Friends United Meeting |
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March 2004
Moments of Perfection
By Darcy Drayton
At mid-day, I am riding an old bus through Nairobi's streets. The sun is so white it lifts the color from the city. Trash burns in empty lots and on street corners. Exhausted trucks, matatus and cars leave trails of black smoke in their wake. The city's color dances above it all. Quite late in the day the color sinks and settles back golden into red earth, green trees and brown bodies. Glimpsed between the tall modern buildings you can see the glint of tin roofs atop the endless line of daub shacks that twist along the river. It is the Kibera slum.
I was struck by the sense it was a place I must go. I said as much to Samson Ababu, my local Quaker guide. Later, when he introduced me to his friends, John Muhanji and Lotan Migalidza, he told them I wanted to visit the slum out of pity. I could not tell him until much later that the feeling I had upon seeing the slum was one of incomprehensible joy. I think now that Christ moved my heart before I could come to reason. Is the wisdom of the Lord such that he might outwit a ready argument about the absurdity of my leading? God makes good use of fools such as me, for how else can pride be bent to serve what reason would argue out?
So we talked. I heard about how African Quaker Vision (Aquavis) was formed to revitalize Quakerism in Africa: to bring Christ's love in service to those who were poor, downtrodden and sick. I wanted to help.
"Come to Ngong Road Meeting and we will talk," said John.
"We have already talked," I thought. I arrived at Ngong Road feeling hesitant. I wished I were black so I could slip in unnoticed. The young woman next to me shared her program. Oliver Kisaka, and his wife, Lynette, were speaking to the congregation. Oliver is also a member of Aquavis. I felt welcome and comfortable. In the midst of singing and praying, I knew that God loved me and was glad I was there. After the service, there were greetings and tea with the pastors and speakers.
Samson, John and I drove off toward Kibera, an ancient city wandering in from the countryside looking for refuge in the midst of Nairobi. Not of these times, yet Kibera is compelled to live on the edge of ours. In the slum, people people are large, nearly as large as their dwellings. They walk down the road four abreast, taking up the whole of it. Pushcarts, goats, dogs and chickens walk or sleep and are not bothered by the people who wander by.
The modern city uses one end of the slum as a dump and the slum uses every available space outside its buildings. Sewage is a problem in cities ancient and modern, but modern cities plumb it out of sight and the smell becomes a problem to someone else. The ancient city flings it out the door because there isn't room for latrines. But desperation makes it a good home to those who have no choice. How does an ancient city live near a modern one? Uneasily.
The people have constructed huge mounds across the road to thwart the modern city's encroachment. Our car bottoms out, no matter how we angle it.Finally we turn in at a small drive to the side of the road and squeeze. It is roomier when we are just people walking.
The building we enter is the Lindi Friends Church. Unlike most of its neighbors, its walls are made of corrugated tin, but like its neighbors, it is held in place by thin wooden poles joined by ropes. We step down into a cool room with only a few windows to illumine it. Despite this, the many faces that look towards me are bright, eager, interested. They have been very patient because I am late; except things are expected to be late. I am completely surprised. John and Samson had neglected to tell me that this was our destination.
I look amazed at the faces that sit around the table and say, "I am so honored to be here with you."
I can feel their eager love for their church and school. The love that comes from Christ is always perfect even in an imperfect world and coming through imperfect people. In that moment I loved the school, the slum and those people. Samson and John asked questions of them that they had never before been asked or thought to answer. "When did the school start? How many children does it serve? What problems do you face?" The answers were simple and direct. And so there was no question for me. I didn't stop to reason out what was being asked of me; the Gospel does not parcel out compassion. The people there did not ask, but this visit was the start of my fundraising.
I didn't know I was coming and didn't bring any paper to write on or my camera. "Would it be all right to come and visit tomorrow when the children are here?" I asked."It is my last day here in Kenya. I don't know how I will get here but I will come if that is okay."
I was elated.I was undeservedly happy.I was beyond crying or laughing; I was completely full. That evening I went down to the hotel's restaurant, open to the night air. As the waiter brought my soda, I was writing down what I had seen and heard.
"How do you spell Kibera?" I asked him. He had a polite inquiring look. "Oh, there is a church group there with a school I am thinking of helping."
Upon retiring to my room I craved time to sit in prayer for, unlike on many nights, I could feel God so close to me I knew I was not alone. The silent conversation was heart to heart.Then, in between my prayers, there grew an insistent urging to go downstairs and talk to the man who had waited on my table earlier in the evening. The hour was late; most of the hotel guests had retired. I was not eager to talk with someone I did not know, about something as intimate as a leading from God. What would he think, or more to the point, how could he react to me, a mzungu (white person)? So I argued with God.
Admitting at last that I had been willing to trust in God through the whole of this journey, I left my room. I found the waiter settling things before closing.
