‘I’m just like them’

A trip to Africa that keeps the craving to return alive within me

This is a reproduction of a column I wrote for St. Louis’ Northside Journal Newspaper, published August 27, 1992, following my missionary trip to Kenya, East Africa. I spent nearly two-weeks there in August 1992 with my late pastor, Dr. Richard Burruss of Transformation Christian Church and World Outreach Center.

A fresh perspective on what it means to be an African-American touched my spirit.

From August 10-21, 1992, I lived in Kenya. Those 11 days were filled with an experience I’ll never forget. I discovered a kinship with a people who had been cut off from me; more than once did those beautiful Africans say to me, "Welcome home, brother.”

I went to Africa as part of a three-person missionary team from my church, Transformation Christian Church & World Outreach Center in St. Louis (http://www.transformationchristianchurch.org/). Not only did I worship and praise the Almighty God with the Kenyans, I experienced their culture, too.

I learned a few words in Kenya’s national language, Swahili: Jambo, which in English, means “Hello”; Habari, which means, “How are you doing” and Mzuri (sounds like Missouri), which means “I’m doing OK.”

The custom of washing the hands before meals, which involved the women pouring water over the men’s hands from a kettle into a basin, was part of my life. Meals included dishes such as beef, lamb, maize (corn), chapaiti (a flat pancake-looking item made from wheat), and ugali (water and corn meal).

I stayed on a farm in the rural town of Kitale, which is about 300 miles west of Nairobi, Kenya’s capital and largest city. The farm has a variety of livestock, including cows, sheep, goats and chickens. Oranges, bananas and sugar can grew out of the rich, dark-red Kenyan soil.
August is that region’s winter, so nighttime temperatures dropped to 50 degrees while in the daytime, it reached 80 degrees. (The equator runs through Kenya).

Many Kenyans, who can afford cars, drive European-made Peugeots. They live in modern homes, send their children to harambees (private schools) and wear the finest clothes. They eat well, too.

And then there is the poverty, to which too many Kenyans are accustomed. There are no welfare programs in Kenya and good jobs are difficult to come by. Crowed marketplaces, featuring roadside merchants selling the fruits of the land, the fruits of their labor, or anything else of value – bustle with daily activity. In Kenya, if you don’t work, you don’t eat, plain and simple.

Hundreds of children – 8, 9, 10-year olds –are homeless, living on the streets and surviving the best way they know how. There was a sure way to identify the youngsters that were regularly rounded-up, fed and - unfortunately – returned to the streets by our host, the Rev. Samuel Thiong’O. The clothes we brought over for the needy children hadn’t got to dirty, yet. (Over the years, Transformation Christian Church has poured in significant finances to build an orphanage there)

Everybody drinks Coca-Cola; it’s purer than the water.

One of the lasting memories I’ll always cherish is the conversations I had with the common-folk Africans about African-Americans. They’ve had little, if any, contact with black Americans. They’re curious about how blacks in the United States live in light of all the prosperity here. After sharing with them that African-Americans have various economic, educational and social levels, a common response from the Africans was: “You’re just like me.”

I learned that, too – I’m just like them.