Small Groups

Faustin headed to Eldoret this morning with Salome to do some interview research for his dissertation at the local university. Without the task of documenting women in the Bungoma boondocks, I headed to the conference with Mike. And without Faustin to share the teaching load, Mike was tasked with teaching all day long. This meant that the pastors were bound to enjoy significant small group discussion time, because teaching all day long didn't seem like something Mike was quite energized to do. It didn't seem like something Tigger would have been energized to do on speed and Red Bull (especially if Tigger was still recovering from a 10 hour time change). Furthermore, small group interaction is a cornerstone of discipleship, so it couldn't hurt to have a little more of what had been built into the curriculum in the first place.

The conference rhythm swings between lecture-style teaching, small group discussion, and open response time. Mike begins each session outlining and explaining theological themes from the workbook. Then he opens the small group time by proposing a question or prompt. The pastors really thrive when it comes to the small group time. The Kenyan culture is intensely relational, and any opportunity for interpersonal connection is a delight. I had been under the impression that this style of small group discussion would be foreign to these Kenyans, thinking that because of the strong bonds of friendship they form in their already small churches, they would have had little experience splitting off into even smaller discipleship groups. Faustin ensured that they would be familiar with the practice, however, and whether familiar or not, they certainly enjoyed splitting off into the discussion groups. Eventually, Mike recalls them to a larger discussion, which is quite difficult, because Kenyans love to talk. They can't be too disappointed, however, because what follows is an opportunity to talk more. Before taking a break and getting into the next section, Mike opens up the floor for them to relate to the group as a whole what they discussed during the small group time. Inevitably, one will stand up and make a comment that gets everyone else buzzing, and before too long, the day is over.

There is another small group also in existence immediately outside the conference building. A throng of children assault me any time I step outside. Generally when I exit the building, it's with the intent of seizing a photo opportunity I've spotted from my seat inside, but I frequently miss the shot thanks to the chittering flock at my feet demanding that I immortalize them by pressing that small silver button on the strange black thing with the big eye that I'm always carrying around. Apparently, I am such a fantastic sight for some of them that they have no choice but to stare at me, dumbstruck. Others are too excited to contain their glee, and spout unrelenting streams of swahili gibberish at me. Typically, my response is to squat down, look them in the eye, and assure them as cheerfully as possible with as broad a smile as I can muster, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

At one point, right in the middle of taking a picture, I felt a hand reach over my shoulder to snatch my camera away. Turning, I recognized one of the pastors gesturing to me in an attempt to cajole my camera away. This is the same guy who claimed to be a prophet, foretelling Mike's eventual transition into full time missionary work, and has set a goal to build a church of 25,000 in Bungoma (Wisely, Mike queried, "Do you think that's God's goal?"). He has zeal, to be sure, but we're not entirely certain that his head's all the way in the game. Once I determined that he just wanted to turn the tables on me and take my picture, I relented. At the time, however, I was shooting with my long lens (for those of you to whom it means anything, it's a 70-300mm), and it requires a good distance between the camera and the subject, even at minimum zoom. So I wasn't surprised when he started to back up to get me in the frame. Surprise began to mount, however, when he continued to back up. And back up. And back up some more. He finally took the picture when he had reached the threshold between obviously intending to photograph me and obviously intending to make off with my camera. Apparently, he wanted me full-frame, with room to spare over head and under feet. Chalk it up to artistic intent... or perhaps to having a small group of hens loose from the coop.