It's not every day that someone looks you right in the eye and says:
"You're a very proud man - you know that?"
Here I am, teaching in the African desert, and one of my colleagues comes straight out with it. You're proud. Pretty direct. My reply?
"Yup - I've got all kinds of pride issues. But you need to tell me why you think I'm proud."
So the young teacher explained how pride had surfaced in me. How I'd spoken unwisely to another teacher, my body language, my tone of voice... The list was fair and convicting.
As far as I can see, I will wrestle with pride issues as long as there is breath in my lungs.
A friend once said that he thought that he was a decent bloke until he got married. Then he began to realise how selfish he was. Being a missionary has had a similar effect on me: I thought I was doing okay being a Christian, until I became a missionary in Kenya.
For me, I never grew up dreaming of being a missionary in Africa - never. People do, but I didn't. I dreamed of playing for Manchester United or living next to Disneyland. Simple stuff.
Sounds dramatic, but God led me here.
The very title 'missionary' was reserved in my mind for very pious people who are probably quite boring - not blessed with the 'fun gene'. Serious folk on some other plane of existence to the rest of us (okay, so, I got that wrong!!). Nevertheless, I'm a missionary (I do often think of those missionaries back home, who do not have the title "missionary", who carry on telling people about Jesus, largely unknown and never to get recognition in this life. They keep going because they love Jesus. They love people).
And for those who REALLY know me - yup, I still do stupid stuff. I can come across as proud and harsh. Sorry if you've ever been on the receiving end!
But God's using me anyway. And God's changing me, because He loves me too much to leave me as I am.
The bit in the Bible that comes to mind is from Romans 12v3:
"Don’t think you are better than you really are. Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves..."
This post might be a step in the right direction then...
Tuesday, 28 January 2014
Tuesday, 14 January 2014
I know a guy...
When did you last meet someone inspirational? Last week? Last month? Can't remember?
There must be a ton of inspirational people in my home country: I guess I'm not that good at looking (or are they in short supply?).
However, it hit me the other day: I've been in Africa for over four months and have been swamped by inspirational people. This is a tribute to SOME of those people. Once you've met them, you never forget them. They wouldn't want me to write their names. They're not those kind of people.
I know a guy who lives in a remote village where the bullets fly, the snakes are lethal and every day is a struggle. His wife and four young children are at risk, no question about that. Spend a little time with this man and you can see that he loves his kids as much as any father. He explained to me that whilst it is hard to risk your own life to share the good news about Jesus, it is considerably harder to put your own family in the firing-line next to you. He feels the weight of that decision every day. He and his wife know God called them to that place, whatever the cost. Every day they could press the eject button and plant their kids into a 'safe' neighbourhood, but Christ will always come first for them. They have to share the hope they have found, with the destitute and those who gave up on hope years ago.
I know a young lady who screams as loud as anyone about large bugs with wings, lightning-fast spiders, cockroaches in the bathroom and an endless variety of the slimy and the venomous. But she came to Africa anyway, choosing to live off the grid, far from hospitals, in the thick of 'insect alley'. Why? Because she wasn't going to let her fears get in the way of what God wanted her to do.
I know a Muslim lady who heard about Christ as a young girl and realised that it was the truth. Knowing that becoming a Christian would mean that her family would throw her out and perhaps even kill her, she converted anyway. As a result, she was pursued by an angry mob of youths, wanting to murder her. Desperately she ran. The last few moments of a life? Blind with fear, she stumbled into the house of a kind Christian couple, whilst the thugs surrounded the house. As she quivered in a heap on the floor, the man of the house went to his entrance, and suggested that if anyone wanted to see her, they would have to get past him first. The crowd evaporated. Today, this girl has grown to be the mother of several wonderful children and is a pastor's wife.
I know a couple who have invested their whole life into one community, helping them to have a Bible written in their own language: the words of eternal life in their own tongue. The couple's whole life became focused in on this single purpose - to supply a Bible for a forgotten people group. Only last month, they found themselves stuck overnight in a swamp in bandit country and days later were shot at from point blank range. Miraculously, they were unharmed. They have been dodging death for decades!
I know a man who has inspired ALL these people (and me) - Jesus Christ. They love him. They follow him. In the words of Jesus: (Matthew 16)
24 Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 25 For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. 26 What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?
There must be a ton of inspirational people in my home country: I guess I'm not that good at looking (or are they in short supply?).
