Another Official Newsletter

In Kenya, it is easy to get lost. I do not mean that the cities are more difficult than most to navigate. Rather it is common to tell someone that has not been seen in a while, “You have been lost!”

This common phrase used to really irritate me. In theory I understood that it is just the common way of acknowledging that it has been some time since our last meeting; however, I found myself constantly becoming defensive, thinking, “Why is it always my responsibility to see you? Haven’t you been lost too?”

In our office building, it is fairly easy to come to work everyday but to fail to see each one of my colleagues as we are spread over three separate floors. It is always interesting when one of them decides that I have been lost. I sit at my desk in the same office everyday, but I am lost if I do not happen to cross paths with them or visit their office.

My host father is most infamous for this phrase. He is the pastor at the church I attend each week, and he and his family have been unequivocally welcoming to me since before the first night I stayed with them, which was only a few days after I landed in Kenya. He has several different parishes under his leadership, so even if I go to church every week it is possible that I will not see him for a few weeks at a time. My host siblings are most often there, and I always make sure to try to greet them.

Very often when I do see my host father at church, he begins our conversation with “My daughter, you have been lost!” (Even though I have been at church every week and he has been gone, I am the lost one.) I joke that indeed I have been there, and the conversation continues. While it sets a fun tone for our time together, I often wonder if there will ever be an occasion to greet him when I have not been lost. I don’t like the feeling that I am neglecting my relationship with them.

One Monday morning, my host father came to my office. I had seen him the day before and stayed after the service to eat lunch with them. Surely this would be the time I had not been lost. When he was leaving, he said to me, “Now don’t get lost.” I almost had my usual defensive reaction, but then I realized that this would always be how he parts ways with me.

No matter how frequently he sees me, he will always encourage me to return home soon.I am thankful for my new family as well as my family at home that loves me enough to let me leave for a while. I cannot get lost.

Official Newsletter for PCUSA

Every time I walk to work, to the grocery store, to my coordinator’s house, to almost anywhere, I pass a corner on which a large family lives. My best guess is that there are about 20 people who live here, about 12 of whom are children ranging from 2 to 12 years old. They are especially noticeable on mornings after it has rained, as the corner is then covered with all of their clothing and bedding hung along the fence, bushes, and trees to dry out. I do not know who these people are. They do not speak English or Swahili. They could be IDPs (internally displaced persons), as some Kenyans speak only their mother tongues, especially if far from city centers. They could also be refugees, as their residence is just across the street from the UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees). The taxi driver I usually use insists that they are imposters camping outside the UNHCR’s walls, hoping for the pity of others. Regardless, I cannot speak their language.

Sometimes they ignore me; sometimes the kids utter “mzungu” (“white person”) just as I have almost passed; sometimes the older children stand there with their hands out and ask for money or food; sometimes all the kids crowd around me saying, “How are you?” and follow me around the corner.

One day I was walking around the corner as the crowd of children formed. As usual, I replied to the countless “How are you?”s with “Fine, and how are you?” This never results in a response, but I do not really know what else to say. I just keep walking. This particular day, however, rather than just ignoring me as the adults usually do, one of the women began yelling at me. Since I don’t speak whatever language she was using, I don’t know exactly what she was saying. But I did manage to grasp that she was telling me that the children didn’t care how I was or want to shake my hand. They wanted me to give them money. I just stared at her blankly, said “pole” (sorry), and kept walking.

It shook me up. Each day I already battle with the guilt of seeing others struggle to get by while I don’t have to. Each day when I see the children bathing in the drainage ditch or carrying empty water jugs down the street, it breaks my heart not to be able to do anything to help. I have talked to both my site coordinator and one of my senior colleagues about the situation. I understand that part of the reason I am here is to be exposed to such situations. I am to recognize and challenge my reactions. I cannot fix the problem. My stipend provides more than enough for me to live but far from enough to support 20 others who have no shelter. As a matter of safety, I cannot offer to let them know where I live. If I were to give them money or food one time, every time I pass they would expect more.

