Will's Blog

Hello everyone,

This is Will.

My new blog site is:  http://wecaughtstardust.blogspot.com.

I'll be writing about Africa, about life, and hopefully stories of dancing in mud puddles, climbing trees, running through fields of daisies and "contagious revolution that dances, laughs, and loves."

"But there is another movement stirring, a little revolution of sorts.  Many of us are refusing to allow distorted images of our faith to define us.  There are those of us who, rather than simply reject pop evangelicalism, want to spread another kind of Christianity, a faith that has as much to say about this world as it does about the next. New prophets are rising up who try to change the future, not just predict it.  There is a movement bubbling up that goes beyond cynicism and celebrates a new way of living, a generation who stops complaining about the church it sees and becomes the church it dreams of.  And this little revolution is irresistible.  It is a contagious revolution that dances, laughs, and loves."

Shane Claiborne in the Irresistible Revolution.

Grace and peace to you.

lovewill

The Long Overdue Update

hey everybody,

It's Will. This morning I'm writing to you from Sherman, Texas. This update is long overdue.

This Saturday I will have been home for one month. Jill and Bethany have been home a month as of today and yesterday.

I should apologize for my/(our) lack of blogs in the final days of our time in Africa. The last time we wrote was from Bujumbura, Burundi. While in Bujumbura, things began to get pretty tough for the three of us. Central Africa (Burundi and Congo) is one of the most poverty stricken places on the globe, and seeing that daily wore on us over time. Burundi is the third poorest country in the world. We spent two weeks in Bujumbura visiting refugee camps, repatriate camps, deaf/dumb schools, the beach (once or twice), war torn communities, and two of the poorest neighborhoods in Bujumbura (and therefore probably the world).

We saw things that blew our minds and tore up our hearts. Malnourished children was the norm. We saw people who were missing limbs, eyes, and any sense of hope. At this point, I still have not been able to even begin to process the things I saw in my last month in Africa. However, this morning I just wanted to record our last bit of travel and let everyone know that we are home safe.

After leaving Burundi, we traveled into Congo. We stayed with our friend Juma in a small hotel in Congo and were blown away by the hospitality of the church there. I truly felt that those people embodied the CHURCH- a community of Christ followers. While in Congo, we spoke to oprhans, women raped by remnants of the Interhamwe (genocidaires from Rwanda), and churches in the midst of extreme poverty. I thought that the slums in Nairobi were bad until I saw Bukavu, Congo, where 4 million people live in conditions worse than that of the Nairobi slums.

From Congo, we traveled to Kigali, Rwanda. As we drove into the country for the first time, I felt the darkness of the horror that befell that land 14 years ago during the genocide. We stayed with Dale, one of Bethany's friends from university.

After Rwanda came Uganda and a beautiful place called Lake Bunyonyi where we got some much needed rest. Some of my fondest memories of our time together happened at Lake Bunyonyi. We spent three days apart fasting, praying, and processing the last five months of our lives. From Bunyonyi we passed through Kampala and returned via first class seats on Kenya Airways to Nairobi. Three days later Jill and Bethany went home. I spent a final week back in Naivasha with the Hovingh's who are definitely one of the coolest families in the world.

And now we are back home safe. It has been a hard transition and I for one am by no means adjusted. However, we are trusting that God will continue to show us the way and strive daily to be a part of what he dreams for this world. The three of us are keeping in touch and I sure miss the girls.

AND THERE IS SOME GREAT NEWS!!!!!! BETHANY GOT ENGAGED LAST NIGHT... WHEEEEEE!!!! Go Steve...

So... I think that this hereby ends the blog for the Tripod in Africa, mostly because we're not in Africa anymore. However, I find solace in writing and want to do a better job of remembering and writing about the things we saw and did. Therefore, I'm going to be opening a new blog where I'll combine stories and pictures to try and process all of this and dream of a better world. If you're interested, check out that blog for stories of Burundi, Congo, Rwanda, and Uganda.

Grace and Peace...

Will

Mzungu! Give Me!

Today we tried to go DR Congo, but it didn’t quite work. We couldn’t get a bus, and if we went the long way we would have to pay for a visa twice (typical). While we were waiting to find out if we could get a bus , this Burundian guy was hitting on Jill (typical) but I’d say she made the best of the situation. Long story short, she traded our e-mail addresses to him for his Quiksilver hat !

Also, we saw a woman wearing a shirt that said “ I SURVIVED THE ICE STORM!”
There are so many funny t-shirts here!

The day after visiting the deaf and dumb school, we went to visit two communities that had been affected by the war. Rubirizi was occupied by the rebels in 2004-2005 and consequently all the residents had to flee to various countries. People are being repatriated now, but the going is tough. They have no money to buy seeds to grow food. The soil has been destroyed by the grenades and bombs. There are many widows whose husbands were killed in the war, and who have no steady source of income. There isn’t adequate water supply. Many of the houses have no roofs. The health in the area is very poor, and the clinic doesn’t have electricity or water. And, as I was surprised to find out, there is no organization (NGO or other) working to alleviate the poverty of these people.

We talked with the head of the community, and with an association of widows and heard their stories. Jill explained that our purpose for visiting was to experience Africa, meet the people, and go home and tell their stories, in an effort to help bridge the gap between the rich and the poor. Although this may have seemed like a good enough reason to visit, it paled in comparison to the overwhelming need we encountered there. I felt shamed and truly sorry we had nothing more to offer. Then we prayed with them, and for them, and left.

The second community we visited, Muramvya , had also been occupied in 2005, but the residents were not allowed to leave, and so it was essentially turned into a ghetto. At some point someone intervened because it was a violation of human rights, and now they are in about the same situation as Rubirizi. We met a man there who was living with his 95 year old mother and his 10 children. He worked on a farm nearby and made hardly any money. We took him inside his house, and gave him some money to get him through the week, and after Will handed the money to him, he took it and raised his thin hands up to heaven and said “Thank-you…” over and over again, tears spilling down his cheeks. The gratitude he showed was overwhelming, and beautiful. The passage when Jesus says “ Blessed are the poor for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven” (Mt 5:3) took on new and mystical meaning. We prayed for his family before we left, and that moment for me was a moment of divine communion, a glimpse into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Yesterday we went to see the Twa Pigmy people who live not too far from Bujumbura. They were among the poorest people we’ve visited yet. There were a few government houses, but most of the families lived in mud huts. They wore dirty, ripped clothes, and most had no shoes. I doubt they had adequate water supply, or access to medical care. We brought a box of soap and some salt to distribute among the people. Each home we visited we gave six bars of soap and a bag of salt, but there was so much more that they needed. People were constantly asking us for something, using broken English, or by holding their hands out.

