Africa 2010 - See-Eye-Ah

February 11th, 2010

One of the bishops, George Barrack, gave us a key to Siaya to remember the region – See Eye Ah. This is a fertile place, an hour outside of Kisumu, where Paul grew up. When we arrived to a tiny, clean, steel-roofed church, the children began by singing to us in Swahili. We were treated with honor and it was obvious that we were the first white people that some of the children had ever seen.

Malcolm preached a 2 hour lesson, about Stewardship and Sacrifice. He felt moved, prior to speaking, to ask for the blessing of one of the obvious elders in the village. He was shakey from old age, but had a steely gaze and a warmth about him. Malcolm knelt before this man who laid hands on Malcolm’s head and prayed for him in Swahili. After a short, powerful benediction, Malcolm got up and hugged him and the man hugged him back – as brothers in Christ, from 2 sides of the world. Paul was sitting in the corner just smiling. He exclaimed “that’s my father!”. We all were astonished and deeply thankful, and truly had no idea that this man Malcolm felt led to ask, was related at all. The Lord was marvelous and lifted up during that teaching.
After the teaching, we were invited up to the village to a feast. It was authentic Kenyan meal, fried liver, maize, rice, cabbage, soups, and rolled flat bread. It was delicious and we were treated like kings. There was also enough food for 20 people. So when we were finished, some of the men of the village came and took the food to the other houses. I later learned that when Africans have visitors, they show them incredible hospitality and have a saying “When the visitors come, the whole village eats”. Perhaps that is why we had so much food put before us.
We left the village, after a happy send off, including my showing the kids how to juggle their “soccer ball”. The ball was built of dozens of grocery bags bundled up and kept together with rubber bands. They thought it was a hoot that this Mizungu (Swahili for “white dude”) was pretty good at soccer. Every time I muffed and kicked the ball away, some beautiful kid would scamper off and pick it up and throw it back to me. What a treat.

Our next stop was to Paul’s mother’s home, only a mile away from the church. She was sick and her feet were causing her much pain. Paul said it was arthritis. We arrived at a clearing and walked about a hundred yards along a hillside trail. We came upon mud and wattle homes, with thatched roofs. In one of the older ones, a sweet woman was sitting in the dark. No electricity, no plumbing, only a single room with a bed stacked in the corner. Her face was lined with worry and wrinkles from a hard life. She was authentically African. I shall never forget her face. Malcolm and I prayed over her and asked the Lord to reach down and heal her body. We chatted with her for a while, all the while worry lines crossing her brow and her mouth. We eventually left to head back to Kisumu.

Prologue: The Lord did not heal Paul’s mother. Indeed, the answer was different than anyone was expecting. This precious woman died two days later. It was a hard hitting fact for both of us that life is so indeed out of our control to manipulate, stretch, or breathe into. I actually snuck two pictures of Paul’s mother and one picture of her feet beside Paul’s. I don’t know exactly why I did this. I didn’t want to intrude on the sacred moment of prayer with my camera, but I felt that it was important. Those 2 pictures were the last pictures ever taken of this woman, who is now pain-free in the arms of Jesus. Of that, I am sure.