It was the machete knives and blood covered Kenyans that signaled we were not where we wanted to be. As we bumped down the pothole covered dirt road toward the slum we hoped to build a Christian high school in, we soon found our tattered SUV following a train of cars forced to detour into a small village. What caught our attention first was not that our Honda was winding further and further from any familiar roads, but rather that the hundreds of people that stood on both sides of the vehicle were wearing white coats covered in blood. Before long we learned that instead of this bloody village being a tremendous threat to our lives, it was actually the heart of Kenya’s animal butchery market. By dinner we found ourselves gratefully thanking those bloody butchers for the meat that we were about to sink our teeth into, and even more gratefully thanking God that we did not get a flat tire in the village.