I’m not sure what I thought Africa would be like. I don’t know what I thought I’d be doing or
seeing or feeling. There are so many
things you read about Africa – about the need and the poverty and the sickness
and the fighting. All of that is true, and
it’s here, I just don’t really see it. I
know it’s around, but that hasn’t really been my experience so far. It’s not better or worse than I expected,
it’s just different.
We are spending the month in Mpeketoni, Kenya, a small town of about 25,000
people (according to Wikipedia). I would
have guessed maybe half that on a good day. Mpeketoni is a very long 12 hour bus ride from
Nairobi, and just over 20 minutes from the coast of the Indian Ocean. It’s an intricate village that is more elaborate
colony than town, spreading from a center hub of small businesses and stores;
the collective mosaic of “town” takes up an area roughly the size of a city
block. From this center sprouts a weave
of dirt streets and footpaths spider-webbing between mud and timber houses and
semi-concrete buildings, extending much farther into the bush than anyone truly
knows.
The common thread found throughout all of Mpeketoni is the charm and warmth of
the people who call this place home. I
am consistently impressed by the welcoming hospitality and genuine friendliness
we are shown – an atmosphere and attitude that has been lost to “old-fashioned”
Nick-at-Nite sentimentality in the vast majority of the western world. It has become surprising to pass someone on
the street and not receive a wave, usually followed by a “hello” or “how are
you”, and sometimes even a handshake. I
am amazed at how much these simple gestures impact my mood on a given day.
The seven members of my team are here as usual, however, we’re also working
with Bill’s team this month and two girls from a new World Race Exposure
program – so 16 total. The girls,
Brittany (my team) and Emily (Bill’s team), are 18 and 22, interested in missions,
and are spending the month with us, fully integrated into our team before both
head off to school – Brittany to college and Emily to grad school. While having so many people around has felt
like a very full house at times, it has made the month an amazing time of
community and shared ministry. I know I
will definitely miss them all next month, but until then, we’re doing our best
to make the most of every day.
So what does every day look like? Every
day is different and very unique. Monday
is our day off, which we have spent doing things like packing into the back of
an old diesel work truck and driving to the beach to swim in the Indian Ocean
or off-roading in the bush in search of zebras, hippos, antelopes, and
giraffes. Unfortunately, the truck only made
it for half of the safari trip before giving up – meaning we got to walk home 2
hours through the African wilderness.
But we made it. Call it our
workout for the day.
Each day of ministry is truly different and full of surprises and new
experiences. Some days we spend doing
manual labor around the church. Other
days are spent in fellowship with church members both at the church and at
small groups. There are always
opportunities to meet people and create relationships.
A few of the days we have walked out into the community in small groups of two
or three to do door to door evangelism.
I know exactly what you’re thinking because it’s what I thought (and
mostly still think) when I hear the phrase “door to door”. Honestly, there isn’t really anything that
sounds fun when you put “door to door” in front of it. I might even refuse door to door ice cream sampling,
so when you take a word like evangelism and throw it in, the activity drops way
down on my list of fun stuff to do on a Thursday. Anyway, I didn’t really have a choice, so I
went along. What I expected was awkward
conversation in mixed Swahili translation and broken English. What I expected was polite (or maybe not so
polite) dismissal. What I expected was
subject change and deflection and argument.
What I expected was for Africans to do what I would do.
But it’s different here. We would walk
up to a house and whoever was home would stop whatever they were doing, invite
us inside, and offer us tea or a snack.
Amazing. They weren’t too busy,
they didn’t have somewhere they needed to be, they didn’t even have to fit us
in to their schedule. If they were
nothing else they were courteous and welcoming – but they were more. It was beyond basic manners or etiquette. In the slow pace of a lifestyle not dominated
by technology remains a well apportioned worth in common conversation and spontaneous,
neighborly visiting. They genuinely
wanted to spend time with us and hear what we had to say. I found myself drawn into these conversations,
into the very real stories of real people.
What I found is that for me, evangelism is nothing more than story telling. I would ask them about their life, what is
their story? They would ask me about
mine – where I come from, why I’m here, how I got here, what is my life like,
etc… sharing stories.
Stories are great, and I love hearing people’s stories, but if our stories are
just about us we’re leaving out the best part.
If it stops at us, there’s a big piece we’re missing. The
story isn’t about me. The more I read
and understand about Jesus the bigger I find the story is. The more I experience him the more I believe
it. Donald Miller states it perfectly when he
calls us “trees in a story about a forest.”
The only tree that matters is Jesus, and the entire forest gets to be a
part of that story. Evangelism, to me,
is just telling people where your story fits in the bigger one – and where
theirs can fit, too.
I don’t know what I thought Africa would be like. I don’t know what I expected from Kenya. Honestly, I still don’t know what is expected
from me here. Personally, I’m kind of in
a weird place right now – a really good place – but a weird place none the
less. It’s tough to describe – maybe I’ll
try harder later. What I do know is that
I am here, and there is a lot to be learned and experienced here. My story continues to be written and right
now it’s set in Mpeketoni, Kenya. Every
day is the opportunity to write something worth living, or just a draft to be
scrapped.
Let’s write better stories
every day.
