Reverend Simon Karanu: From an IDP camp to the pulpit
Features
By
Stephen Muiruri
| Dec 08, 2024
Majestically, the Reverend Simon Karanu walks down the pulpit smiling to heaven and the congregation.
The dark skinned and heavy-bodied priest has just delivered a powerful sermon on truth, love and humility to an attentive congregation at the PCEA Ruiru Town Church, almost 20km northeast of Nairobi, off the busy Thika superhighway.
Almost every Sunday, during weddings, burials and other sacred church events, the Man of God has gone through the same motions while shepherding the Christian flock - for the eight years he has been a leading Parish Minister of the Presbyterian Church of East Africa (PCEA).
It’s a spiritual role he has become accustomed to without exposing the deep and painful scars of his childhood life as an Internally Displaced Person (IDP) and his youthful years ravaged by searing poverty.
Unbeknown to his flock, the cleric’s black and purple liturgical vestment conceals the struggles, scars, mockery and shame his poverty-stricken parents endured for years to raise their six children.
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Certain chapters of his life reads like a script from a horror movie. And it’s this job that changed the Rev Karanu’s life as a refugee in his own country. It also helped write a new and heart-warming story for his family.
The faithful know little about his unprivileged childhood, which was riven with staggering poverty. They only know his mirth is unmistakable: that their Parish Minister laughs easily and has lot of hilarious stories galore. Yet, they have no clue that he has seen it all.
On the fast lane for big money
The Rev Karanu’s parents were once rich and on the fast lane for big money - until their world crumbled under their feet like a high-rise building tumbling into dust.
When he was born on May 6, 1983, being the first born of Peter Mwai Karanu and Priscilla Waituka Mwai, the family was living a promising and financially stable life. The other five children were born also born in affluent life.
Their father had a flourishing construction business in Burnt Forest, Eldoret, in Uasin Gishu County. In addition, the young couple engaged in agriculture – rearing livestock, crop farming and fish farming. This boosted the family income.
However, all their wealth suddenly went up in smoke in December 1992 when parts of the Rift Valley Province exploded in politically-instigated tribal clashes, with the Molo Town and Eldoret being the epicenter of the violence and bloodbath. An estimated 1,500 people were killed and another 75,000 displaced.
Karanu was aged just 8 years. He and his siblings were too young to comprehend Kenya’s dirty and bloody politics or why their family had suddenly been uprooted from their posh home and forced to flee to a congested and dilapidated camp. It was their only way to escape the jaws of death. And the change was drastic, painful, momentous and life-changing.
Like the brink of an eye, the family of eight became part of the ugly statistics of innocent Kenyans who periodically get uprooted from their homes – built through sweat, tears and blood – due to bad politics. Peter’s construction business became ashes.
Drifting into abject poverty
And the tap of the family’s source of income instantly dried up. A family that used to live normal lives and had surplus to give to others sank into abject poverty and became beggars. They moved to an unfamiliar life in a refugee camp in Eldoret Town, where their entire home was now one small tent.
“Instead of going to fend for themselves, my parents resigned to a miserable life of waiting to receive aid,” the Rev Karanu discloses. “We relied on food and clothes donations which were distributed to us, but this was not enough.”
Life in the refugee camp was deplorable and dehumanising. It stole the peace, dignity and pride of the young family. Suddenly, strangers who were also nursing emotional and physical and raw wounds became their new neighbours.
The Rev Karanu says: “As a young boy, I couldn’t understand why my parents had to move from a permanent house to live inside what was essentially a piece of cloth.”
“We were exposed to freezing temperatures, strong breeze and dust at night and high temperatures when the sun was high. I was scared when windstorms hit the tent at night.”
Living a squirrel’s life in a stuffy and windowless tent was a nightmare. There were no toilets, no piped water, no electricity, no bathrooms, no bedrooms . . . The parents and their young kids lived in one non-partitioned tent.
“Getting water was a big problem. My parents and other refugees struggled to find water for drinking, washing and for household use,” the clergyman recalls.
Months after arriving in the refugee camp, the Rev Karanu’s parents lost hope of ever returning to their land. Miraculously, they had managed to save some cash before the violence erupted. Peter requested a close relative to help him buy a piece of land in Ol Kalou, Nyandarua County.
