20 Years Ago This Month
Twenty years ago this month I made my first trip to Africa. Memories of that first visit have never left me. I still feel the blistering heat of Khartoum, Sudan; smell the despair in the mud-bricked walls of the Sudanese Christian refugee camps; and hear the assaulting blare of the Islamic call to prayer. The memories of homesickness still clog my throat like the swirling dust of that desert landscape.
Later that trip, on the flight from Khartoum to Nairobi, Kenya, the barrenness gives way to a more verdant land. The short flight from Nairobi to Kisumu brings even more signs of life: rivers muddy-red from the iron-rich dirt, hills of green trees hiding red or blue tin-roofed houses. Our final descent into Kisumu takes us along the shore of Lake Victoria.
Western Kenya becomes my home for the next 2 ½ weeks. My homesickness there is washed by the daily heavy afternoon rains, clearing away the dust of the city, and refreshing the farmlands of pineapples, tomatoes, mangoes and tea in the rural villages.
I didn’t know it then, but Kenya infects me like a virus; the only vaccine that works is to return to it, over and over again. And I have. Each time I come back, I am welcomed by my friend and mentor in mercy, Pastor David Chuchu. Over the years and across the miles, we celebrate milestones; share the joys of our children growing up and leaving the nest; and our small accomplishments–me, a master’s degree in deaconess studies–he, a masters in project planning.
Pastor Chuchu and Pamela, 2006
We share sorrows during the difficult and stormy times; the deaths of our parents and loved ones; the challenges in our church vocations and families. And of course, we still share the dream of creating a hospice–a refuge for the least and the lost, who suffer in body and soul. We continue to watch that dream take flight–and smile at our own inside joke of “building the plane as we are flying it.”
These past few months we each have challenges that test our patience and strengthen our resolve to bring hospice and palliative care to those in need. After our visit to Kenya in October 2025, Rehema was forced to close her doors to inpatient care until we got the necessary surgery theatre in place to care for any complications with women giving birth.
So by February, thanks to your generous support we were able to complete the surgical theatre and all the other requirements the ministry of health assessment team recommended. We thought we were on our way to reopening our inpatient doors again, but we had to wait for a second visit from the Nairobi, Kenya, licensing team to regain our status as a level 3a hospital. These are all the hurdles we have to leap over in order to once again receive reimbursement from the National Hospital Insurance Fund.
So we wait, and wait and wait. Pastor Chuchu makes phone calls, and he makes in-person office visits; and still we wait. During this time, Rehema’s clinic remains open, and the nurses and Deaconess Elizabeth make home visits to check on folks, but Rehema’s inpatient beds are still empty.
Empty beds waiting to be filled with patients
In the meantime, in December, I get diagnosed with breast cancer. I hear, the news, wait for appointments to be made, sit in waiting rooms for procedures, tests and more appointments, wait for results and plans. Through it all, I realize just how fortunate I am. I have access to healthcare, the gift of early diagnosis and treatment, AND, post op, a good prognosis for the future.
All of this takes place just a few miles from where I live. I have a great cancer center support team, a wonderful breast cancer surgeon, plastic surgeon and oncologist. And of course, the amazing support and care from my husband, Dennis, who suffered even more than I did at times. (He doesn’t agree, by the way.)
On January 29, 2026, I have a bilateral mastectomy. In March, the oncologist tells us that I do not need any further treatment–no chemotherapy or radiation. Our relief is palpable, and I am doing just fine! Thanks be to God. I wish this was a universal reality, especially for those women in Kenya who suffer with cancer, but it’s not. That’s what drives me on this journey of mercy in Kenya.
AND, if this isn’t enough, in May, we sell our home in California, say good-bye to dear friends and family and move to Tennessee!
Throughout many challenges, God’s mercy is steadfast. When ready to give up, His strength becomes our strength. When we are discouraged, His hope becomes our hope. His Love anchors us.
And we have received great news! A week ago, the inspectors/licensing team finally show up at Rehema. As you read, Pastor Chuchu and the Rehema medical team are diligently working to complete the list of all the “new” requirements. Please pray with us for the reopening of all of our beds. Our services are so much needed in that rural area.
Thank you for taking the time to read this; for your ongoing partnership with Always Mercy; for your support and prayers.
