Oftentimes on my typical walk to run errands, I encounter street boys who ask me for money in English or Swahili. I was taught to say no when asked for money. I have learned that at least some of the boys who engage in this behavior do have families and parents who care, but they do not want to follow the rules or the way things work in their homes. Because of this, they choose a lifestyle that they feel affords them more freedom.
A few weeks ago, I was on my way to get groceries. I legitimately had no money in my pockets, and felt like a kid running errands for his dad. A young boy with a smudged face and torn clothes waited for me at the other exit of the gas station I was walking through. He looked me in the eyes and asked for money in Swahili. "Hapana ndugu," I told him. "No, little brother." He could have been my little brother, even younger. However, I also felt moved to tell him that I had no food. I thought about this on the way to get my groceries.
I really like apples. I guess I'll eat any kind, but my favorite are Granny Smith apples. I like how they can be both tart and sweet at the same time, and they seem a little crisper to me than other apples. They're even better when they've had some time in a refrigerator. I usually get most of my groceries at Nakumatt, which in my mind is like a Kenyan Wal-Mart. They have food, home supplies, furniture, you name it.
I walked into Nakumatt, scanning my paper shopping list on the handle of my cart and enjoying the domestic normalcy of it all. I arrived at the produce and found I apparently had a hankering for apples, and yes- Granny Smiths were in stock! Did they cost a bit more? Well, yes, but there's no compromising quality, and I wouldn't settle for one of those red pretenders. I grabbed only a few to be weighed by the produce associate, trying to be conscious of cost, and headed to the checkout.
My bags were pretty heavy, which was unfortunate, given that I still had a bit to walk before I got to my apartment. In re-situating them, I saw my bag of apples and got one ready, just in case I met that boy again.
He was right where I left him, and he looked me square in the eye. I held out the apple and looked back at him, asking in Swahili if he wanted it. He nodded and paused and stared at me and said "thank you." I think I was a little surprised I was in that situation to begin with, and forgot to tell him "Jesus loves you," realizing I should learn how to say it in Swahili. Just in case.
I recently came back from a productive, exciting, and enlightening evangelization and pastoral leadership training trip in Kapenguria, Kenya, and some of the surrounding villages. Unexpectedly, I learned that "Yesu anakupenda" means "Jesus loves you" in Swahili, and thought it would be a good thing to hold on to. When I came back last Wednesday, I remembered I had cleaned out much of my perishable food before I left, to minimize any unhappy fridge surprises.
As I came back from Nakumatt laden with groceries and an even bigger bag of apples, seven, I think, a group of street boys milled around me. "Change?" they asked me. "Hapana," I said, putting down my bags. They looked at me for a second, surprised, while I fished out my bag of apples. I picked one up, and looked back, asking if they wanted one. "Yes," they all said in unison, staring up at me. I put the first apple in a boy's hand, and the other five found homes just as quickly.
This time, I was ready. "Yesu anakupenda. Unajua yeye?" I said, not caring about grammar, because Jesus indeed loves them, and they understood, nodding and answering yes, they did know him. "Yesu anakupenda, ndugu," I said, looking at one of the boys. "Asante sana," the boy said, thanking me. "Karibu sana, karibuni sana," I responded, welcoming all of them.
As I walked back, I smiled, happy to do that thing for them, and laughing as another street boy ran to the group from across the road, eager to see or share in what they had been given. I had totally forgotten that I had taken an apple from the bag earlier, in expectation of seeing that one boy from before near the gas station again. It's sitting on my counter right now, and I will eat it at some point, that one unexpected leftover. When I found it in my groceries, it was like being surprised with a gift after thinking I had shared all my apples with the boys.
Now I find myself trying to think of food I can carry, should I run into any little or big brothers on my walks and commutes. Writing this made me sing a song we sang in chapel in grade school based on Matthew 25:35-40, called "Whatsoever You Do." I was able to share unexpected food, prayers, and the Gospel with a few other people this past week, too, and I wonder where God will guide me in this new week.
