"Don't hold the hammer so close to the head, don't want to smash your fingers now do we. Now, hit it as hard as you can." The boy raised the hammer in air and brought it down on the wooden stake. "Good job, now hit it again just like that." The man said. More confident now, the boy raised the hammer again and repeated several blows until his arm grew weary. He began to waver, but he was aware that several big men were stood behind him, watching, silently cheering him on. Suddenly the big man leaned over him and grabbed his shaking hand, engulfing it in his, hammer shaft and all. The big man's left hand held the wooden stake and then, with amazing force, brought the hammer down with a splintering blow, almost causing the stake to disappear into the soft earth.

The men cheered their approval as the boy turned and looked up into their grinning faces. He felt like a warrior, a hero, like he was one of them, accepted, on the team. A defining moment a boy never forgets. I know how he felt. I was that boy. The big man was my dad and I was six years old.

Bar b que

The wooden stake was the first marker stake for the layout of a new building. Fifty years later I find myself in Africa and that moment flashes across my mind as I am now about to layout the foundation of a new school building. I notice a small boy standing alone to one side watching, curious but shy. I know what to do next. "Kuja happa." I beckon the boy to come to me. He's nervous and unsure, in disbelief, and looks for the reassurance of the elder men. They gesture and he comes, slowly. His arms are frail but I show him how to hold a hammer and together we pile a steel spike into the red African soil. He's grinning from ear to ear. His name is Towot and he's six years old. Or maybe he's ten, nobody really knows and it's hard to tell in this area where children are often malnourished. It doesn't matter anyway.

Men watch Towot

The morning flashes by in a flurry of activity as I work with maybe twenty men laying out the new school building. We feed on each other's enthusiasm which somehow seems to make the work easier in the hot sun and we make much better progress than I'd expected. By two in the afternoon we're done just as a breeze picks up and a dark cloud in the distant hills drops rain on the parched landscape. Sweeping past east to west like a giant paintbrush. Large raindrops splash down and the red soil takes on a mottled look as it changes color. We scurry for cover, but it doesn't last long. The patches of maize and millet needed a soaking but they only got damp. The sun returns, the moisture evaporates.

Natural Spring

Evening comes quickly as the setting sun purples the clouds before it falls behind the Cherangani mountains. Stars begin to stud the black sky. Sat outside the mud hut that will be my home for the night I chat with Samuel and a couple of other men who's faces I can't see. It's so incredibly dark. We hear the sound of footsteps a few yards away and then the splintering of dry wood. A lighted match glows in the darkness and soon flames as a campfire is lit. Sam and I move our chairs closer to the fire and stare into the flames. I count eight faces opposite, flickering orange reflections on their black skin. They are sat in a straight line, not in a semi-circle as I'd expect. None of us have eaten since the black millet ugali served for lunch. I don't feel hungry but I wonder if the others do. I stumble in the darkness to my car and fetch the loaf of bread I had brought. Two slices for each person and it's gone.

Preparing the coals

Samuel interprets as we exchange questions about families and life. They ask me if I grow maize at home or have cows and goats. I ask them if any had ever had chance to attend school. Perfectly legitimate dumb questions reflecting ignorance of each other's culture. But we're having a good time, laughing and enjoying each other. More men arrive but still they sit cross legged in straight lines opposite Sam and I, the camp fire between us. I ask them about the boy who had hammered the steel spike with me earlier. His father was there and proudly told me Towot had spent the whole day going around telling everybody in the village how he had helped the white man hammer the spike. He was still talking about it when they put him to bed. We all laughed, we all related.

Samuel watches Towot

More men came and made more straight lines. The fire had grown big and I could see rows of them opposite. Then Sam told me why. They were facing mount Metelo, where they believe God lives and were about to pray and thank him for sending the white man to build the school. A young man arrives with a large goat tethered on a leash. He mutters a few words to one of the elder men then disappears into the darkness. I should have known what would happen next but I'm too wrapped up in the moment to think about it. The young man soon returns carrying a piece of wire mesh loaded with fresh meat. Two logs are laid parallel to each other next to the fire and the coals are raked out between them. Two steel rods stretch from log to log and the mesh is laid across. The aroma of roasted meat soon fills the air as the fat drips down on the hot coals. Green leafy branches, broken from a nearby bush are laid down and the roasted meat is laid on them to be carved. A group of women arrive and sit separately from the men to one side of the fire. Soon we're all feasting on the roasted meat, I wish they hadn't served me first but it was their pleasure to do so. After we've all eaten it's quiet. I stretch out in my canvas chair and throw my head back to look up at the stars. There are so many and they seem so close. Then without indication a man stands up and calls loudly to the others in his native Pokot tongue, as if singing a question to them. They respond with a deep hummmmmm and chant a reply. The women then echo spontaneously. The man repeats, the others respond, louder now. I have no idea what they are saying but it doesn't matter I know the prayers have begun. It is one of the most harmonious sounds I have ever heard, it has to please God's ears. The singing goes on for a long time and I don't want it to stop. I'm astonished at the beautiful sounds filling the air. Late into the night we all finally tire and one by one drift off to our beds. I stare up through my mosquito net and offer a word of thanks of my own as I drift off to sleep. I feel His pleasure now also, because I'm in His grasp.