The song by Clint Black, "This Killin Time Is Killing Me,” runs through my head as I spend the last full day in Pokot. Doing research in the bush is a long arduous task.
I came down here for the express purpose of finding out what has changed in the church and in the culture since my departure as a resident missionary in Kenya twenty years ago. When I asked Father Anthony, the local padre who has lived in Pokot since the early ‘70’s what has changed, his reply was quick and to the point – “Not much!”
Indeed, if one minute equals a year, in the past twenty years the Pokot may have moved ahead not ore than five minutes since my departure in 1989. The steps of change shift exceedingly slow in the desert, but they are few outward symbols of modification. Gone are those who wear goatskins; gone, too, are the open display of initiation rites for boys and girls. While it is true that there are many more Pokot children going to school, I am amazed how many young people are still hindered by their parents to leave the traditions of the past to embrace the 21st century.
It was my hypothesis, when I wrote my doctoral dissertation on the social structure of the Pokot two decades ago, that these herdsmen are not so much resistant to the Gospel as they are just resistant to change. My time this past week in Pokot confirms that premise. Change takes place when there is a compelling reason to make revisions in life. For many of the Pokot they don’t see an overwhelming reason for them to trade in their fimbo (herding stick) for schoolbooks. Even if their kids finish Form Four (equivalent of finishing the 12th grade in the U.S.), the chances of those kids going on to the university is nearly impossible. There are no guarantees in the promise of education as finding meaningful employment anywhere in Kenya, and especially in Pokot, is as rare as a rain shower in January in this desolate land. Herding cattle and goats may not be the path to material well being, in fact it’s a life that is, at best subsistent. But if one does not aspire to live in anything but a mud hut, is content with sleeping under the shade of a tree in the afternoon, drinking homemade beer at night and producing twenty kids with three wives, what’s the attraction to risking that way of life for the modern world which has yet to show a better way?
Unlike many missionaries, I do not equate change as a measure of evangelistic outreach. Whether the Pokot drink blood, practice polygyny and refuse to learn how to read or write is not primary for me as none of these things are salvation issues. What is important is how we communicate the Gospel to the Pokot in their context, no matter how backward we may think they are. That was my conclusion twenty years ago and that, along with the Pokot culture, has not changed.