One of the hardest things for me to deal with here is that I am looked at as a dollar sign. People see us and will come up and say “ Mzungu, give me!” It is dehumanizing, in a sense, to be regarded as nothing more than a dollar sign. But it is nothing compared to the dehumanizing poverty they live in day after day. Nothing compared to the dehumanizing way the West turns a blind eye to their need, and nothing compared to the dehumanizing complacency that plagues the West.

I’m sorry if this blog was a little bit choppy to read, but our week has been full of ups and downs, and I wanted to include both the “ups” and the “downs” in this. Tomorrow we are going to spend two nights in the DR Congo, and then we will head to Rwanda from there, so please be in prayer about that. Take care, smile at those you love, be careful, be reckless, cry, laugh, be kind to old people and remember you are a beautiful person.

Love and peace,

Bethany

This is what we did today and it made us feel like [insert appropriate emotion here].

“What we are doing may seem insignificant, but it is most important that we do it.” -Gandhi
Today I started re-reading the book that started it all for me: The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne. Today, I saw a boy beaten in the market after he sold me some bread. Today we visited a school for deaf and dumb children. Today we gave a new set of clothes to a deaf and dumb boy, along with some soap and a toothbrush. Today we visited a widow who lost her son in the war and had both legs amputated last year.

This morning, I went to the market down the street with our pastor friend Jean-Baptiste to buy some clothes to take to a little boy named Joseph at the deaf and dumb school. Deep in the winding alleys of the market, a street boy (some mental retardation due to substance abuse was evident) was selling bread. As I was talking to the boy in Swahili about prices for the bags of fresh-made bread, a crowd gathered. There aren’t many white people in Burundi. Like none. As I finished buying the bread from the boy, I began to feel a bit claustrophobic in the huge crowd. I began to push my way outwards to catch up with Jean-Baptiste when I heard shouting and yelling behind me. I turned to see that same boy in the midst of a group of older boys who were beating and slapping him.

I have no idea what he did to them and why they were hitting him. However, as they beat him, they were laughing with one another so I didn’t really need an explanation. I don’t think I handled it very well. I pushed back to the middle and got really angry at them. After a few seconds, they decided it was in their best interests to leave him alone probably because shop walls aren’t that comfortable. Man, I was angry.

Street boys are called trash in Africa. They aren’t usually considered people. And so they get picked on and abused constantly. I don’t think I handle it very well.

After we finished in the market, we picked up the girls and headed up towards the foothills to the school for deaf and dumb children. When we arrived at the school, we got out of the taxi and were greeted with a different sort of reception. Normally, whenever we go somewhere, we are greeted with cries of mzungu mzungu (white person). But today, we were greeted with silence. The kids surrounded us and wildly made hand motions. Some of them are able to squeak and some are even able to laugh. The silence was deafening.

While at the school, we played lots of games of hopscotch, the always-a-success “balance game”, basketball, and acrobatics. I drew America in the dirt and drew Africa across my dirt rendition of an ocean and played like I was an airplane flying from Texas to Burundi. We gave hugs and smiles and learned a bit of sign language.

We were all standing around playing hopscotch and the balance game when some kid brings out a basketball. And off we went to their old court. So then we did alley-oops, pick-and-roll class, and played some two-on-two. And I didn’t say anything the whole time. But we laughed a ton. And we played hard. And they were the most honest basketball players I’ve ever played with.

As I sit here trying to think about how I would describe the experiences today, the only word that comes to my mind is beautiful. And that’s infinitely inadequate. Beautiful faces. Beautiful people. These are the kids that no one really cares about. We turn away from them because we think that they can’t offer us anything because they can’t hear us or speak to us. Therefore, they are worthless to society. What a lie! Or maybe we just look at them and think how sad it is and then go back to our lives.

In reality, if we would only take the time to notice, maybe we would see that children like these have more to offer society than words can express. Maybe we would learn a little bit about life and love from children such as these. Jesus talked a lot about the little children and I think maybe I saw a little bit of the why today. What joy! What peace! What hope! What love!

Jesus said, “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.” Maybe if we would take more time to look into the eyes of the “least of these,” we would see God. I think that I would learn more about the things that God wants us to know about himself and our place in the world with those kids than I would ever learn in some university somewhere. And it would be a lot cheaper.

I hope we can go back soon.

After the school for the deaf and dumb, we went to visit a friend of Juma and Jean-Baptiste (our pastor friends; we are staying with Jean). Mary Louise. Juma described her as a woman of God. She used to be a teacher and worship leader around East Africa until she lost her legs. They were amputated last year due to complications from diabetes. She is a widow and her son was killed in the civil war in 1995. She lives very frugally in the material sense but I think she is one of the richest people in the world. You walk into her presence and feel encouraged by the shine that emanates from her person. She has hardly anything, but she gave each of us a soda. We sat and talked to her and answered questions and as we were leaving, she offered a beautiful word of advice to us. We prayed for her and left her with a small gift of love.

Days like today and yesterday require me to reexamine my thoughts on God and the world and my place in it. Mostly I just wanted to relate the beauty in people I saw today. When we go to these places of destitution and extreme poverty, it seems that I feel more connected to God. I’m sorry I can’t really explain it, but sometimes I feel like I’m looking into Jesus’ eyes as I stare into the eyes of people who have nothing but hope and joy. And I know that because it’s not right for people to live like this, I must come back someday.

Today, I’d encourage you to let God tap you into the big picture. Get involved. Do something radical. Speak out against an injustice you see. Head down to the local homeless shelter. Take lunch to a homeless man and spend the afternoon talking. Be Jesus to someone and look for him in their eyes. Ok, I’m out for tonight.

