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Displaced Kenyans buoyed by aid from Baptist volunteers

Helicopters swoop in, hovering over the rioting youth. The Kenyan youth thrust their pangas (machetes) and sticks in the air, shouting threats as they make an improvised roadblock out of burning tires and large rocks, reports Sue Sprenkle, Southern Baptist International Mission Board.

A military man leans out the open door of the helicopter and fires tear gas into the crowd. It's a temporary fix but enough to scatter everyone. When the gas fades, the crowds continue wreaking havoc on motorists. They set fire to houses along the road. Residents run screaming, searching for safety.

Thousands run to the Tigoni police station, just miles from the chaos. It is here they find safety. And it is here the smiling faces of Southern Baptist mission volunteers greet them.

When post-election violence broke out in Kenya in December, members of Stevens Street Baptist Church in Cookeville, Tenn., watched news reports, wondering what might happen to the volunteer trip they'd been planning for months. The 10-member team decided to go to Kenya despite the ongoing violence. The team quickly changed their plans from working in the slums of Nairobi to working in camps for internally displaced people. The United Nations estimates more than 600,000 Kenyans are displaced in 44 camps around the country.

Pastor Tim Frank acknowledges this trip was part of God's timing.

"We were literally in one of the camps the day more violence erupted in the country and, as a result, thousands of people trooped in," Frank recounts. "The camp went from a few hundred people to almost 7,000 in a day. We've been able to help with this heavy influx of people and really feel like we've made a difference."

Just a week earlier, there was plenty of room at the makeshift camp for displaced people to spread out and for children to run and play. Now, stacks of furniture sit piled high. Tents made of tarps stake out every available space inside the guarded compound, which sits on two acres. Children still play, only now they run up and down narrow paths between tents, jumping over ropes and stakes.

At the front of the camp is an outdoor kitchen. Large pots of food constantly are cooking on wood fires. Shoulder-high piles of green beans and peas lay on the ground. Volunteers Lewan Hedrick and Karen Cockerham sit at the edges of the pile, shelling beans with their Kenyan Baptist partners from Ridgeways Baptist Church in Nairobi.

The women sit talking and laughing. Drawn by these sounds of life, women living in the camp begin to come over to help. A few minutes later, children crowd around the Americans, eager to lend a helping hand in exchange for a little attention. Soon the entire group is singing praise songs, the beat carried by the staccato snapping of beans.

Between songs, the women share stories of terror at being forced from their homes. One young mother tells of hardships within the camp. She must stand in line for hours to receive food due to the large number of people. But this makes it hard for her to care for her young children, so she has gone a day without food. Without drawing attention, Hedrick slips the mother her own lunch and continues snapping beans as if nothing has happened. Tears well up in the young mother’s eyes.

"It's a roller coaster ride for me," Cockerham says about working in the camp. "I enjoy talking to the people, and they really need someone to listen to them. But when you see the situation they are living in and see kids line up two times and never get food … it's very emotional."

Kenyan Baptist volunteer Jedidah nods in agreement. Even though she's a trained social worker, the stories she hears shock her. Jedidah translates the stories for the Americans while interjecting applicable Bible verses.

For the Kenyans, once they enter the camp, they no longer go by their family names. Their name tags only show their given names in an effort to protect them from tribal animosities and accusations of tribal favoritism. In Kenya, family names identify which tribe a person belongs to. During these turbulent times, it is best to be as neutral as possible.

Jedidah admits she was scared to go in and out of the displaced camps as a volunteer. "Our American brothers and sisters gave us the courage to leave our homes," she says. "If they can come all this way to minister, then I can leave the safety of my house. I'm so glad I came. I would have hated to miss this blessing."

A loudspeaker squawks into action, drowning out Jedidah. An American accent echoes through the camp, followed by a Kenyan accent. Pastor Frank tag-teams a sermon with Kenyan Baptist pastor Elijah. Many come forward, asking for prayer.

The sound of the sermon barely reaches the back part of the camp where the Baptist volunteers stake new tents in the ground. Many of the displaced have no shelter. The nights in Tigoni can be very cold -– and then there's the occasional rain.

A band of children are entertained as they watch the Kenyans and Americans try to figure out the confusing tent directions. Finally, the first tent goes up and everyone lets out a cheer. Two families stand nearby, ready to move in.

"I don't feel I'm doing enough," volunteer Ron Cockerham says, despite the fact the team spent all their time working in the displaced camps. "I've never been in this situation before. You see it on television and might send a few bucks to help out. But I never thought about the people in these camps being people just like me.

"I grew up on the streets and I've been hungry," Ron continues. "Jesus filled me with His compassion. I feel like God brought me here to share His compassion and love."

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[02/18/2008]

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