There he was, sitting underneath the partial shade of whatever kind of tree could grow in the desert sands of Lodwar, Kenya. He was half-naked, and it was only out of courtesy that he covered himself from the waist to his folded thighs on the ground. Truth is, when you’re dying in the desert the covering of one’s skeleton is not high on your priority list.
On our way across the arid terrain, Moses (our Kenyan pastor and guide) had expressed concerns for this one elder tribesman, and how the loss of all his goats in the recent famine meant that his family was now at risk to die of starvation. Of seemingly equal importance was Moses’ concern that this man was dying of a broken heart because he was no longer a man at all if he couldn’t provide for his children.
When we drove up he couldn’t rise to greet us, which is equally disgraceful in his culture, but he was too weak to stand. So he sat there on the ground with tears in his eyes, looking away as we all piled out of the Land Rover to pray for him and to leave behind some bags of food. Standing nearby was his elder wife, one of his older sons with his very pregnant wife, and about nine young children with distended bellies, all under the age of ten. This was the family our “Goat Man” was responsible for, which was grieving his broken heart to death.
Standing there felt surreal as I had never really been that close to someone literally dying from starvation. I wanted to dump out my whole backpack full of peanut butter packets, tuna and crackers, and anything else I could lay my hands on, just to do something to keep this from happening. But Goat Man needed so much more than food. He needed hope.
We extended our hands over his head and touched his boney shoulders, prayed for God to bless and keep him, and drove away in silence. I couldn’t stand it anymore and finally shouted out, “How much does a friggin’ goat cost?” The answer came by way of explanation that it wasn’t just about one goat, but at least four … one male and three females so that procreation could hopefully multiply the numbers and help to sustain a small herd. And the cost? About 35 to 40 U.S. dollars, plus the cost of a tank of gas to run the truck “to town” to purchase the goats and then out to the desert for delivery. All said and done, my quick figuring amounted to maybe $150 total, to which I blurted out, “THEN BUY HIM SOME DADGUM GOATS!” I could hardly wrap my head around the fact that what I could make in half an hour of my time would literally sustain this family of twelve and perhaps, just perhaps, keep Goat Man’s heart from breaking any further.
A few months after my return home from Kenya, I received a picture from Moses of four goats being delivered to our man in the desert. The food we had left behind had been enough to nourish him and his family, but the goats would provide a different advantage. Our prayers in action had been answered, and it was well with my soul.
Nearly two years to the day later, I boarded the long flight(s) back to Africa heading to the remote area of Lodwar’s desert to deliver more than food to those people surviving beneath the trees.
Of course, my first question to Moses upon arriving was whether or not we would be checking on “Goat Man.” I was assured that we would do a drive-by and was pacified in the moment to know that our man in the desert was, in fact, still alive.
We loaded up the Rovers and headed to the most remote village of Nabuskaal to deliver the love of Jesus and distribute much-needed food to the people of this nearly forgotten corner of the earth. It’s kinda nuts that anyone can really live there at all, but live there, they do.
And right there in front of God and everybody, he came walking up. At first I wasn’t sure, but you don’t forget a face like that and within seconds I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was Goat Man … walking! I was beside myself with excitement and grabbed Moses to hurry with me to interpret my burgeoning conversation that had been two years in the making.
His name is Ektela and now he has fifteen goats! Moses told him that I was the woman who purchased the four goats for him two years prior. He grinned from ear-to-ear as he hugged my neck and spoke a blessing over me in his native language, Turkana. Moses told me the gist of Ektela’s message and his gratitude for my gesture to save his family. Truth be told, I could’ve died right there and just gone to heaven, knowing that this man and his family were prospering from something that had cost me next to nothing.
Watching Ektela walk away with three of his children and a bag of SERV food underneath his arm made me know just how specific our great God is to bring me halfway around the world to give something so simple to someone who had nothing left from someone with more than enough … and to witness firsthand the impact of some dadgum goats.
Jan Smith
November 2019
