About two months after I moved to Tanzania we organized a trip to the little village of Mkoko. Don't bother looking for it on a map; you won't find it. This little village is in the middle of nowhere, home to some 2000 people. The majority of people living in Mkoko are Muslims. After a five hour drive from Dar, we pitched camp on the edge of the village with a team of about 12 people. We spent several hours digging a pit latrine and shower area before settling around the camp fire for a nice bush meal.
We had two main thrusts: education and athletics. The education team tutored two courses: 5th and 8th graders. Their mission was to prepare these young people for their national exams in English. The athletic team developed a soccer camp. In the evenings we showed the Jesus film to members of our team in our little camp site with a portable generator and video projector. Of course, hundreds of villagers gathered to watch as well.
My intention had been to connect with the athletic team as I'm much more of an athlete than an English teacher. Unfortunately, the level of English was so low in the school that the students were unable to understand even the most basic English sentences. I quickly found myself as the main translator in the school. English into Swahili, Swahili back into English, disciplinary actions, games, and extensive explanations. Some 70 Tanzanian kids crammed into a little school room that would only be suitable for 15 students back in the USA. None of the students had any books. And most of them couldn't even afford the uniforms required by school.
Normally, my translator role wouldn't have been too much of a challenge, but in this instance I was ill. Actually, severely ill. I could hardly stand up. I fell sick the morning of our second day and was almost totally out of commission for the entirety of my time in Mkoko. I would lean up against the wall in the schoolroom to gain enough strength to continue. It was miserable.
On the final day, I decided I had to get over to the football pitch to at least see how things were going at the soccer camp.
Reaching the soccer camp on the outskirts of Mkoko I sat down to watch and reflect. I marveled that this village was just one of many in this vast nation with no electricity, no water, no medical care, and obviously very poor education. I contemplated the future of these students. The poverty. The disease. The hospitality and warmth of these people. Their perseverance in the midst of difficulty.
Suddenly, my thoughts were jarred: "Pssssss."
I turned my head in the direction of the obvious attempt to get my attention.
A young man stood in the bushes just a few feet away.
"Do you want some kiti moto?"
"What?" I asked trying to make sense of the cryptic question.
"Kiti moto!"
My mind raced. What in the world was Kiti Moto? In Swahili Kiti Moto literally means 'the hot seat.'
It was obviously a euphemism for something. Probably a drug. Maybe marijuana? Or cocaine?
"Good price."
"Umm...I'm not much..... of a Kiti Moto.... person..... myself." I smiled trying to minimize my complete ignorance of what was transpiring.
"It's really fresh!" The salesman pressed.
"I'm sure it is." I laughed.
"I just killed it! He's hanging in the tree over there." He pointed with his finger.
Now my mind went crazy. Hanging in a tree? Had he just killed someone?
"Come on! I'll give you a great price. You don't know how hard it is to get Kiti Moto around here."
"I'm sure," I chuckled nervously.
I found out later that night that Kiti Moto is the safe way to refer to pork in an Islamic context. Pork is forbidden warranting secret slaughters in the bushes. This man was potentially risking his life in order to make a sale. Just a few moments later some of the soccer players headed my way. The salesman disappeared like a flash.
It made me think. I had a lot in common with this man. For I too had a secret. His Kiti Moto. Mine Jesus. His a pig hanging in a tree. Mine a Savior. Both scorned. Both misunderstood. One for sale. The other free. One a temporal meal. The other a spiritual one. One dead. The other alive. For this reason, when he retreated in the bushes we must continue to share. No retreat.
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