Pastor Joseph's Farm

There were so many more events which took place while we were in Mosiro, you will have to wait until I publish the book on the whole story to learn about them all. In the meantime, you’ll just have to know that Monday morning came way too soon. We packed up our camp and loaded the bus. We had one last prayer circle and then started saying our good-byes. The elderly female leader from the day before gave each of us a hug and a blessing. And a heart-felt thank you.

We finally piled back unto the bus and started our journey back up the road. As usual the bus broke down several times and our amazing driver, Willie, fixed it each time without any great concern. By early afternoon, we had arrived at our new destination. Najile.

I don’t know if I was homesick by now or if the desolation of Mosiro had worn on me more than I realized or if it was just plain true. But Najile was paradise, a heaven on earth. When we got off the bus in the yard of Pastor Joseph, it felt as if I had come home.

Here in the dryness of the Rift Valley, Pastor Joseph had started a farm. Up until his arrival, the Maasai of the area had allowed their cattle and goats to graze wherever they pleased, destroying what vegetation could grow in the sandy soil. Pastor Joseph, however, was teaching them how simple it was to fence off portions of their land to grow gardens and how to collect rain water to give their plants moisture.

There were tomatoes and corn and kohlrabi and cabbage. There was green grass growing between the patches of garden. It was all green and thriving. And the one who thrived the most was Pastor Joseph. He was a slight man, only in his twenties, single but getting married soon. But to have him point out all the crops, to hear him talk about the gardens he had built and explain his future plans, his excitement was contagious. What a blessing from God he was to the Maasai of the area.