Pockets of Change | Numbers from Justin Keitch on Vimeo.

We drove past a woman washing her clothes in the stream, next to a colossal billboard advertising a washer / dryer combo. It read: ‘Who said washing clothes is hard work’?

While the woman and the advertisement were directly next to each other, the two could not have been further apart. It was such a dichotomy to see an ad that would not stand out in North America next to a scene that does not stand out in Africa. But placed together, the two images were worlds apart.

She has no more chance of ever owning a modern-day appliance than I have of winning the Ms. World pageant. Maybe that didn’t bother her. Maybe it bothered me because even after all this travel I still consider things like a washing machine more of a right than a luxury. And that’s after washing a lot of underwear and socks in bathroom sinks. What I consider my rights versus luxuries are so separated from what that woman would consider a right or a luxury.

Now that we’re back and in our normal lives here in Canada, there are things that I used to consider my rights that really stand out to me now as overwhelming luxuries. It’s tough to separate what I experienced in our travels with what I see back in Canada. I feel different: I look at the world differently, I look at my finances differently, I look at my heart differently. Yet I live in the same world I did before. The struggle now is what to do now with the changes that took place in me.

It’s a good reason that everyone should be involved in missions. You change, whether that’s what you’re after or not.

Considering that stringing words into captivating sentences that turn into stories is the reason that I am even in this place, this concerns me.

What I find myself stumped in writing about is a story of two teachers working in the middle of nowhere in a place called Seje. It’s a small community in Kenya, little more than an array of huts about five kilometres from a village that at least has a few corner stores.

The only way to find the school in which they work is to follow a long thin ribbon of red dirt that someone had the sense of humour to call a road. It bumps and winds and has potholes so big I was concerned we would be abandoning the car and walking with our field partner Edgar to find it.

We arrived safely, to a dusty patch of land with two buildings. Inside the mud walls of the first room, children sing a welcome to their rare visitors from outside the community. Bright sunlight streamed into the windows, providing the only light. Unlike most Kenyan schools, only some of the kids here wear uniforms, and they are tattered and threadbare.

The circumstances these students find themselves in are awful. It is a hot and dusty place. Most of the children are orphans, living wherever they can find a sympathetic hand or with old grandparents in need of assistance themselves.

The Seje school, with somewhere between 90 and 160 students depending on the day, can hardly be described as a school. While it has some of the building blocks of a school – desks and a chalkboard notably – there is little else to distinguish these two mud buildings as a place of learning.

For starters, only one of the buildings is even a school building. The other is the local church, converted into a makeshift classroom on weekdays.

Inside there are very few books. In fact, the grade three class has no books for their level. The grade 2-3 teacher only has one master book for grade 3, and that book is on loan from another school.

While the story of the children is sad, it was listening to the teachers share that really broke my heart. Lillian and Peter teach kindergarten to grade 4, alternating classrooms for different subjects.

Lillian is from Seje, and has three of her own children. Peter bikes to work each day from a community called Siaya, more than 15 kilometres away.

The two teachers work very hard, sacrificing more than you could imagine to give these kids a chance at a future. Seje school is not registered and therefore gets no assistance from the government. And there are no churches or communities supporting this school, which means that Lillian and Peter are volunteers. They get absolutely no money for teaching.

Yet every day, Monday to Friday, they come and teach. Why, I ask, do they not go and work somewhere and make a living? Lillian answers because if they do not teach these kids, no one will. And they can’t give up on them or there will be no future for the kids of Seje.

There was hope for this village once. A church signed on to help. A feeding program was started for the school kids. Money was sent for salaries, for school supplies, for medicine. A water tank was installed so when it rained there would be water.

But as things sometimes go, it didn’t work out and the church stopped supporting the school. The feeding program ended, the money stopped coming. The water tank sits as a cruel reminder, taunting the teachers as there is no rain and hasn’t been for a long time.

I ask Lillian where she gets her water for drinking.

“There is none,” she replies. “I just go thirsty.”

She shares with me that with no money, she cannot even feed her children and herself save for the kindness of others. And the parents and guardians in this community are no better off than she is. She is sometimes so weak, she can barely stand in front of the classroom and teach.

I carry two or three extra pens with me at all times in case one runs out while I’m interviewing. As I sat on a worn chair under the shade of a small tree interviewing Peter and Lillian, they mentioned in passing that they do not even have pens to write with and grade the students’ work. Not that it matters much of the time, most of the children have no exercise book. Guardians do not even have money for thin, cheap exercise books. They cost mere pennies but even that is too much money.

