Muzungu! Muzungu! Muzungu! A commom word that follows me and my teammates around, as we travel throughout Kitale, Kenya. Basically it means white person…..yes very obvious, but none the less a common Swahili word. Everywhere we go heads almost snap off as people turn to stare, kids run to us, and work stops. It’s hard for us to believe, but this is the first time that many of them have actually seen a muzungu. We stand out and slowly word is getting around of why we are there.
The past two days we have been walking throughout a village, with a few Kenyan interpreters, entering huts and praying for the people. As we travel across cornfields, through barbwire fences, and down many dirt roads; we get to know the real Kenya. The majority of homes are simple mud huts, one or two rooms, without any utilities. They are dimly lit and crowded with few possessions (limited furniture and posters on the walls). Smoke overtakes the nostrils, as something cooks over the open fire, flies buzz around. Chickens nap on a widows chairs, a baby sleeps on the hard floor, baby chicks dance under our feet. Humbled, people kneel as we lay hands and pray……some accept Christ for the first time, others find renewed strength.
Two boys, home alone, hang out outside…..both very skinny, one sits in a wheelchair with polio. Kids with malaria, elders suffering with poor health, a husband out of work with a broken femur, a young widow trying to get her kids through school. A wife with an alcoholic husband; a widow taking
care of orphans; a mother with children who have run away. Most homes we go to, kids hang in the doorway to just watch; while cows mill about in the yard.
As Austin and I walk down the dirt road, children come from all around and hang off of our arms. They are content to follow us wherever, to feel the hair on our arms, to just hold our hands. One father asks me to take his little girl to America with me, she asks too; she follows us all day. An old man intercepts and tries to drag me down the road…..he threatens our interpreters with his cane……apparently he wants me to help him with my money. We are served chai tea and bread at one person’s house (the day before I was served soda), a simple way for them to bless us. We also receive a huge bunch of bananas, 2 fresh eggs, and I receive a live turkey while Austin receives a live 
duck. On the way back, our friends buy us each a roasted corn on the cob, from a roadside stand. I am speechless at the end of the day and touched deeply. We get back to the church, joining our fellow 5 other racers at the Pastor’s hut, for a simple late day meal: rice, chapati, a small amount of beef, and broth.
More and more my heart breaks for God’s people……my senses explode with the truth of their needs. They don’t have much and yet they are willing to serve a stranger…..to invite them into their home. All I can offer is prayer and that seems to be enough for most….would that be enough for me? Would I be able to endure each day not knowing if I could feed my family, being surrounded by illness, having my husband in a different part of the country working? It takes huge faith in God and supernatural endurance to handle that. I like to think that I could trust my Savior enough. These people wake up each day and go on with life, living as they know how, and hoping as they are able.
We drive back to Kitale, our home, passing street children along the way. They are dirty, barefoot………..sniffing glue….