However, it hit me the other day: I've been in Africa for over four months and have been swamped by inspirational people. This is a tribute to SOME of those people. Once you've met them, you never forget them. They wouldn't want me to write their names. They're not those kind of people.
I know a guy who lives in a remote village where the bullets fly, the snakes are lethal and every day is a struggle. His wife and four young children are at risk, no question about that. Spend a little time with this man and you can see that he loves his kids as much as any father. He explained to me that whilst it is hard to risk your own life to share the good news about Jesus, it is considerably harder to put your own family in the firing-line next to you. He feels the weight of that decision every day. He and his wife know God called them to that place, whatever the cost. Every day they could press the eject button and plant their kids into a 'safe' neighbourhood, but Christ will always come first for them. They have to share the hope they have found, with the destitute and those who gave up on hope years ago.
I know a young lady who screams as loud as anyone about large bugs with wings, lightning-fast spiders, cockroaches in the bathroom and an endless variety of the slimy and the venomous. But she came to Africa anyway, choosing to live off the grid, far from hospitals, in the thick of 'insect alley'. Why? Because she wasn't going to let her fears get in the way of what God wanted her to do.
I know a Muslim lady who heard about Christ as a young girl and realised that it was the truth. Knowing that becoming a Christian would mean that her family would throw her out and perhaps even kill her, she converted anyway. As a result, she was pursued by an angry mob of youths, wanting to murder her. Desperately she ran. The last few moments of a life? Blind with fear, she stumbled into the house of a kind Christian couple, whilst the thugs surrounded the house. As she quivered in a heap on the floor, the man of the house went to his entrance, and suggested that if anyone wanted to see her, they would have to get past him first. The crowd evaporated. Today, this girl has grown to be the mother of several wonderful children and is a pastor's wife.
I know a couple who have invested their whole life into one community, helping them to have a Bible written in their own language: the words of eternal life in their own tongue. The couple's whole life became focused in on this single purpose - to supply a Bible for a forgotten people group. Only last month, they found themselves stuck overnight in a swamp in bandit country and days later were shot at from point blank range. Miraculously, they were unharmed. They have been dodging death for decades!
I know a man who has inspired ALL these people (and me) - Jesus Christ. They love him. They follow him. In the words of Jesus: (Matthew 16)
24 Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 25 For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. 26 What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?
Friday, 27 December 2013
The weight of the thin line
Kenya is a wonderful place. There's no denying it.
Maybe you've been here, maybe you haven't, but you know it's true. You've got a TV, right? You've seen the mass migration of wildebeest as they attempt to dodge the hungry crocs inhabiting the Mara River. You've heard about the endless beaches complemented by the warm waves of the Indian Ocean. You may even have heard of the legendary hospitality of the people here.
But, in the background, there is a thin line, that permeates from the shores of Lake Victoria to the Coast. What is this 'line' I speak of? The thin line between life and death. Westerners make the thin line as thick as we possibly can, we hide the line, we do all we can to avoid the line, but it is always there, and has always been thin.
Still reading? You're braver than most.
You cannot hide from the thin line in Kenya. In my first ten years of teaching in England I can remember the deaths of two parents of children from the school; but in Kenya, I can think of three similar deaths at my school in just one term. In the North of Kenya people die from so many different things: malaria, yellow fever, snake bites, scorpion stings, hyena attacks and yes, even from a lack of food and water. I don't know anyone in England who has died from any of these things. Some roads are best avoided. Travelling on the infamous Nairobi-Mombasa Highway, I was aware that it had a bad reputation, but, on arriving in Kwale, I discovered that about 600 people have died on it in the last two years - on one road! On the 24th December 18 people lost their lives when two buses collided head-on.
Surely the Coast is safe though? We haven't travelled far, but of the areas that I've been to in the last 3 weeks, one retired white guy was sadistically murdered in his apartment, two different men were gunned-down by the road and there was a failed attempt to throw a grenade into a tourist vehicle.
And then the thin line really got under my skin... I hate terrorism. I hate it even more now that it has taken a life of a girl I knew. Fatuma was something of a star in Korr, embarking on a career in singing, whilst studying. I'd asked her all kinds of dumb questions when she sat next to me at Raphael's house - she grinned and was gracious. She had gone through the school system in Korr and had so many options ahead of her. Until she got on a bus in Nairobi on 14th December. We never know it's going to be the wrong bus. I never thought that I'd shaken her hand for the last time.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-25383506
I think Kenyans understand the thin line better than most westerners. Many in my country might say: "Life is short; make the most of it." Here in Kenya people are more likely to say: "Life is short; trust God with it."
