The needle on the dial thermometer pressed hard against the stop pin, indicated the temperature to be over 120 degrees in the shade. My friend Chris Hite and I had just arrived in Lodwar, Turkana, at the home of our missionary friends Greg and Mindy Yost. We were there to explore the possibilities of working along side them in their ministry of planting churches and training leaders, we were there to learn. In this harsh, distant land traditions and culture are as varied as the arid parched bush land is from a rain forest. It’s people are tough, they are survivors yet yearn for the truth of the gospel. We were soon to experience firsthand an unplanned encounter with a group of them.

As we sat on the veranda over lunch the next day, asking questions and listening to the stories Greg and Mindy had to tell, the gate guard popped his head in the screen door to inform our hosts that a group of elders were at the gate. Greg instructed the man to allow them into the yard and have them sit beneath the shade until we were done with lunch. We had been presented with an opportunity to meet with some of the very people we had just been hearing about. A worker was sent with a few shillings and soon arrived back with a sheep tethered to a piece of sisal. The group of men, mostly elders, numbered about thirty as we arranged ourselves amidst them in a large circle under shade trees along the riverbank. Some of the younger ones were dispatched to gather firewood while the sheep, unaware of its fate stood silent in the center. I was seated next to an old man named Ocray who donned only a worn brown blanket tied around his shoulder and secured around his waste with a belt.

Chris chews a choice piece

A pair of saddles made from discarded tires fit loosely on his feet. He wore a colorfully decorated hat complete with ostrich feather on his head but most bizarrely sported a pair or old and bent, scratched sunglasses.  The exposed areas of his dark skin bore the marks of hundreds of small symmetrical scares, permanent decorative reminders of some past event. I could only imagine what they represented. With the help of Greg’s interpretation we bantered back and forth and exchanged sunglasses, laughing as if we were old pals reunited. Two men from opposite extremes having fun wheeling and dealing over a pair of sunglasses, but  forming a spiritual kinship. I got a bow with arrows he got a pair of sunglasses I had as backup in the car. We both felt like winners.

Ocray and Paul barter oversunglasses

By this time the fire was burning hot. Suddenly Ocray stood, produced a knife from his belt and approached the sheep. One quick jab to the heart and the animal buckled. A couple of the younger guys systematically dismembered it and soon the aroma of roast meat filled the air. Chris and I were offered a piece of choice meat but nothing was left to waste. A few hours later, business taken care of the old men left, chanting and waiving as they departed. Greg had previously told us about the importance of building relationships, we had just experienced Turkana relationship building 101.

Ocray and Paul

The relentless heat persisted the next day so it was late afternoon before we ventured out in the bush to meet another group of elders. We found them sat beneath a lone shade tree, which also serves as a classroom for literacy lessons. Three of these old men had formerly been witchdoctors but were now converted Christians. A young man who, on this day, was suffering from a bad case of malaria in the miserable heat was their teacher. A blackboard leaning against the tree was their only learning aid. Now rather than casting spells and curses these guys just wanted to learn to read so they could understand the living word of God from their bibles.

Turkana classroom

The flaming sun seemed to set the distant hills ablaze as it finally relented and disappeared over the horizon. We were now on the edge of a riverbank in the bush, observing a project whereby solar panels power a pump submerged in a hand dug well. The pump provides water, which flows through a network of pipes to an irrigation scheme, transforming the dry earth into green patches where vegetables now grow. Darkness was setting in as we boarded our vehicle and drove off. We met with a family who Greg works with and ate a meal of rice and beans they had prepared, seated in the darkness outside their small huts, woven from reeds and straw. A canopy of stars began to appear, first hundreds then thousands glittering in the black velvet African sky. An almost full moon rose in the distance, blood red at first but gradually changing to a bright gold as it ascended higher and higher. It was time to move on to our next stop.

We wove through the bush seemingly in circles but eventually came to a halt by a lone mud structure. As we disembarked the sound of a loan drum, beating in the distance could be heard. It was the call to church. We followed the sound until we came to a clearing where four or five people stood, silhouetted in the moonlight, one of them beating on the drum. Gradually the numbers swelled as people emerged from the bush, mainly women and children, but also several young men. Older men sat separately to the side, more curious than committed to attendance but there all the same. Songs were sung in the native Turkana language to the ever increasing rythem of the drum, each child seemingly eager to lead in the chorus. It was nine o’clock when we arrived, we stayed until ten thirty and still the numbers were swelling. The silhouetted, black figures blanketed like ghosts, seemed eerie at first, but each one stretched out a hand of greeting as they arrived. Before we left we gave them o ur greetings and thanked them for their welcome at the same time trying to offer a word of encouragement to their fledgling church. They in return gave us their blessing as we waved our goodbyes. The kindred spirit was in evidence here to.

As I lay on top of the sheets of my bed that night I tried to recapture the images I had taken in throughout the day. It was almost too much to absorb. A cool gentle breeze flowed over my body as I drifted off to sleep, as if reassuring me that I remain in His grasp.