A Dominican Walk Through Kenya (Part 9)

Unexpectedly at Home

It all started with a friendly wave from a man feeding the chickens. A brief conversation the next day. The start of a friendship as simple as greeting each other as he carried milk to the kitchen. This is how I met Charles, one of the workers in the Priory Shamba. He told me he was a catechist at his parish, and a member of a small Christian community at the same parish, as he invited me to join his group on a Sunday afternoon. So, I went along with Peter to join Charles at his house not too far from the Missionary of Charity School in Kibera. The path going into his house was that same one that we had climbed into before, just as steep but not as muddy (for which Peter was relieved.)

Charles’ dwelling in Kibera was small, but his heart was big as he offered us some soft drinks and local biscuit crackers that I had come to like. His resilience and zest for life came through. Remembering that he often rides his bike to and from work, I asked him what he did as he crossed one of the rickety bridges over the Kibera waters, as we were doing at the moment. “I lift my bike. It’s just ok,” he said, raising his hands over his head, while letting out a short laugh. Sitting on his bed across from the couch where we were seated, Charles showed us pictures of his family collected in an album before we hiked up to the place where the small Christian community was to meet.

Arriving at the meeting, we were a little surprised that our white habits had remained clean thus far. As people, about ten in all, started coming in, we noticed that they were still wearing their Sunday best, often with vibrant colors, in this urban landscape that was otherwise run down. They started with the Rosary in Swahili before reading the Gospel for the next Sunday. (In English, now, probably for our sake). It was from the Bread of Life Discourse in the Gospel of John. We talked with them about the work of faith present when we celebrate the true presence of Christ in the Eucharist at Mass. Then, it was time to pray, and they asked us to lead. So, the ten of us drew near the center coffee table and completely filled our meeting room in the process.

This is where I felt strangely at home. I had hardly encountered such poverty in my life and was a half-mile hike into a strange place called the Kibera slum, trusting in the tour guide skills of our new friend Charles. A small, flickering candle and an inexpensive plastic statue of Jesus lay on the main table. And I knew where I was. This was familiar. I had encountered Christian community like this before. In fact, it was a big factor in my decision to discern Dominican life. I was strangely at home in a land far, both physically and economically, from where I came from. The Holy Spirit moved in our hearts as we prayed with the people in this community. The faith of these people, grateful for Gods blessings, even when they lack so much, is an anchor and reference to my own faith. The generosity of the people here was moving. As I boarded the matatu on the way back, I couldn’t help but think about that tiny candle continuing to burn on that makeshift table as the afternoon wore on across the muddy, dilapidated slopes of the slum. It was a small light, just like the small group of ten people gathering to reflect on God’s Word.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5

Those moments I just described were moving and sometimes very challenging experiences of encountering suffering. I hold these people in my heart and continue to pray for them, encouraging you to do the same. Even so, one of the most challenging experiences for me, as we prepared to leave, was saying goodbye to the girls at the Missionary of Charity Orphanage right before flying to return to the States. I don’t think they knew how much an impact they made on me and the brothers. Walking among the chairs one last time, I was able to kneel down next to some of the girls, eye to eye, and give them a special task to pray for us, assuring them that we would pray for them as well.

“Will you be back next week?” asked Susan from her wheelchair as we prepared to leave. “No, we won’t,” I said, eyes a little wet, “but we hold you in a special place in our hearts.” Wheeling up to say goodbye, Pauline approached Peter with a gift in hand, a picture of Jesus pointing to his Sacred Heart that she had drawn in colored pencil. Wow. Catching my eye across the room, I went near the craft table where Apiyo was seated. “You love Jesus very much,” I told her, remembering the many interactions of joy we shared, and the image of her clapping her hands during the hymns at Mass with the Sisters. “Keep that love alive in your heart.” And she nodded with a smile, just as she had done many times before.

To give a fair representation of how these real moments were mixed with more light-hearted ones, let me describe some of the funny moments, bloopers, and inside jokes from our time.