I feel the weight of the thin line, like never before. I cannot think of anyone who answers my questions about the thin line better than Jesus Christ. He was executed, buried, but came back to life. And what does He say about the thin line?
"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me."(John 14)
Maybe you've been here, maybe you haven't, but you know it's true. You've got a TV, right? You've seen the mass migration of wildebeest as they attempt to dodge the hungry crocs inhabiting the Mara River. You've heard about the endless beaches complemented by the warm waves of the Indian Ocean. You may even have heard of the legendary hospitality of the people here.
But, in the background, there is a thin line, that permeates from the shores of Lake Victoria to the Coast. What is this 'line' I speak of? The thin line between life and death. Westerners make the thin line as thick as we possibly can, we hide the line, we do all we can to avoid the line, but it is always there, and has always been thin.
Still reading? You're braver than most.
You cannot hide from the thin line in Kenya. In my first ten years of teaching in England I can remember the deaths of two parents of children from the school; but in Kenya, I can think of three similar deaths at my school in just one term. In the North of Kenya people die from so many different things: malaria, yellow fever, snake bites, scorpion stings, hyena attacks and yes, even from a lack of food and water. I don't know anyone in England who has died from any of these things. Some roads are best avoided. Travelling on the infamous Nairobi-Mombasa Highway, I was aware that it had a bad reputation, but, on arriving in Kwale, I discovered that about 600 people have died on it in the last two years - on one road! On the 24th December 18 people lost their lives when two buses collided head-on.
Surely the Coast is safe though? We haven't travelled far, but of the areas that I've been to in the last 3 weeks, one retired white guy was sadistically murdered in his apartment, two different men were gunned-down by the road and there was a failed attempt to throw a grenade into a tourist vehicle.
And then the thin line really got under my skin... I hate terrorism. I hate it even more now that it has taken a life of a girl I knew. Fatuma was something of a star in Korr, embarking on a career in singing, whilst studying. I'd asked her all kinds of dumb questions when she sat next to me at Raphael's house - she grinned and was gracious. She had gone through the school system in Korr and had so many options ahead of her. Until she got on a bus in Nairobi on 14th December. We never know it's going to be the wrong bus. I never thought that I'd shaken her hand for the last time.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-25383506
I think Kenyans understand the thin line better than most westerners. Many in my country might say: "Life is short; make the most of it." Here in Kenya people are more likely to say: "Life is short; trust God with it."
I feel the weight of the thin line, like never before. I cannot think of anyone who answers my questions about the thin line better than Jesus Christ. He was executed, buried, but came back to life. And what does He say about the thin line?
"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me."(John 14)
Saturday, 14 December 2013
The secret of happiness...
The Kenyan school year ends in November and restarts in January, so that's quite a slice of time.
What to do?
Thankfully, I have been given the opportunity to shadow an older American couple, Wayne and Joyce Raychard, throughout December. They work as missionaries with the Digo people in the impressive hills around Kwale.
The Raychards have committed their lives to telling people about Jesus in Africa. They are one of the happiest couples I have ever met. Even though Joyce only has vision out of one eye, she has adapted and always points out that God is her strength. Wayne seems to have a brain the size of a small planet (okay, he's going to hate that I said that). I'm sure that he could have had a high-powered job back in The States, but he chooses to work amongst the marginalised and the poor. It's such a privilege to learn from these guys.
Kwale sure is different from where I teach in Korr. Stuff actually grows here!! Fruity stuff! If you are what you eat, then I am about to turn into a large pineapple. There seem to be more coconut palms than people. (Can you imagine if ALL your neighbours have gardens packed with palm trees?) I was genuinely impressed as this local guy shunted up a twenty metre palm tree and began hacking away at the harvest. No safety harness; just skill and muscle. I'm thinking that it's going to be too late for me to start a tree-climbing career. Shame.
