June wafflings - One month to go!

This afternoon I'm spending a little bit of time working on a newsletter. Blogposting are very much still on my heart but I've not had so much time to think over the past two months.

One month till my wedding. Most things are in place for the big day. Here in Kenya I've two messy homes to organise as I pack up items from one and unpack at the other. Painting at both will be needed, maybe even in the next couple of weeks (it's normally contractual when leaving a property to paint for the next tenant, which can be frustrating as you arrive to find paint on windows and that all the doors no longer close.)

Here's the mess at my prior flat last weekend.

There's much still to move. I took a van and together with some friends we moved all the large items. On popping in on Wednesday, I noticed that somehow I had 'missed' the chest of drawers, so another van one afternoon will be needed.

As the apartment I am moving to is fully furnished I've now got fair few chairs - 9 seats and a desk chair in the living room. Lots of coffee tables too.

Janet and I are particularly looking forward to the opportunity to be hospitable which neither have easily been able to do in our previous places.

I should leave this here and get back to the newsletter. Maybe you'll see it before the end of this week :o)

"I'm Game if you Are..."

Yesterday, after a few postponements Janet and I finally got to the game park here in Nairobi. Here are a few stats and photos of our day:

Alarm time - 5:55am

Entry time - about 7am

Lions - 2

Giraffes - many

Buffalo - a few

Rock Hyrax - 1

Baboons - 0 [they're a bit mischievous anyhow]

Hours spent driving - 5

Sunburn on my right side through open window - mild/moderate

Love birds - 2

Petrol used - less than 1500 shillings

Terrapins - a few

Crocodile - 1

Dust on the car - much

Shock absorbers lost - 0

Air conditioning - priceless

Cheetahs and Leopards - 0 [something to focus on next time]

A lazy lion beginning the day

Early morning light across the plains

A gecko

Spooked giraffe lollopping off

Love Birds

An impala - real, not stuffed

A yellow-necked spurfowl

A grasshopper

A giraffe lost in thought in the middle of the road

Just a Minute

I'm loving Just a Minute being back on BBC Radio 4. If you've never listened before, you really should. It fits perfectly with tea and toast.

Master Care

On Thursday of last week I was able to attend a Member Care Afternoon Tea in Nairobi. Fifty or more people came from many different organisations that have offices in Nairobi. I was there as a member care facilitator for staff in Eastern Congo. I do this for two days each week as I think it nicely contrasts with work on institutional funding.

My main takeaway from the couple of hours together was the need that we have as Christians, for not just member care, but master care. And what is this? Well, I haven't got my notes with me, but it is the care that God gives to us individually, maybe on a daily basis or at times of great challenge and hardship. Even over the past three days since it has been good to come to God and tell him what I know about his character - that he is loving, compassionate, gracious, and that he endured every kind of suffering. I look forward to using the term master care and planting it in others' minds over the coming years.

Addition:
Master Care was definitely my takeaway from the Member Care afternoon tea. During the night following, one of the women who had attended lost her husband in a break-in at their rural compound where they worked with YWAM. This is not something normal or that we ever expect to happen. These sort of events are perhaps the hardest to comprehend, and we have all sorts of questions to ask God in the aftermath. I'm thankful that he planned the member care event on that very day. If you're the praying sort, please remember Ebel's wife Lora, their two children, the staff and students of YWAM Athi River and our church where they attended. With my thanks.

Engaged...

This is a little blog post, to let you know that I'm engaged to Janet.

I've not got too much to say, other than that we're both very happy (in spite of the limitations that Skype video imposes on proceedings) and are now beginning to think about what our wedding should look like. Janet also apologises for the lack of blog posts her fiancé has written since they started dating...

A burnt slice too far

My ex-toaster sits forlornly, in the corner of the room... gathering dust. I'm wondering what to do with it - how do I pass off something that is such poor quality? My toaster and kettle were two of the first purchases I made on arriving in Kenya. Sadly they both appear to be 'grade-B' electricals. The kettle just about survives my wrath for now. In my mind I don't understand the business sense of selling such poor products from sometimes reputable brands, but it is said that as long as we keep on buying grade-B electricals in Kenya, they'll keep on importing them [not that I could find the original quote one ambassador to Kenya is said to have made several years back].

My new toaster which I picked up second hand is a pleasure to work with. So now I'm back to Saturday lunch toast-fests. This is where you put on BBC radio (either streamed online or podcasts, and eat toast alongside cups of tea for an hour or two. Blissful.

Conclusion to my blog posts on A ... or not.

On Thursday I arrived back in Kenya, and had finally thought to write a no doubt riveting post on my now ex-toaster. Instead I'm closing off the few blog posts I have written on A.

[http://andysweet.blogspot.com/2010/11/praying-to-god-wondering-if-youre.html,

http://andysweet.blogspot.com/2010/09/normal-normal-for-who.html,

http://andysweet.blogspot.com/2009/11/october-this-is-month-that-was.html]

On Sunday morning, A passed away after what was most likely a collision with a vehicle while on a bicycle the previous day while out researching on fish for a new business venture.