To his astonishment, the relative bought the land but registered it under her name. The family sank deeper into misery, debts and poverty.
Moving out of refugee camp
After enduring suffering in the congested and unhygienic camp for months, the couple and their children moved out in 1993. They would again live in a house when the family relocated to Kawa Kawa Village, almost 20km from Ol Kalou Town. Here, the parents could only afford to rent a one-room timber house behind the shopping centre.
It is here that the family struggled to rebuild their lives from the ashes. The couple took up casual jobs in other people’s farms, earning peanuts which they used to educate their children and feed the family. Their searing poverty was mind numbing in a county celebrated as agriculturally fertile and rich.
When the Rev Karanu joined Kangui Secondary School in Ol Joro Orok, his parents had no cash and were deeply immersed in poverty. “There is no time I reported for a new term with school fees. Debts kept piling up. I survived on bursaries and donations from well-wishers,” says the nostalgic priest.
Making a step of faith
“I joined the Consolata Seminary in Lang’ata, Nairobi, and trained to be a Catholic priest. Just when I was about to be ordained, I got saved and accepted Jesus as my personal saviour,” he recalls.
“I had a strong desire to be a born again Christian. The Catholic priest didn’t like it and I was instantly excommunicated from the seminary. He drove me back to the village. My father was equally disappointed. He felt I had let him down.”
Crestfallen, the young man found himself back in the village doing odd jobs with his parents in other people’s farms.
It then happened that one of his dad’s rich employers wanted a worker to be selling his stock of potatoes, which he ferried in lorries from the village to Ruai Town, a suburb east of the capital city, about 190km from home.
Peter recommended his son. Beaming with excitement, the young man rushed to the house and picked up his only earthy belongings – a torn shirt and a pair of trousers. He stuffed them in a faded nylon paper bag.
“I was ferried to Ruai like a sack of potatoes in the back of the lorry. The lorry’s cabin was full. The loaders who loaded sacks of potatoes were asked to leave a small space. I returned to Nairobi like cargo. The lorry was covered with a tarpaulin. I choked with dust and fought high temperatures.”
Contrary to the lofty promises the businessman had given Peter, his son wasn’t offered a decent accommodation in Ruai. He had to put up in the warehouse stocking potatoes. His mattress was a sack of potatoes. And he had long nights enduring the foul smell from rotting potatoes.
For a monthly salary of Sh3,200, the Rev Karanu’s role was to sell potatoes to walk-in clients and also deliver to other customers within Ruai. At first, he carried the heavy load on his back before a customer pitied him and lent him his bicycle.
To quench his soul, he joined the PCEA Ruai Church and became active in the youth ministry. It’s here that he met and fell in love with a fellow youth member, Roseline Wambui.
Meeting the love of life
Though Roseline was living a better life, she accepted the young man just the way he was. And she occasionally supported her lover out of financial situations.
“I didn’t have money to buy shoes. I wore slippers and when the straps got cut, I ended up finding replacements of different colours,” the cleric says as he and Roseline burst into a hearty laughter.
“I ended up wearing slippers of different colours. Not once did the under of the slippers wear out and I would feel the ground with my foot. It was like I was walking barefooted.”
Looking pensive, Roseline says: “His rough feet told the story of a resilient young man who had faced the vagaries of life stoically. The feet had trekked many kilometres in search of a better tomorrow. That never bothered me. I was attracted by his beautiful heart and kindness.”
Landing caretaker’s job
He continued selling potatoes until another church leader alerted him to a caretaker vacancy in the church. He applied for the job and was hired. His new salary was Sh4,000.
His role was taking care of church grounds, which included repairs, and washing stinking toilets, the church floor and offices, and preparing tea and meals for the parish minister, officials and guests.
“I planted and watered all the trees and the kei apple fence you see at the PCEA Ruai Church,” he says, flashing a smile.
Due to his powerful preaching and public speaking abilities and being active in the youth ministry, he gained favour with the church leadership and found himself being allocated preaching duties during the main services.
“Being a lowly-rated worker, that was a big honour to me. I felt honoured by the parish minister being allowed to use the same pulpit he and other distinguished preachers used to preach the word of God and to address people of higher social and financial status,” he says.
But all wasn’t smooth sailing. He recalls an incident when worshippers messed up the toilets and he was the one lined up to preach during that service.
