Mission Journal Day 1 Part 1

I just had to get the story of the goat head soup posted first even though it was the last thing to happen to me on the trip. When I got back to the States everyone asked me two questions. How was your trip and did you get sick? Since everybody knows the answer to the first question, I decided to start my stories from Kenya with the answer to the second question. Starting with this post, I going to type in everything I wrote in my journal. In doing this, I will answer the first question beyond a reasonable doubt.

Mission Trip Day 1

Here we are, sitting on a Swiss Air jumbo jet, in New York waiting for our turn to take off. The captain just came over the intercom and said we were twenty-fifth in line to take a ride over the Atlantic. To save fuel, the captain explained, we have parked somewhere back from the gate in a holding area and powered down the massive engines hanging out side the tiny window I can see from my isle seat. The captain assured us that we should only have to stay in the holding area for ten or fifteen minutes and we shouldn’t be late arriving in Zurich. I hoped the captain was right because Grace and I only have about an hour to get off this plane and find the one leaving for Nairobi, Africa. It took us two hours to navigate through the crowded terminals of JFK airport to find the plane we were sitting in now. I really hoped Zurich wasn’t as easy to get lost in as JFK had been. But, I’ll write about getting lost a little later. I need to back up and start this journal entry from when I arrived at Charlotte Douglas. Things got very interesting very quickly.



When I planned for this much anticipated departure day, I figured the best place to meet Grace was at the boarding gate. The gate was the one place that we had to cross paths or come together at the airport. I was certain that we would arrive at different times and there really isn’t a good spot or landmark to meet around the endless rows of ticket counters. So, I believed the easiest place to meet would be in the waiting area of our gate.

Well, Grace informed me the Sunday before departure day that she would need me to help her check in her bags. Not only did she need some extra muscle to wrangle her bags to the ticket counter, she also needed me to claim one of them as my own. Wow, I thought, how much stuff was she going to take for two weeks? Her family still lives in Kenya and I wondered if she was taking a bag full of wonderful and exciting American merchandise home to the eagerly waiting family.

So, I wrote down Grace’s cellular phone number knowing that if we just picked a time and place someone would end up coming late or we might miss each other in the crowds of summer travelers. I believed that if I called and checked in with Grace sometime before the time we needed to be at the ticket counter I could get a better feel of the situation and make a smooth meeting.

My cellular phone idea worked. Grace was running about thirty minutes late. We had given ourselves plenty of time so thirty minutes was not a big deal. But, if I had just went to the terminal and sat around waiting for Grace not knowing how late she was going to be, I know I would have had a melt down before she arrived. I do not do very well in situations when I’m dealing with a lack of information. Heather and I sat in the cellular phone parking lot until Grace arrived.

Grace gave me a call when she turned into the entrance to the airport. We pulled out of the cellular phone lot and Heather dropped me at the curb to wait for Grace. A few moments later I saw Grace’s white mini van slide up to the drop-off area. A well executed plan for meeting in a fast moving, congested, airport terminal.

When Grace popped open the tailgate to the van, my anxiety level jumped a few notches. She dragged two large duffle bags and a bulging suitcase out onto the sidewalk. I already had my hands full with my rolling suitcase and the camera case. Before I could even think about grabbing a cart, she hailed the sky captain. Now, I don’t have much love for those uniformed cart pushers who hope to make much more than an hourly wage by carrying a few bags, maybe a hundred feet. I have also noticed that the sky captains are now charging two dollars per bag for check-in at the curb. Gut Grace said she had money so I figured I would let her run the show.

Turns out we were dropped off at the opposite end of the area designated for U.S. Airways. And, our sky captain couldn’t check in an international ticket at the curb. He would have to walk us in. Oh boy, here we go. Let our information deficit start draining our pocket in five, four, three, two, one seconds.

I thought maybe since he didn’t check us in at the curb we wouldn’t have to pay the two dollars per bag. We would just give him a tip and wait in line for the next available ticket clerk. How dumb was that? He dropped the bags and asked for “two dollars a bag”. Grace started counting out dollar bills and discovered she was two dollars short. She started to go digging in her bag for more cash, but in the interest of time, I jumped in and handed the man a twenty.

Uh oh, I must interrupt my story because the captain just came over to the intercom and said, “ladies and gentlemen, it is just one of those days here at JFK that requires a little patience by everyone”. We have been sitting in line to depart for close to an hour now. We have only moved from the twenty-fifth to the fifteenth in line. With only an hour to connect in Zurich I’m getting a sinking feeling that we may be staying in Zurich a little longer than planned. At the very least, our bag may not make it to Nairobi when we do. Ah, the joys of flying. Now back to our regularly scheduled program already in progress.

