I drank so much coffee, I’m wired for sound

Your words rang true in my ears

Despite hearing it for years

It suddenly feels real this time around

It’s funny how hard we continue the search

When it was in front of my face

Without human sin or disgrace

Your message got lost in religion and church

The most important piece in the puzzle is still love

In the black heat of night or on the wings of a dove

Your message was so simple and pure

You alone, our only hope and cure

Please lead us all to hire a higher perception

It starts and ends with you plus nothing at all

We must push out our daily distractions

And give up selfish dissatisfactions

We surely need your mercy after the fall

I once thought I could always do it own my own

But I heard your case over time

And I had to stop on a dime

And think about my account to you on your throne

The most important piece in the puzzle is still love

In the black heat of night or on the wings of a dove

Your message was so simple and pure

You alone, our only hope and cure

Please lead us all to hire a higher perception

Help us, as only you can, to a higher perception

Pushing upstream through the rapids

Just to meet the jagged, snow-packed peaks

Let’s get lost in this distant jungle

Or head uptown and hang out with freaks

My head’s spinning with indecision

Tangled inside out with derision

Imprecise and lacking precision

I think we’ll make it safe and sound

But there’s no room for human error

Your laugh eases my empty conscience

Even if it’s still steeped in terror

My mind slowly draws black and blank

With only my impure nature to thank

Do you hear my shackles rattle and clank

Why do all of the clocks read midnight

I thought for sure we’d finally made progress

Let’s pull over, it’s getting too dark to see

We’re searching for a home with no address

Worry seems to be my surest emotion

Carried forth with unequaled devotion

And inner soul wrenching commotion

Do you feel the same?

In this who’s who’s of blame

Upended without a name

Broken, lost, and lame

Bailout the last remaining two

And change the face of the nation

Road trip rascals came to fruition

Turning out our inward creation

Reading poetry just makes me want to lie

There’s nothing as quite pathetic

So spare me the useless rhetoric

Lay it all down or act like it’s worth a try

You’re mouthing silent, unheard objections

Lost in your lonely, abject soul

Burn the chaff and pay the toll

Run from blind fear and earthly rejections

Dance through the thicket, push out with broken arms

Partial redemption lies huddled in your childhood charm

A clock’s ticking, your heart sounds that fateful alarm

Perfect blue windows don’t replace my crooked smile

Beat down the barking dogs of freedom

Boredom built your perfect kingdom

Memories are only worthy for a short while

Swinging wild we’ll punch holes through midnight

And stave off this sacred, haunting curse

Without something better let’s settle for the worst

Forget the future, crash across hindsight

Dance through the thicket, push out with broken arms

That monster’s got you cornered, no chance to disarm

Turn your back to summer, embrace the frozen hug of harm

My film of disapproval clouds over the purest eyes

A sanctioned chord of high repentance

Jailed and serving out a lifetime sentence

Calloused fists efficiently muffle most men’s cries

Daunted, daring even seeking a modicum of death

The hearts that brought you up the channel

Stand braced for cold, wrapped in heavy flannel

Lost in forgotten woods, counting every last breath

I’m lost in the thicket, crippled with broken arms

Lead to the slaughter like an animal on the farm

As they continued driving through the night, Vincent probed Christian with questions about the slums and what he now thought of missionary trips.

“You know, everybody’s story blended together after a while,” Christian said.  “The family is hit hard by AIDS, they’re too sick to work, there’s not money for school, rent, food, you name it.  How many of those homes in Mathare share that same story?”

“Oh, about half,” Vincent replied without looking up.

“Half!” Christian exploded.  “That’s several hundred thousand people!  You’ve got to be kidding.  All crammed into that tight space?  No wonder the disease spreads so rapidly.”

“That’s where the church comes in,” Vincent explained.  “They find the families that are on the brink.  One or both of the parents are dead and their children are left behind.  If there’s family that can take care of them, they’ll go that route.  If there’s nobody left to take care of them, the church will take them into their orphanage and continue raising them.  They’re looking after the widows and orphans or soon to be orphans.”