“I had a few minutes to take to the pulpit when one of the leaders came to my seat and ordered me to go out and clean up the mess in the toilet,” says the priest. He adds: “I felt humiliated walking to the toilet carrying a broom and a bucket of water as some faithful stared through the open windows. I retreated to my seat when the worshippers were on their feet singing the hymn to welcome me as their preacher. I refused to allow the humiliation to dampen my spirits. I quickly recollected myself and delivered the sermon as the Lord intended.”
It’s mandatory for non-clergy preachers who take to the pulpit in the PCEA churches to be smartly dressed. Male preachers are required to be in a suit or an ironed shirt. Donning a tie is a must.
“I couldn’t afford buying a good shirt. I often wore a mutumba T-shirt and a tie on the collar,” the Rev Karanu recalls.
Hired as an evangelist
He served as a caretaker for some years before a church leader informed him there was a vacancy in the position of evangelist. He applied and landed the more prestigious job. He now earned Sh10,000, a big reap from to the poverty pit.
Being an evangelist, the Rev Karanu would now dine and serve with the high and mighty in the church and outside the parish. His role was to convert others to the Christian faith. In addition, he assisted the parish minister in conducting pastoral care and duties - not limited to weddings, the Holy Communion, baptism and commissioning ordinances and funeral services.
As lady luck shone on the poor youth, one of the parish ministers who knew he had gone to the seminary to become a Catholic priest advised him to apply to become a student minister in the PCEA. He had discovered he had talent in preaching and public speaking.
“I applied and emerged number three out of ten candidates. Only number one was taken. The parish minister told me that was a good show and encouraged me to apply the following year,” says the Rev Karanu.
His second attempt was successful and he emerged top, marking the beginning of his illustrious career as a servant of the Lord in the PCEA.
Student minister
Before he enrolled for a Bachelor of Theology degree at the church-run Presbyterian University of East Africa in Thogoto, Kikuyu, the student married his sweetheart, Roseline, in a church wedding. The church sponsored his degree course.
With improved earnings and support from the church and friends, the Rev Karanu bought land in Ruai and began construction of his dream house.
After living in the rent-free house for 12 years, the clergyman moved his family to his incomplete home.
The Rev Karanu successfully completed his theological studies in 2015 and his first posting was at the PCEA Kiang'ondu Parish, Chuka, Tharaka Nthi County, on March 27, 2016. He’s now serving his second posting at the PCEA Ruiru Town Parish, where he reported on January 17, 2020. He reports to the PCEA Gathaithi Parish in the PCEA Githunguri Presbytery, Kiambu County, for his third posting in January.
Paradoxically, the parish ministers he used to serve tea, clean their toilets and offices while serving as a caretaker became his colleagues and they embraced him with love, kindness and happiness.
With improved income, the Rev Karanu increase support for his parents in the education of his younger siblings. He also helped his parents buy a piece of land less than a kilometre from Kawa Kawa shopping centre and put up a beautiful house for them.
He says: “When I started building the house, my father thought it was mine. When it was complete I invited my colleagues for prayers and blessings. When I handed the keys to my father and told him the house was his, he shed tears of joy.”
Presiding first burial as Parish Minister
The first time the Rev Karanu presided a funeral ceremony on his own remains a terrifying experience.
“Part of our training involved physical sessions in morgues to have an experience with the dead and how morticians prepared corpses before being collected by loved ones for burial,” he recalls.
But when he found himself in charge of conducting burial rites of a man in Chuka in 2016, the theory learnt in a lecture room evaporated and the reality of death struck him.
“I was shaking,” he says, flashing a smile on his face. “When I finished reading the burial edict, I saw the section of the page I had placed my thumb was wet. My back was dripping with sweat and mourners would have spotted the tab-collar shirt I was wearing was wet if I didn’t have a sweater on top.”
He experienced such tense and nerve-racking moments in at least five initial burials before getting used to helping shattered and grieving families give their departed loved ones decent and dignified send-off.
“The most difficult part of my job is when mourners, especially parents who have lost a child, seek answers from me on why God has taken away their loved one. I usually tell them to continue trusting in God as He was the giver and taker of life,” he says.
Stephen Muiruri is a former Crime and Security Editor