I'd been looking forward to their arrival for a few weeks as Jay and Juliet, friends of mine from England, and the team they were leading finally pulled into the driveway at Brittany's House. I'd met Jay and Juliet for the first time in January 2000, during my first trip to Kenya. That was the trip from which I returned home to declare I'd never go back. Not because I wasn't impacted or didn't enjoy the time, I did, but I couldn't see where I would fit or be effective. I had come from a land where instant answers are expected and I hadn't found any. In fact, I think I came away with more questions than answers during that trip. So none of us could have dreamed our roles would be reversed four years later as I moved to Kenya and they moved their family back to England after 12 years of missionary work in Africa. Now they were returning with a team of people from their church, back to Kenya and to the community in west Pokot where they had once lived. Returning to see old friends, and to visit the house they had built on the banks of the river Suawami. Returning to observe the unseen fruits of their labors, namely, the school they've raised funds to build which now stands where goats grazed thorny bushes, not so long ago. More importantly though they had brought a team who came to work by teaching and building, but also to learn and grow. I had been invited to join the team of sixteen for their week long stay deep in the African bush, I was stoked.

After church in Pokot

We loaded our vehicles early the next morning, trying to be as prepared as possible for the unexpected. We climbed the mountain road north to Makatano then headed west on the sandy clay escarpment trail down to the valley below. One vantage point at the top of a bluff offered a particularly magnificent view of the valley floor below us, carpeted with the vibrant green of acacia trees now flourishing with bursts of fresh growth as they soak up the moisture of resent tropical rains. The jagged curves of the river below, it's waters stretching for miles in the glistening sunlight, gave the effect of a giant crack in the landscape. This was the river we would have to cross to reach our destination, adventure lay straight ahead.

Children's Home inside view

When we reached the river crossing point a couple of us guys walked back and forth across the knee high rushing water to check the depth and to look for hidden obstacles or mud patches. My adrenaline was probably rushing faster than the water as I nosed the vehicle down the embankment of the wide river, plunged into the murky water, then across and up the sandy embankment on the opposite side. It was one of those high five moments as if we'd just conquered some giant. We pressed on toward Chemakeu, our intended destination and home for the next week but still a mile or so away we were greeted by a group of excited villagers, dressed in bright colored shukas, singing chants and dancing, swelling in number as the procession led us to their village. A ceremonial welcome and introductions typically mark such occasions in the African culture and there was no exception to this tradition here. While time doesn't stand still it's usually ignored since relationships seem to be valued more than time here (perhaps we have that reversed in our culture) so as the sun began to set we began to scramble to set up camp. This basically consisted of throwing down a foam mattress on the cement floor of a mud walled structure and figuring a way to hang the all important mosquito net from the tin roof. An improvised dinner of peanut butter and jam sandwiches, fruit and chocolate washed down with hot tea more than satisfied our hunger before we settled down for the night. A gentle rain began to fall on the tin roof, as I drifted off into a deep sleep.

Children's Home, outside view

The activities of the next few days consisted of first refining the facilities of our camp by the assembly of portable showers (for those who preferred not to bath in the river) followed by transforming our trailer into a makeshift kitchen around a suitable campfire. That completed, the tasks at hand were for the construction team the hanging of rain gutters to catch the precious rainwater and drain it into suitable holding tanks which had previously been purchased and delivered. Pastoral staff visited fledgling churches in nearby villages while team members who are teachers interacted with school staff and the curious children. Saturday was market day and since it was supposedly only 4 or 5 kilometers away a group of us decided to make the trek. I should have known better because by the time we had arrived back at our camp in the afternoon the G.P.S. devise belonging to one of our members informed us we had completed a round trip journey of 22 kilometers. A fact our aching bodies bore witness to. Fortunately at the market we had been able to purchase chapattis and stuff them with avocado and sliced mangos which, as unappealing as that may sound, turned out to be quite a tasty lunch. (OK, so we were hungry.)

Crossing the river

Obviously the next day was Sunday and time for church to be attended in a neighboring village. A couple of dozen people were in attendance when we arrived, each greeting us with a warm smile and a firm handshake as we swelled their congregation. I never cease to be amazed at how many folks can fit into a small mud building, perhaps the size of the average living room in our western homes, but some two hours later almost 200 people emerged from that structure into the fresh air and sunlight as if by some magic illusion. But I know it's true because I counted every hand I shook as a long line of people, still smiling and singing, formed a circle around the building. The time seemed to pass by in a blur and soon the week was over and we packed up camp and said our goodbyes. Each of us I think personally touched in different ways, perhaps even changed by our experience of spending a short time living in the bush. No sickness, no frayed nerves, but plenty to eat and drink, our needs had been met our prayers for safety and provision had been answered along, no doubt, with a host of other more personal prayers. We headed back to hot showers, a home cooked dinner and comfortable beds at Brittany's House in Kitale.

How did he put me into that tiny box

Jay and Paul arrive back from market

The next day saw the team head south, to Nairobi to board the big silver bird to carry them home. I headed north, back to west Pokot, this time to Runo to catch up on events taking place as the new children's home emerges from its foundations. In spite of rain, bouts of malaria suffered by the craftsmen and mechanical breakdowns of our hired tractor the building is on track to progress to the point I had hoped we would achieve as I come to the end of this particular trip. The roof is finished, and walls, constructed with the 20,000 plus bricks made on site, are almost complete. Measuring 180' in length and 32' wide it appears bigger every time I visit the site. Almost ready for windows and doors to be installed and the interior to be plastered next trip, God willing, we should have it ready by Christmas for the over 150 orphans now attending Runo. Furnishings are the missing link to final completion. I'm humbled at being a part of the process as the link between those who have sacrificed and those who's hands have labored to make this vision become a reality. I'm truly grateful to you all as I remain in His grasp.