I had received a text late on Saturday night informing me of his admittance to hospital in some pain. During the night he passed away from internal bleeding. I had not expected this at all. I had assumed he had a broken leg that would be set in a cast. At the beginning of the year we’re always so optimistic on the future. He had had a good few weeks in December that were free from medical issues, he had a health insurance card in process and had received funds from a micro-finance institution to start a small business selling fish in Nairobi that he would buy at lake Victoria and transport to town once a week.

I wonder if it’s better to know your near the end of your life and have everything in order, or rather it’s better for it to sneak up before your ready, yet at a time you're at peace. A had plans afoot, but I’m still thankful that he did not have to wait for AIDS to take his life through one of many illnesses that would come with increasing regularity.

A had called me on Friday (which happened to be his 35^th birthday) and it was good to chat. My parting comment was something like “I’ll be praying that 2011 gets off to a good start” and his response was a nervous laugh. Maybe heaven counts as a good start to the year...

Addition: (Two week's later)
There's not a great way to write this paragraph, without it sounded clunky.
The medical centre gave the wrong information to A's friend. He had in fact been transferred to a public hospital in order to save costs and was discharged two weeks later. On arriving at his home, every one was freaked out thinking he was a ghost and didn't sleep a wink. A's friend had arranged to transport A's body to his family home. Somehow, a body was released which the friend took without checking the identity, and now that grieving family want it back. It's difficult to not acquire a complex when so much goes wrong around A. My hope and prayer is that these issues will be resolved quickly, so that A can get back to business and life.

My very own courtroom drama

This time last week I was sitting in Kibera Law Court. The building's located a couple hundred metres into the edge of what I consider the Kibera slum. The road is still paved, but it is a thoroughfare for those walking, and both sides of the narrow road comprised a tightly packed row of shops made out of corrugated roofing, painted in bright colours of the brands they sell, or the names of their establishments.

The courthouse itself was a concrete structure, painted a yellowish colour. As Nairobi is very dusty, it's hard to put an age on the building - it could have been as young as a decade old. On arriving I parked up, and myself and Kones, one of our drivers from the office, went over to the entrance which was closed. Though the summons said 8am, we would have to wait a little while, and knowing this to be the case, we had arrived around thirty minutes late.

When the doors opened we made our way inside and sat down in the courtroom, only to realise that we were in the wrong one, and so we got up and moved to court 3 where traffic offences are dealt with. It was already bustling with people. The room had three rows of benches for observers. We sat down here. At the front was the judges podium, a step up from the rest of the room. In front of her was a table with benches in front and behind. And on the right was a long bench, maybe for a jury. To the left was a box, where a defendant may stand. Behind the jury's bench was a door. The whole room was painted a functional grey, and had lines of wood along the walls. The room was nice and cool and airy and the benches comfortable.

Most of what was going on around me was happening in Swahili. There were many uniformed people - shades of blue, camouflage, military green, and a man in a Salvation Army uniform was sitting in our courtroom. Someone in a police uniform started trying to organise us, and so defendants sat in the visitors bench to the left, and those observing to the right. And now I was asked to submit my summons slip. On the back was a place to sign and date if you were guilty. I signed mine.

In just a few minutes at 9am the judge arrived. The table in front of her now had a team of people who were maintaining the courts functions - reading charges, receipting payments, ordering paperwork. On the other side of the table sat a few lawyers. The cases they began with seemed to involve those who had been unable to post bail, and one by one, or in groups of up to 14 they came through the door to the judge's right, and stood in the bench I had assumed was for a jury. Being a Monday, there must have been a whole weekend's worth of cases. Mostly events happened in Swahili. With so many cases, there seems little room for compassion. one by one, lawyers would tag-team at the front as defendants came and went. Some cases were re-scheduled to January as new evidence was submitted. Eventually, people in the room were starting to be called up to defend. I soon realised that almost everyone in the room had a case, and sometimes people from out the back of the court would come forwards, there being no where left to sit.

Eventually, at around 10:30 my name was called. I quickly stood up and made my way to the bench on the front right. My charge was read out to me, together with the particulars of the place, date and time. "Is this correct?" "It is correct," I said. There was now a pause, as by this point there was a lot of paperwork in motion from previous cases. I stood patiently, my heart beating faster than normal, needing the loo - it's a classic stress response - but I hadn't been prepared to go earlier as I hadn't wanted to miss my name being called. After a minute the judge said "10 months in jail or 8000 shillings". I thanked the judge and turned to the official next to me "Can you pay?" "Yes," I said, and reached for my wallet. I passed him the money and went to sit down at the back of the court to wait for my receipt.

Praying to God, wondering if you're the answer to your prayers... or something like that.

