(Originally posted on Karibu Kenya, May 25, 2009.)

Yesterday, my heart was too full - and my jet lag too pronounced - for me to gather my thoughts into any discernible writings. As we raced down the unpaved, littered dirt road in our Matatu - a bus that features loud music, audacious near-collisions with passing vehicles, and men hanging off the side to spot prospective new ride sales - I grasped the reality that I'd already learned second-hand: that Kawangware is Nairobi's second most neglected slum.

Masses of people lined the stretch of this road, many bare-footed, and none were offered shade unless they tucked themselves underneath shanties - structures that look like boxes and offer little more shelter. They shared the choppy dirt expanse with goats and piles of garbage. I saw no running water, though still water hung in the air on the sides of the roads, providing nothing but stench, mud, and likely, the occasional mosquito. 

While in Kawangware yesterday, we visited a two-hour service at Kawangware Methodist Church in Kenya. I am robbing the experience of its profundity and power by summarizing it here, but I must move on to today's events. In very short, I was moved beyond description by the soulful, spirited music and abiding faith of this congregation. As a Glide Ensemble member, I took particular interest in the choir. I marveled at the fundamental similarities and many differences between this choir and my own. I felt very much at home, and also worlds away.

Today, we met the children whom we will serve this week. They are amazing, wonderful people. Though most of them have lost parents to abandonment, HIV/AIDS, or other social and medical afflictions, they persevere - radiating joy through their smiles, songs, and endless dances. The children of Kawangware know how to live. They know how to love.