Anyone who knows me knows that I love keeping to my Appalachian roots. I love bluegrass music, mountains, and any thing that could slightly resemble my West Virginia mountain heritage. Little did I expect to feel as if I had been transported to old Appalachia while I was hiking up into the Ngong hills in Kenya, Africa.
Yesterday, myself and Rose were traversing a well beaten dirt path with two of our contacts, Grace and James, and I lifted my gaze to the scenery that was beyond the side of the road. I stopped to soak in the breathtaking view. The hills were crisp, chilly (I was wearing a winter hat, sweater, and jacket and was still cold!), and blanketed in mist. Even though this is the short dry season, the countryside is every verdant shade imaginable with wildflowers springing up along the roadside as we passed by. There was a little wooden cabin nestled in one of the hillsides with thick smoke curling out of a ramshackle chimney. I felt a pang of homesickness for mountains that were familiar as I started singing, “West Virginia, My Home” in my mind, but I wouldn’t have traded this experience for the world. We hiked on and up, and there was a moment that the grade increased and I wondered to myself where the mountain woman in my blood had gone. Though I was thoroughly loving the hike, I was entirely out of shape for it. My legs had been exercised in cities and flat lands for the past few years and were finding this path a difficult adjustment. This was about the moment that James and Grace informed us that the children that go to their primary school climb down and up this mountain every day to go to school.
It took us about an hour to reach our destination. We were traveling up into the mountains to collect photos and video footage for a project for the children’s home we are helping to establish. There are about 25 children that need a stable home, either due to the fact that they have no parents, or that their families are finding difficulty in providing for them. Yesterday, we were making our way to the home of Jane’s Grandparents. We passed life in all stages en route to their home. There were men and women working in the fields, an old woman taking her cows, goats, and sheep in for the evening, men building a grave, and the homes we passed had a variety of laundry, children, sheep, dogs, and goats in their yards. I felt like an ethnographer, or better yet, like the one in the movie “Songcatcher” as I took in every detail, and climbed further up into the hills to collect our story. I had no idea what to expect when we arrived.
Last week, Jane came over to our home so we could conduct an interview with her about her story. She sat nervously upon a seat outside in the garden. She fiddled with her hands which lay folded upon her tattered school uniform. Then she haltingly began recounting the events of her childhood. One night, when she was six years old, she and her brother and sister were awoken from their sleep by screams. When they followed the cries, they found their father strangling their mother with a rope. After he killed their mother, who was only twenty-five years of age, before all of his children, he shoved her body into a borehole and took his children to their grandparent’s home claiming he could not find his wife anywhere, and asked them to care for the children in her absence. That was where the three children would remain to this day. Jane’s father is in custody, but not in prison, because in Kenyan law, you must admit to your crime to be convicted, and he has refused to admit to it for six years. Jane’s face clouded up as she spoke of hating her father for the murder.
As we arrived at the homestead, I half expected the grandparents to have the same hatred and resentment upon their faces. All we were met with was joy and love. Jane’s grandparents, Peter and Cecilia, were still caring for their children, as well as the three grandchildren from their daughter who was murdered. Peter is 77, and spoke remarkably good English for a Kenyan man of his age. They both had 13 children, ranging from ages 42-16, though two of their daughters have passed away. Many of their children and grandchildren live with them or nearby. Their eldest daughter died of AIDS, leaving them two of her children to care for. Now they are caring for their great-grandchildren while those two women work as housegirls nearby. Even though they acknowledged that it would be helpful to have a place where Jane and her siblings could be supported, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that they were well loved by this gracious couple. In fact, despite their impoverished circumstances from the world’s viewpoint, I know that their family is rich, for they have Christ, and the grace of Christ alone is sufficient.
Before I came on the race, a friend of mine and I began discussing my intention on this mission one day as we were traveling back from REI to get some of my gear. He, knowing my heart was for women who were bound by sex-trafficking, asked me, “What if you don’t get any of them out?” Through our discussion, I knew that my first and sole purpose was not to try to free people from their physical circumstances. Yes, if I can do anything to help their situation, I will, but that’s not the freedom I have come around the world to proclaim. A woman imprisoned by sex-trafficking, or a family living on the bare necessities of life can still have the freedom of most value through Christ Jesus. Without that message, this would just be a humanitarian effort, and there are plenty in the Peace Corp. who are set out for that business. The world’s greatest need is the gospel of peace, the good news of Jesus Christ, and that alone brings true wealth and freedom.
We’ve only worked on two of these interviews, and I have already been floored by the Spirit of Christ is these people. In the first interview, Catherine told us how her husband had died, leaving her with three children to care for and AIDS. She said she counted herself blessed, and thanked God every day for his blessings. She said she knew he was keeping her in good health to care for her sons. Though Jane had seen her mother brutally murdered, Grace told us, “She has Jesus Christ. She is strong and not given to worry or anxiety because of that.” It seems to simple! The formula is, I have Jesus Christ, therefore, I have everything I need. I’m just humbled and blessed to see it put into the truest action. When the Lord is glorified through the lips of a mother dying of AIDS, and when grace and peace are exemplified through the life of a man and woman supporting their whole family with little physical comforts to offer them, I see the Holy Spirit alive and moving in their lives, and I can only proclaim my God is an awesome and mighty God!
