I spend a lot of time comparing Kenya with Indiana. It’s easy to find differences here: pop comes in bottles, things run on “Africa time,” where two hours late is on time, power and internet connections only work some of the time, bananas cost five shillings (about 7 cents), church services last four hours, my main form of transportation other than walking involves sitting sideways on a boda boda (bicycle), and as I walk down the street, small children yell, “MZUNGUHOWAREYOUIAMFINE!”
It’s a little different than Indiana.
Recently, I saw a man in an Indiana University t-shirt. It was actually the second IU t-shirt I’ve seen in Kenya so far, but this one belonged to someone I recognized. His name is Cornel, and he goes to Deliverance Church, the church that we’ve been working with in Busia.
I got pretty excited when I saw the shirt. All of a sudden, I had all this pride for my home town and my school. I wanted to tell everyone about Kirkwood and Griffey Lake and The Spoon and Loitering Lot and tulip poplar trees and the Apple Butter Festival and the arboretum and the little waterfall on my family’s property out in the woods and The Village Deli and the house that has a wrong way tally for cars and the shoes thrown over telephone wires and Sample Gates and the farmers’ market and—
Wait. What? Why was I suddenly super excited to share with people about my home?
People here are also eager to share about their home, Kenya. When we eat a meal in someone else’s home, we are usually served ugali, with an enthusiastic explanation that “It’s the staple in Kenya!” Unfortunately, I have yet to figure out the appeal of ugali. (It’s worth a Wikipedia look up if you haven’t experienced it yourself.) And of course, I realize that people are not serving ugali because they know I don’t like it. It’s just a small way of sharing their lives with us.
Many times, when we are with people here, we do most of the talking. On a recent evangelism trip, I asked a man to tell us about how he became a Christian. That led to a forty-minute story, and I kind of felt like he was ministering to us rather than the other way around. It made me wonder, what’s the last time someone just asked this man to share about his life with them? How often are people genuinely interested in hearing about his life? My guess is not very often.
So maybe, I’m not here just to talk. I think actually, I’m here to listen.
