Update #1: My First Update.

Bullet Points for those who don't want to read the entire Post:


   1) Camp BlueSky is vastly different from anything I've experienced.
   2) During the 1st session of camp, I co-counseled the age group "Lengai" (5th and 6th grade boys)with Sean Locker.
   3) In between sessions, we visited some of the slums of Nairobi and and got to see things that I will never forget. We also got to visit a school set up to help kids get out of the slums and stay out by teaching them to read and write and a specific trade.
   4) During the 2nd session, I led a group of 7th grade boys, most of whom go to the International School of Kenya, which is where I plan on focusing my ministry.
   5) After the 2nd session, our team went to Maasai Land and helped build a chicken coop for some Maasai looking to earn a living through an alternative to raising cattle.
   6) During our time in Maasai Land, we were able to go to a goat roast at the home of one of the Maasai men we were helping.
   7) At that very same roast, I ate a goat's face, tongue, and heart.
   8) After a week, we took a trip out to Western Kenya for another week long trip. We spent the week visting churches and planting trees. We also each had an opportunity to preach and teach in the churches we visited. I taught a 40 min. lesson to a church in Western Kenya.
   9) The Week in Western ended and we got to drive over to Uganda and spend a few days relaxing and rafting through rapids on the Nile. I have a much greater appreciation for what Moses went through now.






The Actual Post:


We have had two sessions of camp from the schools that follow the American school system, and are about to enter three weeks of mostly East Asain schools (Indian) and British schools. The first session was basically all MK's and a few Homeschoolers. It was a good introduction to camp. Learning all the ropes with the kids who knew the gospel pretty well and also knew how camp generally operated, so I tried to pick up on a little of both from them. It was a good week filled with miscommunications between the staff and troublesome 10-11 year olds (which was the age group I was working with for that week) who decided it would be a good idea to have shoe fights and various other room wrecking activities. The camp is way different from anything I have ever experienced, so it took a little for me to get in stride of my usual goofy antics. But have no fear, I was able to bring my wrestling mask into a recurring skit every single week. El Pollo Loco teaches wrestling moves every Monday night of Camp and then emcees a game of "birdy ona perch" encouraging the girls to incorporate the very same wrestling skills taught to them not five minutes earlier. It generally ends up with some fellas getting crushed under the weight of fierce female fighting. We play lot's of games, and build up a lot of competition by splitting the camp in two for the whole week and keeping a running tally of which team wins. (for those of you who know what Victory Jam is like) it's kind like a recurring quest to win Tiki George every single session of Camp (You'd think that might fun but it has on more than one occasion become rather stressful). Camp is drastically different from what I expected. It's basically a non-stop week of games. There is almost no time to chill. But it's great. I really love the kids that have come through so far.

The second session was mainly kids from the International School of Kenya, which is the school I will be trying to do student ministry in. I had a cabin full of middle schoolers who had not heard too much about the gospel and were practically dying of spiritual thirst. We had cabin devotions and the kids would just keep asking questions and questions about the Bible and about Jesus and about Catholics and about various other denominations. I didn't really know how to answer all of them, but I did my best. One of the kids in particular was reading his Bible non-stop every time we got into the cabin. He was reading through Genesis and asking many questions. The whole week he kept saying things like, "I'm not the best Christian, but i'm going to try to be." Judging by interactions with his parents, they didn't take their faith too seriously, so this was his first interaction with people that really held Christ above everything else. It was incredibly encouraging to see God working in his heart as the week progressed. Another really encouraging thing is that the kids I got to hangout with seemed to actually be excited when they found out that I would be living here and hanging out with them more. I don't know how to tell you how excited I am just thinking about starting the student ministry with those guys at the end of the summer.

