What Kenya taught me about religion
I have always been anti-religion. When my mom did the numerous rituals for Diwali, I couldn’t understand why someone would go to such great lengths for someone they hadn’t seen. I was 5 years old then. But the sentiment remained the same as I grew up. In fact, stories about wars in the name of religion helped to deepen my aversion towards it. When people ask me whether I’m Hindu, I hesitate before answering, often defaulting to “I was born a Hindu”.
Until I went to Kenya, I didn’t realize that in many ways growing up in Toronto conditioned me to feel this way. But seeing how pervasive religion is in Kenya opened my eyes to it in a way that my hometown could never do.
It was a sunny but breazy Monday morning in Nairobi and the entire office had gathered around the conference table like it was the first day of school. The occasion? Greeting the newest member of the team. She introduced herself as Fatima, single, and Muslim, the three most salient features about her. Two of which I would never utter about myself in a professional setting. But I seemed to be in the minority as everyone else continued to divulge their most personal details as we went around the table.
When my turn came, I simply stated my name and that I had recently come from Canada. I was met with pause, looks of curiosity, and a patience that hung in people’s eyes, expecting more from me. Hurriedly, I passed the baton to the next person. I felt like a kid doing their first ever public speech in school, naked and uncomfortable. Even when the spotlight moved away from me, I still felt unsettled every time someone mentioned their religion, which was everyone.
But talk of religion didn’t just start and end at the conference table in the office. At a team outing, someone talked about celebrating with their friends last weekend because they just got saved by Jesus. Before taking off for a team retreat, the entire bus prayed to Jesus for a safe journey. Birthday wishes contained God’s blessings. A grief card for an employee only had mentions of God.
There were so many feelings I felt. On the one hand, I felt a lot of discomfort whenever religion was mentioned and secularism was nowhere to be seen. On the other hand, I was mad that only Christian norms were being followed when there were Muslims among us. One time I felt hurt and confused for not contributing to a grief card because every message referenced God and I couldn’t sum up the same feelings. Then there were times when I felt out of place for not being familiar with Christian customs and therefore, not knowing what was going on. It was like everyone had watched the latest Avengers movie and I didn’t even know who Ant Man was. My fellow Canadian friend grew up Christian and was familiar with the norms and customs. Others were Kenyan so they knew what was going on by default. But I was the kid who was left out. And so the animosity towards religion kept growing in me and confirming my originally held beliefs.
But then something completely changed. I wondered if I should become Christian.
Out of curiosity, I went to church a total of three times. The first time felt as if the pastor was addressing me directly. You know when you read your horoscope and feel that it was written just for you? This was the physical manifestation of that experience. Especially since I was going through a tough time and was desperately looking for a sign and direction. It felt like this pastor somehow knew of my struggles and decided that I would be the one to receive help that day. He was standing rows away from me on the stage in a big auditorium, yet I felt like I was the only person present with 500 empty chairs around me. His words cradled me and gave me a sense of comfort only a parent could give to a child. It was the first time I experienced religion as a positive experience.
Encouraged by my first visit, I went again next Sunday. However, it was a different pastor who had such a thick accent that I couldn’t understand anything he said. Except of course “Jesus”, “pray”, and “Bible”.
The third time is when my views really changed.
The third time I went to what’s called a young people’s church. A new concept to me but essentially it’s like the kids section at a clothing store, the same essence but catered to fit the audience. It was hosted in a smaller auditorium and was full of teenagers and people in their early twenties sporting the latest fashion. The service started with five beautiful women on vocals accompanied by guitars and drums. Mellow but with a rhythm, I was grooving in my seat even though I couldn’t understand the Swahili lyrics. In Hindu temples, the music feels more like a chant with a consistent mathematical beat and the repetition can put you in a trance. But this sounded like pop music to me and thoroughly enjoyable in a way that I never knew religious songs could be.
After about half an hour of music, the headlining act started as Pastor T, T for Timothy, made his way to the stage to deliver the sermon. His walk was humble yet with a slight air of swag that youthfulness automatically affords you. You could tell he was young enough to be cool, approachable, and appeal to this audience but also old enough to be wise and grounded. His charisma and oratory excellence made you want to keep listening to him, like Obama. As I listened to him, I got so consumed that I felt like I was at the movies, lights dimming around me and everything fading into the background.
