Travel gives me so many opportunities to make new friends…especially in Kenya.  The melodic Kiswahili is as gentle and hospitable as the people themselves.  From the moment we landed at the Nairobi Airport, everywhere I looked there was someone I would love to sit and chat with for awhile.

For example, standing, waiting to go through the never-ending line to get our visa and pass through customs, the opportunities were endless!!!  So many people to meet and so little time!!!  This particular time, I had to settle for chatting with the immigration official, so I initiated the conversation by immediately practicing my very limited Swahili, “Habari yako (Hello, how are you)?”  Confident in my pronunciation, I giggled out loud as she responded by pushing back her chair and laughing loudly, “Misuri (good)!”  Mistakenly she assumed I could carry the conversation further, so she jabbered on and on.  Shamelessly, I responded, “That’s it; that’s all I know!”  Forgiving me, she assured me saying over and over, “Karibuni, karibuni (you are welcome, very welcome!” – a phrase said often wherever we go, letting us know that people are genuinely happy to greet us.  The official went on further, though, by inviting me to just come and stay at her place for three months.  She was confident I would most assuredly know Kiswahili very well by then.  Smiling back at her,  I mused, “If only I really could.  What an experience that would be!”

One day I traipsed off to the bank alone.  It was mercilessly hot walking through the dusty, people-filled streets to get there, but once inside the relatively modern building with the doors flung wide open and the customary armed security guard at the door, it was quiet and surprisingly cool.  I went to stand in the usual very long line of people waiting for one of two tellers.  Not believing it, I noticed the woman in front of me pull out her shawl and wrap it snuggly around her.  Then as she inched her way forward, I stepped into the spot where she had just been.  Amazing!!!  Streams of COLD air showered down on my head.  I quickly took off my backpack, laid it down and just basked in the coolness of the air.  Heaven, I’d just stepped into heaven!  I couldn’t resist telling the woman, “Ah, it feels so good, the air conditioning!”  She looked at me like I was nothing less than a nut case.  We had an extensive conversation with her laughing at me, trying to convince me of the horrors of ac and why would anyone ever enjoy it!  Still, I am not convinced!  For this lily white traveler in the heat and humidity of Africa, I welcomed the small circle of air, hating to step out of it, even to move forward in line.  For me on a hot day, I’ll take ac any day, any time, any place!

The last time we were in Nairobi the World Cup was going on.  STARVED for female companionship, I made friends with the night clerk where we stayed.  She was wildly betting on this game or that as the rounds continued and we all waited for the final outcome.  Acknowledging that she was having a bit of a cash flow problem, she vowed she was not going to place any money on the next game.  She said the games were causing her so much anxiety, not only anticipating the next game, but having to stay up late at night just to watch it. Even her co-workers said she was grouchy and mean from lack of sleep.  Of course I know nothing about “football”,  but still was drawn instantly into her drama, loving every minute of discussing last night’s game, who won, why they won and who would play and win the next one.  Arriving here in Nairobi, once again a month ago now, Lillian, jumped up greeted me Kenyan style, a handshake and kiss on both cheeks, and vehemently lamented over Germany’s win of the coveted Cup.  She also very proudly announced she had quit betting for sure…well, at least for another four years!

Traveling around Africa, I often wonder how the men and women and even children manage to ALWAYS be wearing very clean clothes and shoes that are shining.  The moment I step out of our room (or even before), I somehow manage to have a smudge of dirt on my shirt, dusty shoes, sandaled feet that are no longer white but have a thick layer of mud or dust covering them, and my hair – really why even go there?  I pass by many beautiful African women with their hair neat and tidy, suits (a blouse and matching long skirt) pressed, looking “smart”, and without an inkling of dirt anywhere.  Their shoes look like they have been walking along any clean sidewalk or street in the West, never betraying the reality of the miles they have walked on dirt, and now muddy streets and paths from their homes to reach town. Every day going back and forth to the Women’s Center, I pass by an elderly gentleman who has a shoeshine/watch repair shop set up alongside the busy street.  Over the years we have become “friends”.  He speaks very little English and has taken on the challenging job of teaching me Kiswahili.  I try and try, but unfortunately, often he ends up lowering his head and shaking it in disgust and frustration.  Back and forth I go day after day and he tries again, perhaps shocked that this white girl can be so slow!  But, at long last, he has finally taught me something,“Sasa!” he shouts to me.  (Slang for “Hi, how are you?”)  He keeps talking in Kiswahili, but if I interrupt him at all, he lays down his tools and slaps his table.  I must patiently wait. The simple answer is, “Fit” (I’m good, feeling good!) Victory at last!  He smiles grateful that his student is finally learning something.  He continues mumbling a few words, probably something about my language skills, to which I flippantly answer, “Sawa, sawa!”  (OK, OK)  He looked up and gazed at me with complete surprise and delight!

