What We Learned from Mama Sara

Mama Sara

I’ve been neglecting this blog partly because our days in Kenya have been very full, but partly because I can’t quite decide how to formulate my impressions. At the end of each day, my heart and brain have been flooded with new images and experiences, and my body has felt quite weary – not so much because of our pace, which leans toward slower “African time,” but because travel is very rugged here and it takes a very long time to get anywhere on bumpy and windy roads. We’re pretty exhausted by the end of the day.

That said, I think I’d like to tell you about our last day in the western part of Kenya, near Kisumu, partly because it was such a special time but also because it represents how we’ve spent a lot of our time in Africa: meeting people, asking questions, hearing their stories and learning about their lives and lifestyles.

To set the stage, picture a mostly rural community made up of villages. The villages typically consist of a couple of streets with small shops and government buildings, often a bustling street market, several schools, maybe a hospital or clinic, all surrounded by homesteads of a few homes and a patch of farmland. Villages are affiliated with particular tribes or clans that usually have their own local language. And the family trees of these villages are intricate and tightly connected, which is a way of saying everyone knows everyone and is often related in some way (though it’s important to note that one cannot marry anyone from your own village, so intermarriage is not acceptable.) Wherever we’ve gone with our friend and host, Moses Osoro, he has bumped into a brother, mother, auntie, cousin…and, of course, many friends from his childhood. So when Moses told us his mother-in-law, “Mama Sara,” would like to host us for lunch on our final day in this region, we were delighted and honored to meet another family member.

Getting to Mama Sara’s house in our 12-passenger van was no picnic. The dirt roads were narrow and deeply rutted. At one point, we even volunteered to get out and walk, which might have been faster. But the drivers here are persistent, and eventually we pulled up to a compound of small stuccoed homes surrounded by a large grassy lawn. There to greet us was Mama Sara, a minute woman in her 80s with a weathered but lovely face, as well as her son and daughter, her granddaughter, and several neighbors. I’ll pause here to say that we’ve found it very typical for Kenyans to come in large numbers to greet us and express their appreciation for our visit. I sense this is partly Kenyans’ incredible giftedness at hospitality toward all visitors, and partly because it is very, very rare for white people (we’re called “masungos” here) to visit Kenyans. It is considered a great honor to them that we take the time to come, so they invite all their relatives and neighbors, and no expense is spared.

These men were sawing a log into lumber.

After we were served cold drinks and small sweet breads called mandazis (like donuts but not as sweet), we were invited to walk about a mile to the original family compound where the patriarchs of the family (Mama Sara’s in-laws) originally settled. This was a very pleasant walk through the countryside, saying hello to the neighbors and enjoying the countryside. When we got to the homestead, which held about a dozen small homes and structures, we were shown the original house, which is now basically in ruins. There are very strict traditions in this community about how a homestead is set up, and it is considered disrespectful for anyone to move into the patriarch’s home after they die. They just let it decay. The sons build their homes behind the patriarch’s home (never in front) as they become adults, and they live there until they marry and move away to start their own families and farms nearby. Eventually, the original homestead becomes a ghost town as people die or move. Moses finds this tradition a wasteful use of resources, but this is how it has worked for generations.

In front of the original home.

We were shown the family graveyard and the structures used for farming or cooking. Then we walked back to Mama Sara’s.

By the time we got back, the helpers had moved all the living room chairs and couches outside and into a circle in the shade of a giant tree. In the middle of the circle was a table packed with food traditional Kenyan dishes: whole talapia wet-fried with a light sauce, stew of potatoes and vegetables with chunks of beef, stewed chicken, spiced rice, chipati (a fried flatbread similar to a tortilla), cabbage cooked with onions, and ugali, a fairly bland cornmeal paste that is an everyday staple in this region. We prayed and then ate heartily.

[Just a pause here to say that Mama Sara’s house has no running water, no indoor bathroom and, I believe, no electricity. All this cooking was done over open fires in a small cooking shed or outdoors. Her friends and neighbors came to help her cook and then ate discreetly behind the house, where they subsequently fell asleep on the grass. This was a labor of love for their friend!]

After lunch, we asked Moses if he would translate for Mama Sara so we could ask her some questions. We knew a bit about her history but wanted to hear the story straight from her. Mama Sara told us she and her husband were teachers. Early in their marriage, they had purchased 40 acres of land in a very fertile part of Kenya, an excellent investment that is now worth quite a fortune. On their land, they grew corn and raised milk cows. Together they had 11 children, who were all still very young when her husband passed away. Mama Sara then raised all 11 children while managing a 40-acre farm. She did all the work herself at first, then enlisted the children’s help and eventually the grandchildren. They would pick the corn, dry it and then sell it. They would milk the cows and then sell the milk. She worked very, very hard and that was her perspective on parenting: to teach her children to work hard and to be Christians. She managed to put all her children as well as 11 grandchildren through school. (School is not free in Kenya. Even the public schools require uniforms and book fees. Those who can afford it send their kids to private primary school and to a boarding school for high school, since those tend to be better schools.)

When I asked Mama Sara what advice she would give to those of us who are parents, she said, “Be very strict.” Our kids groaned, but one can see how you’d have to keep a tight ship if you’re raising 11 children on your own. Moses told us Mama Sara never turned away any of her grandchildren when they needed a place to live or help with school fees. She has an incredible legacy.

"Work hard!"

At the end of our conversation, Mama Sara wanted us to go around and introduce ourselves again, one by one. As soon as she would listen to an introduction, she would motion for the person to come to her and she would give them a fist bump and tell the person in her best English, “Work hard!”

We sat under Mama Sara’s tree until tea was served and consumed (this is a MUST in every Kenyan social setting, and it’s always black tea with milk and sugar, hearkening to their years as a British colony). All were content and peaceful in this lovely setting.

Just as we rose to leave, Mama Sara asked Moses to tell us that she was very honored that we took the time to visit her. Again, this is very common and sincere in this culture. People are honored to host guests. It’s very humbling, especially when you consider the sacrifice it takes an 84-year-old woman with quite limited means to host our 11-person group.

All the furniture moved on the lawn for our picnic.

Mama Sara was only one of the dozens of people who have demonstrated deep hospitality and generosity to us during this trip. We are hiding these moments deep in our hearts in hopes that we will remember to “welcome the stranger” with the very best we have to offer when we return home. We all believe we’ve been blessed to be a blessing.