God comes to the hungry in the form of food. Mahatma Gandhi

I am in Kenya to get a sense of the culture of the Kenyan Unitarian Universalists, but that is not best done through worship attendance. To know the power of their vision, I am exploring their social justice projects. In Kitengela, one ministry is food.

The traditional staple food of many African countries is a cornmeal (posho) mush called in Swahili ugali. It is eaten combined with sukuma wiki (literally "stretch the week") which can be collards or kale but is often walking stick cabbage. You mix the two together and eat them with your fingers. I guess the closest thing we have to this back home is greens and cornbread.

Familiar with the necessity of this staple food, the Kitengela congregation is serving their community throughout the entire cycle. They have a bit of farmland in the Central Rift Valley where they hire local unemployed people to help them with planting and harvesting maize. The kernels come to the city to a small rented room where they have installed one of three posho mills which they are purchasing on credit. There a local woman who belongs to the church is given meaningful employment grinding the maize into meal and selling it inexpensively to the neighbors. The congregation provides cornmeal to its poorest members. Ruai Congregation also has a posho mill in operation in another part of Nairobi metro area.

When the loud posho mill is turned on, women and children come immediately with little containers to buy the meal. Local chickens also hang around to get the gleanings when the maize is hand sifted in a frame providing excellent and free chicken feed.

This is such an enviable project and a good idea of what congregational development means in the Kenyan context. It is not about worship buildings and paid ministry. It is about well thought out and well executed public service. In Kitengela, they would love to go from 10 acres to 20 on their farm and to be able to rent other spaces for the two additional mills that they are purchasing. Their ambition is for their neighbors to be fed, healthy and employed.

Day One: About to board the flight to London and then Nairobi, I had time for lunch. My usual go-to lunch at DFW is a veggie burger and baked fries at U Food in Terminal B. However, I'm living the high life in D today so the choices are more upscale and the Admiral's Club is enormous. For a grand adventure, there must be Mexican food lest I never eat it again.

The Cantina Laredo has my vegan recommendation for sit down service: enchiladas with avocado, artichoke heart and poblanos topped with tomatillo sauce with a side of jicama slaw. I am fortified, but I regret to tell you that I do not post pictures of my food. By the way, I am not eating vegan food for ethical reasons, and I'm not religious about it. The reduced level of pain and increased energy I've had since trying this in August 2012 has been truly remarkable. If anything hurts, you might want to try it.

This association between travel and Mexican food goes way back with me. I remember flying into my hometown in Shreveport on a Delta flight out of Atlanta. It was only the second time I had ever flown, and I was in retreat from Boston. I had moved there in the summer of 1976 (Bicentennial and World Series year) to see something of the world. My old high school boyfriend was a student at MIT, and I crashed in the dorm for a long time. But finally I found an apartment on Green (near the old Orson Wells Theater) and a job in a Brattle Square boutique only to be KO'd by winter.

I prowled around the frigid streets of Cambridge looking for fixes of corn muffins, Dr. Peppers and a concoction of fire-breathingly hot beef chunks in a bowl that someone had the nerve to call chili. I spent Christmas by myself in a snowstorm. I can't say that it was a bad day really, but I was whipped by Boston's winter in February and headed for home.

A middle-aged gentleman sitting next to me as we flew toward my home chatted me up about my life. There is so much ignominy in packing away a dream and heading home once again, but my family was taking me out to supper at a Mexican restaurant as soon as I arrived I told him. "They will hail the prodigal daughter and kill the fatted taco," he proclaimed. And they did.