I couldn’t help but notice a woman walking toward my watch repair friend one day.  She reached into her huge bundle and pulled out a neatly wrapped paper triangle of something and gave it to him. He then handed her a few shillings.  Curious to know what the transaction was all about, of course, I had to ask.  Curtly he answered, “My lunch.”  I guess he mistakenly thought I might want some. He opened it up and sure enough inside was a mix-mash of ugali, maize and beans.  The woman once again hoisted the bundle on her back with the handles strapped securely against her forehead and on down the street she went.  Half-way down the block, she stopped to deliver another one of the tiny triangles.  I raced to catch up to her and asked her many questions, which she was only to eager to answer.  She told me she thought of a business of cooking all morning and delivering lunch to people at their place of work.  Most every weekday she would deliver over 20 such meals to her “regulars”.  Curious to know how she would even think of such a thing, she replied by telling me, “But, I cannot sit at home and accept a life of stress and poverty; I must do something.”  How impressive is that?!  Many of us do just sit and wait for something to come to us.  How inspiring to meet and touch this old Kenyan mamma who would not sit idly back hoping and wishing, but actually did something about her plight.  It wasn’t much, but giving her some shillings, I, too, bought my lunch. Unable to contain my joy at meeting such an inspiring woman, I just had to hug her tight.  She was only shocked for a moment, then shook my hand, kissed both cheeks and went on her way.

These are just a few of the friends I’ve met along the way.  There are so, so many more.  The world is indeed filled with the glory of God.  Just stopping to chat with someone (anyone, really), it’s very easy to see.  People are amazing; each with a story, no two stories alike, yet interestingly I am finding, most are very willing for you to be a part of theirs.

Acclimating to different locales while traveling can be a bit of a challenge sometimes, especially wherever we’re staying.  First looks, I check out if there’s mosquito netting, then the bathroom facilities.  Except for a few times we’ve always had the much needed netting and well, those of you who have read my musings before, know that toilets, showers, sinks and I have a long, long history…mostly providing me new opportunities for my collection of photos.

However, the past week has proved to be such a unique experience.  Traveling back to Nairobi after being “up-country” in Western Kenya for the past four weeks, we had hoped to stay where we have stayed before.  It’s a place we know and have grown accustomed to (the one without toilet seats).  Unfortunately, they were booked, so we frantically began the search for a new one.  Nairobi can be a very scary place to be, so finding somewhere not only somewhat clean and safe, but also affordable can be a huge challenge.

But leave it to my awesome husband who discovered a new prospect.  He asked me, “What do you think about staying at a hostel that’s also a convent?  They have rooms there for $50 a night, plus they give you three meals a day.” $50 compared to the $250 for some of the others, I quickly agreed that yes, even though this could be risky, it’s would be so worth it.  One of the main reasons being that it is very close to the upscale, very western internet café we had found that serves decaf coffees.

On arrival, I was happy to see the customary fencing and gate manned intently with an armed guard. So far so good.  Checking in, we were taken to a building with a long hall and doors leading into traveler’s rooms to the left and right. Entering our room, the first inspection passed as I looked at each of the single beds (not even hoping or expecting a double); both had mosquito netting hanging securely over them. Now, I must admit, we did pay the extra $5 to have our own bathroom.   Quite interesting!  Here they had placed a large glass case into the room.  It is about the size of a sliding door closet, but it does have all of the essentials:  shower, sink...only cold water...and toilet...the extra $5 ensuring that we didn’t have to wander down the hall to pee and wash our faces alongside other male and female residents.  All of this for $50 per night in Nairobi!!  The one slight glitch, however, was that the Sister checking us in said to be especially careful of leaving anything in our room as it might be stolen.  There is evidence to confirm this, as we could easily see that the door and the little wardrobe door had both been picked and broken into so many times, there were globs of puddy stuffed into the wood around the new lock.....mmmmm, not too comforting, but at least we were forewarned.  Of course, Roger has had his tiny computer glued to him, along with cell phone and, of course, his Kindle!

