Swollen Eyes and Ankles

by Karen Fretz

Sunday morning. Time to go to church! Little did we know THIS church experience would touch our hearts in such a profound way. Our group of eight divided into four groups to be taxied to various Mennonite churches, some in the poorest sections of Nairobi. Mike and Joe had both prepared sermons to preach at their respective locations and the rest of us mustered up the courage to speak or sing when asked.

Bounce, bump, scrrraaaape! John, our Kenyan taxi driver politely asked the four of us – Matt, Karen, and Cindy - to get out of the car and walk, while light-weight Doris and Alia remained in the back seat. This allowed the compact car to navigate its way over the muddy potholed path which led to Mathare Mennonite Church, passing through one of the most crowded and poor slum areas of Nairobi.

Warmly greeting us at the door of the plywood tin-roofed church structure was pastor Caleb, who led us to our seats in the third row. Singing every verse of every song in Swahili, the melodies were familiar and we joined right in. “For God So Loved Us” and “Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus” were just two of about eight songs we sang, with some repeated in their entirety throughout the service. These songs must have been brought by the missionaries decades ago.

Dark-skinned and tightly braided hair drawn into a tassle adorning the top of her head, a chubby faced Kenyan child in the front row caught my eye and we exchanged smiles. Before I knew it, she had walked back and into our row of plastic lawn chairs, lifting her little arms, inviting me to hold her. She remained on my lap for most of the service, her forehead against my cheek, until she drifted off to sleep. I whispered to Cindy, “Which one is her mother?” and was reminded she could be an orphan of AIDS. There must have been forty children politely sitting on either side of the preacher, some of them innocent victims of a disease which claimed the lives of parents. My heart was grateful that the blessing of holding this toddler lasted long. “Asante sana”, thank you very much, was all I could manage to say when her father introduced himself at the end of the service.

“Will you join us for lunch?” they asked. We crowded into the small cubicle across from the church office with four of our new-found rafikis (friends) – spiritual and financial leaders of Mathare Mennonite Church, Enoch, David, Caleb, and our female server. After enjoying the refreshment of having our hands washed, we broke bread, or rather chapatis, and dipped this pancake shaped Kenyan food staple into a delicious meat stew broth, tasty beans and rice, with beverages of glass bottled sodas.

Elevating my swollen ankles and feet this evening, I am reminded of the long flight which brought me to this ghetto paradise of hospitality. Today swollen eyes resulted from the cleansing tears which flowed freely from weary eyes. God speaks so loudly through his children who are poor in material goods, but rich in spirituality and love.