Same image - Different package returns home from Kenya

A letter from Carol Collier...

To my dear Family, Friends and Colleagues,

My follow up letter, after the trip I wrote you about a few weeks ago.

It is hard to believe I have been home from Kenya for 2 weeks already, and it is going to be even harder to put into words the things that have happened to me whilst I was travelling. I kept a very detailed journal about everything from who, what and where I went, and even a lot of what I felt… but translating that into something that will convey the significance of the trip is much more difficult; creating something that will be understandable and enjoyable to read - may be beyond me.

However, intros over let me begin: Firstly my whole journey was a wonder of safety and healthiness, I can honestly say I never once felt threatened or frightened and the preparations I had made to help my stamina level and stomach remain in tip top condition were rewarded 10 fold, i.e. every day! The weather was pleasantly hot and though the Nairobi rush hour was an education to me it was certainly not a real hazard. One evening we took 3 hours to cover 2 km… my supper was a bit less tasty that night.

The first days were spent with my companions Paul and Gill Leppitt, they were kindness itself, and meeting their long term contacts offered me an opportunity to meet local who people who were genuine and fascinating to me… my appetite whetted. By the time I was to spend 4 days in the slums with my own contacts I was secure the people I would meet would be equally ‘recognisable’ to me as good people. Don’t get the idea I am completely naïve, I still took sensible precautions but I was certainly very relaxed. For those of you who don’t know, my only contact with my hosts was by letter, a few exchanged photographs and a recommendation from my dear friend Esther Omari. Indeed, I was so relaxed I didn’t notice till I got home and my daughter in law pointed it out to me, whilst looking at my photos, how different my skin looked to theirs, “ you are very white” she said… “Yes I guess I am” I responded, amused that the difference had not really crossed my consciousness whilst I was there – and I reckon to live by my senses!

My first day in the Dandora Slum was Sunday, I had been asked to preach, when I heard how loud the resident preacher was and experienced the almost physical pressure of his booming voice around the uncovered area I was very aware of my different style. I’ve always encountered God’s voice as a rather more penetrating peace, than a stoning force… Immediately as I thought this I found God’s amused smile teased a joy into my face and heart that excited me: I was the ‘Same image – Different package’ expressed in a different voice this morning… I guess we all reflect the part of God we have experienced. God has only shouted at me when I was in urgent danger – “STOP!” usually, like a good parent wanting to make sure I responded immediately.
So it was in this circumstance I had my first experience of nerves, followed by my first visit to the public - very public - loo. Rejoining the assembly, I was then drawn into the worship… the words and music were all harmonies of voice only, the dance ushered my heart and body into action… I was blown away by the unity and humour expressed between us… my dance was an easy match for theirs – my hair was definitely above and beyond theirs in it’s curiosity value - my tears of joy were a sudden expression of the splendour of being human amongst other humans worshipping Our creator without the problems of acoustics, or health and safety, or ageism, or fashion either of dress or political correctness: we were all, in effect, naked, ourselves, and unashamed… what a glory! I experienced a depth of healing – I was just a normal person – a tad different but essentially the same as people all over the world. WOW.

There followed a long demonstration by adults and children of their ability to remember scripture by heart… and another difference – my capacity to do this has never been great, in fact it is all but non-existent. When I stood up to make my offering later I read it, casually marking the difference of upbringing and culture… it was not a problem, just a difference. It was my teaching style which really marked me out… as I bought out the ‘treasures’ of the triangular tin I regularly use to demonstrate we are all made in the Image of God just packaged differently I could see their hearts and minds engage with my quiet interactive style, using tactile objects that could be touched and passed around and responded to personally was clearly a new experience… and one which bought out laughter and tears as well as verbal responses… They had come to a new place and I had come full circle. I had come home to myself, though I was so far away from home I truly was the teacher God had taught. I was, as God had told me years before “Carol - a song, and a song can be understood and enjoyed all over the world.” Understandable to anyone! When the resident preacher followed me with some closing statements and thanks for what I had offered… he seemed to speak considerably quieter, and every one was appreciative of the practical reminder I had left them, a piece of silver emergency blanket, that reminded them every one was filled with treasure… some of it just needed looking after properly and polishing up!

The following 3 days were of a much more practical nature visiting lots of people in their work places and homes - especially the adults with disabilities and children of the Same image - Different package schools. The location and terrain were a quite a challenge one would have thought, but the complaints were not of poor roads, or non existent services but rather of having to pay so much for water and electricity, which was only available to a handful. It sounded very familiar to me. Every business was conducted with minimum resources and a resourcefulness that was joyous to see… being a ‘make do and mend’ sort of person I could relate to all this very well. Though there was a lot of trauma the treasure was tangible to me, movingly so.
The school buildings were little more than tin sheds with gaping tears in the structures, all floors composed of mud and stones. The headmaster’s office reminded me of an allotment shed with its rough plank table cobbled together with string and nails. Children were sat very crowded many on lumps of stone or very narrow rough hewn benches, there were no desks and very few text books. The volunteer teachers were, in most cases, trained and each produced lesson plans for me to view. I was struck by their passion that an education was the most important thing they could give the children. Aids is a dominant subject of course with many being victims in one way or another. Before leaving the schools I made 2 promises, firstly that I would come again, second that I would send some posters to them. All the ‘posters’ were cardboard boxes with the teachers black or blue felt pen designs. There wasn’t a map or a bit of colour at all, they asked for pictures of the natural world for the geography students. Before I left I bought 4 large maps, 2 of Africa, 2 of the world and sent them to the schools. The blackboards were grey with over use and lack of paint. I left some funds for painting them…
Visiting another school, in a different area of Kenya later in the week I was able to get some state posters and sent them on too.

What did I leave behind… probably mostly my love and, in that, the concept that all people are significant and if measured from the ‘Image’ they bare, none has a different value, just a different view of God for us to see… however disabled or disfigured by their own choices or life circumstance. Also a parachute… this was certainly the object that created the most joy and laughter… they’d not seen one before and 2 days after my visit I got a call, “Please come back and show us how to use it.”

There followed a most riotous time, I used the teachers as my pupils and clearly the children had never seen grown ups play before ( Sadly no pictures were taken) and judging by the look of the teachers faces many of then had forgotten how to play too, but they soon caught on. Is there somewhere in Scripture that suggests laughter is an act of praise? It certainly sounded like that to me. Since one of the small businesses was a sewing shop I suggested they may be able to make some more parachutes to increase the fun! I hope they do.

What did I take away? Well some strange pictures of a different culture, hairdressing is a national hobby it seems. Some pitiful pictures of how destructive to their beautiful culture the wrong sort of help can be. Some big questions about how much difference it would make if all the little churches in the vicinity worked together, some more personal questions about how I may be able to help these people and the disabled people here to relate to each other in the future. And a much deeper awareness of myself as a good teacher and gifted Community Pastor… and a large number of gifts showered upon me at the airport as I left, leaving me helpless with laughter and weighed down with ‘jewels’ of love I never ever expected to receive.

Carol Collier