“That’s some heavy stuff,” Christian said.  “I wonder how many slip through the cracks anyway.”  As they drove along the edge of some smaller slums, he observed the same things he saw days earlier.  Throngs of people walking on the roadside and always more children than adults.  They were everywhere, mostly it appeared without adult supervision.  He couldn’t imagine his children surviving in this strange, chaotic world.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of kids that get missed,” Vincent stated.  “You do your best, but there’s only so much that can get done.  You just don’t focus on what gets missed, but celebrate each life saved as a victory.”  Christian noticed Vincent’s watery eyes and knew there was a story ready to emerge.  “Remember that house we went to after you decided to paint yourself with goat’s blood?”

“Sure,” Christian replied, glancing down at the camera bag.

“There were two kids in school uniforms that came in while we were there.  Well, neither of those kids had been in school a few months ago, but now they’re back in school.”

“That’s cool,” Christian said, not sure how this stood out.

“Well, the reason they’re in school is not just because of just the church, but because of a certain young man affiliated with the church.  The church found out about that family because of a man named Matthew that teaches in the slums.  He drives forty miles, each way, to teach these kids.”

“Eighty miles a day in this traffic?  That’s enough to drive anybody crazy, no pun intended.”

“Yeah, well, I found him in Matthew several years back, sniffing glue by a garbage dump.  He had no family, no money, no home, and basically no hope.  Or so it seemed.  David, along with other church members, took that orphan, Matthew, in.  They gave him shelter, food, clothes, education, and above all, love.  He thrived in that environment.  He finished secondary school and went to the university.  Now he returns to the place that had tossed him aside so many years ago and tries to look out for other kids that are on the same path he once followed.  One chance encounter with one kid.  I can only guess how many people in Mathare he reaches everyday teaching in those slums.  Imagine how many people could have been lost if not for this one guy.  It’s sobering if you really think about it.”

“Kind of the butterfly effect,” Christian replied.

“Exactly, Mr. Hollywood.  It’s amazing what you can be a part of when you’re open to His word.”  Christian wanted to buy in, but for some reason he still sat on the fence.

“How do you know if you’re being open to His word or just hearing what you want to hear?” he asked.  This belief stuff still often confused Christian.

“It’s like anything else,” Vincent responded.  “It takes practice, it takes time spent in His word, it takes time praying, it takes time stepping out of your comfort zone, it takes time reaching out to other believers, it takes time volunteering, it takes time asking questions, it takes time sharing with whoever you find yourself talking to, and it takes time sifting through all of the answers and advice.  It’s not a sprint.  Slow down and enjoy the jog, you’re in this this for the long haul.”

Christian leaned back in his seat as a smile widened across his face.  Vincent started smiling and looked inquisitively at Christian.

“What?” Vincent probed.

“I despise sprinting,” Christian said with a laugh.  “Maybe this won’t be as difficult of a journey as I thought.”

Vincent slapped Christian’s leg and exclaimed, ” You and me brother!  We’ll slow walk this bad boy down!”

For the first time in a great while Christian felt certain he was traveling on the right path.  “I’m pretty sure I could slow walk just about anything down.  I’m in.”

Right on course

To the center of your heart

It’s the source

More than just a piece or part

Grab ahold

Together we’re on this ride

Bought and sold

We can take it all in stride

Just one kiss

We will seal it up today

We can’t miss

Because in my heart you’ll stay

Take my hand

We’re in it through thick and thin

We will stand

Against storm clouds and the winds

Know always

My love for you will endure

This I say

With commitment true and pure

I know that you feel it too

You love me and I love you

Drifting back into the present world, Christian realized time on the trip back from the safari flew by.  Lost in his memories of the Mathare slums, he now realized that they were in the Nairobi city limits again.

“Have you ever seen so many headlights and tail lights without a single traffic signal around?” Vincent asked.

“I wonder how many traffic accidents happen on any given day here,” Christian replied.  “Or better yet, how many traffic fatalities occur on any given day.”

“Who knows, it might be less than you think,” Vincent said.  “Maybe even less than back home.”

“You think?”