A quip from a fellow comrade describes our place perfectly: "The hostel itself is, in a word, Spartan. It reminds me of some places I’ve stayed in the former East Germany just after reunification – run-down but clean. The accommodations, run by the Consolata Sisters, will be fine, but I think I’ll be pretty happy to return to my house after a month here. The bath towel is like sandpaper (no fabric softener here), and there is a very small, rudimentary bar of soap. The bathroom itself has a shower that is configured rather oddly. It has a spigot that sticks pretty far out and looks like something a bathtub would have, with hot/cold water faucets and a shower/spigot selector knob. The only problem with the spigot is that it is positioned directly under the showerhead at a height that, shall we say, requires a certain degree of caution.  Breakfast is at 7 am sharp and apparently the sisters do not like anyone to be late.”

However, I’m seriously wondering how much of Africa this sojourner has traveled in.  Towel, soap, water, AND breakfast!!!!!

After two nights here and having the opportunity to check out other rooms, we’ve decided to move into a larger room and forego our built-in bath.  Happy to save the $5 each night for the remaining days here, we’ve adapted to our new digs and don’t mind sharing and visiting with others while making the trek down the hall to the shower or toilet.  The hostel compound itself is very quiet, secluded from the noise of the city traffic and very safe.  Even the gentle singing coming from the sanctuary at 6:30 a.m. mass is soothing as it reminds us we better hustle if we are going to get any of the white bread and “bologna” that will be served for breakfast.

A bell rings at 7, 1, and 6:45 inviting us to come to the dining room if we are going to get anything to eat.  Sharing our table every meal with two others, we’ve met the most interesting people:  two young men, one from Scotland, the other from China who have just climbed Mt. Kilamanjaro; a former Kenyan, now a U.S. citizen who has been here for five weeks caring for his elderly father; a girl from Burundi who is in Nairobi for business communications; an elderly couple from Ohio who are here for the ninth time to work in the slums; Lucy, a Kenyan nurse who works at a tea plantation up-county who is here in Nairobi for training to work with terminally ill patients who have HIV-AIDS.

Outside of the main stone building is a canvass sign advocating:  "Whatever is good must be done well and quietly."  I have been giving this considerable thought!  However, mostly I’ve been thinking about how incredibly strange it feels to be here.  The long hallways, closed doors to the left and right, the secured gate, the omnipresent authority figures (here they are priests and nuns), the rules one must adhere to (spoken and not), the communal bathrooms, small, tiny yellow or green painted bedrooms with two single beds and a cold water sink in the corner with a miniature mirror and shelf above, community meals, and the formidable desk under the one window.  It’s all so strangely comforting and familiar.  Can it be 43 years ago that I said good-bye to the boarding school that had been home for four long years and is over 10,000 miles from this place?  I peeked out my door, half expecting Miss Lit (the Headmistress) or Miss Hodges (Head Dean) to come barreling down the hall peering into each of our rooms to make sure lights are out and each of us is securely in our room and in bed! To my relief neither of their silhouettes appeared.  Sadly, though, neither did the flash of schoolgirl friends Jenny, Maria, BS, Mary Lee or Marshall racing into their rooms quickly before the final blast of the bell for the day or the dreaded opening of our doors and the unsolicited sing-song “Good-night” from one of the matrons.  These ancient voices of doom were only too happy to exert their authority if we happened to be still dressed or lingering at our desks over the mounds of homework each night.  Little did they know what actually happened as they finally closed their own bedroom doors at night!

Memories all built into who we are. Isn’t it interesting how one event in life prepares you for the next.  How could I know, living simply, studying hard, and communal living would give me tools, experiences and even comforting familiarity for what my life had held through the years? One experience leads to another leads to another, all held together with common threads.  Each of our life stories unfold, each chapter continuing into the next in the books of our lives.  Fascinating!