I gathered all the pens I could find and gave them to the teachers. Such a small gesture, so ridiculous in its miniscule nature, meant so much to them. Can you imagine doing your job without something as simple as a pen?

The pathetic state of the school continues. Since the school is not registered, it gets no assistance from the government in any way. The school needs major construction in order for the government to register it. Yet the government won’t supply the funding for construction because the school is not registered as official. It’s one of those chicken and egg things. And there is no hope of the community banding together for funding. There is no work in Seje, no rain for the farmers, and no hope of the citizens in this community to ever get out of their own poverty enough to help others.

The supply room has empty bottles of medicine, left over from the days of sponsorship by the church. If children are injured at school, there is literally nothing Peter and Lillian can do for them. No antiseptics, no cleansers, not even a bandaid. Oh, and there’s giant biting ants, I discovered by setting up my pinky toe for bait.

Even the flagpole which once helped to distinguish the school as something legitimate has been eaten by termites. The flag now sits folded inside a cupboard, next to the room where older local boys sleep at night with a spear to protect what little material goods the school has from thieves.

I could go on. But you get the picture. It’s sad. Really sad. And unlike most of my blog posts where there’s a happy little ending, this one has none. We left the school having had no means to help them ourselves save for a couple pens. And as I sit on a comfy bed having just eaten a deliciously filling dinner, I think of Peter and Lillian probably going to bed hungry tonight. I think of Peter biking the long and extremely difficult road to school. I think of Lillian hearing her children moan from the hunger pangs. I think of the random school child who surely will hurt herself playing in the dirt and the teachers having nothing to give her for the pain. I think of the cruel joke played on the school, with a large water tank sitting in the middle and not a drop of water in sight. And I think of how much just a little money would help these people, or one church to step up and commit to helping.

I’m sorry there’s no happy ending yet to this story. But that’s life. I leave you with one thing Peter said to us during our interview. He said there’s a verse in Proverbs that reads if a man wants to eat, he must work. Then he laughed at the irony when he said he and Lillian work very hard, yet they do not eat. That’s not right, is it?

Do you know that girl? The one over there washing her clothes in a pale yellow bucket? What about that boy, the one playing with sticks in the dust beside the road? Do you know the man in the crisp white shirt, holding a briefcase and sitting on the back of a bicycle taxi? Now there is a young boy in front of us, stealing sugarcane off the back of a loaded truck, and another begging for money on the streets. Do you know them?

No?

Neither do I.

I know nothing about these people, save the brief impressions as we drive through the dusty streets of Kenya.

We spent time with Kenyans during our time in this country. As I have listened to the stories of the few we met, I have heard tales of sorrow and strength. And I want to write their stories down and share them with as many people as I can.

But there are countless more who I will never know, never hear about and consequently never share their stories in my world. No one I know will ever know their plight and in turn have the opportunity to help them.

But what I do know is that God knows them. He knows their language, the size of their birthmark, what they last ate. He knows their hopes, their obstacles, their future and their past.

That is of comfort to me. The more we have travelled, the bigger my world has become. Too big. It can be overwhelming when I think about all the great need in this world. Everywhere we go, people are starving, people are living in the pits of poverty with no ladder out.

What I’ve loved about our task is that we get to hear the stories of how ladders are being built to help people out. When I see the masses in the markets, outside our car as we race by, peering out of houses and loaded in taxi vans, it can seem like nothing can be accomplished, no strategies can help. But to meet individuals like Pastor Michael, a small church pastor learning farming techniques to help feed his family and make as bit of an income, I know change is possible. It is in the individual lives where we see God’s hand at work. And individual lives affect families that affect communities which in turn can affect nations.

So do you know that girl? Maybe not. But by helping those we do know, someone who knows that girl may one day be able to help her too.Do you

Wilfreda’s weathered face reveals an old woman who has suffered hardship. To look at her arms, you can trace the bones within. Her clothes are tattered and threadbare.

Wilfreda lives in a small mud hut with a thatched roof. She and her aged husband have no means of making money. We visited Wilfreda at her home because she had been blessed with a male and a female goat through a project facilitated by Hungry for Life and our good friend Edgar.

We saw the goats first, as our visit was unannounced and Wilfreda was not home. As we talked to our guide Pastor Michael about the project, Wilfreda came running up the dirt path to greet us.

