Four empty seats in the row across from me were too much to resist as the plane pushed out from the terminal at LAX, so I quickly unclipped my seat belt and slid over to take possession of the rare prize. A couple of other passengers glared at me probably having had the same idea but with twenty hours flying time ahead of me I inwardly justified my action. A meal a movie and an Ambien and suddenly London was only 2 hours away. In spite of my good fortune at being able to catch cat naps along the way the 10,000 mile flight still left me feeling a little disorientated as I boarded the small plane at Nairobi airport for the third leg of the journey bound for Kisumu on the shores of Lake Victoria. However, the announcement from the pilot that, since we were so fully loaded, we would have to do a 'power check' before we took off got my attention. In spite of my fatigued state it was a comical sight to see 40 or so passengers, packed like sardines in a tin can, all shaking and bouncing in their seats as the thrust from the engines at full power seemed totest every rivet in the old plane, which somehow was still stationary on the runway. The engines finally stilled to a hum as the crackling announcement was made in apologetic mannor over the P.A.system, that we had to return to the terminal for some 'mechanical adjustments'. Having witnessed first hand how mechanics tend to work in Africa, at least on automobiles, my mind quickly jumped into gear to search the memory banks for an alternative method of getting to Kisumu but I couldn't come up with a better idea so I stuck with plan A. We disembarked and waited for a couple of hours while a crew of men poked and twisted various components on one of the main engines before declaring it was 'OK to go now'.

An hour later we touched down in Kisumu and walked across the runway to await our luggage which was duly brought to us on hand carts. Once retrieved I spent the next 5 to 10 minutes chiseling the price of the taxi fare to Kakamega and a small retreat center there I've really come to appreciate. I had decided to try a different approach to making the journey to Kitale this time trying to avoid traveling into Nairobi's smoggy, grid locked city center with it's street hawkers and crazy matatu drivers and thus took a different route through Kisumu. Once the taxi pulled through the gates of the retreat center, located in the tropical rain forest, I knew I had made the correct call. I was escorted to a cottage boasting a large veranda decked out with comfortable African furniture all amidst the towering trees, manicured lawns and the songs of a thousand birds. This would become home for a couple of days and I soaked up every minute recuperating from the long journey, and its induced jet lag, and preparing for the work ahead.

The time passed by too quickly and soon it was time to leave and head to Kitale and Brittany's House. A group of 25 people from Alabama had been staying at the house the week prior to my arrival most of whom were due to leave the following day. They had been working at Challenge Farm, a facility where street kids are cared for. This being the last night of their stay a celebration was planned around a huge bonfire with visitors and kids alike singing songs and telling stories. I was invited so I joined the group. Sat shoulder to shoulder on a wooden bench staring into the flames, enjoying the warmth that radiated from them and listening to the stories of the weeks events I began to feel drowsy and probably would have drifted off to sleep had my position been one even slightly more comfortable. It was then that I felt a tug on my arm from behind and turned to see a small girl, maybe 5 years old, looking up at me with piercing eyes and a sheepish grin. I couldn't recall ever having met the child before but without a word she somehow managed to squeeze her way next to me onto the bench and wiggling up closer before nestling up into the crook of my arm. I dragged my open jacket around her to protect her from the nights chill at our backs and pulled her to my side. The light from the fire reflected on her dark shiny skin and danced in her big white eyes as she looked up at me. It all seemed so natural, a small child seeking the warmth and protection from a fatherly figure and my reaction without questioning where she had come from or whom she belonged to although subconsciously I knew she was from the steets. Some things just shouldn't be and a five year old child trying to survive on the streets alone is high on that list. Thank God for Challenge Farm where they can take refuge and for giving me the relief of knowing that at least that child is safe there.

Children's Home

The next day, visitors having left Brittany's House, I was anxious to meet with Samuel, headmaster at Runo, and to find out what had been going on in my absence. Unusually heavy and prolonged rains had delayed the production of bricks but had produced a continued flourish of growth of every thorny species of bush and sisal imaginable. I felt like I'd been away a whole year rather than a month such was the level of encroachment of the bush which seemed to be intent on devouring the building under construction. A day with a small army of machete wielding Pokots will fight back the intrusion though at least for now. Getting projects moving again once I return reminds me of stoking the boiler of some giant steam locomotive, a whole lot of energy and effort before anything seems to move but once going all one can do is hang on. It's an exciting challenge, but with the completion of the orphanage building in sight I can already hear and see in my minds eye the 200 children who will call this place home soon. A place to seek refuge just as that child had done who snuggled up into my arms around a bonfire the night before. Perhaps God had given me that gift to confirm that this is his vision and to encourage me to continue until it's completed, I don't know. But what I do know is that in spite of the challenges, this is the most fulfilling endeavor I can remember undertaking and, of course, I remain in His grasp.