All I do is say, “Fine and how are you?”

Youth Peace Summit

All of last week, I helped with the organization of the Youth Peace Summit Kenya 2009. It was an interfaith gathering of about two hundred youth sponsored by the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America and hosted by the Kenya Evangelical Lutheran Church. Participants were mainly Kenyans, but they were joined by others from Rwanda, Uganda, Tanzania, and DRC. The event blog can be found at http://peacesummit2009.wordpress.com. Under the theme “Embrace Peace, Fulfil Dreams,” the youth ranging in age from fourteen to thirty gathered to discuss the role of youth in violence and peacemaking. Following the disputed elections at the end of 2007, Kenya erupted into violence. Many youth were used to perpetuate the violence, partly due to their lack of income and idleness caused by extremely high unemployment rates. The Summit addressed peacemaking ideals and strategies as well as practical information about writing business plans and income generating activities. To close the week, the youth planted one hundred trees to help with reforestation and led a peace walk down Ngong Road. A peer review team was selected from the participants that will serve to evaluate project proposals and distribute funding to small groups to empower them.

On a personal note, it was great to get out of the office. I helped with the schedule, registration, nametags, and travel reimbursements leading up to and throughout the week. Interacting with the youth and the other organizers was a nice change of pace from my office job, which has become fairly lonely lately. This week reminded me how much I enjoy organizing such events and watching them play out. Hopefully other such projects will arise.

Grace and peace to you all.

A Call to Prayer

I want to apologize for the lack of reference to the Assembly after all of the anticipation. It was a very intense experience, and I am still processing my time there. I was mostly charged with logistical responsibilities, so feel as though I cannot speak to any of the content that would be of interest. However, today was released this document on Zimbabwe, calling for a day of prayer and fasting to take place on January 25th. This is just the beginning of the resulting programs and direction for the AACC.

Call to an African Day of Prayer and Fasting for Zimbabwe on January 25, 2009


The 9th General Assembly held in Maputo, Mozambique in December 2008 gave the African churches a strong mandate to continue their longstanding accompaniment of the Church and people of Zimbabwe. The Assembly declared January 25th an African Day of prayer for Zimbabwe. The call is to join our Zimbabwean sisters and brothers in prayer and in fasting, in words and in deeds, in contemplation and in action.

As AACC we therefore call on all our member churches, councils, fellowships and institutions; all friends in the ecumenical worldwide family; all our international partners and all people of good will to make January 25, 2009, an African Day of Prayer and Fasting for Zimbabwe.

Trumpet call to Pray and Fast
“Shout it aloud, do not hold back. Raise your voice like a trumpet” Isaiah 58:1

“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cord of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter – when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here I am.” Isaiah 58:6-9.

Calling for a Special Day of Prayer and Fasting for Zimbabwe is first and foremost a call for all of us to come to our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ with a humble heart, in sincere love, spending time with him to get in tune with His sovereign plans and visions for his people and for the world. It’s about allowing Him to speak and to share His heart that bleeds for the suffering of our world. It’s about allowing Him to convince us to be part of his plan and be willing to act as instruments for his Kingdom - a kingdom of fellowship, peace, justice and reconciliation for anyone who respond to the invitation by Jesus: Come unto me!


Indeed it is a time of need for Zimbabwe
· The cholera epidemic continues to spread. 37,000 have contracted the disease and 1,800 have died (Jan 12). The health system has broken down.
· There is shortage of food.
· The schools have not been able to run properly due to the financial and social crisis.
· Political violence and intimidation continues.
· The power-sharing deal of September 15, 2008 has not been honoured and talks have stalled due to lack of sincerity and political will.
· Official inflation (July 08) was 231 million % but continues to rise by the day. The newly issued 50$bn bill only buys the owner a few loafs of bread.
· The numbers of political, social and economic refugees crossing the borders to the neighbouring countries are increasing continuously.