“Maybe.  I’ve seen people get hit by cars over here before a couple of times, but I’ve never seen a good old American style car crash.  A lot of bumper taps and fender brushes, but nothing too serious to stop both cars in their tracks like you’d see when somebody runs a red light.  Besides, with these potholes, you can’t get too much speed up anyway.”

“Interesting point,” Christian interjected.  “But I can’t imagine the car on pedestrian accidents are too pretty.”

“They’re not,” Vincent replied.  “And don’t ever get out of the car if you hit somebody.  They say you should leave the area and go to a police station and report it, if you do anything.”

“Why?”

“Because the  crowd that gathers around you at the scene will exact some vigilante justice on you,” Vincent said.  “You most likely would not survive the beating.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Christian said.  “You stop to help and they beat you to death for your concern over the injured person.  That’s jacked up.”  Christian gazed out the window and wondered how many people walking along the road would react that way.  Calmly strolling home from work and then literally beating the life out of somebody.  How would you relate that story to the missus at the end of the day. ‘Work was great, we finished that project for Bob, traffic was hell, I helped kill a man on the walk home, and what smells so darn good, honey.’  “I guess I need to be a better student of the culture and history to understand that response,” Christian concluded aloud.

“You’re definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” Vincent said and chuckled.  “But I think you realized that a few days back.”

“Yeah.  Kind of like why would you choose to live in the world’s largest garbage dump, when the countryside seems so beautiful.”

“Because home is where you can make a buck and there’s more opportunities to earn a buck in Nairobi than on the outskirts.  After awhile that garbage dump, as you so eloquently put it, becomes you’re new normal.  People will get used to their conditions pretty quick and become less likely to change it as time passes by.  It’s just human nature.  Your life in the U.S. would seem as attainable to them as a fairy tale.  Don’t judge them too quickly.  But for the grace of God, you know.”

“I know.  It just seems so depressing and hopeless, like an endless uphill climb and you’re carrying the world’s fattest man on your back,” Christian answered.

“You’ve never carried me anywhere on your back,” Vincent joked.

“Yeah, but if I did it would seem hopeless,” Christian added.  “Remember that guy with the kegs on a bike.  You don’t suppose they were full, do you?”  Vincent shrugged his shoulders and stared out the van window.  “If I had a job in Mathare, I bet that one would be about as profitable as any.  If people drink homemade hooch that blinds them, a safe beer could be highly marketable.  A little alcohol to blur the edges a little.”

“It’s good to know you’d pray on their weaknesses, vulnerabilities, and circumstances,” Vincent said, dryly.

“I thought home is where the buck is?  You feel the same way about bar owners in the U.S.?”

“Apples and oranges my friend.  But a beer does sound good.  Maybe we could scrape up a Tusker or two when we get back to the hotel.”

“Count me in,” Christian said.

“Me, too!” a chorus of riders echoed.

“Good Lord, let’s just hit a local bar, we don’t we,” Vincent said.  Dead silence followed for several seconds.

“Was that a yes or a no,” Christian laughed, grabbing and rocking Vincent by the shoulders.

“A yes if they have beer nuts, a no if they have pretzels,” Vincent said, elbowing Christian in the ribs.

Christian first thought he heard a small child’s painful scream.  However, he felt equal shock when his eyes saw a man in a gray pair of coveralls drawing the knife’s blade across a young goat’s throat.  The all white goat emitted a scream that he again swore sounded identical to a seven-year old child.

“Whoa!” Kerri yelped as Christian stood motionless.  As dull as the blade appeared, its worn cutting edge and the man’s strength did the job.  The knife severed the jugular vein in the goat’s neck and a stream of blood shot out like a garden hose straight on Christian’s camera bag.

Greg, Vincent, and Margaret had already turned the corner up ahead and did not witness the scene.  Sam stood at the corner and let out a shriek.  Kerri took several bounding steps forward to escape the blood spray.  David stood by Christian’s side knowing he could not get him past the knife’s effects.  The event played out in slow motion before Christian as he watched the blood fly across the passageway, aiming, it seemed, solely at him.