My days are mostly spent walking with Wayne to various villages. With the high humidity levels, it's just one sweaty t-shirt after another. Yum! Wayne regularly heads out to local houses to explain the Bible to people who request his help. Over the course of 25 years he has become ridiculously fluent in the local languages of Swahili and Chidigo, so he conducts any studies in the 'heart language' of the people he works with. You should see the faces of the people he visits: when they see Wayne their faces light up and there is an intensity to their bible study, like a thirsty man who has found a well. Or, as Jesus said:
"But those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fresh, bubbling spring within them, giving them eternal life." (John 4:14)
What to do?
Thankfully, I have been given the opportunity to shadow an older American couple, Wayne and Joyce Raychard, throughout December. They work as missionaries with the Digo people in the impressive hills around Kwale.
The Raychards have committed their lives to telling people about Jesus in Africa. They are one of the happiest couples I have ever met. Even though Joyce only has vision out of one eye, she has adapted and always points out that God is her strength. Wayne seems to have a brain the size of a small planet (okay, he's going to hate that I said that). I'm sure that he could have had a high-powered job back in The States, but he chooses to work amongst the marginalised and the poor. It's such a privilege to learn from these guys.
Kwale sure is different from where I teach in Korr. Stuff actually grows here!! Fruity stuff! If you are what you eat, then I am about to turn into a large pineapple. There seem to be more coconut palms than people. (Can you imagine if ALL your neighbours have gardens packed with palm trees?) I was genuinely impressed as this local guy shunted up a twenty metre palm tree and began hacking away at the harvest. No safety harness; just skill and muscle. I'm thinking that it's going to be too late for me to start a tree-climbing career. Shame.
My days are mostly spent walking with Wayne to various villages. With the high humidity levels, it's just one sweaty t-shirt after another. Yum! Wayne regularly heads out to local houses to explain the Bible to people who request his help. Over the course of 25 years he has become ridiculously fluent in the local languages of Swahili and Chidigo, so he conducts any studies in the 'heart language' of the people he works with. You should see the faces of the people he visits: when they see Wayne their faces light up and there is an intensity to their bible study, like a thirsty man who has found a well. Or, as Jesus said:
"But those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fresh, bubbling spring within them, giving them eternal life." (John 4:14)
Wednesday, 13 November 2013
Throw away your TV?
Without access to a TV I do a lot more reading these days. I read this great story about how we treat people. Hope it speaks to you like it spoke to me.
Teddy Stallard certainly qualified as the least of one of these. No interest in school. Musty, wrinkled clothes; hair never combed. One of those kids in school with a blank face, expressionless - sort of a glassy unfocused stare. When Miss Thompson spoke to Teddy he always answered in monosyllables. Unattractive, unmotivated and distant. Put simply, he was hard to like. Even though his teacher said she loved all in her class the same, down inside she wasn't being completely truthful.
Whenever she marked Teddy's papers, she got a certain perverse pleasure in putting crosses next to the wrong answers and when she put F's at the top of the papers, she always did it with a certain vigour. She should have known better; she had Teddy's reports and she knew more about him than she wanted to admit. The reports read:
Class 1: Teddy shows promise with his work and attitude, but poor home situation.
Class 2: Teddy could do better. Mother is seriously ill. He receives little help at home.
Class 3: Teddy is a good boy but too serious. He is a slow learner. His mother died this year.
Class 4: Teddy is very slow, but well-behaved. His father shows no interest.
Christmas came and the boys and girls in Miss Thompson's class brought her Christmas presents. They piled their presents on her desk and crowded around to watch her open them. Among the presents there was one from Teddy. She was surprised that he had bought her a gift, but he had. Teddy's gift was wrapped in brown paper and was held together with tape. On the paper were written the simple words:
For Miss Thompson from Teddy
When she opened Teddy's present, out fell a gaudy rhinestone bracelet, with half the stones missing, and a bottle of cheap perfume.
The other boys and girls began to giggle and smirk, but Miss Thompson at least had enough sense to silence them by immediately putting on the bracelet and putting some of the perfume on her wrist. Holding her wrist up for the other children to smell, she said, "Doesn't it smell lovely?" And the children, taking their cue from the teacher, readily agreed with "oo's" and "ah's."
At the end of the day, when school was over and the other children had left, Teddy lingered behind. He slowly came over to her desk and said softly,
"Miss Thompson...Miss Thompson, you smell just like my mother...and her bracelet looks really pretty on you too. I'm glad you like my presents." When Teddy left, Miss Thompson got down on her knees and asked God to forgive her.
