Rachel Hughes in today’s, 28th Jan 07, 'Passion Of The Early Church - Evening Service', gave her personal experience in a test of faith during her holiday in Australia. This struck a chord with me.

During my last visit to Kenya, I took a matatu. A Matatu means "three" in Kikuyu and it is usually a minibus or a pick-up truck with a cover and carry as many people as can cram in there, with their baggage and sometimes some livestock. Often there is baggage on the top, and perhaps some chickens as well and several people hanging out on the door. Most of the drivers are known for their hair rising driving tactics.

Upon getting into the matatu, I was delighted to note that it was half filled, meaning there was room for breathing and comprehensive communication. Under normal circumstances, there is “always a room in a matatu” and until people are packed like glasses (by size and intertwined) the matatu is never full enough.

My pleasure was short lived as on one end of the matatu was my primary school teacher, a Mr Kamande. Having met him a few days in my village church, he got me talking about God and my experiences. A few more people, which is common in Kenya, started asking questions.

Then, an elderly woman said, my son has been trying to get a visa to the UK to no avail. Please pray for him as he is going to the visa office in a few hours, and I am sure he shall get the visa. I was lost for words. I started to explain the visa requirements and processes and how hard it was to live in the UK and that it would be better for him to just try and make a living in Kenya.

As I gave my logical explanations, I was asking God to bring in more people onto the matatu thus making this conversation less possible and in turn my escape from praying for “ a visa”. What a paradox, here I was asking God to hear me and prevent me from embarrassing myself … and I had faith that he would prevent me from this embarrassment, and not in that a visa prayer would have worked.


After about 15-20 minutes, I realised that this woman would not give up. She kept referring to God having given her a vision and that my prayer was all it would take. Not all the documents and details I was talking about. The more she insisted, the more embarrassed I became and the harder I prayed. Then, my prayers were answered. We stopped at a market place and lots of women with chicken and bananas boarded the matatu, and despite the discomfort, God seemed to have answered my prayers. He had saved me from this embarrassment. By this time, we were just a short distant from Thika, my destination.

After alighting, I said quick goodbyes to Mr Kamande and this elderly woman. But as I shook her hand, she said, “you have declined Gods call to pray for my son, may God bless you”. I was frozen. I could neither let her go nor say a word. Then, I glanced around quickly and I said, ok, lets go to a private place and pray. I think all she heard was … “Lets Pray”! She knelt down, followed by Mr Kamande and two of her relatives. I followed suit. Everyone seemed to be watching us, as we knelt by the dusty matatu, in an equally dusty park.

I led the prayers for about 3-5 minutes, which seemed like a lifetime. When we finished, there were about 30 or more people staring at us. I almost collapsed with embarrassment. Three weeks later, I was back to the UK. I have never tried to enquire if the son go a visa or not, just in case God proved to be untrue.

As Rachael said, I wish I could attain faith as much as that of the early Christians.