Two nights ago we were woken by what we thought was an argument either on our property or next door. I got up to check what was happening, couldn't see anything out of the windows so went outside.
I checked the guard house; Justin our night guard wasn't there, nor were the dogs. He was obviously out doing his rounds.
It was all quiet, then I heard it again, growing in volume, coming from the building site.
I could make out a few Swahili words from the distance - "nyumbani... familia.. kanisa... mungu.. bariki..." (house, family, church, God, blessing).
By the time I got to the site in the pitch darkness, there was singing. It sounded like four or five in beautiful harmony. I thought our two guys must have invited folk to join them for a prayer meeting without informing us. Heart-warming ... but they should have checked first.
They must have seen my flashlight as I approached, but didn't ease up the singing until I shone the light directly on the "group".
There was only the two of them, Justin and James, our resident day worker.
(Justin, whose brother is a local pastor, has apparently taken it on himself to disciple young James. They sit up late into the night, their figures backlit by the kerosene lamp in the guardhouse.)
There I was, standing among the stacks of makuti (banana-leaf roofing), shining my light around to see where the rest were. There were only the two - both looking a little apprehensive about having woken me.
I said, "Wow, that sounded like more than just the two of you!"
Young James came up to me with a broad, sheepish grin, apologetically took my hand and said, "Labda Yesu pia?" (Maybe Jesus too?)
James and Justin near the site
The two guys with Maziwa checking out our erratic water pump
I checked the guard house; Justin our night guard wasn't there, nor were the dogs. He was obviously out doing his rounds.
It was all quiet, then I heard it again, growing in volume, coming from the building site.
I could make out a few Swahili words from the distance - "nyumbani... familia.. kanisa... mungu.. bariki..." (house, family, church, God, blessing).
By the time I got to the site in the pitch darkness, there was singing. It sounded like four or five in beautiful harmony. I thought our two guys must have invited folk to join them for a prayer meeting without informing us. Heart-warming ... but they should have checked first.
They must have seen my flashlight as I approached, but didn't ease up the singing until I shone the light directly on the "group".
There was only the two of them, Justin and James, our resident day worker.
(Justin, whose brother is a local pastor, has apparently taken it on himself to disciple young James. They sit up late into the night, their figures backlit by the kerosene lamp in the guardhouse.)
There I was, standing among the stacks of makuti (banana-leaf roofing), shining my light around to see where the rest were. There were only the two - both looking a little apprehensive about having woken me.
I said, "Wow, that sounded like more than just the two of you!"
Young James came up to me with a broad, sheepish grin, apologetically took my hand and said, "Labda Yesu pia?" (Maybe Jesus too?)
James and Justin near the siteThe two guys with Maziwa checking out our erratic water pump
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