Tumaini

As far as I can tell, the Mathare slum doesn't have any official walls. It's just a distinctly poor area where people live in poorly constructed cinder-block, tin, or cardboard shanties. Despite the absence of walls, Mathare may as well be a prison. Inhabitants have little hope of escape. Stephen and Rosemary are merchants of hope. Apart from Living Word Church - itself a light in the darkness - the Mbogos have helped some of their congregation by establishing a school and several small businesses. The school provides primary education for over 100 kids, in the hopes of equipping them with enough knowledge and fueling them with enough ambition to one day escape the grip of Mathare, and perhaps even make a significant difference in the local community. The businesses, a bead and craft shop, a tailoring boutique, and a bakery, all aim to provide income for owners and workers and services for the community for the purpose of improving the overall quality of life in Mathare. All four enterprises have been christened 'Tumaini', which means 'hope' in Swahili. We were able to get tours of each establishment, and many of our team made purchases. When we visited the bakery, one of the local pastors escorted us, and his little son came along. The display case was opened for us to see some custom-made birthday cakes. Just as we were about to leave, our little companion reached in and swiped a chunk of frosting off of one of the cakes. As punishment, he was given a muffin. He held it behind his back for the entire walk back to the church, wary of any opportunistic young adversaries with plans to commandeer his treasure.

Another ministry affiliated with Living Word Church is an AIDS care program. Whenever teams come to work with ByGrace, Stephen encourages the purchasing of care packages to be distributed to some of those suffering. As we were about to head out to visit the AIDS patients, Stephen took part of the team to the field to lead the sports camp, departing with a pointing finger and the words "There's no need to wait for me, the AIDS patients are just there." Those of us planning to make visits looked down the row of shanties leading to a cluster of more shanties, and scratched our heads in unison. It was at this point that I issued my most insensitive quip thus far. "So... we're supposed to waltz into every home down there asking 'Hey, does anyone in here have AIDS?" Fortunately, I think I said it softly enough not to be heard by everyone in the slum. Unfortunately, God probably hates me now.

Yet, even in the aftermath of my blatant heartlessness, we were privileged to witness a grand display of tumaini. Our intent was to visit some of the homes of people living with AIDS, provide them with a bag of groceries, and pray for them. As usual, God's plans were larger than what we had intended. We wandered a long way into the most impoverished section of Mathare (Living Word is in the 'upscale' neighborhood of the slum) until we reached the river that runs through Nairobi, which is absolutely repugnant where it winds through the slum. We found a shanty where two young women were staying. Rose and Evelyn had both come from Western Kenya, and met each other in an AIDS treatment ward, where they became intimate friends. Stephen spoke to them quite a bit in Swahili, so I didn't catch everything, but I believe that one had considered herself a Christian at one point, but was no longer following Christ, and the other had never known Him. Stephen shared with them that we had come from the USA to share the love of Christ with them, and though we couldn't give them physical healing, we could introduce them to a love that heals hearts. Both of them said that they wanted that healing. We prayed over them, invited them to church the following day, and welcomed them into the family of God. It was powerful. On the way home it rained. Rare in Nairobi, but strangely fitting.

When we got home last night, I was in high spirits. It was laundry night. Four days ago, I had deposited a handful of clothes into the giant purple laundry bin, and a day later, my clothes mysteriously reappeared in a basket upstairs by our rooms, clean. It was desperately needed, as I had worn everything I'd brought since my arrival two weeks ago. The first washing attempt involved only a few large garments, but my initial laundry success gave me hope for the cleansing of everything else. So the day before yesterday, I dropped many more items into the bin, knowing that I'd need more clean clothes before our trip to Webuye this afternoon. Hence, I had high hopes for clean clothes when we got home last night. My hopes were dashed, however, when the bin upstairs featured only one major item of the six I had deposited. The rest were still on the line. On the line in the rain. The basket did include all of my socks, but in this too, I was disheartened. Clearly, they had scrubbed the living beejeezus out of each and every sock. I could tell just by looking at my poor lifeless socks (normally they're so vivacious), that they would all be at least three sizes too big. And there's nothing worse than floppy socks bunching up in your shoes. Nothing. The holocaust is a close second. After I sorted my clothes from the basket, I trudged out into the night in the rain through the pitch-thick mud, in the pitch-black night, uphill both ways, to retrieve my clothes from the line. After 15 minutes of searching (there were quite a few items hanging out to 'dry' - as you might expect at a home full of 34 children), I finally found my prodigal garments, and took them back to our room to hang there. My hopes for dry clothes this morning were admittedly low.

When this morning came, however, hope returned to me, when I discovered that my clothes were miraculously dry. Furthermore, Sunday morning traffic was slight, lending vigor to the spirit. More importantly (ok, much more importantly) when we went to church, Rose and Evelyn were there, and smiling. I can't imagine that smiles have been frequent in their lives, but seeing them in church, surrounded by people equipped to care for them, is certainly promising. Dan spoke for the youth service, and Mitch spoke in the bible study time, which is really just another service. Then, we enjoyed an incredibly raucous and exuberant time of worship. Such joy in worship simply cannot be found among people without hope.