Peace be with you.

willyoulove

May we continue to feed each other hope as we dance God’s revolution together. -Shane Claiborne

This will be the first installment of a series called “ This is what we did today and it made us feel like [insert appropriate emotion]”

Today we went to two different places, both of them poverty-stricken and intensely affected by the civil-war that has torn Burundi apart for decades, and is still not over.
The first area we went to was a community about 10 km from Bujumbura that used to be thriving with many families and houses, but early in the 2000’s one of the rebel groups took over the area, made it into one of their stronghold’s, destroyed all the houses and forced everyone to flee. There were remnants of houses everywhere we looked, and it was eerie knowing that we were walking on land where people had been killed for no reason other than their race. We talked with a cousin of Jean-Baptiste’s who spoke French, and he told us of how the community was thriving before the battle there, but afterwards people had lost friends, children and family members. It broke my heart listening to him.

The second place we visited was a repatriation camp funded by the government of Burundi, where refugees came to live if they had no family and no land to go back to. A lot of the people there had been displaced in the 1968 or 1972 conflicts, or were born in refugee camps in Congo, Rwanda and Tanzania. There was so much poverty and suffering present in that place, it is hard to describe.

After seeing the things we saw, I was overwhelmed by how much we have… we have so many material objects, but more importantly we have so much opportunity. I won the birth lottery being born in North America where we have so much, and much of what we have has been gotten at the expense of others. As a group we decided that we need to be giving more freely. We have had our moments of worrying about money, about how we may or may not have enough to see us through the rest of this trip, but today was a reminder that everything we have has been given to us, and therefore we must give freely. I am coming to a point where I don’t want to have money leftover when I return home, because I return home to an opportunity, and opportunity to work and make money. But the people here are trapped in a cycle of poverty. So we will choose to give and trust that God will provide for us what we really need to keep going.

Another thing I was reminded of was a quotation I read in a Geez magazine not too long ago. It challenges me to re-examine my motivations for being here, and I hope it will challenge you to re-examine you motivations in reading our blog, and looking at the pictures of the poverty we post on the internet.

“Anti-racist theorist Sherene Razack observes that the white, privileged and respectable identity builds itself by being able to enter places of degeneracy and come out unscathed, willing and ready to tell the tale” Razack goes on to describe the “telling of the tale” as “consumption of media images and stories”

Are we here to simply bring images back home for people to consume and say “Oh, that is so sad !” and then go on with our “white, privileged and respectable” lives ? I pray that these experiences with extreme poverty would not become another way we reinforce our identity as the “privileged” but instead would help destroy that distinction. I pray that instead of coming out “unscathed” we would be profoundly changed, and moved to action. My prayer is the same for you.

Love,

Bethany

Ps: That quotation can be found in the Fall 2007 issue of Geez magazine, in an article entitled “In the wake of Katrina, what lesson, inspiration or insight can we take from New Orleans ?” by Anna Bowen.

It's Night in Bujumbura

It is night in Bujumbura. The normal night sounds of the capital city of Burundi are muffled, yes, almost non-existent tonight, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I write from a small, humid room on the top floor of a residence building, listening to the drips of the rain outside the lone window. I sit on a thin mattress on the floor, the same mattress where I will soon lay my head. Next to me sleeps a young man from Congo, here visiting his sister-in-law. Three feet away, another young man tosses fitfully at the sound of thunder… a university student at the University of Burundi. He is studying law and desires peace for this country torn by ten long years of civil war caused by the same tribal disputes that sparked the Rwandan genocide of 1994.

Sometimes I feel as if I am in a dream. Three feet of space separate me from this young man who has lost both his mother and father to this war and yet it feels like I am oceans away from that pain that I sometimes see in his eyes. O the contrast that I feel sometimes…Here I sit with Death Cab for Cutie in my ear and my two-thousand dollar laptop and my petty worries about the scratch on my keyboard, the smudge on my screen, my skinny arms, my pounding headache, the girl in my mind, and the humid air; but, four walls separate me from one of the poorest capital cities on earth, where the majority of people live on less than one dollar a day. It is hard to reconcile the thoughts and feelings that my own blatant humanity produces in light of all that surrounds me. Oftentimes, I worry about going home, back to tv, cinemas, four cars for a family of five, Texas steaks, and apathy, materialism, and “democracy.”

I suppose that tonight I write because these thoughts and emotions need release in some way. I suppose that I am asking for prayer for our little community, our little threesome, as we count down the remaining thirty-four days that we have left together in Africa before Jill and Bethany go home. I doubt that I will find a resolution or understanding in my writing tonight, but maybe the process will bring a sort of catharsis.

Today, as we pondered our remaining five weeks together, our money situation, and the situation in Kenya that affects our return flights out of Nairobi, I felt the oppressive weight of discouragement settle upon my shoulders. Lately, I have struggled so much with expectations…for myself, for the three of us, and for our world. I struggle with the brokenness and disconnectedness I feel between Jill, Bethany, and I…brokenness made all the more evident by the thought of such short time left, by the overwhelming nature of what we must process and deal with daily, and by our broken humanity that falls so short sometimes. I struggle with who I have been and wonder sometimes at who I am becoming. I struggle with the feelings of control and security I must give to God in regards to finances. I struggle with my response to what I see; sometimes I find myself turning the switch to “off” so as not to have to deal with the poverty and unrest around me. And I become so disgusted with my petty wants, desires, and expectations in light of the brutal reality beyond these four walls.

Today, in downtown Bujumbura, I stepped over a young baby on the side of the road with no arms and legs. Whether her condition was the result of the war or a birth defect, I will never know. Insulated by the safety of a taxi, I drove past a group of children with distended bellies made grotesque from malnutrition. I drove past an open, reeking landfill, on the top of which young children rummaged around looking for even a morsel of something with caloric value. Outside my window, I can gaze upon a disgusting slum, reeking of sweat, grime, and waste where people try to catch a few hours of sleep before another day begins. People not unlike me…systems and organs wrapped up in flesh and bound by the laws of gravity, space, and time. People just like me…feeling pain, despair, and hopelessness.