The next day when the children came to school, they were welcomed by a new teacher. Miss Thompson had become a different person. She was no longer just a teacher; she had become an agent of God. She was now a person committed to loving her children and doing things for them that would live on after her. She helped all the children, but especially the ones who struggled with their studies, and especially Teddy. By the end of the school year, Teddy showed dramatic improvement. He had caught up with most of the students and was even ahead of some.
She didn't hear from Teddy for a long time. Then one day, she received a note that read:
Dear Miss Thompson: I wanted you to be the first to know. I will be graduating as second in my class. Love Teddy
Four years later, another note came:
Dear Miss Thompson: They just told my that I will be graduating as the first in my class. I wanted you to be the first to know. Love Teddy Stallard
And a few more years later:
Dear Miss Thompson: As of today, I am Theodore Stallard, a qualified doctor. How about that? I wanted you to be the first to know. I am getting married next month, the 27th to be exact. I wanted you to come and sit where my mother would have sat if she were alive. You are the only family I have now: Dad died last year. Love Teddy Stallard
Miss Thompson went to that wedding and sat where Teddy's mother would have sat. She deserved to sit there - she had done something for Teddy that he could never forget.
In the words of Jesus: ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!’ Matthew 25v40
Teddy Stallard certainly qualified as the least of one of these. No interest in school. Musty, wrinkled clothes; hair never combed. One of those kids in school with a blank face, expressionless - sort of a glassy unfocused stare. When Miss Thompson spoke to Teddy he always answered in monosyllables. Unattractive, unmotivated and distant. Put simply, he was hard to like. Even though his teacher said she loved all in her class the same, down inside she wasn't being completely truthful.
Whenever she marked Teddy's papers, she got a certain perverse pleasure in putting crosses next to the wrong answers and when she put F's at the top of the papers, she always did it with a certain vigour. She should have known better; she had Teddy's reports and she knew more about him than she wanted to admit. The reports read:
Class 1: Teddy shows promise with his work and attitude, but poor home situation.
Class 2: Teddy could do better. Mother is seriously ill. He receives little help at home.
Class 3: Teddy is a good boy but too serious. He is a slow learner. His mother died this year.
Class 4: Teddy is very slow, but well-behaved. His father shows no interest.
Christmas came and the boys and girls in Miss Thompson's class brought her Christmas presents. They piled their presents on her desk and crowded around to watch her open them. Among the presents there was one from Teddy. She was surprised that he had bought her a gift, but he had. Teddy's gift was wrapped in brown paper and was held together with tape. On the paper were written the simple words:
For Miss Thompson from Teddy
When she opened Teddy's present, out fell a gaudy rhinestone bracelet, with half the stones missing, and a bottle of cheap perfume.
The other boys and girls began to giggle and smirk, but Miss Thompson at least had enough sense to silence them by immediately putting on the bracelet and putting some of the perfume on her wrist. Holding her wrist up for the other children to smell, she said, "Doesn't it smell lovely?" And the children, taking their cue from the teacher, readily agreed with "oo's" and "ah's."
At the end of the day, when school was over and the other children had left, Teddy lingered behind. He slowly came over to her desk and said softly,
"Miss Thompson...Miss Thompson, you smell just like my mother...and her bracelet looks really pretty on you too. I'm glad you like my presents." When Teddy left, Miss Thompson got down on her knees and asked God to forgive her.
The next day when the children came to school, they were welcomed by a new teacher. Miss Thompson had become a different person. She was no longer just a teacher; she had become an agent of God. She was now a person committed to loving her children and doing things for them that would live on after her. She helped all the children, but especially the ones who struggled with their studies, and especially Teddy. By the end of the school year, Teddy showed dramatic improvement. He had caught up with most of the students and was even ahead of some.
She didn't hear from Teddy for a long time. Then one day, she received a note that read:
Dear Miss Thompson: I wanted you to be the first to know. I will be graduating as second in my class. Love Teddy
Four years later, another note came:
Dear Miss Thompson: They just told my that I will be graduating as the first in my class. I wanted you to be the first to know. Love Teddy Stallard
And a few more years later:
Dear Miss Thompson: As of today, I am Theodore Stallard, a qualified doctor. How about that? I wanted you to be the first to know. I am getting married next month, the 27th to be exact. I wanted you to come and sit where my mother would have sat if she were alive. You are the only family I have now: Dad died last year. Love Teddy Stallard
Miss Thompson went to that wedding and sat where Teddy's mother would have sat. She deserved to sit there - she had done something for Teddy that he could never forget.