"After I left I went up to my room to pray," I said. "While I was praying I felt God wanted me to come down and talk with you. Remember how I spoke of a church group in the slum and the school they have? I think God wants you to go there and talk with those people."
Oh! I was doing this badly! Suddenly I thought, "Is this guy even Christian?" I was willing to carry my message even if he wasn't but I did not know if I was equal to what was being required of me.
"The people in this community are Christian; a special kind of Christian," I continued. "They believe there is the spirit of Christ in every person and anyone can talk directly to Christ to receive His blessing and guidance. You don't need a pastor, a minister or a priest to do this for you.If the people in a community like this can speak to one another strongly and faithfully out of that Christ spirit then the community can become very strong. It can become so strong that not only can they help each other, but also they can help those outside of their community. That is what this church group in Kibera I had spoken of has done. They call themselves Quakers or Friends and they have built a school that serves the poorest children of Kibera. God wants you to go there and talk with them. I don't know why, maybe there are some children you know who are supposed to go there. I don't know."
"Are you going again tomorrow?" he asked.
"Yes," I responded, "around 11:00 am."
"I will see you there," he stated.
I went to bed relieved, exhausted and a little elated.
The next day Samson came to get me. He was late and then we had to get film, gas and phone cards so we did not arrive until nearly noon. I visited each class and greeted the teachers and the children. I had a large bag of almonds and made a present of them to the children. I took pictures, sat in on lessons and watched the children perform songs and poems.And I thought how wonderful are the children!
When it was 2:00 o'clock, it was time to go. Samson's wife, Leah, had prepared dinner for us. Samson drove down the road looking for a place to turn the car around. Without me! I stood waiting with Seth, the clerk of the meeting. Little children running by used what must be the first phrase in English they learn "How are you?" It is not really a question so much as a chant, more often than not repeated many times over. How are you! How are you! How are you!
Ten minutes later, I ask, "Do you think Samson is all right?" while thinking, "Samson looks like he is relatively well off; driving a car, wearing a coat and tie. Could he be a target for robbers?"
Fifteen minutes later and I am thinking, "Can I walk out of here by myself?" and suppressing images of Samson being mugged. Seth, too, is beginning to look anxious. He sends one of the schoolboys to get a teacher to come and stand with me while he goes looking but just then Samson arrives, and we set off. Samson and I are laughing because we have both been nervous. Samson had had to drive all the way to end of the slum where the dump is, and there was barely enough space to turn around.
Suddenly Samson hit the brakes. There was the waiter from my hotel! He had spent the whole morning looking for the Kibera Friends School, because I had forgotten it was called the Lindi Friends School. When he could not find the school, he made his way out of the slum and found the Friends International Center on Ngong Road. The Lindi Friends pastor happened to be there! They walked back to Kibera together just in time to meet me as we were driving out of the slum. Had Samson not been delayed, I would have missed him and perhaps even forgotten him. As it was, we only had time to exchange a few words for he needed to go back to work.
"I am so glad to see you!" I exclaimed."It's amazing you actually made it here. How stupid of me not to remember the name correctly! Now you can talk with the pastor and the clerk of the meeting and find out why you are supposed to be here." We drove off. I still didn't know this man's name.
That evening John came by the hotel and I told him the story of God, the waiter and myself. "If God wanted me to talk with him," I said, "there must be something important for him at the Lindi School or Kenyan Quakers or something.I am leaving in a few hours. I think you should come and meet him before I go."
We went to the restaurant and I introduced them, although I still didn't know this man's name! They started talking in a language I did't understand. I tuned into the facial expressions and then John was speaking to me, "This man grew up in Western Kenya.His family is Quaker; he went to Quaker Schools but when he came to Nairobi many years ago he never connected with a Friends Church."
I just stared. "Really?" John told me his name but I couldn't remember it. Who remembers angels' names?
When I returned home, I corresponded with John. The waiter does have a name: Jairus.He went to meeting the Sunday after I left and has since joined Ngong Road Meeting. He is now an active and enthusiastic member. Three months later, I had the good fortune to return to Kenya. I asked John to take me to see Jairus for I felt God still wanted him to do something in Lindi.
How can I describe what he looked like when he saw me?His whole being lit up. I felt like crying. My God, how is it you can use such an imperfect soul as mine for your messenger? Over time we will come to know one another and learn how we have stumbled and how we continue, learning again and again what God has taught us.But for now I can only see the Christ in him.
Darcy Drayton, an artist and teacher, is a member of Weare (NH) Monthly Meeting of New England Yearly Meeting. Working with Aquavis in Kenya, she carries a concern for Quakers in the Nairobi slum and the Lindi School in particular.
Copyright (c) 2004 Friends United Meeting
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