In between sessions, we've had the opportunity to participate in various ministries in and around Nairobi. One of the five guys (burgers and fries) that I will be living with in Nairobi, Andrew Conway, grew up here as an MK and his dad, Larry Conway, has been doing slum ministries for about 15 years. Our group of summer staff is kind of large, so we had to split up and visit two different locations the days we got to see what the Conway's ministry was like. My group went on the first day to the school where the children and young adults that the ministry was able to get off the street taught basic education and vocational skills to. The Gospel was incredibly evident in their lives. Their understanding of where they had come from and how Jesus had brought them into real life rather than a glue huffing addicted life or despair was so evident. But I feel like what I saw meant nothing to me until the next day when we went to the actual slum that the kids came from. The people we met let us into their alleyways and "homes", which were filled with burning garbage and other things that I won't mention. They saw Larry and would immediately smile and walk up to him and shake his hand. These were some of the hardest people I've ever seen. They lived on the streets in some of the worst conditions and when theysaw this man walking into their lives they would be delighted to see him coming. But at the same time, a few of them only had the mental faculties to recognize him. They were so ensnared to the drugs and the life that they continued to live in that they had killed their brains with glue and petroleum fumes. And these weren't old bums like we see in the states. These people were no older than 40 and a lot of them were under the age of 13. It was heart breaking. Children walking up to us asking us for money so they could buy more glue while they were busy sniffing the current glue bottle which was tucked into their shirt collar for easy sniffing access. They were blinded to their own condition by their need to constantly be high. At one point, we walked past a man that, Larry told us, had been on the streets for the last fifteen years and was not willing to try to get off. He had been on glue and petroleum for so long that his mind was almost completely gone. He was unable to even swat the flies off of himself, which were all over him. It was right about then that I found a new appreciation for Larry and people like him that continue God's work in the darkest of situations. I had completely forgotten about the kids that I had seen the day before when we went to the school. I had forgotten the joy and new life that was evident in their faces and words. I was surrounded by so much poverty and unwillingness to abstain from life ruining sin that I felt crushed by the weight of it all.
Later that night, we all got together and talked about what we had seen and experienced and, thankfully, I was reminded of the work that God was doing in the lives of his people on the streets and his people recently taken from the streets. The other group had been to the slums the first day and the school the second and were able to see the redemption in the appropriate order, so it was easier for them to take joy from the trip. I'm so glad they did. Their talking was just about the only way I could pull out of the darkness I was living in.

There have been many experiences that have been opening my eyes to the work God is doing in the lives of his people in Kenya. We just spent the last three weeks traveling. One week we were in Maasai Land, spending a week working with the Maasai and learning their culture while we built a big ol' chicken coop so the Maasai could raise an alternative living rather than trading and selling cows. The people were so welcoming, giving us precedence over themselves in order to make sure that we felt welcomed. Their idea of hospitality is mind blowing. They even invited us over to a goat roast and we got to partake in every aspect of the experience. They even waited to slaughter the goat so that we could be there for the whole ordeal. 

To the squeamish of heart and the animal lovers, I urge you to look away and skip this next part. It's not for easily upset.

We walked into the field past the collection of house (or boma as they say in Maasai), where the Maasai men had gathered to kill the beast. The Maasai women were not allowed to join us for this event due to traditions and cultural practices dating back to when the Maasai we were with were not believers. This did not stop the American girls from joining in the festivities, though, and participate they did. Even while they were slitting the throat and pouring the blood out on the ground none of us could look away as we were horribly fascinated by the animal we had heard screaming not five minutes earlier. The men were highly skilled at taking the animal apart. Within twenty minutes they had the innards out, the head wholly detached and the skin sperate from the body. While they were doing all that, our attention had been turned towards the remnants of the goat they had slaughtered before we got there. The men had already prepared portions of the goat for us to try while we waited for the next goat to be finished and this they gave to us with the addition of a sauce of goat fat and blood to dip the pieces of goat meat in. Not everyone felt able to partake to that extent, but those of us who did, generally enjoyed the flavor it provided and some even went back for seconds (others, including myself, went back for thirds and fourths). About the time when the goat was fully prepared to be cooked and, in fact, was cooking, the group was encouraged to go back to the boma. I however had been conversing with a few Maasai and did not feel the need to go with all the white people back to the houses, so I stayed around to keep talking. Much to my surprise, staying around also included a pre-dinner sampling of the goat parts that wouldn't be in the stew they would later prepare. These parts included tongue, random giblets, the goat's face, and a rather large amount of the goat's heart. None of which looked properly cooked. As I ate, I prayed for God to keep me physically healthy and to guard my stomach with an iron lining. I didn't feel like I could refuse as the men were being very generous in offering me these choice portions of meat. I narrowly dodged eating the liver because the older men were asking for it when they were about to slice me off a piece. By the end of my time alone with the Maasai I ended up eating about one third of a goat's face, one quarter of a goat's heart, and an entire goat tongue. Then I headed up to the boma for chai and the company of my pale skinned brethren.

The squeamish are now invited back to the story.