The goat blood hit the outer flap of the camera bag and flattened out in a circular fashion.  Nothing else really touched him after the initial impact.  The camera bag acted as a shield, taking the brunt of the hit for him.  Christian smiled at his poor luck as some dark humor surfaced in the back of his mind.  Not able to resist, he decided to test the comic waters.

“Medic, I’m hit,” Christian shouted.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see the man and the goat in time.  Other than the blood, are you alright?” David asked.  David wanted to wipe off the bag, but only motioned his hands around it, as he had nothing to use for cleaning it.

“Never better.  It’s no fun until you get some on you, I always say,” Christian mused.  David, not sure what this meant tilted his head to the side and scrunched his eyebrows.

“Why would you say that?” David asked.  Christian laughed and grabbed David ‘s shoulders.

“Because I’m warped.  Don’t follow my lead,” Christian replied.  “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”  David gave him another inquisitive look.  “Never mind.”

The man slaughtering the goat set the knife down and came toward the group, speaking rapidly with not only his mouth, but his whole body.  His eyes were wide, arms waving, and his hands moving from the goat’s original position to Christian.  Christian got the opinion that the man was attempting to apologize for the incident.  David smiled and shook his head several times.  The man then ran back inside his home.

“I think he wants to give you something,” David said with a grin.  Just then the man came back outside holding a chicken. He lifted the chicken towards David and Christian, speaking to both of them in Swahili.  David waved his hands back and forth and shook his head from side to side.

David glanced at Christian and said, “He wants to give you a chicken.”

“Oh, no, no,” Christian protested.  “Tell him I can’t take that from him.  I mean, where would I put it?”  David continued negotiating with the apologetic man as Christian continued.  “I’m a big fan of the colonel and all, but I’d rather you fry it up and eat it.  I’m good, the bag’s fine, keep the bird.”

The man began to relent and eventually patted David and Christian on their arms.  He turned and walked back to his freshly killed goat which now had ceased screaming and kicking.

Kerri approached them, smiling big and said, “Are you ready to turn the corner and see what’s behind door number two, my intrepid traveler.  Or would you rather stay here and collect livestock?”

“What for?  I’ve got you.”

“Hey!” Kerri shouted.  Christian ran forward as Kerri kicked in his direction, but missed.  “You’ll pay for that one”

“Are you kidding, girlfriend?  Just look at me and my stuff.  My account is full, so I’m willing to pay.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Kerri muttered under her breath as they walked around the next corner.

Christian withdrew his hand from his rear pocket and slowly placed both hands on his knees.  Kerri picked up on the non-verbal communication between David and Christian.  She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders at Christian, neither certain what was wrong.

As this occurred between Christian and David, the rest of the group continued peppering Isabelle with questions about her circumstances and what they could collectively pray about with her.  They discovered that Isabelle’s husband was also an alcoholic and often absent from the home.  When at home, he was often physically abusive towards the family.  When the questions abated, Vincent looked around at the group.

“Greg, do want to lead us in prayer for Isabelle and her family?”  Greg agreed again began speaking.  As he spoke, Christian bowed his head and looked at the ground.  A small brown and white calico kitten danced between his feet.  Fascinated by his boots’ shoelaces, the kitten pawed at their ends like a prize-fighter working a speed bag.  Does this family actually have a pet Christian wondered?  Such a difference  between their worlds, but still so many similarities.  Battling illness, addiction, school concerns, business ventures, marriage, raising children, and even pets.  People’s daily struggles don’t vary much outside of geography Christian thought.

Kerri gave his knee a nudge and he realized the prayer ended.  The group stood, thanked Isabelle and Regina for inviting them into their home, and gradually re-entered the outside world, bustling in its mid-morning sunlight.  It was like a people bomb exploded while the were inside and now the population seemed ten times greater.  Fires burned, kettles boiled, children played, voices carried, screams escaped, laughter arose, tools banged, and life seemingly erupted in a sensory overload-type of atmosphere.

“What happened?” Sam wondered aloud.  Everywhere Christian looked a million different things burst on the radar and his mind tried to process in all at once.  Margaret, accustomed to the slums, continued walking to the next destination as they fell in line behind her.  David came along Christian’s side and began speaking.

