Jumapili katika Kericho
Melissa DeFrank
It is the last Sunday of our three-week-long mission trip in Kericho, Kenya. We are a team of five women who have spent the last three weeks developing health protocol for a local preschool for orphans, and now we are visiting our fourth church of the day. We step out of the van, careful to avoid any muddy patches on the dirt road, and are welcomed by a buzzing swarm of children. |
Them church members feel delighted to see us, and they come forward to greet us.
"Jambo! Welcome, sisters. Karibu."
"Chamgie, lyuamunee?"
"Welcome, welcome. Mungu akubariki."
By now, I am not thrown off by the transition from English to Swahili to Kalenjin, the specific "tribal" language spoken by Kericho natives. I love being in Kenya; the diverse language, rich culture, and warm spirits make me feel at home. Despite the recent attacks on Kenya, I have always felt safe and welcome there, never threatened. It feels amazing to be connected to strangers you have never met who live halfway across the globe, through a common religion.
We eventually enter the church and take our seats in the front of the room, where the visitors always sit.
"Jambo! Welcome, sisters. Karibu."
"Chamgie, lyuamunee?"
"Welcome, welcome. Mungu akubariki."
By now, I am not thrown off by the transition from English to Swahili to Kalenjin, the specific "tribal" language spoken by Kericho natives. I love being in Kenya; the diverse language, rich culture, and warm spirits make me feel at home. Despite the recent attacks on Kenya, I have always felt safe and welcome there, never threatened. It feels amazing to be connected to strangers you have never met who live halfway across the globe, through a common religion.
We eventually enter the church and take our seats in the front of the room, where the visitors always sit.
The sermon begins. This church has chosen an English sermon with a Swahili translator. So far, we have witnessed:
a Swahili sermon with an English translator,
a Kalenjin sermon with an English translator,
and
an English sermon with a Kalenjin translator.
a Kalenjin sermon with an English translator,
and
an English sermon with a Kalenjin translator.
We listen to the sermon, which starts with about 15 minutes of thanking God, the visitors, and "the director Melette," who started the local preschool for orphans in the area (and is also part of our mission team).
After the sermon, it is our turn to stand in front of the church and introduce ourselves. I choose a few short words to let everyone know my gratitude for the welcoming atmosphere and lovely church service.
"Jambo! My name is Lissa, and this is my second time visiting Kenya. Your country is truly mrembo. Thank you so much for welcoming me into your church. Asante sana and Mungu akubariki."
I love to see the church members' faces when I attempt to speak Swahili. They seem to really appreciate my efforts, despite my apparent accent and inability to form a complete sentence.
We spend some time after the service getting to know the church members. We play with the children, shake the elders' hands, and have broken English/Swahili conversations with the adults. The Kenyan culture is so warm and welcoming, which is greatly appreciated by a group of foreigners who are 3,000 miles from home. We stand around and take some pictures, trying to delay the inevitable.
"Jambo! My name is Lissa, and this is my second time visiting Kenya. Your country is truly mrembo. Thank you so much for welcoming me into your church. Asante sana and Mungu akubariki."
I love to see the church members' faces when I attempt to speak Swahili. They seem to really appreciate my efforts, despite my apparent accent and inability to form a complete sentence.
We spend some time after the service getting to know the church members. We play with the children, shake the elders' hands, and have broken English/Swahili conversations with the adults. The Kenyan culture is so warm and welcoming, which is greatly appreciated by a group of foreigners who are 3,000 miles from home. We stand around and take some pictures, trying to delay the inevitable.
After all, saying good-bye is the hardest part.