"Born Again Butchery" read a sign on a tiny shop with chunks of meat hanging in front of it. This was one of the many strangely named establishments Aram and I passed on the way to Kitale, a six hour drive away, on Thursday.

Aram was giving a seminar for some local pastors, and I went along for the ride. It was quite the experience. Just getting there was interesting, not only was I certain that I had breathed my last on multiple occasions, but that part of the country is vastly different. It actually rains there so the fields were green and there were real trees, evergreens even. If I had been informed that I was in the northeast U.S. I would have believed it.

Except for the mud huts and banana trees, I haven't seen many of those in northern P.A.

Then while Aram was teaching for most of the next two days, I was at the mercy of the kids.

Every where we go it seems like there are always at least a hundred yelling kids following me around. Because of the nearby church school, it was no different here. I had planned on just sitting quietly and doing my school, so much for that... Have you ever tried to think with an audience of 50 noisy kids? Not possible. So I gave up and got out the soccer ball I had brought along for this purpose, and chaos reigned. You don't know the meaning of insanity until you have seen seventy-five African kids between ages eight and twelve, all trying to kick the same ball. A couple of times one kid tried to start a game. And he would be successful, for a few minutes. Then the teams would dissolve into madness.