She happily shook our hands and told us through Pastor Michael’s translation what a joy it was to meet us and how excited she was about the upcoming birth of her goat. She talked of the blessing these goats will be when she can start to sell the offspring at the market to make a bit of money.

We had a little chat and headed on our way as we had much to see and a long ways to walk on this particular day. And I thought that was the end of my story about Wilfreda. But then we went to Pastor Michael’s church on Sunday.

The mud walled and tin roofed church was full of mostly widows and orphans. Some had probably not had anything to eat for breakfast; three meals a day is unheard of in Boro.

Pastor Michael’s flock is a very poor one. While they cannot bring much to offer, what they do bring is joy. Wilfreda and the others arrived at the church with huge smiles, dressed in their Sunday best.

They came to worship, and it was a sweet sound. Out of the congregation, one lone woman would begin to sing praise to God. The rest would repeat after her, moving and clapping their worship to Christ. As one song ended, another woman would begin a new song, and so it went for song after song.

It was beautiful. There was such a presence of God in this place, and the humble surroundings made it all the more evident that God seeks after our hearts alone. I watched as Wilfreda sang out to her Saviour, giving Him her praise. I am sure God smiled down on his followers in the Boro church that day.

The Hillside team’s pastor, Durwin, gave the message, and then it came time for the offering. A large basket was placed on a table at the front, and quickly after people began to drop in their offerings. As a team, we had decided to each give about 100 shillings each, a lot for these people but under $2 for us. I was standing right by the basket, and as I watched, Wilfreda and most of the others in the church came forward. They dropped in change – 5, 10, maybe 20 shillings at the most – releasing their grip and dropping their meagre offerings into the hand woven basket with a clink.

As I watched, I began to weep. I couldn’t help it.

We gave so little. These people gave a tenth of what we did, yet they gave so much more.What we gave was nothing in comparison to what they gave. How can I describe the sacrifice these people gave, their precious offering?

It was so real to me, after seeing Wilfreda in her home and witnessing the poverty she came from. To see her and others that come from similar living situations give their offerings to Christ was humbling. No sacrifice I have made for God’s glory comes close to the 10 shillings Wilfreda gave that day.

It’s hard to believe how quickly the time is flying. A friend just emailed me the other day talking about what her kids want to dress up as for Halloween. It seems so far removed from where I am right now: sitting in a gazebo inside our hotel grounds, watching the birds flutter and chirp to each other in the tall green trees. Flowers blossom beside the rich red dirt road into the compound. It’s a beautiful morning in Siaya.

We’ve been in Kenya for a full week now. After leaving Noah’s Ark, we spent two nights and one fun-filled day with our friend Kimi who is living in Jinja, Uganda. We got a chance to get out and meet some of the kids she works with there. It was great to actually get out into a community and interact with the locals. Plus it was nice for me and Justin to not have the pressure of needing to make sure we ask the right questions, gather the right information and take the best photos. We were simply there to enjoy the day, and it was pleasant indeed. Kimi is an incredible servant of God, and to see what she is doing there because God called her just swelled my heart.

So, she drove us to the Kenyan border and we had no problems meeting up with our Kenyan project partner Edgar. That was a big praise item for me as I was worried we might be at the border all day trying to find each other. It was much less confusing there than I had anticipated!

It has been a full week with Edgar, traveling to Siaya, seeing some of the project sites, meeting with those impacted and getting a good sense of what is happening on the ground here. We also got to spend a couple nights at Edgar’s home in Kisumu, which was very enjoyable. We had a great time getting to know his family and even learning how to make a few authentic Kenyan dishes!

On Sunday, we picked up a team from Kisumu Airport. They come from Coquitlam’s Hillside Community Church, and we are with them until next Tuesday. Not only is it fun to meet a new team, they also brought some much-appreciated treats from home including cookies and instant Starbucks coffee which they graciously have shared with us!

This afternoon we get to spend time with the kids from the Siaya Children’s Home, playing soccer (the team) and doing some interviews (me and Justin). This morning some of the team went to see Obama’s grandmother’s home, which is just a little ways outside of Siaya.

We’ve been feeling healthy for the most part, getting rest and are feeling blessed by our time in Kenya. As our new friend Pastor Richard says, “All is well.” Indeed, all has been well here in Kenya. I hope to start sharing soon on the blog some of the stories we’ve been hearing and of course some of the visual imagery to show you just how beautiful this land and its people are.