Last week I had the pleasure of meeting Kelly Kea at the The University of the Nations (YWAM) campus in Muizenberg, a beach town about 20 minutes from Cape Town. I heard about a young man who had ridden his bicycle from Nairobi to Cape Town – this is about 2500 miles and crossing 10 nations.

Face-to-face in a nearby coffee shop Kelly told about his journey. On my return to the USA (last weekend) I asked Kelly to take a few days to write about his journey. 

This is longer than my usual posts. 

I appeal to you to read what he wrote. 

Kevin has never asked me for anything. I am posting this with a PayPal link to our nonprofit in the hopes I will be able to send a handsome sum to him within a few days. If you are part of a cycling club or aware of one – kindly repost and help me get this into the hands of interested and generous people. IN 2024 OpenHand International INC was able to give $26,000.00 in assistance and scholarships to people on 5 continents. With your help, I hope to give as much or more in 2025. Gifts are tax-deductible if you are a USA tax-payer. 

From Kelly Kea:

I am Kelly Kea, a Kenyan missionary. I have been active in missions for 3 years. I felt the Lord leading me to further develop myself through training in order to be more effective in ministry and so I took a leap of faith to do so.

Two weeks into this radical obedience, I lost my mentor and other missionary brothers in the Arusha YWAM accident when several leaders were killed. Through the grieving period and burial I become sick, so sick. It lasted for 5 months. I was, at the end, diagnosed with acute malaria. Week-by-week I had cried for God to heal me but He did not as I had hoped and expected. 

Finally, when He did, I realized that my faith in Him had been fractured. 

Not sure of where I stood in my faith, I decided to embark on a journey, to contend, to seek His affirmation, to know whether or not I was on the right track. I dedicated 5 months to this journey. The final 2 months of what I had considered a rough year and the first 3 months of a year I had hope in. 

The journey, from Nairobi to Cape Town would be 8500 km (about 2300 miles) on the route that I choose and I would cross 10 countries. My friends thought I would not make it. My friends thought I would die on the way. This partly gave me motivation to do it. My thoughts were that if I made it successfully then glory to God. If not, then I would take comfort in the fact that I tried. Still in my mind, I had already passed the verdict and I had made the decision.

My friend Kim rode with me for the first 30 kilometers (about 19 miles). At the 50 km mark, I felt like going home. Honestly, this was my first mental struggle. Did I make the right choice? I named the journey “Alone with God, Faith + Grit.” My family knew that I had everything covered and that I was with a group. It gave them peace. My reality however was that my Partner was God and that I was going to depend on him for everything. 

I left home with an amount equating to $23 USD and my hope being the Lord. The first few days, from Nairobi to Kampala, it rained heavily. When I crossed the Busia border in the eastern region of Uganda, I felt rejuvenated in my spirit. I had made some progress.

From Uganda, I cycled to Rwanda. At the border, I experienced my first major frustration. The immigration attendant started demanding documents that were never needed. Knowing that what she wanted was irrelevant to me transiting through the country, I decided to stand firm on what I was confident was right. To punish me they made me wait for 3 to 4 hours only to later release me. I then cycled through Rwanda, Tanzania, Malawi, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana, Namibia and South Africa.

I was amazed and humbled by people’s kindness. Countless times I was invited for lunch by truck drivers. Every time they heard of my reason for the journey, they were broken and almost cried. Some even asked me to pray with them. Some gave me money for my journey. 

People are kind. I was given accommodation three times in strangers’ homes and six times in Youth With A MIssion (YWAM) bases.

On one occasion, halfway through the journey, I got the weirdest tyre burst. In the middle of nowhere at around 8:30 pm. What a setback? I asked God a lot of questions. Why me? Why here? Why now? After complaining and letting my anger and frustrations out, I decided to man up and do something. I saw fire some distance away and decided to make my way to it. As I approached, I let them know of my presence by shouting a greeting in the native language. “Muli Bwanji Amayi” I shouted. It means “good evening Mama.” The mamma was cooking for her family. After trying to explain myself with all the Chichewa words I had learnt, I realized that she had not understood me. She spoke some words and a young boy dashed into the darkness only to return with a young man almost my age. He could speak English. After explaining what had happened to my bike, I asked whether he could ask the mother to allow me to pitch my tent and camp there for the night. She shouted “Ayi, Ayi,” accompanied by some words. My understanding was that “Ayi” meant no. I thanked them for their time and decided to leave when the young man told me that the mother meant that the family cannot sleep inside and I, who was brought by God, would sleep outside. They made a place for me in the house, together with my bike. They shared their meal with me, which was barely enough for them. They gave me water to shower. In the morning before we parted ways, they gave me a chance to listen to them, minister to them and pray with them. Samson Njovu, who was my translator in that house, is still hoping to get a job. He is a skilled builder. Now he is my friend. I promised him that we would work together someday.

This was a personal Journey, I was wholly crying to the Lord that He would shine light on my path and also giving a cry that someone would look my way and notice that I am worthy of investment. The ups and downs of the Journey, the beauty and the sorrow, all the risks involved to me were replicating a life journey, and that the success in this journey would be symbolic to me. A beacon of testament and remembrance, that through my faith in the Lord, there is a guarantee of success in my life as a missionary.

Twice, I had near death experiences. In Tanzania, while cruising downhill, a reckless truck driver decided to overtake another truck on a corner. It had rained and the ground was slippery. I tried my best to hold the brakes but still the bike slid. I remember throwing the bike off the road and God saved me. I knelt down and gave thanks to the Lord for saving me. While cycling through Zambezi National Park, I saw a sign, “Don’t get outside of your vehicle. It is dangerous.” True to the sign, I saw a herd of buffalos beside the road. I stopped to take some pictures. Offended, they began to run, as if charging towards me. I became motionless, numb. The ground was shaking. Strength left my body. Terrified, I almost peed on myself. I was at their mercy. Again, by God’s grace he saved me. For some reason they ran across the road a few meters from where I was standing.

Once an officer of the law told me if I cycled through the park, they would come pick up my corpse.That was hurtful. Yet it was a reminder of the reality of the dangers I would face cycling through the park. In my mind I was very determined. I had come so far to give up. The officer asked about my mother’s feelings about all this. My response was . “My Mama left me to the Mercies of God.” 

The hardest parts of the Journey were: Cycling through Zambia when they were experiencing a heat wave. The temperatures rose to 44 degrees celsius (111F). Warm air masses, my dehydration at its peak. Passing through the Kalahari and Namib desert in the south was more than challenging. Temperatures rose to 47 degrees celsius. I realized that irrespective of the amount of water I carried it was never enough. As an African, born and raised in Africa, I was surprised that I was not immune to sunburn. It was as if the sun was furious with the world. What made it worse was days were hot and long while nights were short and cold. This was a new phenomenon to me coming from Kenya which is divided in half by the Equator where days and nights have almost equal lengths.The last 500 kms (200 miles) were the toughest. Cape Town headwinds were a menace and it took twice the strength going downhill than uphill. My body was exhausted. I felt that my endurance was tested to the limit. My mind was giving in. Still I kept on pushing. It took me two extra days.

One beautiful thing that I learnt was that when I communicated to my brother about my bike having mechanical issues. He informed my mum and she was greatly disturbed. She decided to fast and pray for me for two weeks till I reached my destination safely. I only knew of it when one of my siblings complained as to why I was giving mum pressure. I bless the Lord dearly for her and for Ratego. I had other people continuously lifting me up to the Lord. Andy and his family, Mum and Dad Ngao, Ron and Faith. My friends Rabin and Kim and Vini and Rose. Friends I met on the way. 

I am grateful.

Here is the link —-