Pentecost

"When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place... All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages as the Spirit gave them ability... Dinkas, Nuers, Ethiopians, Somalis, Rwandans, Congolese, Burundian, Kenyans, and even one lone Muzungu, speaking about God's deeds of power" (a paraphrase of Acts 2:1, 5-11).

Today is the Day of Pentecost, and I spent it at Kakuma Refugee Camp. Kakuma is a microcosm of Africa -- people of many languages and cultures, but sharing in one way or another the tragedy of having been uprooted from their homelands, usually because of civil unrest. Most of them were on the wrong side of a political fight and were chased from their homes. In order to qualify under the international protocols for refugee status, it has to be something that caused you to fear for your life and makes it impossible for you to return to your home. In those situations, the United Nations, and NGOs that work with the UN, provide people with a safe place to live until conditions change and they can either return home, or until they find another country that will accept them.

Martin and I got up this morning, and after having some breakfast in the Lutheran World Federation compound where we spent the night, ventured out into the camp. Martin lived here for nine years when he worked for UNHCR. He left seven years ago to come to the US. I was amazed at how many people he still knows -- both UNHCR and NGO staff people, as well as the refugees themselves. Some people have been here for a very long time -- some since the camp opened. I had always imagined that being a relief worker was something one would do for a year or two or three, and then move along to something else. But there are some really amazing human beings -- true humanitarians -- that have lived and worked in this place for many, many years. There is very little turnover, it turns out, and I was privileged to meet many of them. Martin's return visit came as a surprise to everyone there, and they were all thrilled to see him.

As we began to make our way around the camp, he pointed out where the Lost Boys of Sudan had lived. All the houses they lived in are gone now, and that whole section of the camp has been closed. Nearly all of the Sudanese have now either moved to the US or other countries, or (since the Comprehensive Peace Agreement of 2005) returned to their homes in Sudan. You still see occasional Dinka or Nuer peoples (two of the major groups from Sudan), but many of the Nuer have actually come from Ethiopia and are therefore still at Kakuma for other reasons. There are many Ethiopians and Somalis, and lots of Congolese, Rwandans, and Burundians. As we made our way around the camp, we passed the churches of the different groups. We saw the Sudanese Episcopal Church, where we heard their Pentecost service in progress, but did not go in so as not to create a distraction. There was a Worldwide Church of God, a Pentecostal church, from where we heard singing coming (I'm not sure what language). There were others holding services, too. We even passed by a very noisy Somali madrassa where the children were learning the Koran.

We ended up at the Ethiopian Orthodox church where the liturgy in the Amharic language was coming to a close, it turned out. Martin saw a good friend, Anteneh Demelash, as the service was ending, and he told us their worship had started at 4 am for the daily prayers, and most of the people had been there since around 5 or 6 am. It was now about 10 o'clock. The singing was beautiful, as were the people. I was trying to discreetly take pictures, but the children saw me and wanted to get in them, which was just fine with me! We were invited to come into the parish house where a lunch was about to be served. After standing in line for the ritual washing of the hands which takes place before a meal, they invited us to the head of the serving line where we were served a typical Ethiopian meal of of injera, which includes some rolled-up tortilla-like pancakes, into which goes a stew of goat meat and vegetables. To eat it you tear off pieces of the pancake and pick up the stew with your fingers. It was fun to be invited in as we were and made to feel so welcome. Anteneh is a man in his early forties, I would guess. He has been at Kakuma since it opened in 1992. He is a leader, not only among the Ethiopians, but for the whole camp, having been in charge of all the elementary schools, of which there are about 16, for the past several years. While we were eating he pointed out to us a local Turkana woman who had been converted to Christianity through their ministry. She sat near us and was showing us how to properly clean our plates wiping them with the last little piece of pancake. Meanwhile, I had been trying to discreetly avoid a large gristly piece of goatmeat that I wasn't sure I could get down. I'm sure she was absolutely incredulous that I wasn't going to eat it.

"Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved." (Acts 2:46-47)

Anteneh invited us to walk with him to his home, where we visited for a while. It was a tin shack in a long row of similar dwellings. Very rough inside with dirt floor. This is a very intelligent and knowledgeable man, with a wife and two young daughters, who has not left this camp in over 16 years. He has no idea when he will ever be able to leave. He walked with us around the camp, updating Martin on changes that have taken place since he left. Many of the schools, it turns out, are closing -- partly because the camp has shrunk from over 100,000 people when Martin was there, to now only about 40,000. But the biggest reason is that the schools were something that the Sudanese particularly had wanted, and many of the groups that are there now are not as keen to send their children.

I could go on with stories of the people we met. We spent time with a Congolese family with several little children. I wanted to bring them home with me. Adorable, cute, fun children! They loved mimicing me, and I have no doubt that they would be speaking English within two weeks they were so good at it. The kids and I had lots of laughs while Martin and Anteneh spoke with the two moms about political and other issues in their homeland.

These people's resilience is absolutely amazing. I observed the conditions they live in, the hardships they endure and the uncertainty about the future that lingers for all of them, and I wonder how they keep going. I learned a lot at Kakuma about the strength of the human spirit. For many of them that strength was nurtured in the thriving faith communities that dot the camp. We saw them alive and well there today.

"But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth -- even to Kakuma." (paraphrase of Acts 1:8).

After a lovely lunch at the home of some friends of Martin's, we took a final drive through the local town market area, alive even on Sunday with the local Turkana and many of the refugees, and then got our taxi with armed guard to make our hour-long drive back to Lokichokkio. There was a lot of activity in Loki following the killing a few days ago of the World Food Program country director. An Italian WFP dignitary was arriving at the airport just as we were leaving. Our flight to Nairobi was late, and we missed our overnight bus to Uganda -- so, we're back at Alice's for the night, and up at 5 to catch the next bus to Kampala.

It was a unique Pentecost, and one that I will never forget.