In all this the AACC acknowledges that the present crisis primarily is a crisis of legitimacy and governance. As stated by the 9th AACC General Assembly in Maputo on December 11, the present rule must be considered as illegitimate as it was an incomplete reflection of the will of the Zimbabwean people, given that the presidential run-off election in June 2008 was not free and fair and was marred by intimidation and political violence. The Zimbabwean people have also continuously been denied the peace, justice and socio-economic remedy they have for so long desired.

May the Lord grant Zimbabwe light to break forth like the dawn and healing to quickly appear. May the Lord bless us all as we Pray, Fast for the end to the political crisis and resumption of normalcy in the lives of the people of Zimbabwe.




Rev. Dr. André Karamaga
General Secretary



January 15th, 2009

Christmas Festivities

For some reason, my family thought this story was hilarious and begged me to blog about it. It is extremely long. Here is what happened this Christmas.

Wait; first, I should give some background. Our site coordinator is a fabulous cook. During our month-long orientation, we were terribly spoiled to have her prepare meals for us on a fairly frequent basis. It was a cruel shock to some of us when we moved out on our own and had to fend for ourselves. Almost any occasion is one to beg her to cook for us: birthdays, holidays, weekends, and illness. This Thanksgiving was like none I had ever experienced. Therefore, we were all tremendously excited for Christmas dinner with astronomical expectations. The second thing you should know is that I do not have such a reputation. Blair and I cook well enough, but tend to make meal selections on how few dishes it requires. In addition, I do not like to cook meat. It requires a more careful approach in order not to catch such fun things as E. coli and salmonella, and I would rather just chop vegetables how I like and then make sure they are fully cooked. It is really much simpler.

For the Christmas feast, Phyllis did not have enough room in her refrigerator or oven for the necessary preparation. I live just down the street, have a largish refrigerator, and know how to work my oven, so I was selected to help with the overflow. About 6pm on Christmas eve, just before going to watch Polar Express with the other volunteers, I was stocked with three pans of macaroni and cheese and two legs of lamb with careful instruction for the cooking of said dishes the following morning.

I awoke at 7:45 to preheat my oven. At 8:00, as instructed, I began to put the lamb in the oven. Did I mention that I do not like to cook meat? The first pan was fine; it slid onto the bottom rack. The second pan, however, was simply too large to fit, both in length and in width. I am also not a morning person, so with my morning logic, decided to try to see if I had a smaller pan in which the second leg would fit. I do not. This determination came about only after sloshing a bit of the marinade all down the side of my cabinet. Thus begins the saga of the lamb juice. By this time it is about twenty past, so I am awake enough to know that I need to actually clean up the mess with antibacterial soap before making coffee and becoming human.

Two and a half hours later, Rachel, Shurie, and I have eaten our Christmas omelets and French toast, done the dishes, and know the lamb should be finished soon. I take the first leg out of the oven and discover that this is not longer the easy process it was this morning when the majority of the lamb juice was congealed or still in the lamb. Now, it was overflowing from the pan all into my oven that has not cooked any meat in over a year. I do not know how to tell if lamb is done, so I call on Shurie for a second opinion. Rachel, like my former roommate, is a vegetarian. Shurie also did not know, and I do not have a meat thermometer, so we cut into it to see what would happen. Other than a few more drops of lamb juice on top of the range, there is nothing remarkably undercooked looking, so we declare it done. We then set about cleaning up lamb juice, round two.

Until now I have forgotten to mention that the marinade Phyllis created is bright yellow. She does not share recipes, so I am fairly clueless as to what it actually contains but it smells strongly somewhere between mustard and curry (both of which can be yellow, so I think are good guesses). We called Phyllis in to be the judge on the doneness of the meat and to rescue the second leg that would in no way fit in my oven. She said the lamb needed forty-five additional minutes, so back into the oven it went. By this time it is about 12:30 and lunch is scheduled for 3pm. We have just enough time to finish the lamb, heat the macaroni (which was thankfully already cooked), and be driven down the road.