“I did not mean to be rude.  I know you feel an immediate need to help these people, but you must resist wanting to fix their problems with money when you first meet them.  The church ministers to many families in Mathare and through those families, we meet so many more in need.  The church will give what we can, but it must first set up certain expectations for those we minister to.  Impulsive, over-giving could upset the balance of the church’s role in their daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly lives.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to cause an issue.”

“Do not be sorry.  You’re heart is in the right place, you mean well.  Fully understanding the process is not expected.  We spend much time with the people we help and we help anyone who asks.”

“Anyone?  Even the Muslims, witch doctors, or other non-believers?” Christian asked, somewhat sarcastically.

“Especially the non-believers,” David replied.  “Who needs to feel God’s mercy more and get a chance to hear His message more than a non-believer?”

For some reason this significantly struck Christian.  He realized that he historically viewed Christianity as a type of club, only open for its “members.”  What happened here appeared as just the opposite.  That invigorated Christian with a renewed sense of purpose as they carefully picked their steps through the slums.

“Thanks for keeping me on the straight and narrow,” he told David.  “that really helps me get a better handle on just what you guys do here and why. You know….”  Christian words halted as David pulled him sharply to the left as he caught the faint glimmer of a knife on his right.

It did not take too much adjusting to the darker setting this time.  A naked light bulb hung from a gray wire cord in the ceiling that illuminated the inside fairly well.  A woman in a long skirt and a fleece zippered jacket motioned for them to sit down.  A couple of blanket covered chairs sat positioned in the corner by a bamboo table.  Roger and Sam shared a wooden bench along the far wall that rocked back and forth with any movement.  Vincent, David, and Margaret sat nearest the woman on what Christian first thought was a couch, then realized was a bed.  He took a seat in one of the two corner chairs with Kerri, trying not to touch much of the material with his freshly soiled clothes.  The house was no bigger than ten feet by eight feet.

“This is Isabelle,” Margaret explained.  “We have come to see her for about seven months.”  Just as she finished speaking a young girl emerged from behind a sheet that hung to the left of Isabelle.  Christian now wondered how much space was behind that sheet.  The young girl, wearing a solid white dress that appeared surprisingly stain free, sat down next to Isabelle.  She looked thin, mostly bald, and did not look up to meet anybody’s eyes.  Isabelle began speaking again as Margaret translated to the group.

“This is Isabelle’s daughter, Regina.”  Several in the group said hello or greeted her with hand waves and head nods.  “Regina is not in school now because she is too sick and we only have the money for one of the children to go to school.”  Christian saw children throughout Nairobi wearing school uniforms of matching colors that were remnants of Kenya’s British colonization history.  Vincent informed the group shortly after arriving on the first day that there was no public school system.  The teachers received their paychecks from the government, but the schools were not free to attend.  Christian found great irony in state paid teachers working in, basically, a private school.

Margaret continued translating for Regina.  “My husband and I both have HIV.  He is unable to work and is now in the hospital.  Regina also has HIV.  We do not have the money for the medications and she is too ill for school.  Her brother goes.”

“Is the your son ill, too?” Vincent asked.

Isabelle shook her head no and spoke through Margaret.  “Thank the Lord, he is healthy.  He is the only one in the family without HIV.”

Greg leaned forward on the bench with both hands clasped in front of him.  “How do you make money to support yourself and your family?”  he inquired.

“I have a fruit and vegetable stand that I own,” Margaret relayed from Isabelle.  “The church provided a loan so that I could start a business.”  Christian remembered seeing a table out front with rows of avocados, tomatoes, beans, gourds, and bananas.  He wondered where she got the produce and what kind of margin she operated on.  Western thinking, but still practical, he thought to himself.  “It helps with the money that the church provides.”  This made Christian deeply consider what would become of this family without the church’s help.

Christian glanced over at Kerri and caught her eye.  He knew immediately that the same thought crossed her mind as well.

“How much money does school and rent for your home cost?” Kerri asked.  Isabelle spoke in Swahili to Margaret who relayed the message.