It is maddening sometimes to be here at the gaping mouth of all this need with so little to offer. Though I have the entire world in the eyes of these people, I have no money to give, no skill set to offer, and no time to effect lasting change. And that, today, made me discouraged. As the girls and I were talking today, the unspoken was finally spoken; that is, “We don’t have much time left. We are at the point when we will really not be helping or loving these people. We have no money, no skills, and little time.” To that, I asked, “Ok, then why are we here?”

Bethany responded, “To be changed.” And I sat and thought about that the rest of the day. “Africa, I came to change you, but instead you’re changing me.” I came here with so much idealism, so much pride that I was doing something to “change the world.” Doing something to help people and offer hope to the hopeless and love to the loveless as I so often like to think. But, in reality, these hopeless and these loveless are offering so much to this young, hopeless and loveless, young boy.
I know God is using this time to change me and break me of my pride. In the gospels I see Christ using people that were passed over by everyone else around them. Sometimes I think that the lesser we become, the more God can and will use us. I used to say that in my comfortable and prideful bubble back home but never lived it. In an email from Jill’s friend Alex, he wrote,

“And it really made me realize that you don’t have to be great to change the world for Christ. Jesus picked the C plus average fishermen from Bethsaida over the well-schooled Hellenistic Jews from Jerusalem. So like, even though, I'm just Alex Manion, a B minus student from wimpy Grand Rapids, Michigan, I can make big change. And that pumps me up like none other man.”

Yes, Alex, you get ten dollars because I quoted you/told a story about you. ;-)

I know God has used the three of us to bring hope to people and I pray that he will use us when go home to lovingly speak honest words like the prophets did against the apathy and comfort of the modern church. I know he is continually working in us and around us daily to do big things in our lives and bring about huge change in us that he might use us as we give up more of ourselves and he makes more room for himself. But man, sometimes the sheer humanity that I see in myself and this Africa overwhelms me.

One of the reasons I decided to write tonight was the fact that I just read a short story that my friend Andrew wrote that is, in reality, about the two of us. The story is about a young, wealthy Englishman who goes to Ireland during the Potato Famine of 1848 and is forever changed. The story hit so close to home that I got a bit nauseous as I was convicted about my attitude and subtle complacency of late. I will quote a telling portion of the story to close that will offer some insight as to how I am being changed, how we need prayer, and the reality of our current situation.

However, before I do, I want to ask for prayer. Please continue to pray for this little group of three teenagers from the West which has such a desire to see the kingdom of heaven here on this earth. Please pray for our hearts, that we will remain open to being changed during this last month we have together. Please pray for our financial situation, that God might provide that we might give to those who have so much less than we do. Please pray for our safety. Please pray that we might have wisdom as we try to decide how to get the girls home in a month…their flights are out of Nairobi and as BBC so willingly relates, Kenya is a hotbed of ethnic violence right now. Please pray for Kenya-that peace would come and that people would be healed. For Burundi- that peace would remain and the economy strengthened. Pray for the girl on the street today with no arms and no legs. For the boy in Kigoma with burn scars on his face and stubs for hands. For the elderly beggar in Mwende with despair in his eyes. For me and my heart. For the three of us and our love—both to one another and to the people around us. That brokenness would be healed from Christ’s love. And finally, that we would see the Kingdom come and that all of us could be witness to God’s beautiful plan to save the world coming to pass. I love you all. Here is the portion from Andrew’s story; there are two portions that I want ya’ll to have, maybe to understand a bit of where I am and a bit of how to pray for us.

John broke the silence. "What I was goin' to say a few minutes ago is, do you think that you could do something about this, back in England? I know it's silly, but you're rich, and surely you could somehow get into the government's processes or somethin', do somethin' about the way they treat us and the way they see us... O'Brien says that to the English, we're just so many animals, grubbin' about in the dirt and prayin' to the Virgin Mary and makin' babies like a lot of half-savages or some kind of thing like that. You know we aren't all that, we're human, aren't we? So do you think you could? I know it's a big thing to ask..."
Thomas looked up at the cloudless blue sky and replied, "It's not too much to ask, not at all. It's all I would ever want to do, I'm thinking. I saw that look in your eyes when we passed that girl, and I can't let myself do that, I can't ever just build up a wall around myself and cut myself off from feeling for my fellow humans. I'm not sure exactly what I'll do yet, but when I get back to England I know that I won't be able to live the same life I have for all my eighteen years up until now."

Back in London, Thomas stood in front of the Palace of Westminster, trying desperately to reconcile all that he had seen and heard and smelled in Ireland with all that he had known in the eighteen years of his life before. His thoughts flew wildly from John's little sister to his older sister to the wealthy captain of the ship he had ridden in to his own father sitting in Parliament to the watery soup John's mother worked on to a big oaken table covered in food at his parents' house. He could not understand why the one seemed like a dream in the face of the other, and the other seemed like a dream in the face of the one. He closed his eyes and remembered Ireland; the slimy black potato that John's little sister squatted down to pull out of the ground and timidly touched to her mouth, the putrid black slime touching her lips as her face screwed up in revulsion, and the sound of her retching behind the hut a few minutes after she had tried to eat it. Then his thoughts drifted to Christmas dinner at his own house; his family bowing their heads as his father intoned the prayer over the food, his sister Mary laughing at a joke as she spooned gravy onto her plate, the Christmas tree behind them festooned with candles and popcorn. He simply could not deal with the contrast, the massive difference that a few hundred miles of geography made in people's conditions. In the last week, the sheer inanity of it all had served to transform all his youthful energy into a fire that burned in his chest, spitting out sparks at every thought he had and scorching the halls of his parents' house as he restlessly paced them.


lovewill

P.S. I just also want to say that I am sorry for the lack of blogging of late. And for the general lack of factual information about life in East Africa. It is so hard sometimes to write it all down and I find myself writing during the rough times rather than the good times when I’m thinking about development, beauty of scenery, the way of life, culture, and etc. I have been hoping to go back through my journal and blog more about those things when I am home. Until, then my prayer is that you might be privy to this journey with us…that you might be changed in your own way along with us…and that all of us might be encouraged and inspired about the hope we do have…(first chapter of 1 Peter.)