A week last Friday a Kenya friend who I've mentioned before - A - who lost his daughter in a bus crash in August went for chemotherapy. A lymphoma that had been operated on but was trying to grow back. Somehow, Kenyatta Hospital in Nairobi agreed to pay for his drugs and couriered them, wrapped in ice to a small care facility near the Ugandan border where A would be looked after. The first round was done on the Friday night. On the Sunday came a text from his phone asking any recipients to put the carers in touch with A's relatives as he was in a coma, and breathing only very shallowly. Emergencies are normally managed through family structures, and people normally give what they can. A's family did not come to help. Maybe because of strained relationships, and the cost that his AIDS treatment may have been to them in the past. As a church home group that A used to attend, it was a tough decision to know whether to get involved. Not least because with our friend being in a coma, he was not the one requesting money from us. When someone has AIDS, you know that medically speaking it will eventually take it's toll and maybe this is that moment. My thoughts even stretched to the need for the costs of a burial needing to be covered if that was to happen. A had believed that God was granting him  few more years, and on hearing that he was not on IVs, it seemed that the fight between life and death was not balanced. Hearing that news late on Monday I prayed that my mind would be swung the way God wanted it to.

One of the first verses I read in my Bible happened to be Luke 11:42 where Jesus is talking to the Pharisees about their hypocrisy.

Woe to you Pharisees, because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. You should have practiced the latter without leaving the former undone.

To me in this context, this verse said to not help would have been to neglect justice for A in the level of care he received and neglect God's love for him. Thankfully, God turned the hearts of several others of us in supporting, and so it was that we paid about £75 for an ambulance to come from Nyanza General Hospital and collect him, and hoped that the hospital bills would not come our way (they don't release you if you don't pay, rather the bill continues to increase indefinitely). That was last Wednesday last week. From then we heard nothing.

Yesterday morning, a week later, who do I get a call from, but A. He's in Eldoret - 120km from where his treatment was begun! We didn't pay for an ambulance to get his that far. He doesn't know how he got there, and he's been discharged for free but doesn't have his wallet or phone there (maybe they've been stolen, or maybe the care home has kept them safely). He remembers nothing of the chemo, no pain, no discomfort. What a miraculous turn of events. On the night before I had candidly told the home group that he could well have passed away, and we had asked a local pastor in Kisumu to search for A at Nyanza General Hospital (of which there are two). Amazing. It felt like he was back from the dead. I wonder if Lazarus would have been as confused when walking out of his grave in the Bible.

Today I'm reminded of the great testimony to God's goodness that he provides, but of the great trials that still run through life, as I hear of a family I know back in Wales whose youngest daughter was yesterday diagnosed with a brain tumour. I don't have anything special to say, other than that I'm planning to remember them every day in prayer, and I know that God has it in his hands and he knows best.

How to break into a house in Kenya – preferably your own

On the 28^th of February 2009, I was a bit tired. Earlier in the day I had arrived back from the Masai Mara with my parents. And now we were heading out to have food with a few of my work colleagues (including Janet who had her parents staying).

We went to Carnivore Restaurant off Lang’ata Road, which is a honey pot for tourists are supposed to go and get their fill of game meat. (In fact, the Brazilian Barbecue at the Panari Sky Centre is better, not least because it is quieter). Anyway, on the journey I get that cold dread that I’ve latched the door and padlocked the grill with the keys on the inside.

So on arriving at Carnivore I was wondering what to do. I ate for the first fifteen minutes, before deciding that some action was required, so I excused myself saying I need to go and break into the house and I’d either be back while they were eating, or they would need to get a taxi back.

I called a couple of people and they met me at the front door with hacksaws. I rang the neighbour’s doorbell, and politely explained how I would like to climb over the high wall from their garden into the garden of my house. At this point it should be noted that I’d never met the neighbour before, as the house I was breaking into I was just borrowing. He was very helpful, and even began to explain his own methods of breaking and entering his own house. I stopped him before he had divulged too much.

In the neighbours garden (in the dark), we now climbed up the bars on their windows, onto the high separating wall, and then down the other side. The barred patio door was now before us. Conveniently, the latch in the sliding door no longer worked, and so we slid it out of the way to make room for the hacksaw. I was very pleased that I hadn’t put any wood in trough.

The hacksaw did nothing to the padlock. If anything, the hacksaw was wearing out quicker than the padlock.

 

Now it was time for Plan B. We drove about 7 kilometres to an office where we knew there was a very large pair of bolt cutters that had been once bought to break into a container when the keys got lost. If nothing else, the security guards must have been a bit bemused as it was by now around 10pm. Driving back to the house, we now repeated our steps through the neighbours and over the wall. Sliding the patio door out of the way once again, we fed the bolt cutters through, and each took hold of a different arm, and pushed then together. Three seconds later we were in. Shockingly easy.

And just five minutes after this, my parents arrived having been dropped back by a taxi.

And so, the lesson was learnt. My next question was wondering what to replace the padlock with – one that was breakable, or one that will last more than three seconds. I went for the latter and made made sure that a spare key was safely stashed away.