There is a village tucked into a quiet corner of Kenya. From the street there is nothing spectacular or remarkably different that would set it apart from other Kenyan towns. Yet there, in the simple, struggling village, are heartbreaking stories and vast contrasts from our lives that are undeniable.
From where we live, high on the parched semi-green, tropic mountain-side, it is about 1.5 – 2 hours drive away. Most of the way there is smooth roads – thanks to a relatively new paved ‘lower highway’ - accompanied by the normal, crazed traffic and no painted road lines. We pass by small towns, a few schools, beggars, street vendors, and smiling children who wave enthusiastically as we travel by. As we gain ground towards the lake, we begin to see wild zebra scattered on the countryside. We pass the town of Naivasha which has signs of evident, yet struggling, growth thanks to the dukas (shops), banks, and commerce that being near the lake produces. A little while after we pass through the town we turn off the main road onto a more typical throughway. Full of dust, cow crossings, ditches, bumps and holes that made you wish you knew a local chiropractor!
Driving through the hills, we eventually find ourselves on the other side of the lake. We pass by a large gate – entrance to a golf and country club. Beyond the resort, I am told, are holiday homes for the rich and powerful in government. Apparently, they holiday at their houses and hold meetings that potentially effect the whole country at the Country Club. The tailored land there is showing little wear of the desperate need of water elsewhere in the country. We keep driving… bump, bump, bumping along. 
The green instantly fades to dusty brown – with the exception of some gated plantations. The best plantation/farm I see is acres upon acres wide and filled with cabbage, baby corn, and other cash crops. It is so plentiful that it appears to be a mirage compared the desolate surroundings that it is tucked in between. It is then, while amazed at this lush farmland, that I get my first glimpse of Kisarani.
For you see, driving down the bumpy, dust engulfed road I witness the first of many astonishing realities – on the right of the road is this plantation, on the left is Kisarani. The first thing I see is the schoolyard. Dozens of children, if not more than a hundred, playing outside in their matching uniforms. Plumes of dust billowing up from under their feet as they run. There is no playground equipment. There is no grass. Their purple and white checked uniforms stand out in vast contrast against the dull, earthen tones of lifeless dirt that surrounds them. It is literally the only color, besides brown, to be seen. Everything else is brown, matching the tones of the dust that engulfs every activity of their existence. Even their skin is discolored by the dirt.
We drive past more earthen colored buildings until we can turn down a road. My friend winds his way through town, pointing out the church, a mosque, a few other identifiable buildings, until we come upon Pastor Charles’ home. As we drive, there is another instantly noticeable and yet strange reality: it is the lack of vegetation. There is no grass, trees, bushes, flowers, etc. None. This side of the road is truly desolate.
Pastor Charles is an amazing man. Before I tell more about what else I saw, I must share some of his story. He was raised poor. Even by African standards. He eventually went to Bible college at Moffat – a national Bible school run here in Kijabe. He graduated from there and eventually came, with his family, to Kisarani. He started a church there and then walked, eventually biked 2 hours to another village to help start a church there as well. He still walks or bikes everywhere because he cannot afford a vehicle. Once he arrived, he noticed a boy who was struggling making friends and living a normal life. His name was Peter. He was nine and had a severe cleft palate which made everything that he needed to do with his mouth difficult. Pastor Charles wanted to know where Peter lived so he followed him home one night. He introduced himself to Peter’s family and said that he wanted to help him. Eventually, Pastor Charles brought Peter to the Crippled Children’s Clinic (now called C.U.R.E.) here in Kijabe. He wanted to help him get a surgery to fix his mouth. It was during this visit that they found out that Peter had a hole in his heart and that he couldn’t be operated on. God had other plans! In another visit to see what could be done to help fix his heart instead, the doctors realized that the hole in Peter’s heart was gone! God had healed it and the doctors were amazed! Peter was now able to fix his cleft palate and live a ‘normal’ life. Eventually, Peter and his family have come to know Christ as Lord!
This was not the only way that Pastor Charles ended up helping Peter and his family. He realized the desperate need for the children in the community for food. Many were going days with little or nothing to eat. Peter was no exception. This prompted Pastor Charles to begin a feeding program for children. Peter was his first child to help feed. Now, about 4 years later, he is a vibrant, happy, healthy child!
This leads me to the other ministries that I got to witness that day. The first was the feeding program. Everyday for lunch, Pastor Charles, his wife, Beatrice, and another volunteer feed 74 children. For many this is the only meal that they get that day. Almost all of them have lost at least one parent to death, many are ‘double orphans’ having lost both parents. The majority of double orphans live with extended family. Unfortunately, not all of them can say that. AIDS is the most dominate of killers. Other children’s parent(s) are disabled and/or widowed. When asked how Pastor Charles chose who to help, he said that he talked with the family, knows and keeps up with every family situation, and is forced to determine not who is the worse in the community, but who is the worse of the worst. There are hundreds more that he could be feeding, but does not have the resources, location, or capabilities to feed more right now.
The feeding program starts with the preschoolers. About a dozen came into the feeding area – a rented kitchen, a alcove between rooms: no roof, little shade, and no place to sit (hopefully to be soon rectified with a few benches!) and eat except the ground. All is fine, unless its raining! They line up to wash their hands, a bucket catches the waste water so it can be used elsewhere to water a plant or animal. It was heartwarming to see them so happy and thankful for their food. It also broke my heart because all of this first group were Kayla’s age or younger! To be so young and know the pangs of hunger and starvation like I’ve never even known. I couldn’t help but to imagine what life would have to be like to have Kayla in that line. Watching them devour a bowl of rice, beans and a banana without a word of complaint or grumbling. Thankful for the rare treat of a biscuit – a cookie that my friends had brought with them to share with the children. Consuming more food in a meal than I could – yet knowing they have to because it truly was their only meal for the day.
