In the family way

It is well-known that Kenyans are into family in a big way.
Kenya has one of the highest birth rates in the world. Children are good gifts of God. More is better.
The back drop for this is a cultural history in which old folks are supported by their kids. So a bigger 401K is better than a small one.
This norm is changing now due to westernization. It may not be good, but the developing nations of the world are copying the rich and powerful nations.
I’ve seen this in small ways myself. When I first came here in 1992 women all wore skirts and dresses. Now in the big cities you see more western outfits. Technology is all imported. Computers are now commonplace in schools like this. Everyone has cell phones.
So rural bush life, while still the norm for millions of people, is shrinking like the glaciers on Mt. Kenya. So the birth rate shrinks for urban people who don’t need a quiverful of kids to support them in their dotage. And while all matters having to do with intimate relations is hush-hush, that too is beginning to change.
Since sister Lois Draper and Bob served here as teachers (Ukamba Bible College) twenty-five years ago, our extended family has adopted a Kenyan family that was living hand-to-mouth just a step away from a thatched roof hut.
I united Peter and Gladys in marriage here in 1993, standing under some trees in a local park. In 1984 Peter had been a teenager who came looking for work to help his widowed mother and four siblings survive grinding poverty. They were living in a couple of mud sheds like you might have in your backyard for garden tools.
A few weeks ago Peter and Gladys saw their 5th child—a boy—added to their family. Their first-born was named after me, giving me special obligations to the family welfare. But modern values are coming to the fore now, as they ask us how to help them ensure that this boy is the last-born. This may seem obvious to us, but it signals a huge shift in mindset for a Kenyan couple.
This is the family that received my big ugly red suitcase I mentioned in the first blog. Paul Mbandi, now the dean here at Scott, met Peter in Nairobi yesterday to transfer this and some cash to Peter.
Peter phoned my hosts here three times wanting to speak to me. After classes were done for the day, I managed to get back to him. He spent five minutes expressing thanks for what we had done. He had called his sisters, who now are working in Nairobi where Peter does ministry, to come and share some of the blessings.
What was in the suitcase? An outfit for an infant boy. They had already dressed him in it to go for his first check-up at the clinic. It had a cuddly lion that Ellie found in Target a week ago. It had 50 T-shirts of adult sizes that said something about Methuen, MA. It had some socks and a pair of trousers and stuff that I would never wear again. To us it was nothing. To them, a treasure. Some of those T-shirts will go to the poor that make up Peter’s tiny congregation eking out a life on the edge of a big city. The rest will be on the backs of this large extended family, not merely a means of keeping warm but as a pledge that somebody cares about them. “A T-shirt given in the name of Christ will in no wise lose its reward.”
And Ellie had sent some money to get Gladys and the baby out jail—I mean hospital.
You see the family here has no assets. No cushion. They live as Jesus did, praying for daily bread.
When Gladys went into labor, they went to the hospital. Without money they were not about to let her into the “Inn.” You can’t blame them, really. How can you run a hospital in a big city where most people are on the edge economically? The government has no safety net for these indigents.
So Gladys sat in the lobby about to explode. Peter said he hung on like a bulldog for several hours (!) insisting they had to take his wife in, prepayment or no. Finally—like the unjust judge—they relented. She delivered a bouncing baby boy.
Getting in was tough. But how to get Gladys and the baby out? After more than a week of a mounting bill, the shillings Ellie sent for them got into Peter’s hands and he paid them off. They all went home rejoicing.
That’s how it goes for the marginal in Kenya.
Marginal? Actually Peter is better off than most. He has a university education and a seminary degree as well. He preaches with a simple loudspeaker wherever he can. He has a few dozen converts who are poorer than he. He and Gladys give out of their poverty to those in need. Some days they do not eat because someone else needed the food more-to end their days of hunger.
Sure the Kenyans often have their hands out. Sure they often make choices we think are a bit reckless. But they are dodging their way through life as best they can.
And these dear brothers and sisters pray for us because they hear that there are layoffs and bank failures shaking our way of life. They know what it’s like to face uncertainty. Yet our troubles are nothing compared to theirs. For us it’s a couple of lean years. For them it’s a permanent condition.
So Gladys will go to the family-planning clinic to make sure this does not happen again.
Yeah—right! Just like our politicians will make sure we don’t have another economic collapse.
For us as for our Kenyan family, the Lord and the family of God is the only sure foundation.