I handed the man a twenty because I wanted to get through security as soon as possible. In the past it has taken me a little longer to get through security because of the camera equipment. TSA likes to swab everything down to check for explosive residue. Against my better judgment, I tipped the guy because I know they expect it. I know I didn’t have to but for some reason, I care what the dude thinks about me even if I will never see him again. I’m not very thick-skinned am I?

Now we are at the ticket counter waiting in a very short line. I start to think we are going to get through this phase of our journey with some time to spare at the gate. That’s when Grace starts to wonder, out loud, if the massive bags at her feet are over the weight limit. “If they are”, she says to me, “we are going to have to take the stuff out”.

Oh boy, another situation that could eat up a ton of time and cause us to miss our flight. I have seen this happen before. My best friend, Jeff, and his new wife came to visit from Florida last year. They drove up in a rental car, but decided to fly back. I took them to the airport and watched as they had to somehow divide one enormous and overweight bag into something they wouldn’t have to fork over extra cash to get on a plane. The airline gave them a cardboard box and some packing tape.

Thank God, the captain just informed us that we would take off in two minutes. It’s only an hour and a half later than the original departure time so I guess we should consider ourselves lucky to get out of New York in a semi-timely fashion.

I have to say it was quit entertaining to watch my best friend Jeff and his wife dig clothes out of the over-weight bag and pack them into a cardboard box while impatient travelers pushed passed them to get to the ticket counter. I remember thinking to myself, man I’m glad I do not have to deal with a situation like that. Now I stood in the line wondering if I was going to beg the clerk at the counter for a cardboard box.

Tune in next week to see if we made our flight…

GOAT HEAD SOUP

I woke up in the darkest hour of the night shivering so violently the bedsprings sounded like they were squeaking out the Hallelujah chorus. But I was in Kenya, Africa just south of the equator. The temperature outside sat at about seventy-five degrees everyday. All week I have slept in a tee shirt and shorts with just a sheet for a cover. But tonight I’m groping for the wool blanket and coverlet I’ve thrown over to the other side of the bed. Why was I suddenly so cold?

I also noticed I was covered in sweat. Did I have a fever? Had I caught the dreaded Typhoid fever? It was my last night in Kenya and I thought I had caught Typhoid fever. I immediately slapped my hand to my forehead to feel the excessive heat radiating out from my head. Surprisingly, my head felt cool. Well, if my head wasn’t as hot as an oven then I guess I didn’t have Typhoid. But, other parts of my body were warmer than usual or I wouldn’t have been sweating. My joints ached and I felt light headed. This sounded more like the Flu. How could I have the flu when I haven’t worn a coat the entire time I’ve been here?

My gut wretched. It felt like someone was twisting my stomach as if they were trying to ring water out of a washcloth. I clutched my middle with both arms and pulled my knees up to my chest. In that instant I knew why I was sick.

Tonight was the final night of our ten-day mission trip to Kenya. To celebrate the close of our mission, Poppa Gloria purchased a goat head to serve as the main course of our farewell dinner. Now, I have to stop and explain two things here. First I must explain to you Americans why my host had a female name. Get out your notepad. This will be on the test of African customs. Our host’s English name is Walter. But in the village where we were staying, no one calls Walter by his English name. They call him Poppa Gloria. He named his first-born child Gloria. So according to custom, you address the head of the household using “Poppa” and add the name of his first-born child. For example, my first-born child is Nathan. If I lived in this village, the folks here would call me Poppa Nathan. I guess you better think long and hard about what you name your child because you are essentially naming yourself.

Secondly, Kenyan’s consider goat the finest dish you serve to your guests. If you have invited guests to your home to celebrate a special occasion, you serve them goat. If you do not serve goat than you will offend your guest and they may tell others that you are cheap and stingy.

The mission team was invited as guest at several special events. I became quite familiar with many different goat dishes. My taste buds actually accepted goat with open arms. The texture and flavor of the meat reminded me of the lamb meat I experienced in the Middle East. Most of the time hosts would serve us goat ribs, or goat leg. But, gnawing the meat off a rib bone was a lot different than popping a chunk of boiled goat tongue into your mouth. The Kenyan’s don’t waste any part of the animals they eat. Poppa Gloria carved up the goat’s ears, cheeks, and tongue and set the meat out on a large platter. When he had finished carving, he brought the platter over and set it down right in front of me.

“Ken,” he said with a broad smile. “Go ahead and have a piece.”