Exciting things are happening at the Women’s Vocational Training Center.  Since Steven and Angel Alembe, Appleseed’s Community Development Directors, have taken on overseeing the project, there are many new logistical steps being put into place.  The biggest being that he brought with him an incredibly wonderful tailor/trainer from his homeland, DR Congo.  Here in Kenya and throughout Africa, Congo is known for it’s beautiful fabrics and talented tailors.  We are so fortunate to have this very gifted gal, Rachel Aina Kitulo, with us for the next six months.

First of all, if you can imagine, this young mom of four, traveled all the way from Tubumbashi-Katauga in the eastern part of Congo to the western city of Uvira…only then to continue her long, arduous journey from Congo to Kitale, Kenya with four men, Steven and the three church planters from Burundi!!  Being willing to do that in my book already makes her quite a woman!  I asked her why she would leave her home and children for so long.  Sadly, the sacrifice for this young widow with four children (16, 12, 10, and 8) is huge as she admits how badly she misses them already. But, leaving them with her younger sister for the next six months, she tells me will enable her to have enough money to buy food, housing and school fees without stress for some time. Shyly she announced, “When at last December comes, I will go and stay two weeks with my family.  Then I will come back to the girls at the school.”

Rachel’s husband died some years ago, leaving her sole supporter for her family in the war-ravaged nation of DR Congo.  Thankfully, she had already been through three years of school to learn sewing and the theory and practical aspects of tailoring.  She has since supported herself as a seamstress. When Steven contacted her to see if she would be willing to go to Kenya and take on the responsibilities of running a project there for desperate women, she jumped at the chance. At the school, she will receive a guaranteed good salary, plus housing and transport for six months.  To her, it’s worth the sacrifice.

For us, she is just what we need to take the school to the next level of where we’d like to see it go.  Rachel will not only be teaching the girls theory, cutting and sewing, but will be managing the business side of the whole project, quite an undertaking!  For her, with her credentials, this is not a problem. She is educated, confident and skilled.  PLUS, she is absolutely precious!  Always smiling, she has already endeared the girls to her heart.  She is a strong, strong woman, exuding deep faith and certainty that it was God’s intention for her to come to Kitale.  One of the students, Elizabeth, whispered to me that she wants so much to learn everything she can from Rachel and be just like her.

In gratitude, she made Roger and me some beautiful Congolese clothes.  Can you even imagine?  (….and, aiyaiyai, what to do after all my hard work to be SURE to have my one little suitcase under the 43 pound weight limit!)  But, no need to tell you, most of the American clothes have been given away to make room for the GORGEOUS Congo blouses, skirts and shirts…three of each.  Walking through the streets of Kitale back to our home, carrying these beautiful, folded clothes, people were actually stopping me to ask where they could buy such a thing. This is how coveted the fabrics and designs of Congo are!  Of course, I sent them immediately to our school, hoping that they will have an immediate increase of cash flow, increasing the chances of the project being self-sustaining as soon as possible.

So, today not only are the girls being emotionally influenced by Rachel but certainly they are learning the very profitable skills of sewing and running a business that will change their lives forever.  Elizabeth Mudenyo continues to provide direction and leadership for the school. She and Dawson are excited to carry on the mentoring and spiritual aspects of discipling these young women. Also, in addition to the current four students, Rachel will be adding six more in the next few days.  One by one by one, women are being lifted up and given an opportunity.  It doesn’t get any better than this!  So many, many of you have responded to the cries heard all the way from the slums and poverty where these women live.  You are making a difference, a huge one!!  One life changed touches another, touches another, touches another.  All because of you!  Asante sana (thank you so very much)!

The land has at long last been bought for Liberty School in Bikeke Village (see the attached photo)!!!!  Needless to say, John Wanyonyi, the founder and Director of the school, is ecstatic.  And, thankfully, Steven Alembe, Appleseed’s Community Development Director, has the project on track for next steps in the upcoming months. Hopefully, we will be able to see the first building(s) started and maybe even completed by mid December.   

