Kenyan Pastors Tell of Surviving the Violence

RIFT VALLEY, Kenya (BP)--The run-down minibus taxi rattles diligently up the rocky, potholed road. Inside, the mood is somber and tense. No one dares talk. All are too busy looking out the window for would-be attackers.

It doesn't seem to matter that two Kenyan special forces officers sit guarding both doors with AK-47s and pistols. Everyone is restless and scared. Passengers react with despair and sorrow as the taxi slowly rolls past the charred landscape. Entire villages are now wiped off the map, others are ghost towns.

This hardest-hit area in Kenya's post-election violence may appear somewhat calm, but violence can erupt any second. On a recent weekend more than 70 people died in this Rift Valley province, pushing the nationwide total to almost 800 since the disputed Dec. 27 elections.

The minibus comes to a stop in front of a Baptist church with broken windows. It obviously has been looted -– pages of hymnals are stuck in the weeds and part of a broken speaker sits in the road.

The Kenyan officers jump out to secure the area, then the delegation of Baptist pastors pile out to see the damage. One of the pastors' wives lets out a soft cry as she finds a broken photo frame containing a picture of her 1-year-old. She dusts it off and tucks it in her purse.

This is the first opportunity for these Baptist pastors and their wives to survey the damage. With each stop, the pastors share their individual stories. (Because so many Baptist churches have been burned or looted in this province, specific names of churches and pastors are not given.)

At one stop, an entire village lay in shambles. Pastor Samuel, who had led the local Baptist church, quickly picks his way through piles of burned corrugated tin, keeping a watchful eye on the forest and hills nearby for signs of danger.

For weeks, this area was cut off from the rest of the country. Even the media and Red Cross didn't venture into this dangerous territory. Gangs of youth blocked the roads, keeping anyone from coming or going.

Samuel stops in front of a piece of charred, ashen ground. "Here," he says quietly. "Here is our Baptist church."

His face transforms from a look of fear to an aching hurt as he recounts that fatal night four weeks earlier.

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