Every week we travel that same path. You take a left onto some no name road- paved nicely by Kenyan standards. If you look to the right, there’s a neatly groomed field. It’s even bordered with a white picket fence. Sometimes when we drive by, there are men out there on horseback, practicing for their next polo match. It’s sunny, and smooth, and welcoming. That road soon dead ends into another. We turn left- Kibera Road. This road isn’t as nice. Every ten or fifteen feet, we swerve to dodge the potholes, usually getting stuck behind some crazy matatu driver or a motorcyclist swerving between both lanes. Down the curvy road we go, until we come to that hill- that hill that immediately tells me… we’re in Kibera.
As you descend that hill, you’re eyes are confronted with rusted tin upon rusted tin upon rusted tin- the housing of some one million people, smashed together, as far as you can see. It seems like one good push would send everything tumbling down. Trash heaps line the edges of the road, garbage spilling over into the streets. Stray dogs scavenge for scraps of food next to the small children with little bags collecting bits of plastic or metal they’ll sell for just a few shillings later in the day. Men and women crowd into the busy road. They don’t seem to notice our passing car until we nearly hit them. Everything smells like smoke, and dirt, and waste. The people don’t smile much. It seems to me like the slum has consumed them. Hope is the last thing they’re expecting to find today.
We keep driving. Every time we get to our destination, I nearly miss it. We turn right, and park in front of that sign- Berith Bible College. I can’t help but smile as I get out of the car, and enter through that gate. I know that inside that humble building are some amazing people. People like Pastor Indiazi; Meshack; Vitalis; Beatrice. People who are willing to work incredibly hard because it means they will educate men and women and send them back out into Kibera, equipped to change what they see and offer Hope to those one million blank faces.
The Bible College is one of my favorite places to visit. Usually, it means I get to sit in on a class and learn right alongside the Kenyan students. It always means a warm welcome- from students and staff alike. We’ve covered topics from Nehemiah, Isaiah, and Colossians. Verse by verse, and chapter by chapter, they dig into Scripture, study it, discuss its implications, and apply it to their lives and the lives of Kenyans as a whole.
If I’ve learned anything during the past six weeks in Kenya, it’s this: Kenya doesn’t need any more church buildings. It doesn’t need any more white people to come play savior, checking off their good deed for the year. It doesn’t need our money, and it doesn’t need our pity. So what does Kenya need? It needs to change from the very inside, spreading outward- not the other way around. It needs Kenyans, to rise up and enable Kenyans to make a positive change in Christ’s name. I get excited about the Bible College because that is exactly what they are doing! Many of the students are already leaders in their churches. If not the pastor, they are second in command, stepping up to teach Scripture as it is meant to be taught.
Many people in Kenya claim to be pastors. Many of those same people are corrupt, have hidden agendas, and don’t have any knowledge or training to head a congregation. But I know that very soon, the students of Berith Bible College will begin to change that. They will be the leaders that Kenya needs- teaching the Truth, offering Hope, and rising up a nation of empowered disciples. It will take time, but I know it will happen!
The first time we drove back up that hill and out of Kibera, I remember looking back and being completely consumed by the sin and despair that engulf the place. It seemed pointless to me- how could anything possibly penetrate such darkness?
But today, when we drove back up that hill and out of Kibera, I looked back, and a smile spread across my face. There is light penetrating the darkness of Kibera- and that light is Berith Bible College.
gk
2 comments:
Obviously, my body has never been to Kenya. My physical eyes have never seen for themselves the slums you speak about.
But my heart has been there many, many times. And today, you took it there again. I can ALMOST smell the stench of that place in my nostrils, ALMOST feel the weight of the despair on my shoulders, ALMOST feel the burden of the oppressed.
ALMOST. I know it's nothing like being there in person. But today, you gave me a 5 second glimpse into the lives of the least of these.
Thanks GK. Can't wait to talk to you face to face soon. I love you.
what a beautiful description of kibera.
remember that darkness does not exist in and of itself; it is merely the absence of LIGHT.
may berith and the saints within those walls continue to be a beacon in the night.
praying for onlyservants,
perry and joy
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