Several days we were able to spend time in Bikeke visiting with the students, teachers, and walking around the village itself.   It’s very common to see women at a communal well pumping water into large yellow plastic containers.  They then carry the heavy jugs back to their damp, dirt-floored mud huts for drinking, cooking and even washing.  Person after person told me, “Life is HARD, very HARD here.  Often there is not food to eat.”  It is heart-wrenching, at a minimum, and truly hard to see and even begin to comprehend.  Many, if not most, of the children wander about filthy, without shoes, wearing shredded clothes that we would consider rags for cleaning at best. Men sit aimlessly without work. The mud, dirt and grime are everywhere.  Women carry HUGE bundles of vegetables or clothes for washing down to the river accepting the hardship of their lives.  Still, they hope to exist one more day and that somehow their children will have a better life by some miracle or circumstance beyond their wildest imaginations.

And, it is so obviously true, even for Liberty School, NOTHING can happen to truly change the lives of these precious orphans and children, without the mercy and grace of our very big God.  Conditions for the children attending the school, too, are incredibly unbelievable.  As a North American, it’s hard to even grasp that human life can actually exist with such minimal nourishment and care.  

The needs are endless:  curriculum, paper, pencils, desks, chairs, chalkboards, even a ball or skipping rope so the children can have something to play with during recess time.  Even more importantly, a bowl of porridge in the morning is needed, because most students have not eaten since…when???  It can all be somewhat overwhelming, especially knowing there are literally thousands of African children just like the ones we have met and seen.  BUT, after talking with the teachers at this particular school, who themselves are very poor, I am compelled to stand with them for these specific children in this particular village, agreeing with them that our God is that gracious, that powerful, that loving and can and will do something miraculous in the lives of these special children.  

And, it’s true! It’s already, happening because of YOU!!!!  With the purchase of the land and classrooms soon coming, the miracle is unfolding!  These children are being given an opportunity and chance.  They are literally choosing not to stay at home.  They are welcomed and encouraged to come to Liberty School (without having to pay the normal fees for public school and even if they don’t have the required shoes, uniforms).  They want come because they want so much to learn.  Because of this opportunity their lives are already being changed.  They are truly being propelled into the world of literacy and all the choices in life that will bring.   While there is much to lament about, we are THRILLED to be a small part of changing a few lives forever in this remote village in Africa.  God has not forgotten these precious ones.  Asante sana (thank you so much) for saying “yes” and helping to make the miracles happen.

Sitting in a tiny, sparsely furnished mud hut with only a small opening for a window allowing a bit of air and a glimmer of sunlight into our midst, I felt incredibly humbled at the strength and courage of the women sitting next to me.  Nancy, one of the women and also my interpreter, snuggled in close to me, as all 15 of us squished into the small room.  Some of the women held babies as they slept or nursed, or toddlers sat quietly just staring questioningly at me, the muzungu (white person).  One even wiggled around in his mom’s arms to get a closer look and then let out a loud scream, letting us all know that there was not only a stranger in our midst, but also danger!  

I looked around the room and thought, “What in the world, could I say or speak to these women?” More importantly, “What could they speak to me?”  Looking into their beautiful faces, all I could see were eyes clouded with despair, so much hopelessness, fear and worry.  I wondered if they looked to me for something…perhaps an answer to their problems, maybe a few shillings or maybe more.  One thing I’ve come to know:  even in this room of 15, there are 15 million women more just like them here in Africa.  If only I could give and give and give and meet their needs.  Alas, all I have to offer is our sameness.  We meet as women, one American, one Kenyan, sisters in so many ways.  We are the same; we have needs; we are challenged in many areas.  My heart as a mom is not Black or White, it beats with love for my children, the same as these women’s hearts beat for their children.  We are the same.

Convincing them of this, I asked each one to share one of the many struggles they are facing today. Assured of our similarities, they were not shocked when I told them of our youngest and the extremely poor and dangerous choices he is making in his life.  They listened and nodded their heads knowingly, believing that indeed we are alike.  One after the other we shared, heart to heart, sister to sister.  As we listened in turn, the needs were so great, the devastation so rampant, the loneliness and hopelessness so profound. As each matter of factly stated their plight, I thought my heart would break.  

