What They Didn’t Tell Me about the Kenya- Somali Border

                   Our bus rocks back and forth while we drive down a broken-bricked road on our way to the riverbanks. Kenyan music plays on the radio as the traffic buzzes around us. I look down to reach in my bag, and when I look up again, an 18 wheeler-type car is coming straight for our vehicle. I glance around our car is surrounded. We have nowhere to go. We are going to be hit. I close my eyes, brace for impact, and squeal knowing I am going to die here. I tighten my grip on the unfortunate person who is sitting pale faced next to me and begin to pray. Several seconds pass, before the person speaks “um miss, you can let go now.” I look up and see the roads are clear and embarrassment floods my face. “Sorry” I mumble, knowing that this will not be the last time I have to tell them this.  I think to myself “I have already been in Kenya a week. I can’t believe I am still scared of their driving. What is wrong with me? ” However, I quickly assure myself that I have every right to be scared as our driver runs a red light. “Um Paul,” I yell from the second seat “I am not sure if you noticed, but there was kinda a red light back there. “ Paul looks at me with a big grin and says “Oh no child, we only put those lights there for the foreigners.” He winks and then noticing the look on my face says, “Don’t worry my child, you are safe with me.” 

                 That did not make me feel any better, and in fact I was getting car sick, so I tried to go to sleep. When I woke up to our host was telling us that we would be stopping at a gas station. I look around excitedly looking for a Buc-ee’s or at least a shell station, but I didn’t see one. We turned into this little parking lot with one gas pump and one room- the bathroom.  This bathroom obviously did not win an award on cleanliness, but since it was the only one in the town (and yes I did ask), I had no choice.

                 As we made our way towards Somalia, the temperature drastically changed. We went from cool weather to hotter- than –hot-weather. I looked around and all I saw was dirt. We drive for what seems like miles and finally we stop. “Hey guys we’re here” our host yells. I look around, confused by what I see, because I am not quite sure where here is.

           All I see is a building that looks like it is wrapped in tin foil and has tents in the backyard. “Is this where we are staying?”  I think.  As though he heard my thought, our missionary begins to unload our stuff and hands us our tent equipment.   The group of girls immediately goes to work trying to put up our tent (key word trying) without any help. We finally got the tent to stand up (after thirty minutes), and after we walk inside, it collapses. A chorus of groans is drowned out by the boys’ laughter. Our pride could not stand in our way any longer so we begged the boys to help us.  They had the tent finished in five minutes (to our dismay and their delight). 

                That evening the local pastor welcomed us into his bat-infested home for dinner. We ate a lovely meal of beans and rice, before he informed us that we must go to bed as soon as it gets dark. “The banks are too dangerous at night. Do not wander. Stay inside your tent.” His tone conveyed it all; we nodded our heads in agreement, as a solemn promise.   We did, however break that promise when we found a bug as big as Godzilla in our tent. Thankfully, Joy, who is five-years-old, saved us from our utter doom by slaying the giant monster so we could go back inside our tent. 

            The next morning, we were greeted by small Muslim children who were walking to school. We learned that many of these children would walk at least six miles every morning to get to class on time. I couldn’t believe their dedication. After classes stated, we loaded up into this wagon-trailer and began to take the route that these children took every morning. We dodged thorn trees as our driver drove under them laughing.  I watched wide eyed as it cut the people’s (who did not have time to duck) skin and clothing and I wondered what it did to the children as they walked by.  We often had to get out and push our wagon-trailer as it was stuck in the mud or giant ruts. I looked around at the looming trees and giant rocks and I couldn’t help but notice how scary it was. These kids would often walk home alone at night. “Did they ever get scared?” I wondered

                        Our host broke though my thoughts, saying “This path that we are driving on was cleared by two brave girls, ten years ago. These girls wanted to see what was on the other side and what they discovered was a remote people group. This people group consisted of those that have fled from Somalia and have found refuge on the Kenya-Somali border. They are uneducated and that is why we are here. We are going to build a school for them.”

   I looked at the huts that were built of twig and mud, some houses were even in trees. I saw young children spilling out of homes half dressed or with holey clothing.  “These are children we are going to be  helping” our host said and  I smiled at the thought.

                      We pulled into a small clearing and everyone jumped out. I was handed a machete (yes a machete) and a large metal pole, that the Kenyan’s called a limbo, to make holes in the ground. The Kenyan Master’s Commission instructed us to take the machete and plunge it into the ground to loosen the dirt and then take the limbo and beat the dirt into the ground before we took our hands and scooped the dirt out of it. We were then to repeat this process until the hole was as wide and deep as a third of the limbo.  I began to dig. 

                Halfway through the third hole as I reached my hand in to scoop the dirt, a man from the Master’s Commission pulled me back, he grabbed the limbo and began to beat the ground as he yelled in Swahili.  “He found a scorpion,” one of the guys translated.  I looked as the small crumpled creature was brought up from the depths. “You are very lucky” one of the guys whispered, “One bite from that tiny scorpion and you would have been dead.”

                                     I stood there in shock not quite understand all that happened before I ran to grab my water. As I finish the water in my bottle, a small hand reaches out trying to grab it, startling me. The child begins to babble in Swahili and I was surprised that I could understand some of it. The child asked “White person, can I please have your water bottle?” I hand it to her and she rushes off.  Aaron, one of the men from Master’s commission, leans over to me “Did you hear what she said afterwards?” “No, all I understood was Asante (thank you)” I reply. “Well she said ‘the crazy white person gave me this’” he laughs as an insulted look appears on my face.  “Why did she want my bottle. It was empty” I ask. “Tabitha” Aaron says his voice growing serious,”I am not sure you understand, with that bottle she can get water from the river. She now has a way to carry it and will not be thirsty.”  “From the river?” I ask thinking of the brown swirling streams of dirty water filled with germs and parasites.  “To them the water is not dirty, it is life” Aaron explains.

                         As I sit there thinking about this statement a young Muslim girl sits down next to me. Through a translator I learn that her name is Miriam and that she is fourteen. She had gotten married to a man in his forties and was about to have his child. She told me that the child was going to be a boy and she was going to name him Jesus, because he would be the next great prophet.  My heart broke for this young girl as I thought back to the man I had met on the river banks. This man sat down next to my team and when asked if he was a Christian he asked for a piece of paper. He wrote down the word yes and then after we saw it ripped it into a million shreds and threw it in the river.

                    For them knowing Christ means death or even worse (according to African culture) their entire family would reject them. It is really easy to sit on the other side of the world and hear people speak about the dangers of the Kenya-Somali border, but it is another thing to go and see for yourself. Yes, there is pirating off the banks of Somalia and there are scary giant, poisonous bugs and snakes.  And yes, there are some people who want to kill all Christians, but there are others who are thirsty for education, water and eternal life.  Everything else (long car rides, sleeping in tents, thorn trees and giant or deadly bugs) all  seem so insignificant in comparison. These are thing that no one told me, but I had to learn for myself.