Sweet bus ride...

Conveniently……

Hello world. Jill and Bethany here bringing you the latest update! Beware, it is long, but entertaining.

So here we are, trying to make our way across Tanzania before our visas run out… but the going is very, very sloooow. Pole-POLE! A few days ago, we had a truly African bus ride experience. Where to begin…

Since our original plan of taking the train from Dodoma to Kigoma was foiled (tickets were all sold out until Feb. 9—waaay past our visa expiry date), we found ourselves stranded in Dodoma with only one possible way of getting to Kigoma. Taking ANOTHER bus up to Tabora and trying to catch the train from there. It seemed like a good plan. We were told by various people that the bus ride would be anywhere from 6-10 hours.

We arrived at the bus depot at 11:00 AM expecting the bus to pull in at around 11:30, but ended up standing in the blistering heat until 12:30 when the bus actually arrived. We quickly placed our luggage with the pile of bags to be loaded and climbed on the bus to discover that it had been badly overbooked. Will fought to find the seats on our tickets, conveniently at the very back of the bus, and Erik (our new Swedish friend), Bethany, and I were standing as the bus pulled away, conveniently positioned again to look out the window and discover that all of the bags had been loaded… except ours. We watched them sitting in the dirt while we tried to explain the situation to our fellow bus mates (none of which spoke English very well) and they responded with, “Oh, it’s okay. It’s okay!” Trusting their words of wisdom, we continued on our way to stop for a “break” about 10 minutes later. At which point our bags pulled up in a taxi. With no room left underneath the bus, our bags ended up strapped to the top, always a safe place to be.

We found our seats once again—Bethany sandwiched between two Tanzanians in front of Erik, Will, and I in the back. It’s funny traveling with Will because his legs are so long that they never seem to fit anywhere, especially on buses. Conveniently again, THIS particular bus was falling apart and the seats in front of us were too close to our seats for Will to sit normally. Throw Erik’s long legs into the equation and we have an even bigger problem. So we finally pull away, on our way to Tabora, and about 20 minutes down the road the bus comes to a halt. Police Check! You will remember from the beginning that the bus was badly over-packed and there were about seven people standing in the aisle. Two policeman walk on the bus and the aisle-standers duck and a lot of Swahili is spoken. Then after another 20 minutes… the bus turns around. Always a good sign. We were informed by the man next to us, the only one who could speak English on the whole bus, that, “We are going to the police station so they can charge us. And then we will drop some people off. And THEN we will go to Tabora. No problem!” So we pass the station where we initially loaded, now gaining negative mileage towards our destination. After a quick 20 minute stop at the police station, we finally continued on our way (about 2 hours later, with… the same amount of people in the bus). A little further down the road we get pulled over for a police check AGAIN and a woman dressed in a sailor outfit climbs on the bus and proceeds to yell at all the bus occupants for about 10 minutes straight. In Swahili. We have no idea what she said, but luckily we didn’t have to make another detour back to the police station.

We continued on our way and promptly the roads began to… deteriorate. As we hit dirt roads we see simultaneously, in the very near distance, a completely gray horizon of death, and we remember that all of our backpacks… are on top of the bus. The roads became steadily worse for the next 4 hours as it continued to rain and we continued to go through pothole after mud puddle after pothole. We were convinced that at ANY second we were going to get stuck in the absolute middle of nowhere. As the roads are steadily deteriorating, the seats are steadily inching backwards with each bump we hit forcing Will into the fetal position. At this point Jill has to go to the bathroom, which is a permanent condition which she lives with, and her hopes begin to rise as we pull into the first small town we’ve seen in hours. But, being behind schedule, the bus pulls straight on through the town, drives for another 10 minutes, and then stops in the bush. Bathroom break !!! About a minute after Jill gets off the bus ( which takes a while because we are at the back) the driver begins revving the engine and honking for everyone to get back on. She is one of the last people back on the bus and we can hear people complaining about “the mzungu” who is holding the bus up.

As the bus starts moving again, we decide it is time to try and create a little more leg room. Erik stands up in aisle, but is too tall, and now his head is hitting the roof every time we hit a bump, which is at least every 3.4 seconds. The locals behind are hysterical at this point, bursting out into laughter every time Erik’s head hits the ceiling. So Will gives it a shot. Same result. The only other option is Jill, who is conveniently shorter than the guys. She ends up standing in the aisle for two hours, and only sits back back down for a third police check!

It is at this point that we realize that this bus ride is going to be a lot longer than 6-10 hours. The bus starts moving again, and there is approximately six inches of leg room left, quickly disappearing. However, things start to look up as we hit a patch of smooth roads. We pull up to another town (around 11:00 pm) and stop outside a restaurant. Of course, I (Jill) have to go to the bathroom again, so I get off the bus and ask “ Choo iko wapi ?” and end up in this sleazy bar, with a bunch of half drunk Tanzanians yelling “Mzungu” as I walk into the bathroom, which didn’t lock. I was caught between two evils : not peeing at all, or peeing in the bathroom of a sleazy bar with drunk Tanzanians yelling “Mzungu!” outside the door. I chose to pee.

We get back on the bus and I (Bethany) ask the guy next to me, the only one on the bus who spoke English “ How far is Tabora ?” and he says “ About three hours, no problem”
What ?! Another three hours ?! It was another horrible road.

Long story short ( too late, I know) we pulled into Tabora at 2:45 AM groggy-eyed, with bruised knees from lack of knee room, hot and sweaty and wanting only to shower before going to bed. We found a hotel, and the last twist of irony is that the showers didn’t work! In fact, no water whatsoever trickled out of the tap. I don’t think that day could have gotten too much worse.

The next day we rode a train for 14 hours, overnight, 3rd class. To understand what that was like, take the above and multiply by 10. A few highlights were : 170 people in a car with 70 seats, Jill getting lactated on from across the aisle, and a permanent smell of body odour in the car.

Ask us some other time about our fantastic travel experience getting to Bujumbura where Jill learned to say for the first time, in Swedish, “My father is a Viking”

Peace and Love everyone, peace and love


Bethany and Jill ( different name same brain) AKA W’all

Out of Kenya! ...and our parents said Yea!