One spoke of a husband who was a drunkard and had left the family; another, a widow, told how she had experienced the custom of being chased from her home when her husband had died and how his family had taken everything, including her own children; then, a young mom who had worked and saved and managed to have a room and small business for herself and her child—all of it had recently burned to the ground, leaving her nothing but maybe a small seed of faith to begin again; one more whose husband had left many months ago leaving her with three children, no food, no shelter, no school fees; and on around the circle it went. I listened, I looked into their faces, these African women with their soft, gentle ways, and beautiful glistening skin.  Where is justice? Where is hope?  The oppression, the victimization brews and steeps in their minds and hearts.  They have lost all hope; they believe life can never change.

We talked of change; we talked of focus.  Jesus said in this life there will be many trials.  And so, we all agreed.  But in this life, He says we will also experience the peace that passes all understanding.  We are guaranteed we will have joy that will be our strength.  So I must ask, “Where is my focus?  Do I obsess on the challenge of one son gone astray, or do I choose to look to the Source for hope and the truth?”  We are the same.  For this one day, we all chose to believe the truth. Jesus said, “I will never leave you or forsake you.  I am with you even to the end of the age.”  We all walk a little taller, our eyes shine a little brighter, and we agree today is a good day.  We have enough to eat, we have shelter, our children are safe, we have had time to be together.  Smiles replace frowns and joy begins to flow as giggles and laughter over simple things begin to take place:  my attempts at Swahili, a toddler stumbling into a mudhole surprised by splashes of water, a knowing exchange that says “Yes, life is hard, but where I choose to focus can change this moment and maybe even my future.”

We had such a great time in Kakamega, actually wayyyyyyy outside of Kakamega on a red, rough, dirt and bumpy road.  After being on the highway, which has a billion potholes and is like going through an obstacle course, swerving and bumping all the way so one has few brains that have not slipped out of your head by the end of the journey!!!  We had to leave our car behind for part of this trip and get out and walk just because the road was so rough, with so many huge rocks and drainage ditches due to all the rain.  The experience with church planting training and also having time with the women was fun, exciting, inspiring and educational!!!

We journeyed over to Kitale yesterday afternoon and are so glad to be “home”.  Even a couple of the guys at our little hotel here greeted us with handshakes and kisses!!!  We have our same room, so I’m familiar with how the shower works (or doesn’t work) and thank God, there is still a seat on the toilet.  Unfortunately, the water is still cold, but small price to pay when one thinks about all of the women and children who are going to the river today just to get a jug of water for their household drinking, cooking and washing.  There’s nothing like a good adventure “up-country”, to put life in perspective.  

The photos I have attached are pretty self-explanatory.  The house you see is where we met all day....except when I had time with the women when we walked a distance down to a widow’s home which looked pretty much the same ( a mud house).  That’s where the cooking and washing happened...also pictured.  A little tight to say the least with sights and smells to match.

A Kenyan in Arroyo Grande?  How exciting is that? A few weeks ago, a mutual acquaintance set up a meeting of myself and a Kenyan gal who is living right in our town!  A mutual friend, Gayle Cuddy of the Telegram Tribune, knew we both had projects in Kenya and wanted very much for us to meet.  So, I could hardly believe it, there I was going into Andreini’s Coffee Shop and meeting one of the very women that I had come to love and respect so much. Of course, being the only Black woman, not to mention Kenyan, there, I walked right up to her, put out my hand in true Kenyan style to shake hands and then give her the accustomed kiss on the cheek, but instead Millie grabbed me with both hands and pulled me close, giving me a huge American hug.  I fell in love with her right away!

As we chattered on and on excitedly flipping from one subject to the next, barely able to contain ourselves and with Gayle’s equally excited interjections of her travels in Africa and heart for women, it was such a great time together.  Soon, we discovered that because our travel plans had changed, and we were no longer going into DR Congo, but instead traveling through Kisumu, Kenya on our way to Kakamega, this is exactly where Millie’s project was located.  She begged me, please, go out and visit the boarding school for girls, St. Francis Nyangajo, and also a nearby school and home for disabled students.  Seriously, how could I refuse????