In the words of Jesus: ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!’ Matthew 25v40
Wednesday, 6 November 2013
Chalbi Desert
The class with the best results at school were rewarded with a special treat - a day out. Where's the best place to take kids for a day trip, when they live in the semi-desert? Yup, you've got it - the full on desert!!
On the way to The Chalbi Desert we stopped in Kargi. And one of the first people we met? Sam (above), who showed us his pet scorpion... Don't try this at home: these little beasties pack a heavy punch, causing intense pain for 24 hours, but the good news is, if you're still alive after a day, you're probably going to live. Needless to say, I didn't let the scorpion ride on my arm! And then the rain came...
After a few hours it was decided that the roads were clear enough of water for us to continue to the desert. Upon arrival, flat nothingness for mile after mile greeted us, with Ethiopia visible in the distance. Undeterred, the kids marched off towards the middle of nowhere. Check out the mirage picture!
And just to prove that I was actually there...
A glorious day, really. On days like this, it's great to have someone to thank. Makes me think of some words from Psalm 100:
A psalm of thanksgiving.
1 Shout with joy to the Lord, all the earth!
2 Worship the Lord with gladness.
Come before him, singing with joy.
3 Acknowledge that the Lord is God!
He made us, and we are his.[a]
We are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
4 Enter his gates with thanksgiving;
go into his courts with praise.
Give thanks to him and praise his name.
5 For the Lord is good.
His unfailing love continues forever,
and his faithfulness continues to each generation.
2 Worship the Lord with gladness.
Come before him, singing with joy.
3 Acknowledge that the Lord is God!
He made us, and we are his.[a]
We are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
4 Enter his gates with thanksgiving;
go into his courts with praise.
Give thanks to him and praise his name.
5 For the Lord is good.
His unfailing love continues forever,
and his faithfulness continues to each generation.
Tuesday, 15 October 2013
I'm glad I crashed the wedding...
So how does a Rendille wedding work?
May I begin by saying that I only have a basic understanding of weddings, in any culture. My appreciation of Rendille weddings is minimal at best. There are some similarities with what I'm used to. Lots of people standing around for the day, waiting for the next meaningful event. Men dressed up. Women dressed up. A blushing bride. A nervous groom. Relatives. Friends. Dancing. Joy.
As for the differences...
Sunshine is pretty much guaranteed. The outfits are far more colourful and in keeping with the warmer climate. Not a shirt and tie in sight. At about 7am the groom appeared with his buddies to sing his way (rather mournfully) to the mother-in-law's house, with two goats leading the way. Once at the house, one goat is slaughtered outside on a bed of leaves/branches... throat cut, blood/life draining away slowly, the goat skin is removed with surgical precision and fat is removed. It's quite something for a Westerner to see an animal die in front of your eyes as part of a wedding. For everyone else this is totally regular wedding stuff. Looking into the eyes of the dying goat felt anything but regular. The bridal party were nowhere to be seen at this point.
After a careful carving of the animal, the groom had to carry strips of goat fat into the mother-in-law's tent. The first time around, he reversed into the Min (house), carrying his fresh cargo. After re-emerging into the heat of the day, the guy had to carry yet more goat fat into the home.
The symbolism of the dying goat underlines the significance of each marriage. One man explained:
"The goat dies and this represents a deep truth. The couple are now dead to their old way of life, as they begin their new life. The man and woman are united by the death they have just proclaimed. They cannot separate, unless death takes them."
That image of the goat, bleeding and dying, will stay with me. I don't know how the warriors managed it, but they killed the goat and it was silent throughout, as the life drained from its body. The image takes me to another location, where history changed forever, outside the city of Jerusalem. Jesus Christ, the God-man, allowed himself to be sacrificed, hanging like a common criminal. The blood and the life slowly left his body. I love the words of the prophet Isaiah written hundreds of years before Jesus walked the earth. The whole of Isaiah chapter 53 is a staggering prediction of the suffering saviour:
Isaiah 53v7: He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
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| Rendille Warrior in the wedding procession. |
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Bridegroom walks backwards into the mother-in-law's tent, carrying goat fat.
Sharing chai with the Rendille warriors, who were just gearing up for some dancing.
It's all or nothing on the dance floor.
In the thick of it...
Bridal party, with the happy couple on the right.
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