In these last few days God has been so amazing to us ! There were so many things that have happened, so I will try and condense them, but I want to formally apologize for the length of this blog.

· Monday: We went sailing on Lake Naivasha. There was hardly any wind, it rained a little bit, and I was terrified a hippo would tip us over. Despite that it was pretty cool to be sailing in Africa. Jill accidentally left her iPod at the sailing club which we didn’t discover until late Monday night, but Jason found it the next morning , and for a bribe of 1000 Ksh, the iPod is now safe in Naivasha. For supper, Lisa prepared a birthday supper for Will, because his birthday is coming up on the 19th. As excited as I am to be moving on, it was hard to leave the Hovingh’s , we had an awesome time doing life with them. We packed everything we could that night ( some of our laundry was still wet) and then Jill and Beth stayed up an extra hour and half hunting the mosquitoes in our room before we could sleep peacefully.

· Tuesday: We were up early to finish packing, and we set off for Nairobi with Joel ( the director of the new orphanage in Naivasha) to renew our visas. The whole process took less time than we thought it would, and the immigration officials didn’t make a fuss that our visas had been expired for fifteen days already. We filled out forms, waited, got fingerprinted ( which was a little awkward for Will’s pinky) , got our passports stamped and at last it was legal for us to be in the country again ! After booking our bus for Tanzania, and eating lunch with Joel, we went to the Java house to take advantage of their Internet. This is where the story begins to get interesting, but for you to fully understand it I am going to backtrack a couple of weeks.


We have all been learning so much about ourselves and about God since we have been here. Sometimes we learn over long periods of time, and other times the “teachable moments” happen so fast and frequently it is…intense. This past week we have all been dealing with a lot of trust and control issues. We all want to control the things around us, like this trip, our relationships, what God does for us and the list goes on. As we were getting plans together for this East Africa loop, I was nervous about the whole situation because there was an endless number of things that could have gone wrong, and any one of those things could have delayed us enough to have been stuck in Kenya for an indefinite amount of time. At some point I realized that I just needed to trust God, and everything was going to be OK, whether it was by my definition of “OK” or by His definition of “OK”. So, as a summary, this whole week has been about us learning and needing to simply trust that God will work it out.



Alright, now lets jump back to the Java house we were at Tuesday afternoon. I went on-line and discovered that I had much less money in my accounts than expected, in fact I was pretty close to broke. This was surprising for me, and a lot of different thoughts went through my head, including maybe switching my flight to fly home that week. In the end though, I think it was another way of God saying “Do you trust me? Are you serving two masters? Serve me.” I had also received an e-mail from my home church that day, after not being in correspondence with them for months, asking how I was. Even if it was pure coincidence, it was a reminder that He has something in mind. So, either in foolishness, or faith we decided to set out on a loop of East Africa. We don’t know how the money situation will work out. Maybe it will be through the hospitality of families we meet along the way. Maybe it will be through people at home contributing to our living expenses, or service projects we do along the way. Maybe we will win the lottery. Who knows?



(side note from Jill—right after we found out the money situation at java, our bill from the drinks we ordered in order to use the internet came to the table. The bill was 420 ksh, and the only money that we had was in Will’s pocket. So he pulled it out and it was 400 ksh. And then Bethany pulled out a 20 ksh coin, her only change. We had 100 ksh left over for the 90 ksh matatu ride to the Maxwell’s. Since then we have pretty much been living off of bread, bananas, and roasted maize from the side of the road. J But we have learned that God always provides just enough, right when you need it.)



That night we stayed with the Maxwell’s, a wonderful missionary family in Nairobi, and got in contact with some pastor’s in Burundi, who we are planning on spending time with.


. Wednesday: It was raining as we set off for Nairobi to catch our bus. As we were waiting for a matatu, a Kenyan in a pick up truck pulled up and offered us a ride into the city, and took us right where we needed to go. That was a little bit of holy mischief. The bus ride was rainy, but mostly uneventful. We ended up paying $30 for transit visas instead of paying the full $100 for the Tanzanian visa, so that was a blessing (since we only had $400)
Thursday : We went to the UN International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, which is happening in Arusha right now. We got visitors passes, headsets with different languages and were able to sit and observe one of the trials for about an hour. The whole experience was really interesting. Thursday night we stayed with some friends of the Hovingh’s, the Schaubroeck’s, who graciously opened up their home to us, fed us, and prayed for us. It was refreshing to be with them!
Friday : Today we are back at the Backpackers Hotel that we spent the night at Wednesday night, and tomorrow morning we are taking the 6 am bus to Dodoma. After Dodoma we will try and catch the train to Kigoma. From Kigoma we will either go by ferry, or by road to Bujumbura ( Burundi). All this travel will take a few days though. And we have a new Swedish friend who is going to do the trek to Burundi with us, and then continue on to climb some mountains in Rwanda.

This has been a crazy week! But, I discovered, it is better to trust God. Once we made the decision to keep on trekking despite financial difficulties, I felt so much more peaceful. There is a divine purpose for this trip, and that purpose will never be fulfilled if I keep trying to control everything. Until next time, make good choices, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, be kind to everyone, and remember, you are a BEAUTIFUL person.

Love and peace,

Bethany

Update from Jill

Hello everyone!

We just wanted to give you a quick update of our new set of plans for our last seven weeks here in Africa and ask for your prayers as we travel. We are still planning on going to Nairobi tomorrow morning to renew our visas for Kenya and if all goes well we will be booking bus tickets for EARLY Wednesday morning to go to Tanzania. Our original plan was to make a loop of East Africa—traveling first to Uganda, down to Rwanda, and back up to Kenya through Tanzania. However, given the current political situation, Western Kenya is relatively unstable and the road to Uganda has no guaranteed safety. So through some talks and advice from friends, we’ve decided to do the loop backwards, starting with Tanzania, where the roads of Southern Kenya are much safer. Parliament re-opens on Tuesday (which could create some tension) and on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday Raila wants to have countrywide protests. However, if we leave early enough Wednesday morning, we shouldn’t have any problems and we’d like to get out of Nairobi before things potentially blow up again. The bus ride to Arusha (where we’ve heard a good number of Kenyan refugees have headed) is about five hours, so we should get there with plenty of daylight to find our way around. Jason and Lisa (the missionaries we’ve been living with in Naivasha) have given us some contacts in Arusha, so we may be there for about a week and then make our way towards Rwanda. Our desire as we travel and experience the cultures of these different East African countries is to serve and join in any opportunities that arise along the way. God has really been doing a lot of work in each of our lives individually and our whole group over the last few days and we are continually being reminded of his faithfulness. We are SO excited to embark on the last leg of our journey together and we trust that God is really going to bless this time that we have left! Your continued prayers for our safety, our experience, and peace in Kenya would be much appreciated.