We failed to factor in the time it would take us to figure out how to get the lamb and all its juice down the road in a car without turning everything in our path yellow. So at 2:45, Phyllis’s husband arrives to pick us up. First we try just carrying the pan, which results lamb juice on the floor and all over the front of my pants. Second we try to arrange some plastic bags for collection (looking back on it, I have no idea how we thought this method would work), which resulted with more lamb juice exploding from the bags, coating the oven, my floor, and most of Rachel. Finally, we converted a cardboard box that had arrived as Rachel’s Christmas package into a lamb juice transportation device. By this time, our ride has been sitting outside for fifteen minutes. Despite my usual meat juice cleaning policy, we left it as it was. At least this was cooked lamb juice. We climbed into the SUV with hot pans of macaroni and a box of lamb. Our method mostly succeeded until we took the last turn into the compound, and the cardboard box decided it was tired of containing lamb juice, so Shurie got her portion in her lap. We delivered the food and broke out the antibacterial wipes in hopes of at least looking presentable even if we would all continue to smell like lamb juice for several days.

The gathering itself was lovely as expected. The food was also wonderful, though I cannot say I tried the lamb. We sang carols, told stories, and exchanged our secret Santa gifts. It was a Christmas to remember.

The three of us took turns cleaning up lamb juice when we returned to my house. Within a couple of days, the smell went away, and the oven and floor eventually lost the yellow tint. Now all that remains is a couple of stained dishtowels that will never be the same.

Short Rains

In October and November, most of Kenya experiences what they call the Short Rains. Though “short” is in the name, this phenomenon is in no way diminutive. Most days for the past couple of weeks, it rains either right around lunchtime or at night. This is usually a heavy downpour that comes from a dark sky that was clear not twenty minutes earlier. I do my best to avoid going out at these times, obviously, and have been fairly successful staying dry. If I have to journey out, I arm myself with umbrella, rain jacket, and rubber boots that come up to my knees. I look really cute but stay dry enough.

This past Sunday I failed. I knew Shelvis was preaching at the second service, so I decided to let the morning showers calm before venturing outdoors. I felt so smart as the clouds parted and seemed to dry just as it was time for me to leave. It was still a bit muddy out, but I decided to leave the boots, partially because I did not know what I would do with them once I reached church. I was lucky that just as I was leaving my landlady was driving out and offered to drive me as far as we were going to same direction. My boots decision felt justified.

However, the heavens decided they were bored with sticking to the semi-predictable schedule mentioned above. About three seconds after my landlady drove away, the downpour resumed. I made my way amidst the swirling water soaking me to the main highway where, after ten or fifteen minutes of getting soaked by passing cars, I caught a matatu. I switched vehicles at the stop to head into the neighborhood of my church. The driver did not agree with me on where I wanted to get out, so I got to walk all the way up the road. It was an exciting morning, but I finally made it soaking wet and half an hour late. The sermon was wonderful, and a cup of tea warmed me up. Plus, I spotted a place to keep my boots during the service next week.

My life at the moment

I have discovered that it is incredibly difficult for me to blog these days. With departure for the general assembly looming in less than a month, the entire office is incredibly busy. I am extremely excited to be able to attend a gathering of such scale, but I find myself wishing for more time between now and then to gain a better grasp on what will happen there. I have begun dreaming about spreadsheets, timetables, and workshops. In addition to the stewards programme, I am now also working on the Theological Institute and the youth sub-theme workshop. Answering emails, composing letters, asking questions, and organizing data take up more time than is in a normal work day.

I am really attempting to leave work at work. Extended hours are bound to happen, so I am placing a physical boundary on the AACC. Blair and I talk about other things while not at work. Our little house is serving as some form of a sanctuary, and for that I am extremely grateful. Needless to say, I have a hard time coming up with things to blog about that would be comprehensible to those of you not engulfed in details about the upcoming assembly.

If you have suggestions or questions, maybe that would be an easier way to approach this form of communication. Feel free to email me or send letters. External communication is suffering at this point, but I am willing to try. All of your support continues to mean so much to me.