Fighting back tears, I determined to interact the only way I knew given the language barriers- with photographs. Silly, fun, random photographs. Taken, and then shown to them. Smiles encompassing their faces as they saw themselves on that tiny screen. I’m very thankful for a digital camera! Every child, from the youngest to the ‘coolest’ older ones (once they arrived) pushed in closer to see the screens of themselves and their friends. Laughter, giggles, and sheer pleasure followed every time the screen flashed familar faces!
We watched, helped, prayed for the children, and heard stories from Pastor Charles as the feeding time continued. We even met Peter. He looked like he was only 8 or 9 in height and size, even though I knew he was 12 or 13. He had a beautiful smile and a simple joy that radiated from his tiny body though!
After the feeding program, we visited for a little while in his home. Kenyan’s sitting rooms in general are very small and compacted with a ton of furniture that is covered with cloth or lace. This one was no exception. In this quaint 8×10 room we saw pictures of his ministry and heard more stories of how it all began. I was humbled to hear his stories. It would be easy to see how little he had, how much less he started this journey of life with, but more incredible than all that was his true trust and faith in God and all that He has done in his life. God’s love, goodness, and blessing for and through Pastor Charles was limitless and full of creativity!
I was blessed by a little girl, whose name will forever be unpronounceable to me, who joined me on the couch. Pastor Charles said that she is usually really shy and didn’t understand how or why she came right over to me, let me pick her up and sat contentedly on my lap the whole time I was there. She never said a word, but her smile, constant hold of my hand when we walked out, and insistence of being near me until we left melted my heart. She cuddled into me as I was surrounded by other children, once again looking into a tiny screen to see their picture. This time it wasn’t taken by me, but by the precious creation snuggled into me.
We also saw the preschool program. It is held in the church that Pastor Charles ministers in. The building itself stands out in the stark enviroment. It is painted with bright greens and even a little yellow. Splashes of color in an otherwise colorless village. The preschool divided the church room into four parts using plywood-like boards to separate the classes (the boards are put into the rafters on Sunday to hold service). The children share crayons, writing books, pencils, and the limited books that are there to read. The teachers share chalk, erasers, and all teaching material. Over 100 students, a couple teachers, and God’s love bonding them together as they learn.
Behind the church is another, much smaller building. In this 14×8 foot room is where a few volunteers watch the babies and toddlers while their guardians/parents work. The first thing I notice is the smell: heat mixed with urine and feces. The children are laying on a thin mat, either playing or sleeping. Many soaked in their clothes. 
First my mind screams, “Neglect! Help change the kids!” Then I remember and realize that there are no disposable diapers here, nor an excess of clothes to change children into. Water is sparse so clean up is difficult. The few ladies are doing the best they can with what they have available to them. They each sit there holding and playing with child. Loving on them the only ways they can.
We peeked through the window of the preschool on our way back to the vehicle. It was rest time. They were all sprawled on the floor and few benches.
Across the street dozen of people are queued in a line with buckets and barrels. Most are older teens and adults, but there are a few children with containers of their own. It is the water line. There is one bore hole for the whole town. Water is only available during certain times of the day. People wait between 1 & 4 hours just to get water. Every day it is open, there is always a line. Each day people wait in order to get enough for their family and maybe a bit for their livestock. There is not enough water to feed the animals from this hole. Unfortunately, the watering holes are drying up or already barren.
Pastor Charles was amazingly generous to share his ministry with us. Even more so, he travelled the couple kilometers to the lake and got some fish as a gift for us. Beatrice cleaned them for us. They have so little and yet they are willing to give of what they possess. The hospitality and generosity constantly amazes me!
As we left, I couldn’t help but wonder why the village was struggling as much as it was if the plantations are flourishing as they do. My answer was unfortunately simple: desire for easy business and personal comfort instead of helping neighbors. You see, the land owner of the plantation has determined that it is easier to ship all of the cash crops to stores and/or exports than it would be to sell some – even the poorer of the crops – in the local community. It’s ‘too challenging a task to deal with money on the local markets’. So every day, people sit starving as they watch truck after truck brimming with food drive away from the farms and down the street.
I thought on the way back of all the supplies my friends had brought with us! More amazingly that it was all donated through friends, family and strangers in Canada and brought here with their Mom this past holiday. God truly has been using them to help meet the needs in a community. Books, puzzles, games, school supplies, chalk, construction paper, dolls, baby supplies, linoleum for the floor in the baby room (purchased here with donated monies), food goods for the workers, and a sign that helped remind just how good God is that now hangs at the front of the church. Things, just things. Yet, when put together with God’s love and a desperate need of a village, it looks more like a small miracle.
The best part is that they had brought a few things out a couple weeks ago. Some of which was some soccer uniforms that they had no idea if Pastor Charles could use or not. They were donated by a factory 4 months ago. When they asked if they could be of any use anywhere, Pastor Charles looked shocked. He explained to them that the night before a group of kids had come to him. They told how they wanted to start a soccer team, but was wondering if there was any way for him to them some jerseys. He had no idea how he was going to find some or afford to get them. Now, not only did he have jerseys, he had uniforms and enough for two teams! God is working through strangers to encourage this pastor and his community!
I returned home still wishing I knew a chiropractor. More importantly, I had a renewed sense of purpose here at RVA. By caring and education missionary children, we are helping enable missionaries to reach communities, just like the one I visited. There is no possible way that I can fix and meet all the needs that are evident in Kenya. It’s overwhelming to think of the hundreds, if not thousand, more needs that are not obvious. I can do my part though. Right now, we are exactly where we are supposed to be: loving on children, supporting their families, and finding ways to reach into the community and help as we can.
(More Kisarani photos can be seen in our photo gallery)
The Munson Family