In other news, we had a safe drive back from Malindi on the coast, where we went snorkeling in the beautiful Indian Ocean, hung out on the white sandy beaches for a week, and ate fresh fish and lobster for dinner every night! ☺ I am writing now from the bank of Lake Naivasha where Will, Bethany and I are about to go sailing! (And about to use up the last few drops of the sunscreen we brought from home. Turns out sunscreen costs like $30 dollars here… surprise surprise)

We will keep you updated as we find out more about our definite plans! Happy January to everyone! See you in a month and a half!

<3 Love always…. from Naivasha one last time,

Jill, Will, and Bethany

Prayer Request

Dear Friends,

This will be a short blog, as it is simply a request for prayer. On Tuesday we will be going to get our visas renewed in Nairobi. Please pray for safe travel to and from and in Nairobi, and that our visas would be renewed. All of our tourist visas have expired because it has not been safe to be in Nairobi in the past few weeks, but , if all goes well, it should be no problem to have them extended.

Love, love, love and peace,Will, Jill, and Bethany

Home...

Sometimes, I think God has to break us to bring us so low that the only thing we can see in that valley of despair is Him…on the mountaintop.

Lord, High and Holy, Meek and Lowly,Thou has
brought me to the valley of vision,Where I live in the depths but see thee in
the heights;hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold thy glory.

Let me learn by paradoxThat the way down is the
way up, That to be low is to be high, That the broken heart is the healed
heart,That the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit, That the repenting soul
is the victorious soul,That to have nothing is to possess all,That to bear the
cross is to wear the crown,That to give is to receive,That the valley is the
place of vision.

Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from
deepest wellls,And the deeper the wells the brighter thy stars shine;

Let me find thy light in my darkness,Thy life
in my death,Thy joy in my sorrow,Thy grace in my sin,Thy riches in my
poverty,Thy glory in my valley.

-Arthur Bennett from a book of Puritan Prayers

The last two days have been days of despair and brokenness… confusion, frustration, and hopelessness. I have been reminded how broken we are. How broken this world is.

As you may know, Kenya has erupted into tribal violence over the dispute of the recent presidential election results. The country has experienced violence unlike anything it has seen in the last twenty years. 486 dead, and over 200,000 displaced. Everywhere we go there is need, despair, and confusion about the future. Broken.

Somewhere along the way, our little Tripod fell away from that which we set out to do. Like a ship with a small leak, it’s been slow in coming but there is a point when the weight of the water in the hold, unseen and dangerous, is glaringly visible. We have fallen away from each other and the hope to which we have been called. I’m not sure how it happened or what is next, but it’s the reality. Broken.

Something happened tonight that was a beautiful picture to me of healing and Jesus bringing broken people back together because of his love. I’ll briefly talk about the sermon we listened to and then relate the brief story of His love made evident once more.

Tonight after dinner, we listened to another Rob Bell sermon about one of the seven woes found in Matthew 23. I think it was the woe found in verse 15. Throughout the sermon, Rob talks about the metaphors Jesus uses to describe spirituality. Unsurprisingly, those metaphors are quite different from what we would want spirituality to be—something tangible, attainable, and understandable. They are far from what the church portrays. As is typical for Jesus, they are most unexpected…difficult to understand…and radical. The metaphors were knocking (Matthew 7-ask, seek, knock), water (John 4-the woman at the well), wind (John 3-Nicodemus), report (Luke 8- the demon-possessed man), and return home (Luke 15- the prodigal son). Beautiful pictures of a faith that is mysterious, intangible, and filled with hope.

The metaphor about returning home was what hit me tonight. I’ll get to why in a bit. Rob shared two stories about returning home. His premise was that we are shown a piece of home when we come to Jesus, and along the way we leave home and get lost far away. Being born again is a lot like returning home.

The first story was about a young man that approached Rob in the UK. The young man wanted to ask him a question. He shared a story about how he and a few friends had tried to form a community of believers to follow Jesus in a radical way. They moved into communal housing, shared all they owned, tried to live simple, and let the world see what it was like to really follow Jesus. However, over time, things went downhill. The young man says, “The whole beautiful thing we dreamed of is falling apart. It’s crumbling.”

Rob’s response to that story is this: “Go. Get out of here right now. Go buy a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread and pour the wine in a cup. Set the cup and the bread on a table in the middle of your house. Call and emergency meeting with your community and apologize where you have wronged others. Give the bread dipped in wine to those you have wronged and tell them you love them.”

Upon returning to the US, Rob received an email from the young man saying that he had done exactly that and that things had drastically changed for the better. People began apologizing and confessing wrongs toward each other. Rob goes on to talk about how just that simple of act of taking part in the ritual that was originally to remind us of Christ’s work on the cross has a power that is unexplainable. It brings people together as it reminds us of reconciliation and the picture that God sent His Son to die for our sins.

I listened to this story and was almost brought to tears at the similarity to our own group. We set out on our own in Africa to be a community and share what we have with one another as we try to follow Jesus and take his love to the “least of these.” But that beautiful thing we dreamed about has begun to fall apart at the seams. After we finished listening to the sermon, I got up, grabbed the bread, and read the story of the crucifixion out loud from the Message. I was brought to tears as I was reminded of the sacrifice and the pain that He went through for me. We took communion with one another, prayed together, and apologized for wrongs done.