Eating with the people, working with them, and praying with them was a blessing. We were able to go to church with them on the last day we were in Maasai land. There service was like nothing I've ever experienced. First of all we met under a tree. Second of all, people were jumping up and down, singing with all they had, and (something that will probably never happen in a presbyterian church) not only clapping throughout the whole song, but keeping the rhythm as well. They loved God and they proved it through song. There were some older Maasai men who showed up, but didn't fully participate. We found out at the end of the service that one of them men was a husband of one of the women. It was his first time coming to church and she proudly and unabashedly pointed him out and prayed for him infront of everyone for Christ to save him. It was incredibly moving, more moving when we were told later that that was a very unusual thing for a woman to do and that she could possibly have humiliated the man to the point of him beating her for it. It is such a different culture. When I think of it, I pray for that woman, that she is alright and that God is working in her husband's life. It was a good service.

After the week in Maasai Land we went out to Western Kenya (not a different country, just not the Eastern part) and spent a week splitting up into twos and living at different home-stays. Generally the people we stayed with were the pastors of different churches in the area (the number of which totaled up to 43 different churches), but some of us stayed with various members of the congregations. The hospitality of the people here was even more so than in Maasai Land. It did help that we payed for our food, rather than making them pay for it, but you have to understand that these people had nothing and they were going way out of their way to make us feel more at home than if we were home. I was staying with a pastor that had a little more cultural exposure than other people who opened up their homes. He was generally understanding that my buddy Brett and I were probably not as exposed to his culture as we should be and made us feel very at home, letting us ask him any questions we needed and never asking us for anything. We found out later from our friends that some of their home-stays continually asked for financial support to send their kids to school or for enough money to buy certain improvements for their homes. Their poverty was abundant, but once again, we were blessed by their willingness to share their lives with us. They would tell us that it was a blessing for them to have people stay in their homes, but I felt far more blessed by them than I felt I was able to bless them.  The man we stayed with, Pastor Caleb, had a wife and four kids (two older daughters, one middle son, and another daughter). His wife's name is Susan, and his children that I met are named Davis and Frida. His two older daughters were living at the school/orphanage all the time because they did not have enough money to support them at home. Susan is an excellent cook, Davis is the most excellent four and a half year old soccer player I have ever seen, and Frida, who is approaching four, is the most bountiful drooler I have ever witnessed. She covered her whole house in drool and then would draw pictures with the piles of spittle she had made. It was amazing. Needless to say, the family we stayed with welcomed us with open arms, praying with and for us, and asking us to come back as soon as we could. We left Western Kenya on Sunday, but before we left we went to church with Pastor Caleb and his family. Part of attending church as a visitor in that culture means that you will be preaching and or teaching for that service. Thankfully, since there were two of us, Brett and I could share the burden. I taught and Brett Preached. The difference being teaching is more of a Sunday school type deal and people ask questions after your done talking, whereas preaching is the Word of God and as such, people don't question it. Those people asked some rough questions, but I think I didn't teach any heresies and they weren't about to tell me I did a bad job, so I felt pretty good afterwards. Once again, I feel the need to say that the worship during the service was awesome. The people of Kenya know how to worship God with a joy scarcely seen in any church in the states. They know that they need him to survive. They depend on him and know how he sustains them. Therefore, they worship. And they worship with a fierce devotion.

After the week in Western, we grabbed our passports and shot cards and traveled over to Uganda to spend a few days of R&R at a tiny little resort on the edge of the Nile. It was so beautiful. It was really hard to keep in mind that just a few country boundary lines away a little baby Moses had been tossed into the same river that I was looking over, swimming in, rafting on, and generally enjoying. At this point, the trip becomes a blur because we were all exhausted and trying to recuperate by doing extreme things, like rafting through class 5 rapids. We took a whole day to spend on the river paddling our rafts completely at the mercy of the water, but pretending we had the ability to change the outcome of the courses we had taken. (I believe pictures of the even will be up soon. It was a blast.) The next day was one of tourism and general boringness. But there was one bright spot. I decided that I couldn't be at the Nile without standing high above it on a platform, attaching a giant bunch of Rubber Bands to my legs, and leaping off of said platform in order to plummet 143 ft. I even dunked my head in the Nile before being wrenched back up into the air 2/3rds of that amount, where I proceded to re-plummet a few more times before they took the bungee cord off my feet. 

Other than that, there are countless stories of our group growing tighter and tighter. But those are too many to relate. I will spare you the details. We are just about to enter our third session of Camp. Kids will show up tomorrow and among those will be the grandchildren of the current president of Kenya. No big deal. We aren't worried that if we screw up we will all be thrown in jail and never return home...

If I never see you again, I love you all. If I do see you again, I'll probably apologize for writing such long emails, when I intended to only write a small blurb. Thanks for reading this if you did. Please continue to pray for us. We have such an opportunity to share God's love and I don't want to miss it.

Warmly,

Bryce