Equatorial Kenya

Leaving Nairobi, we pass countless flea markets, but perhaps they're called mosquito markets here.

We all start to get to know each other. We talk about faith and ministry and church. Some of us are cultural addicts to deodorant; others are not. In a few days we'll all be brothers of the sweat fraternity and such petty distinctions will be meaningless. 

We pass fruit stand after stand: vegetables and fruits galore. This is lush Central Kenya, the verdant bread basket of the country. Vendors from Nairobi come up here for their produce.

We arrive at the equator. At least, that's what the sign tells us. It's a bit of an anti-climax. All my life I've pictured it as this magical belt of shimmering hotness, perhaps a mile or so wide, encircling the whole earth. But other than the sign, a few excited Japanese tourists and a Kenyan watching over two little buckets, it's all rather nondescript.

The buckets straddle the equator underneath the sign, and on either side of a white line painted on the concrete. For a couple of hundred Kenya Shillings ($2), we can watch the water swirl clockwise on one side, and anti-clockwise on the other. But ever since I singed my eyebrows with a Bunsen burner in a high school science experiment, I have been wary of such undertakings. We move on. In just millimeters we have gone from winter to summer. I look behind me, but snow is not falling. I must ponder this some more.

In Nanyuki town, we meet the rest of our  team. The team is, of course, seven, the perfect number. Benson and Joshua, both part-time pastors, are our guides. Patrick is the cook, assisted by his son Anthony and Joshua's nephew, David. Meschack, not to be confused with Shadrach or Abednego, is a very sharp, and funny, part-time theology student at a Pentecostal school of which there are hundreds in this devoutly religious country. He, like Samuel (who is related somehow to someone, but I can't remember who), will be a porter. Probably it will take all seven of them to carry me off the mountain. They are a kind of modern day equivalent of James and John, Peter and Andrew with their fishing business. Only I am not Jesus, and I will be following them.

We have lunch at a restaurant (of sorts), do a final equipment check (leaving dead clients on the mountain is never good for business), load the just-purchased supplies, and head toward the base of the mountain on a rutted dirt road.

Nairobi Departure

We are roused by the alarm at 5am. I turn on the light and look up at the mosquitos I squashed on the ceiling last night with a climbing pole. Jonathon has the only mosquito net since I figure he has more years to live than me anyway, but I am not keen to hasten my demise with Denge or Malaria or Chikunguya.

The van arrives a little before six, and we load our packs and selves into our budget vehicle. Three of our team is already with us, so we head into heavy traffic towards downtown Nairobi. It is a chaotic vehicle-fest with cars weaving in and out of roundabouts like ants eight deep.

As the sun comes up, we take Jonathon's damp underwear (not from backseat driving, but last night's wash) and my shirt and spread them out on the seats to dry. We're all family now.

Our next stop is to get an American 'pastor' who turns out to be on Athletes in Action staff, and a Dallas Seminary grad, so we talk friends we have in common. He has just come from a mission in South Africa with his twelve year old son. So we have that in common too.

Then we pick up a real pastor, a Kenyan who, like our guide, is bi-vocational. We are sandwiched in like kernels in a maize cob, driving down the 'super highway' with smoke belching from all the vehicles around us.

All Good Things Come to an End

They say: All good things come to an end. But I say: God things don't. This has been an incredible week where we have seen God at work.

[That last paragraph was written a few days ago, before we left for our debrief retreat. I gave up.

It's been so frustrating to have virtually no access to Wifi and a cellular service that was non-existent. Kind of put the kabosh on my blogging plans. Apologies for that. Some fiber-optic cable problem apparently had Kenyans steaming, and not just from the Lodwar heat. Anyway, enough of my griping.]

I don't have all the stats at my fingertips; you can get those and a ton more information at www.shareint.net. But hundreds came to genuine faith out in the villages, the pastors were hugely encouraged by the leadership training they received all week, and our 14 Pathway pastors are engaging with the principles of Bible Study and sermon prep so well.

The resources out in the bush/desert are so few, but the work of God so evident, it is an unquantifiable privilege to just observe it first hand, let alone participate and contribute to it.

Those at Lakeview and Galena Bible Church and a few others are in for an inspirational treat when the team gets to share all that God did and how he used them and what they saw and learned, and the deep love they now have for the neglected and even despised Turkana tribe.

One of our team members, Barb, said this amazing experience was more than she could have ever imagined and that it was like living the New Testament experience of gospeling and church planting with people who have not heard the gospel, yet are so hungry for it. I couldn't have put it better.

I'll come back here and flesh out some more details with additional pictures when I'm back home with a keyboard and camera cable.

The team flew out tonight with full hearts and having learned much. Wayne, however, was unsuccessful in his bid to master the no-hands-with-the-basket-on-the-head trick.