Another tale of our way to Athi River on Sunday starts thusly:
Our driver leans over to Kerry, sitting the front seat. He leans from right to left, which I am wholly unfamiliar with. Since Kerry had been on the Kenya trip in 2007, it must have been assumed that she knew her way around, which would have been good, because our driver didn’t.
Here we were, a small band of five white Americans on our way to somewhere without direction. The driver stopped at a service station and asked an attendant the way, and the attendant gave it quickly and we were off.
It is a bit unnerving, though, when your one connection to an unknown country is himself unaware of the specifics.
That’s when you realize your faith must be not on a driver, but on One who made the driver.