I have read that you always eat what a host offers you in a foreign country so that you will not offend the gracious host. Like I said, I have already eaten tons of goat meat in the past several days so I figured eating parts of the animal I wouldn’t normally eat wouldn’t bother me. Only two days ago I had devoured grilled goat intestines in front of a group of Kenyan men watching to see if my face would contort in disgust at the taste. But that is a story for another time. My point is that over the week I have tried some pretty exotic foods and none of them have upset my innards.

Without hesitation I plucked a few chunks off of the platter and popped them into my mouth. It tasted just like all of the other pieces of meat I’ve been consuming over the last week. The texture was a bit softer than the muscle meat, but nothing that invoked my gag reflex. I thought I had passed my final exotic foods test. Then Poppa Gloria set a steaming cup of goat head soup on the table in front of me.

Oh man. This was it. The ultimate in gross-out cuisine. If we had already eaten all the meat off the skull, then there was only one edible part of the head left: Goat brain. I stared down at the cup knowing that I was not going to be able to drink the boiled remains of an animal head. Poppa Gloria stood over me smiling as if he had just served me the world’s finest chocolate. I could tell from his expression that he expected me to thoroughly enjoy this local delicacy. He would surly be disappointed if I didn’t even take a sip.

Without reserve, I grabbed the cup and lifted it to my mouth. I took a big gulp hoping that whatever my taste buds decided, they wouldn’t cause me to spit the soup out across the table and onto Poppa Gloria. The fluid filled my mouth and I pushed it down my throat. Words can’t describe the amplified signals my taste buds were sending to my brain. It was as if my taste buds were under attack by an enemy that wanted to destroy all sensations of what was pleasant and enjoyable to my mouth.

When the fluid fell into my belly, I could feel my stomach reach up and grab my brain around the brain steam and say, “If you ever send something that disgusting down here again, I will gather up all the nerves I can find in this body and squeeze them as hard as I can until you cry for mercy.”

I looked up at Poppa Gloria and said, “I’m sorry but I do not like this.”

His smile never wavered. He told me he was happy I had tried as many different parts of the goat as I had. He made me feel as if I had earned his respect in giving the soup an honest try. Thank God I hadn’t offended my host.

Later in the night my digestive tract was totally offended by my willingness to shove everything I was offered into my gullet. I ran to the bathroom and sat on the toilet in the dark for a very long time. The next day all the muscles in my body ached. My stomach refused to accept even a simple piece of toasted bread. My brain felt as if I had caught a computer virus, which slowed down all my bodily functions. I was a wreck.

On this last day of my trip I had planned to go shopping for souvenirs and gifts for the family. The other half of the mission team left early in the morning and we didn’t have to board the plane headed for Europe until late in the evening. This was the only free day of my entire trip and I was barely able to move. I managed to function just enough to find gifts for the family. I could not come home empty handed. Then I slept until our ride came to take us to the airport.

I’m just thankful that the dreaded stomach rebellion came at the end of my trip instead of incapacitating me when I needed to perform my mission from God behind the lenses.

Meet Father Lawrence

Rain slammed against my windshield as I slowly piloted my news unit into an East Charlotte neighborhood. Usually I’m looking for flashing blue lights and yellow crime scene tape when driving around neighborhood streets I don’t usually ride through. Tonight I was on a different mission. One with a higher purpose.

I found the familiar house I was looking for and pulled into the driveway. Rain soaked through my jacket as I grabbed my camera and a light kit out of the back of the truck. I ran up the short side walk to the door wishing I had worn my rubber boots today instead of tennis shoes.

Thankfully the front door stood under a porch roof. I rang the door bell and waited for the owner of the modest two story home to peak out and see his camera toting guest standing on his porch with handfuls of electronic equipment. The door swung open to reveal a short stocky man dressed in khaki pants and a shirt unlike any I’ve seen anyone wear around this town. The shirt looked like it was made out of black canvas instead of cotton and every inch of the material was covered with swirling abstract designs. What struck me about the wild designs was that they weren’t printed or died on the heavy material like most shirts I buy at the local department store. The designs were embroidered on the shirt with miles of bright white thread. No matter how many times you put this shirt in the washing machine, the design would never fade or peel off.

My friend noticed me looking at his shirt and said, “I thought I would wear something authentic for the interview.” I felt a grin stretching across my face as I stepped across the threshold of Father Lawrence Mbugua’s home.

