The interweaving of the sights and sounds of this video are, on the surface, quite unrelated. One is a video that I took from the back seat of an Uber ride as we traversed the barely comparable Kibera twice. The other is a song I revived after some languishing in the refuse pile for some years. There is a story to each.
We were trying to get to Sheldrick Elephant Orphanage in Nairobi a few days after we arrived in early February to visit Enkesha, the elephant that our family has adopted. There is a one hour window in which these visits can take place, deep into the afternoon. Nairobi traffic was particularly pernicious this day and our driver nonchalantly announced that he knew a shortcut. Which shortcut happened to be a drive through one of the biggest slums in Nairobi. While I am not averse to such suggestions, when I am traveling with my wife, children and our teammate who we just met, such an idea feels a little out of sorts. Not wanting to waste a good crisis, I covertly shot some intolerably bad footage from my vantage. These are not places that people where we are from get to see on the regular and it was a sobering reckoning of the depth of poverty in this part of the world. My intent is not to exploit it as a spectacle but share it with you. As an addendum to this introduction, after a solid two hours we arrived all too late and could not get in to see the elephant our daughter was so looking forward to meeting. One of the armed guards made an appeal for us which was shut down by his superior. Our Uber driver, well past the time that he typically stops driving graciously took us to to the other side of the city, another hour drive or so. In the end, I came to see that, though greatly disappointing, the whole affair was a gift from God for us to show us another part of the city. I have put you in my seat for a few minutes by way of video capture. I wish that I could, by way of more eloquent words, put you into the seat of my soul to experience it for a few minutes as well.
Some time ago I wrote a song called "Plan B" and it has been lingering without much ado until now. With all of the social distancing and isolation that our friends, family and the world at large are experiencing, it kept creeping back into my subconscious. I have largely been hacking away at my Kala ukulele since arriving to Kenya, mostly because it lives on our couch and is so easy to pick up and put down (well, not so easy to put down). I have a beautifully hand crafted acoustic guitar fashioned by my father prior to our departure, but for expediency the uke has made the cut. It is the instrument that I play on the recording. At certain points in my life I have had to remind myself that, though I am quite like the social camel my friend describes, I need the people in my life - family, friends, church community, work mates, etc. Though often content on my own, it would be delusional to think it would be good for me to remain on my own. The lyrics were a jab at my own soul to work towards being physically, mentally and emotionally present. The writing of it was not a silver bullet and the long unravelling of my abiding independence is ongoing. (There is a further discussion to have about the balance to be found in relationships as well, but such is not the purview of this post.)
Why now and why the co-mingling of these two stories? In a recent conversation with our family counselor, she reminded my wife and I not to be what she called "siloed." Not to divide and conquer. To stay on the same page. I'm a master silo-er and needed this reminder. Hence, a recording of this song to codify its importance to my own story. But further, I hope that it encourages you, the listener of the need for contact and community. This is the plan of our God in creating us in His image. God is a community, Father, Son, Spirit, the ultimate unity in diversity. We are communal creatures because we have a communal God. Let's step forward to a more difficult and timely observation to make. In Kibera, the roads are dusty and full of those who walk together and simply cannot stay home. "No work, no food," one woman was quoted as saying. Though I noted in a newspaper that there is some government intervention in terms of food rationing, Kibera houses hundreds of thousands (millions by some sources) of people who live on less per day than I used to throw at the Starbucks drive through for a single cup of black coffee. Here in Litein our neighbor who drives a motorbike for a living told me, "We live hand to mouth, day to day." No work, no food. There is no stocking up. There is no sheltering at home. There is community, for better or for worse. It's not Plan B. We're not born to walk alone. With corona creeping into Kenya and the notion of social distancing and sheltering in place a double edged dagger, the phrase "damned if you do, damned if you don't" comes to mind. The convergence of this song and the memory of traveling through Kibera only a few months ago is, for me, a poignant paradox playing itself out in time. Not quite three chords and the truth, but may it suffice in some fashion or another.
The linking of these two items is a celebration of our need and love for community and an introduction to people who rely on their community in a way that is difficult for many of us to grasp. This is not a unity like the shallow "we are the world" pop star drizzled sentiments that are bandied about on the interwebs these days. This is street level community survival. As it should be. It's not Plan B. We're not born to walk alone.
The last verse of the song claims, "Stand for me and I will stand for you or we will fall together." May it be true now and in the days to come.
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