their fascination with my skin and hair. 

My new sisters in Christ and I then headed for the Joy Pot Primary School in the heart of the slum.  It is a private school costing 600 shillings per month (roughly $6).  Students must provide their own uniforms and pay fees for books (which they can share).  This school was started by one man and began with only grades 1-3.  It became very popular quickly and parents asked him to add grades 4-7 right away.  The Joy Pot school is nothing more than a series of blue corrugated metal roofed wooden shacks strung together on a patch of dirt.  I estimated each classroom to be not more than 10’ x 10’ and classes ranged from 22 to 42 students in grade 2.  The students sat quietly smiling 2 or 3 to a narrow bench attached to a 8” board used for a writing surface.  Their uniforms were tattered and they kept their sweaters and hats on despite the stifling heat. 

In each of the 3 classes  I visited the students would greet me in unison then the teacher would have me come up to sit or stand next to her so they could sing me one or two Christian songs, followed by the teacher presenting a 5 minute lesson and then students would answer a question or two about the teaching.  I tried hard not to cry in front of the students when they sang because it was just so incredibly moving and beautiful with each child singing as loudly as they could and using the hand motions to act out the words.  

In this particular school they have a ritual that when a student gets an answer correct the teacher often says, “Let’s give him a clap.”  Then along with a clapping pattern the students say the following in unison “Give him a nice clap. And another one. And another one. You are the best. The  best of all.”  Adorably, the child who is being sung to stands and swishes his hips to the beat.  As my grandmother  used to say, “I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven.”  They saw how thrilled I was with this song that they sang it to me and I danced for them and laughed at them laughing at me.  Again, I felt God’s love poured over me .

The day ended sitting and chatting with my sisters on a bench located on a muddy ditch outside of a “shop.”  I was so happy sipping from a straw  in my filthy Sprite bottle eating Kenyan buns with a plastic bag on my hand knowing that God was protecting us and allowing us to appreciate the wonderful teaching and learning here in Kenya.

You can help support this great cause. Visit www.treeoflives.org to learn more and click here to donate now.