As you can tell from Fr. Lawrence’s name, he was not born in America. Fr. Lawrence came to the U.S. from Kenya ten years ago to attend seminary school. In the past ten years he has earned two bachelors degrees from two different seminaries and will earn a PhD soon. A busy man according to American standards. But, education isn’t the only activity taking up his time. He has a family which includes two teenagers and a toddler. He is active in many organizations and fills the role of associate priest at my church. I asked him how he finds time to meet all of the obligations expected of him. “Well, I believe four or five hours of sleep are enough each night,” he tells me. Four or five hours? I hardly function on eight hours of sleep.

Tonight I’m at Fr. Lawrence’s house to interview him about another noble task he has taken upon himself. For the past several weeks Fr. Lawrence has worked diligently to organize a fund raising dinner to raise money for Grace House. Grace House is a rehabilitation center under construction in Kiambu City, Kenya. The dinner will help raise money to complete the construction of the center and furnish the building with furniture and equipment.

At the dinner, Fr Lawrence will give a presentation on why Grace House is so important to the community of Kiambu City. I’m going to help put some zing into his presentation by producing a short video about Grace House. My goal is to draw the attention of diners away from the authentic African cuisine piled high on their plate to focus on the important message Fr. Lawrence has to deliver. Quite a challenge considering how tasty and delightful African food can be.


While interviewing Fr. Lawrence about Grace House I discovered some interesting information I felt I needed to pass along. Above, I mentioned all of the activities and obligations Fr. Lawrence has on his time. I didn’t mention how over the past ten years Fr. Lawrence has worked various different jobs to save up enough money to buy land and build a three story, nine unit apartment building in Kenya. The apartment building Fr. Lawrence built from the money he earned here in America will house Grace House Rehabilitation Center. He built his own building, now he just needs a few dollars to hire employees and purchase equipment.

I asked Fr. Lawrence why he built Grace House. He has many reasons that I will write about later. But one sums up the whole idea behind the center and why he leads a team of missionaries from my church into the suburbs of the capital city of Nairobi every year. He said he wants to give back to community he lived in before coming to America. He has seen so many people from his community leave for the States never to return home. They leave to find jobs and a better life only to forget about the place they came from. The only way to improve the community of his birth is for him and others who have left to return home and share with the community what they have learned from their experiences in America.

The idea of “giving back” inspired Fr. Lawrence to begin recruiting folks from the church to go to Kenya and lend a helping hand. This year the church will embark on its third mission trip to Kenya. Each year a couple of more folks find the inspiration to raise money and take all of their vacation days from work to go with Fr. Lawrence and Fr. Dan on the two week journey. This year will be my year. While I’m there, I will visit Grace House and shoot as much video of the center as time will allow. After the trip I will produce another video on Grace House so Fr. Lawrence can continue to raise money for the Center and fulfill his vision of “giving back” to his community. Maybe I’ll get one of those cool shirts while I’m there.

Welcome Friends

Welcome to my journal chronicling my year long journey on a mission trip to Kiambu City (a suburb of Nairobi) in Kenya. Although I won’t be stepping foot onto a 767 until late in July of this year, my journey to plant my feet on African soil starts here in America right now. For the past two weeks I have written letters to all my family members and friends asking them to participate in my quest by either praying for me or sending me a few dollars for a plane ticket. Below is a copy of the letter.

Dear Family and Friends,

I’m writing to you because I’ve been given the opportunity to go on a mission trip this year to Nairobi, Kenya in Africa. In this letter I would like to share with you my opportunity and how you can help.

We have a minister in our church in Charlotte who is from Kenya, Fr Lawrence Mbugua. He is here in the United States to complete his seminary education before returning to Kenya to establish ministry works in the Nairobi area. Fr. Lawrence has told me about how people in Kenya struggle with much of the same problems we have here in America like poverty, addiction, and crime. But unlike Kenya, citizens of this country have an advantage to overcoming these problems like a strong economy and a just system of government. Fr. Lawrence says he is lead by the Lord to “take back” some of the blessings he has received here in America to his brothers and sisters still struggling in Kenya. I believe I am led by the Lord to help Fr. Lawrence accomplish his mission.

For the past two years I have given my talents as a videographer to the Kenya mission trips by taking the photographs and home video, church members collect while in Africa, and producing various DVD’s for the church. This year I feel led to accompany Fr. Lawrence and the church team on a two week visit to Kenya so I can use my talents to document the work our church is doing and collect all the elements I need to produce a full length, broadcast quality documentary.