The topic of the day was family. From being children to being in marriages, he talked about the importance of our relationships whether we choose them or not. He also talked about honouring your parents, something that was drilled into me as a kid in India. I again found myself getting the much needed direction that I wasn’t even sure I was seeking. However, he really won me over when he brought the Bible to the 21st century.
When talking about marriages, the following Bible scripture was displayed on the overhead:
Ephesians 5:21–33 (NET): “Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. Likewise, husbands, live with your wives in an understanding way, showing honour to the woman as the weaker vessel, since they are heirs with you of the grace of life, so that your prayers may not be hindered.”
When I first saw it, rage burned in my belly and my ears burned red-hot. Why should only wives submit to their husbands? Why can’t the man submit? Why is the man told to love but the woman told to submit? Why shouldn’t both do the same thing? And how is this forward-thinking, young, knowledgeable pastor spreading this message and reaffirming inequality between men and women? I felt betrayed and angry. I remembered why I didn’t like religion.
But of course, he had the ability to defuse that anger within minutes as he referenced the verse but stressed his interpretation of it. Namely, that both people in a relationship must submit and love each other. I couldn’t believe that even when a single book is the source of truth for so many people, the interpretation of it could still match the needs of today without being stuck in the past.
This was the moment I converted. I could now see the positive impact of religion. I even wondered whether I should become Christian since the answers were so readily available.
And yet, this church continued to surprise me.
When Pastor T finished talking, there was a Q & A session. Deeply personal questions were asked. How should you respect your parents when it doesn’t come easily or if they do something to lose your respect? What if your parents do something that is inherently not Christian? What do you do when your parents don’t believe in God? What do you do when you see abuse in your family? What if you experience abuse in a relationship?
Wow.
For the first time in my life I felt like I wasn’t alone in my struggles with family relationships. Hearing the vulnerability and the concern first-hand moved me in a way that I haven’t been moved before. When you read stories of challenges, if the writer isn’t good, there’s a gamble on whether you can relate. But when people are speaking right in front of you straight from their heart without any goals for SEO or whatever else, the impact is much more profound. The emotion in their voice automatically triggered my tear ducts. The proximity automatically made me feel their pain from across the room. I related to some and some made me realize how good I’ve got it. I felt blessed and emotional about my own issues. But more importantly I felt human, like everybody else.
I realized how lucky they were to have this safe space. A place where they could ask the most important questions about life. A place where they could get answers without sifting through clickbait articles and superficial answers. A place where they can find comfort that we seek in our friends even though they may not know any better than us at the time. My safe space ended in high school but they have theirs for their entire life.
If I had the courage to ask some of these questions when I felt most lost, if I knew who to ask these questions, if I even knew that answers existed, how much more at peace would I have been in my early twenties? Just knowing that there are others sharing my experience probably would have helped me banish my insecurities sooner. To be part of a community with so much positive energy that just being there heals you and a community that provides you with the most important comfort that you seek, is truly a blessing. I consider myself lucky to have gotten the chance to experience it.
Going to church was like watching a Pixar movie; I felt like the main character who is going through trials and tribulations but ultimately coming out stronger than ever. Often in our day to day we forget to see the bigger picture, we forget that there are ways to overcome the challenges we face, we also forget that someone out there has our back, if not God but perhaps friends or family. Church provided me with all of this. It gave me answers and direction. But most importantly, it told me that everything is going to be okay. In the midst of chaos, constant ups and downs, and so many uncertainties, a constant source of comfort every week was transformational. Just like a protective mother, church gave me the much needed sense of security.
I know what you’re thinking. Have I converted to Christianity?
Certainly not.
I still can’t relate to the Bible. I don’t know the stories, nor the characters (for example, who is Noah?), and so reading it is a very alienating experience. I felt similarly when I was reading The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie; I don’t know the story of Islam so I couldn’t comprehend the book and didn’t get past page 5. When it comes to Hinduism, I know all the major stories but there are too many books and in a language that I don’t understand. My secular conditioning also hasn’t completely left me to be able to openly accept a religious book into my life. But I do find myself seeking out a single place where I can go for that feeling of comfort, guidance, and the “everything is going to be okay” cuddle that I experienced in Kenya.
Some photos from church:
