JOURNEY OF A PEACE WORKER

Fall 2013: This is the season I return to often in my memory, not because everything was easy, but because everything was real. That semester, I left the comfort of theory-driven classrooms at the University of Notre Dame, Indiana, US, and stepped into Gulu, Northern Uganda, for my academic internship, a place that still carried the scars of a brutal conflict.  I arrived there with an open mind and a head full of peacebuilding theories, but I didn’t yet understand how different lived experience would be from what I had studied. Arriving in Gulu: When Theory Meets Humanity Before traveling, I had read a lot about the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and the years of violence and displacement that followed. But nothing prepares you for meeting the people who lived through it, the mothers rebuilding homes, the young men seeking identity after war, and the elders trying to reweave their communities. Gulu changed me. Everyone I met carried a story of loss, but also a level of resilien...

Background: The Beginnings of an African Church By the early 1940s, the Dutch Reformed Church missionaries under Bwana Loubser had established a mission presence primarily among the Boer white settler community in Uasin Gishu, focusing their ministry on European farms. The African population—though living and working around these farms—remained largely outside the church’s evangelistic focus. The turning point came with the arrival of Rev. B.B. Ebiyers (Eybers) in 1944, a visionary missionary who believed in extending the gospel to the African communities. Eybers recognized the need to train indigenous leaders who could communicate effectively in Swahili, the lingua franca of East Africa, and relate culturally to the people. He established a small Bible Training Centre at Plateau, near Eldoret, marking the beginning of theological education for Africans within the Reformed Church mission. It was here that three African men—Herbert Tibanga, Lugumira, and Jason Wamukota—would recei...

On the Eldoret–Eldama Ravine road, 16Kms just past Naiberi and Straughburg in Uasin Gishu County, lies a place that quietly bridges continents, generations, and spiritual worlds. Known as Kapsengerut, this unassuming homestead is no ordinary village compound. It is the birthplace of the Reformed Church of East Africa (RCEA), a sacred space where African faith met Western mission, and where a farmworker’s vision gave rise to a lasting church movement. The late Mzee Joseph Cheserem (Sengerut ) the humble farmworker whose faith and vision gave birth to RCEA A Living Heritage At first glance, Kapsengerut looks like any other rural homestead. But as one walks through its grounds, the air feels different. It ia reverent, almost hallowed. Here stand two modest graves side by side: those of Mzee Joseph Cheserem Sengerut and his wife, and just a few meters away, the resting places of J. Mouton and his wife, the South African settlers who first brought the gospel to this part of Uasin Gishu. The...

Beginnings in Peace Work Burnout is not something that happens overnight. It builds slowly, almost invisibly, as one pours heart and energy into work that feels too important to step away from. Looking back, I now see how my own journey into peacebuilding began with both promise and peril. In 1995, I joined the National Council of Churches of Kenya (NCCK) as a support officer in Eldoret. At first, my duties were simple: handling logistics, finance, and data management. But peace work in Kenya during the 1990s was no ordinary assignment. Almost immediately, I found myself accompanying staff into volatile regions—places scarred by political violence, cattle raids, and community strife. Our field trips took us to the Uasin Gishu and Kisumu/Nandi border areas, Turkana, West Pokot, Marakwet, and Laikipia. My role quickly shifted from office-based support to the frontline distribution of relief food for communities devastated by conflict and drought. Those early days were eye-opening. I...

 When I die, lay me to rest in the gentle embrace of my rural farm— In the rich, red soils that have fed generations, beneath the open skies I once called home. Let mine be a resting place not of cold stone, but of life and renewal. Beside my grave, plant a tree—one that will stretch its branches toward the heavens, A haven for birds to nest, sing, and shelter; a symbol of continuity and peace. And beside that tree, plant a bougainvillea flower, Its vibrant petals dancing in the wind, a reminder of beauty in all seasons. Let the roots of both reach deep into the earth, As I return to the land that nurtured me and find eternal communion with nature. I do not wish to be remembered in silence, but in the rustle of leaves, In birdsong at dawn, and in blossoms that bloom with each passing year. In death, may I still be part of life—woven into the land, Living on through every branch, every petal, every breeze that sweeps through the farm.

In June, when days were long and bright, I constructed a new home in sight. At our rural farm, a little three-roomed delight, A dream come true, a place to rest and take flight. The farm has been one of the places I hold dear, A haven of peace, a place to banish fear. The scent of fresh earth and the sound of birds in the air, A place to build memories, to share and to spare. With each brick and each beam, the house began to rise, A labor of love, a testament to the skies. The roof over our heads, a shelter from the rain, A place to call home, a place to love and gain. The month passed by, and the house began to take shape, A structure of strength, a place to escape. The windows and doors, a warm and cozy space, A place to laugh and play, a place to embrace. And now, as the sun sets on the horizon, I stand here, proud of this little home I've made. A place of joy and love, a place to call my own, A little three-roomed house, where I am never alone.