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The Road to Eldoret
by Keith Drury
Her hands gripped the doll as though her life depended on it. The same doll, just a mass-produced soft bean filled doll, in the hands of another child would be left lying under the front seat of the car. I wish I could tell you what it meant to Martine, I wish I could tell you the words she used to describe it, but I can't, for Martine's story exists only as a one hour journey on the road to Eldoret, a one hour journey in the back of a taxi cab, during which her voice was never heard. There is no story of her life before, no story of her life after, but though the journey only took one hour, Deborah who sat beside her has been living the story ever since. Martine never spoke, but if you listen carefully as Deborah tells the story, if you listen carefully between the words and looking deep into her eyes, it's the closest you will ever come to hearing the screams that were muffled deep within a five-year-old girl's heart on the road to Eldoret. The scenery on that road deep within Kenya's Rift valley is breathtakingly beautiful. The family in the back of the taxicab were enjoying the once in a lifetime view from the windows, trying to focus on the unusual sights as the taxicab lurched and rolled on the rough African roads. Around the corner the view changed, and with that the purpose for the journey. A police officer waved the car down. There was means of transport in the remote village and this was Martine's only chance to get to hospital quickly. Martine had been playing, as any five year old does. A world where play and dreams have no horizon, and might, if undisturbed, continue forever. But Martine's play was disturbed. Brutally at five years of age her world of childhood dreams became a world of adult sized nightmares when she was raped by a 15 year old boy infected by AIDS. As a serial rapist, to him, she was no more than part of a diet of sex and soda for his afternoon entertainment. The briefest of information was passed on as Martine was bundled into the back of the taxicab. She had never been in a car before, she had never seen a white face before, she was alone, she was frightened, perhaps she wondered if she ever play again? In one moment, her life was changed for ever, in a one hour journey her experience would impact the lives of all in the car for ever, and in this article I hope that her unspoken voice might be heard by countless others who have been there and who know her story, because they have lived it. My question is this; what does the road to Eldoret tell us about the road to Calvary? For the answer perhaps we need to return to the doll. Martine didn't tell what it meant to her, perhaps she didn't have the words, but the whitened clench of her small knuckles as she clasped the doll, spoke a language beyond words. Looking frantically around the car, the only thing Deborah could find was a little doll, and as she stretched out her hand offering the small comfort to Martine, she discovered as their fingers touched and the doll was received, what she had given to Martine was not a doll but a friend. A friend who needed no words, who asked no questions, who didn't judge, and who didn't resist when held tightly - the very thing so many people are searching for today, and the thing people were asking for when Jesus came to this world; a friend who allowed himself to be embraced by the hurting. When the woman who had lived the sinful life kissed Jesus' feet repeatedly and poured perfume on them, wet his feet with her tears and then allowed her hair to run over them, Jesus heard the same cry and hunger for love as he heard in Martine's unspoken voice. And to that woman he was a friend, no questions, no rebukes, no shying away from her, and as she held him she was healed to a new life of service. Imagine a world where Christians could be friends first and healers later, allowing people to hold Jesus tight in their grasp until grace and love begins to flow. Sometimes the greatest gift we can give is friendship - allowing someone who is hurting to hold us, and allowing a gospel beyond words to begin to touch their pain beyond expression. Eventually the taxicab arrived at its new destination; the hospital. It was heavily protected by a strong and unwelcoming exterior, guards were in place and whilst such measures are common in Kenya, to a traumatised five year old, it would be difficult to believe that such a place could be hiding a soft centre where she would find the help she so badly needed. The 'Road to Eldoret', which in happier circumstances might have been as the name of a song or a Western movie, had ended in a Hospital fortress that held hope for life. That's where Deborah's story ended as she watched Martine being taken away by the staff, still frightened, still inseparable from one small friend that made more sense to her than anything else. Unlike the hospital, Jesus always offered a soft interface between the world and himself. The disciples at times tried to be guards to turn people and children away, but the people didn't give up because they saw in his heart all the help they needed. The Church must also learn to have a soft interface with the communities that surround them, with open doors and welcoming faces. The Church must learn the lesson of a soft bean filled doll, to be safe and accessible for people in need. Hurting people with messed up lives who don't like themselves very much, people to whom we are no strangers. Martine's voice was never heard, and despite several attempts to make contact she was never heard of again. Only one thing connects us to her life, a small bean filled doll and the knowledge that the 'Road to Eldoret' is the road where silent cries can be heard.
Copyright Adam Harbinson © ^top |
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