It was such a comforting sight when our car pulled up outside the Sirikwa Hotel in Eldoret, to see a smiling Kenyan man awaiting us. (The 4 of us blonde Mzungu were not difficult to spot!). We had been in Richard’s car traveling from Uganda since 9:30am, taking in all the roadside sights through our car window as we went.
I say the smiling man was a comforting sight because we had exchanged emails in advance and chosen that meeting spot in Eldoret, but it was now almost 5pm, and we had suggested to him that we might arrive as of 3:30. Was he waiting all that time? I was hoping he would stay home and we could reach him from a local phone once we arrived in town, since our cell phone didn’t yet work in Africa.
It was another HGAC (“Huhgack”) moment, as we had come to call them—a “Haven’t Got A Clue” moment, that feeling of being on completely unfamiliar ground—either having no idea what was going on, or realizing you really have no way of controlling the situation, or having no idea what was about to take place next (or all 3!). We had done our “research” to find this Kenyan organization months back at the comfort of our laptop, but no one we knew had ever volunteered with this organization or been here, and we really had no idea what to expect.
So it was a comfort to see a smiling man there to greet us, and a surprise to see him smiling after he’d waited patiently for an hour and a half with no word from us. That man was Dennis Kiprop, the director of ELI’s (Empowering Lives International’s) Ukweli Training Center, a ministry here in tandem with the children’s home we were coming to visit. Dennis gave us warm greetings, then we loaded all our gear into the van, and we were on our way to the village of Ilula. We drove through the bustling city center—seeing men on loaded down bicycles, piki pikis (motorcycles) with 4 people and a half dozen “upside down” chickens, and women walking with water jugs expertly balanced on their heads.
We continued on paved roads for about 10 minutes, and then got on a bumpy dirt road with huts scattered here and there.
We saw sheep grazing along the side of the road, and Dennis honked or stopped for cows that were meandering in our way.
I wasn’t sure how much longer the drive was. It was nearing dinner time…perhaps when we got there, we would take our bags to our room and have something to eat tonight, and get the chance to meet people in the morning.
After a few more minutes, Dennis pulled through a big iron gate, and proceeded down a long dirt “driveway.” As I peered through the windshield of the van, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw next. There before us was a whole crowd assembled on the circular dirt drive, looking toward us as if they were awaiting our arrival. I peered at the gathering of about 70 people standing together in an L-shaped formation, looking in our direction…toddler aged children on up to teens, and a sprinkling of adults.
Stunned with surprise, the 4 of us stepped out of the van, moving in slow motion as we took in the scene. A man approached us, smiling enthusiastically and greeting us in Swahili: “Karibu!” (Welcome!). He led us to the beginning of the assembled line. There, the children at the front presented each of us with a bouquet of red and white roses, tied with festive ribbons.
They were all singing a song together, a call & response song led by a teenage girl (whom we would come to know and love, named Mercy), standing halfway down the line.
I was at the front of our procession, and Trevor was next behind me, and then Shay and Barry. I leaned down to get “eye level” to shake the first little one’s hand, and then another, and then another, and continued down the line. What a privilege to get to shake each child’s hand and greet each one (“Jambo!”) individually as they sang that precious welcome song!
It was absolutely surreal—moving down the curving line, listening to the beautiful sound of the children’s voices singing in one accord, as the setting sun cast a golden glow on the round huts behind them. It was soo moving. Tears filled my eyes (though I know that’s no surprise to my friends reading this!).
As we came to the end of the greeting assembly, the 4 of us found ourselves standing in front of the crowd, as if on stage. It was all a blur, so my recollection is fuzzy about the details that followed, but 2 men ( Laban and Samuel, I think), each shared some official words of greeting on behalf of everyone (and Empowering Lives).
Then they looked to us. This would be the first of many times in Kenya when we are introduced to a group and expected that each of us will have something (worthwhile) to say! I have no idea what any of us said. I just remember being completely overwhelmed by their generous welcome. Their words were so gracious and honoring, and made us feel as if our coming was a GIFT, and yet, Oh, how I felt just the reverse – that we were so incredibly fortunate to have the gift of being here with them.
That welcome was one of the most unexpected and humbling moments of my life. They treated us like royalty. It felt so undeserved.
While I don't remember much of what Samuel or Laban said, I do remember the last thing.
"Welcome Home."
Those words touched me at a very deep place, and resonated. Despite how much here felt new and foreign and unknown, it did feel, truly, like we had just arrived "home".
Wow. Well, here we are in Kenya! We were so moved by their welcome, and we couldn’t wait to jump in and begin our time with our new family!
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