I told the girls that I was sorry because I had lost sight of what we set out to do. I had lost sight of home—connection with Jesus. Taking His love and sharing it together. Following Him. And taking that love to those around us who are without hope, love, and peace. I’m not sure where I went wrong or how it happened, but I was brought to my knees that I’ve become so wrapped up in myself that I haven’t loved Jill and Bethany…And I haven’t love the oppressed, the poverty-stricken, and the destitute.

In the sermon, Rob Bell said something that sums up where I’ve been lately, “Any time we harm ourselves or others out of a desperate desire to heal our own pain, we are far from home.”

So where is home?

The other story was a story about a little girl that I’ll relate verbatim. Rob got the story from Marcus Borg who got the story from Parker Palmer.

“Several years ago I was told a story about a three year old girl. She was the
firstborn and the oldest child in her family, but now her mother was pregnant
again and the little girl was excited about having a new brother or sister.
Within a few hours of her parents bringing the new baby boy home from the
hospital, the girl made a request. She wanted to be alone with her new brother
in his room with the door shut. Her insistence about being alone in the room
with the boy made her parents a bit uneasy, but then they remembered that they
had installed a new intercom system in anticipation of the baby’s arrival. So
they realized they could let their daughter do this and if they heard the
slightest indication that anything strange was happening, they could be in the
baby’s room in an instant.

“So they let the little girl go into the
baby’s room, shut the door, and they raced to the intercom listening station.
They heard their daughter’s footsteps moving across the room, imagined her
standing over the crib, and then they heard her saying to her three day old
brother, ‘Tell me about God, I’ve almost forgotten.’”

Wow.

Commenting upon the story, Rob says, “So of all the ways Jesus could talk about faith, he tells a story of a return. A return to your primal roots. A return to your home. A return to a God who loves you. Maybe when people say, ‘Why are you a Christian?’ Well, because when I met Christ, in some deep, mysterious, intangible way it was like I came home.”

I’ve wandered away somehow. I need to say, “Tell me about God, I’ve almost forgotten.” In the next few days, maybe I’ll get back to the bigger picture of trying to bring love to the loveless and hope to the hopeless… To tell others about my home. To look the beggar children in the eyes and communicate love… telling them that I bring food and want to give because of the hope which I’ve been given. I hope to get back to a big picture mindset bigger than Will Watson that is concerned with big issues like displaced people, victims of violence, and those who truly fit into the category of the “least of these.” Those poorer than the poorest of the poor. In God’s time.

But for tonight, I just need to go home. Back to the love shown on that cross. Back to a radical man who walked this earth and brought hope to those dark days. That man that brought so much light. So much love. God, who walked among us and taught us about a masterfully woven plan to save the world. To mend this broken world. A world that is no longer falling apart and crumbling, but a world that is at peace.

“I have run, I have crawled. I have scaled these city walls, only to be with you. But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.” We have to keep searching, asking, seeking, and longing for heaven on earth—community with others and with God.

God, may you tell us what you’re like, because we’ve almost forgotten.

Maybe in order to find out who we are, we need to remember who we were.

-Good ‘ole Jill…well, she’s not really old I guess ;-)

lovewill

Happy New Year! and the Riots in Kenya

Happy New Year to everyone! 2008 has started out on a bad foot for Kenyans, as some of you may or may not know, so I thought I would try and explain why what is happening now is happening.

On December 27th Kenya held presidential and parliamentary elections. The two front runners for the presidency were Mwai Kibaki from the Party of National Unity (PNU) and Raila Odinga from the Orange Democratic Movement (ODM). Kibaki was seeking re-election. After the election all the votes had to be tallied by hand, which ended up taking a few days longer than expected. While they were tallying the votes tensions began to rise, and the suspicion that the election was being rigged started to arise. Riots started happening in Nairobi and Kisumu on Saturday ( I think), before the results were even released. On Sunday the results were released saying Kibaki had been re-elected by a margin of two million votes.

By about that time a lot of Kenyans were angry, because it took so long for the results to be released, and also because there was a host of ‘irregularities’ that had occurred while counting ballots. Incidents such as constituency A releasing numbers on Saturday which said Kibaki had 50 000 votes, and then on Sunday upping that number to 70 000 votes without the proper signatures. I am not going to try and list all the problems that the 2007 elections seemed to have, because a lot of the facts I would quote are probably inaccurate, so it is probably best to do your own research.

In the last week there have been a number of violent acts, mostly between Luo’s ( Raila’s tribe) and the Kikuyu ( Kibaki’s tribe). According to The Daily Nation the death toll has now reached 185 and over 150 000 people have been displaced, mostly from the Rift Valley area of Kenya. The roads in and out of Nairobi were shut down at one point and are still periodically blocked by protestors. There is a petrol shortage, and also (to Will’s great sadness) grocery prices have shot through the roof in some places where the trucks have not gotten to in a while. I heard of a man who paid 500 Ksh for two loafs of bread ( that’s about 8 dollars ). As a purely editorial comment, I feel the media is slightly exaggerating what is happening in Kenya right now.

As for how the situation affects us :

We have to watch our step more carefully. As far as I know, no westerners have been targeted yet. The conflict is mainly between the Luo and the Kikuyu, so the greatest risk to us is getting caught in the crossfire. The missionary family we are staying with now lives out in the bush-bush, so no bad stuff has made its way out our direction yet. We have to pay more attention to the newspaper and the radio, and keep tabs on what is going on, and so far it has been very helpful to have those sources of information.

We are at this moment sitting on the porch of a beautiful beachfront house in Malindi, taking a mini-vacation with the Hovingh’s. I can see the Indian Ocean, and less than two hours ago I swam in it for the first time. Everything here is beautiful and I am looking forward to hanging out on the white sand beach all week!

We left on the third, early in the morning, passed through Nairobi with no problems, stayed the night with some friends of the Hovingh’s at Athi River, and finished the drive to Malindi today, again with no problems ( But we did see some elephants in Tsavo National Park…. cool !)

Well, this is getting a bit long for my tastes, so I will just say again that we are safe, and far away from the hubs of violence and the situation does, at this moment, seem to be calming down. It is a little bit strange to know that I am in a third world country in the midst of conflict, but it is a learning experience. Hope the New Year is going well for everyone back home, and thank-you for praying for us, it is much appreciated.

Love

Bethany