Just the Same

On Thursday we went to the Mcedo School in Mathare! Mathare slum is well-known for their brewing of illegal moonshine along the river. To give a picture of the atmosphere of this slum, a couple of years ago the brewers threw rocks at our van when they saw us taking pictures. As we drove in, the kids ran after our van yelling “howareyou!!!” at us, smiling and laughing and it was so good to hear that familiar greeting once more.

Our first order of business was to tour through the slum with Pastor Benedict and other workers at Mcedo School, and we made it through without anyone stepping into the dirty stream this time! Having walked through Mathare twice before, I thought I would be more prepared for the sight, but I found that I was still powerfully moved and shocked. The streets were just as narrow as before – just wide enough for maybe two people. They were just as dirty as ever – dark, grey, and muddy with a bumpy pathway littered with plastic bags, the remnants of flying toilets. And the homes of the Kenyans were just as dark – rooms of corrugated metal housing families of five, when our team could barely fit in the room as it was. All these things were the same, but the sadness of these peoples’ reality has not changed either, and that is where it hurts me the most. I just cannot seem to get over the fact that despite all of God's work, so little seems to have changed regarding these peoples' circumstances.

At Mcedo, I hold my breath when I use the bathroom because I know I will gag at the smell. The bathroom consists of a nice porcelain hole in the ground in a small, dark stall, which is high class by Mathare standards. The locals must use the public bathroom, which requires a small fee and is filthy even by slum standards, or they must simply go in little trash bags and fling them on the streets or into the river – hence the flying toilets.

Still, hope is in Mathare as long as Jesus’ presence is there. The Mcedo school is such a blessing to the community. The kids are simply charming and filled with the youthful joy that sadly is not found in many adults, nor is it often found even among older children. As I walk through Mathare, I can’t help but notice that there are so few adults, and almost no elderly people, and yet there are so many children. Where do these children go? Are they simply away at school, or do many of them not live long enough to survive to adulthood? Yet Paul advises us in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” I find that for me personally, I have difficulty with praying continually, but as I put myself in the shoes of the Mathare Kenyans, my struggle would be to give thanks in all circumstances. My mind and heart cannot comprehend the injustice of the difference of our two lifestyles.

At the school, I search among the bright faces looking for Ellen, my favorite girl from last year, but I can’t find her anywhere. I can only pray that she is still the beautiful, shy girl as she was with a future and hope for further education because of Mcedo. They sang and danced for us, as is usual for Africans when they greet visitors, and then it’s our turn. We do our Zebra skit for the kids – the premise of the hadithi is that God made perfect in His eyes – everything from our skin color to our hair color to our voices and faces was fearfully and wonderfully made, and we don’t have to try to be someone else or try to be anyone else but who He has made us to be. The kids loved it when the snake appeared and Derek threw the toy into the crowd of screaming school children.

After that we did an animal craft with them, which was simply silly because we didn’t know what the animals were supposed to look like and we were stuck with plastic bags full of foam pieces that needed to be glued together. While the kids made their animals, I noticed a boy with a bloody nose just sitting in the corner of the room. He looked so sad and it seemed like everyone had forgotten him, so I helped him make his tiger and hung out with him for a bit. His name was Dennis and I spoke to him in Swahili for a bit. It was so sad, his nose had stopped bleeding but he wouldn’t go back with the other children, and it was as if he felt like he should be punished and separated just because he got a bloody nose. I think my heart went out to him, the boy who was left out and forgotten in the corner.

After that we sang songs with the kids, and they knew all the words, even though the last time we shared the songs with them was at least three months ago with Trerika, and the last time before that was last August. Too bad it was also about 100 degrees in the room because the sun came out and there were like 60 kids crammed into a little room and we were jumping up and down singing about Jesus. I thought I was going to die from heat exhaustion, but God miraculously saved all of us from the heat so that we could sing with the kids.

All together, the trip to Mcedo was just as familiar as it ever was. The sameness is great - that we can connect and share with bright students - but that same sameness is the sad reality - that little seems to have gotten better. As we continue to build our relationships with the Mcedo School, we pray that the school continues to bless the slum, that their education will be founded in Christ, and that each and every child will faithfully follow God’s will for them: to be joyful, in constant prayer, and thankful for every circumstance.