Millie herself had attended this school some 20 years ago as a young girl.  When she was there and even up til last year, the girls had to go down to the river and collect water for drinking, cooking, and bathing.  They had limited facilities, barely meeting their basic needs.  Now that she is living in America, her heart has turned back to the girls at this school, remembering the hardships that she herself went through. Last year alone, Millie was able to drill a well, put in a pump, build an entire new dorm, and put in toilets for the girls.

And, just who are these girls???  The school under the current principal, who is as inspiring and passionate, as any woman I have met in Kenya, has gone from 50 girls to almost 500!!! These girls live in nearby villages, with parents paying fees for them to attend.  Some are also orphans, many of whom have lost both parents to HIV AIDS.  They have been sent to live with relatives who have barely enough to exist and certainly not enough to take on yet one more child.  Vivian, the principal, goes out, reaches into the lives of these girls, and pulls them into her school, hoping to find donors who will support these girls.

In Kenya, oftentimes, girls will not receive an education at all.  Even in public schools, parents must pay a fee for a very limited education.  Boys are more important in their culture, so if there are three boys and one girl in the family, any monies for schooling will always go for the male children first.  Many, many girls, if they are able to go to school, will not be able to attend anything further than elementary grade levels.  Their future? Many of them will become pregnant and have many children even before they reach 20.

This school is lifting these girls out of their oppression and even being victimized by an entire culture.  The administration and teachers are speaking worth, importance, hope and life into their lives in a way that no one else can.  I talked with many of the girls.  EVERY single one of them knew exactly what they wanted for their futures!!  When I asked them, one said she wanted to be a civil engineer; another said she wanted to be a neuro-surgeon, not just a doctor!  And, on and on it went: one an author, one a pharmacist, one a translator for the UN – she already speaks three languages and loves language, so I have no doubt she will reach her goal.  

In surroundings that would challenge even the best of us, here these girls are allowed to dream big, big dreams.  One thing is for sure, their lives will never be the same again.  I believe with all my heart women are the ones who will change the plight of Kenya.  This principal, women like Millie Klumpp, and the school you are supporting through Appleseed Ministry Group, are not only speaking to the emotional and spiritual lives of these young girls of Africa, but also their physical needs. I believe the change will happen, one by one, as they are lifted out of unbelievably hopeless and sad circumstances into the lives that God wants for them.  One day, we can only hope that even in America, we will treasure the opportunities that God brings our way and rise up, grab ahold of these opportunities and dream the biggest dream we can imagine!  In the meantime, let us all be inspired by these young women!





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Boldly she exclaimed with a giggle, “I never thought I would be sitting this close talking to a Mzungu (white person)!”  This was Jane’s response when I asked a group of eleven women to start our day together by sharing how they were feeling.   I explained to them that as women we have so many emotions that are changing from day to day and sometimes even minute to minute.  Since each of us had busy lives and come from different parts of Kitale town, some with the hardship of just trying to come up with the fare for transport, I thought maybe the best way to start our time together would be to express in a sentence or two how each of us was feeling right this minute.  I suggested they start their sentence with, “I feel sad, or happy, or angry, or lonely, or worried,” or whatever it was they might be feeling.  When it was her turn, Jane nervously went on to further explain that for her a Mzungu is so high up and learned and she saw herself as so low down that she could not even imagine to sit in the same room, to be talking, to be sharing about life with a White person.  This is something she thought only happened to very wealthy Africans, not her, a poor Kenyan woman.  I couldn’t really tell if she was excited or nervous or just plain scared, but one thing I did know:  I had plenty of life experiences to share that would dispel her thinking that this particular white skinned woman was any better or any higher up than a poor black skinned woman who happened to be born in Kenya.

At the end of the day this same Jane gave a stirring talk as she spoke about the things she had learned.  What touched me the most was she found that she and I weren’t very different at all. Perhaps my skin was white and maybe I was, mmmmm, maybe some 35 years older than she was, but woman to woman we were the same.  Our hearts, our feelings, even some of our life experiences were the same. Our need for a Savior, the same. Someone to love us, to provide for us, to comfort us, to guide us, to heal us…all the same.  She spoke confidently looking across the room into my eyes, “ Mama, do not be gone from Kenya long.  You have a home here in Kitale and many daughters who love you.”