“The rent is twenty dollars a month and the school fees are forty dollars a year.”  Christian sat still, shocked at how little they needed, yet still could not get.  He decided that the power was within himself to rectify the situation as he reached towards his back pocket to pull out his wallet.  He looked up right before he pulled it out and saw David’s right hand subtly motioning him to stop.  David’s usually easy-going eyes now pierced through Christian, making him freeze.  What am I doing wrong, Christian desperately wondered?

It wasn’t the fall that hurt.  As a matter of fact, it didn’t hurt at all.  It was the sliding through a mixture of dirt, mud, water, urine, feces, and whatever else got tossed on the ground that provoked the discomfort.  The litter all around pretty much included every bit of garbage since no trashcans seemed to exist.  If there were any, they’d most likely get used as giant Tupperware containers Christian earlier surmised.  Now here he was, proverbially sliding into second base, not certain if anyone would call him safe.  And safety, it seemed, just got tossed out the window.

The camera bag took the brunt of the splash.  Already an earth tone desert color, it now added sewage splatter to its decorum.  Not to mention one of the plastic buckles cracked upon impact with some broken concrete.  Christian’s right pants leg got hit with the sludge as well on the upper thigh and knee.  Years of baseball paid off as old muscle memory skills resurfaced and a  proper slide prevented any injury.  However, his right hand which braced him on the fall got covered clear past his wrist in Mathare slime.  A quick examination didn’t look so bad, but the smell turned his stomach.

“Get him up,” Roger shouted back toward Kerri.  Christian felt Kerri grab him under his armpits and help him back to his feet.  Christian flung his right hand toward the ground several times trying to shake off the larger portions of the filth now clinging to him.  He heard some children laughing behind him.  He turned and caught them re-enacting the spill for whatever audience they could gather.  Although not particularly amused at his current situation, he didn’t hold a grudge against them.  He probably did look funny going down.

Roger approached Christian with a handful of sanitary wipes that he kept in his backpack.

“Here, use these for your hands.  Once that’s covered you can use them to wipe off your clothes and your bag.”

“You alright, bro?” Vincent shouted back.  His face showed concern, which Christian found comforting.  Vincent the jokester, now the protective mother hen.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  I guess I’ll be leaving these clothes in Kenya.  I don’t think Josie will appreciate washing this mess.  Especially after traveling in a suitcase for a couple days.”  Christian paused for a few seconds and then asked, “Did anyone get the call?”  Heads tilted and eyes glance around at each other, confused.  “Did the ump say I was safe or out?”  That got a round of laughter from the group.

Christian peered inside the camera bag and removed the Canon.  It was clean, dry, and appeared functionally intact.  That relieved Christian more than anything else.  That relief quickly faded as the memory of a few cuts on his hands surfaced in his mind.  That thought prompted a heavy dosing of hand sanitizer as the group proceeded.

Oddly he did not feel any reassurance when Kerri stated, “Don’t worry about.  These kids live in this stuff everyday and they’re fine.”

“Sure, the ones that we see today that are still living,” Christian said.  He didn’t mean to sound callous, but they didn’t know the mortality rate for Mathare.  In all likelihood, neither did the Kenyan government.  Nobody really tracked these people or kept accurate statistical records on them.  They were the unwanted, untreated, and voiceless pink elephant in the room.   This truth held for not only their own countrymen, but the rest of the world, too.

Realizing that his statement bothered Kerri, Christian added to his comment and said, “Just being sarcastic.  You’re right.  They’re o.k. and I’ll be o.k., too.  Besides, what’s the saying?  Just rub some dirt on it?”  This brought a smile to Kerri’s face and Christian felt like he dodged a bullet.  Low caliber, but still a bullet.

As he walked along, Christian noticed Sam wrinkle her nose as he got closer to her.

“Is it me now, or the slums,” Christian inquired.

“I’m not sure,” she replied, turning slightly red.  “We’ll get a better idea after cramming into this person’s home.”  Christian looked up and saw David holding a door open and motioning for them to step inside.

“If it’s me, I hope they have a sense of humor,” he said and ducked inside the tin shack.