This year’s mission team will include two priests and their families, a group of teenagers, and me and my camera. Here are some of the things they hope to do and I hope to document:
• We will be conducting an evangelistic and healing crusade in Kitikiti, a village near Nairobi where Fr. Lawrence will be establishing a new outreach and ministry.
• We will do a pastor’s conference, mainly about how to pastor and what God says about finances. We hope we can do this conference in two different areas to two different groups of pastors.
• The musician and teenagers will do some market crusades, dramas, and youth outreach – all to support and build a church in the Nairobi area.
• And, of course, we will be visiting in many homes doing personal ministry.

For this trip to be possible, I am trusting God to supply prayer partners and financial supporters who will participate with me in this ministry. I know that the Lord is calling us to invest in Kenya, and, most importantly, I am asking for your prayers. So would you consider being a prayer partner with me for this mission trip?

The following are some prayers needs:
• Financial – raising the needed funds by June 1st as well as having the funds necessary for my family while I am away.
• Paperwork – for all the necessary papers to be approved in both the USA and Kenya.
• Physical – for strength, health and safety for the trip.
• Spiritual – for my preparation spiritually and that many lives will be touched by our Lord Jesus and that the local church there will be blessed!

Also, would you consider being a financial partner with me for this mission trip? I need to raise $2,500 by June 1st to cover travel and basic expenses for the trip. Should God lead you to help financially, your contribution is tax deductible through our church and can be returned with the enclosed form and envelope.

I am very excited about this opportunity to serve the Lord in Kenya! As I said before, I believe I am led to use my God given talents as a professional videographer to help bring the word of the Lord to those all over the world who need to hear a message of hope. Thank you so much for your kind consideration of this request.

Sincerely,

Although the letter explains why I am going and why I need financial support, I believe it only scratches the surface of why this trip is so important to me, the members of our church, and the folks we are going over to Africa to help. I decided starting this blog would be the best way to report to the entire world our mission to reach out to those in need.

In the following post I will write about all the tasks that I and other missionaries have to complete before we can pack our bags. Then in the last week of July, I hope to post pictures and reports from Africa so folks can follow along with us on our journey. When we return, the blog continues with posts on how I produce a documentary from all the raw video and photographs I and other missionaries shoot while working in Kenya. I promise to write about a ton of interesting stuff that will keep you coming back to this blog for updates. Besides, where else are you going to see all of these great pictures from Nairobi, Kiambu City, and Kitikiti? Wikipedia? I don’t think so.

Please join me as we prepare for Mission to Kenya 2007.

Kenya Mission

No, I didn’t just step off a plane from Africa with a memory stick full of pictures from the bush. I wished I had gone on the mission trip members of my church took last October. Our brothers in Kenya desperately need our help. Have you seen the news lately about the prolonged drought plaguing the country? Just to today I read the headline “U.N. facing severe food shortage in Kenya” (A.P.). News like that makes me realize how important my new video project here in the states is to those who need a miracle.

My priest handed me two DVD’s loaded with raw video from the church’s first mission trip to Kenya. “Can you make us a video to show our supporters how their contributions were used? We also want to use the video to recruit new supporters and participants for the next mission trip.” This would not be an easy task. All I have is a DVD full of amateur video and a CD packed with photographs. No problem.

I am an artist. Nothing in this world gives me as much joy as taking raw materials and working them into a beautiful creation for everyone to enjoy. I started my task by watching every frame of hand held video on the two hour DVD. The events on tape gave me an idea of how I should formulate a begging, middle, and ending to the story. Next, I needed sound to glue the video together and move the viewer through the story. Most producers write a script and have a voice talent track the story. I believed I had a better idea. Why not have the people in the video tell the story of why they went and why they need to go again? I devised a list of questions fitting my script outline to ask the folks I saw doing God’s work in the raw video. Now I’m in the process of editing the raw video together with the interviews to make a final product.

I’m enjoying playing the role of Producer and Editor. I wished I could have been on the ground in Kenya to gather the images too, but hopefully that addition to my job titles will come soon enough. The video I have has lots of good natural sound and we all know the other stuff can be fixed in the computer. For now I am happy God blessed me with a talent my church can use to help those in need. Someday I hope to leave news behind to travel the world documenting Christians working in the mission field. Imagine using my God given talent to work for the big man himself. Could there be a better job than that?



These pictures are of the Massai men the mission team visited on the trip. The Massai are nomadic cattlemen who are natives of western Africa. The Massai man in the top photo had six wives, forty to fifty children and several hundred head of cattle. A wealthy fellow by Massai standards. The man in black below is Father Dan Whitt. He is my priest and the leader of the mission trips. If you are interested in the work I or my church is doing in Kenya, please send me an e-mail and I can send you a copy of the video and a newsletter about our work.

This post was previously posted on Colonel Corn's Camera in March of 2006.