How do I start my blog? How do I write all the emotions that I’ve been going through the past two weeks? I have had moments of joy and excitement and moments of sadness and depression.
As I prepare to leave Kenya on Saturday, I’m filled with so many different emotions. I know I’m only away from Kenya for two months but it seems like a lifetime to me right now. Yet, I’m SO excited to be coming to Canada to visit family, friends and prepare for the new chapter in my life – becoming a wife to an amazing man (craziness!).
About a week and a half ago, I hit a rock bottom, something I haven’t hit in a VERY long time. I’m continuing to process through things, continuing to understand things and of course, continuing to learn things. It’s been a great time for me to increase my trust in God, to have deep conversations with Him, to expose myself, my fears and my heart to Him even more. I had days of complete breakdown in tears if someone asked me how I was doing, or if I held one of my kids at HBF or hugged on a street kid.
Last Tuesday, Sean and I spent the night out at HBF, our last day/night with them. We arrived in the late afternoon, the children ran over to us, “Auntie Mary, Uncle Sean! Auntie Mary, Uncle Sean!” We did crafts and took lots of pictures together. When it was time for bed, I went to the girl’s room and us girls sat up for a few extra hours, talking, laughing and sharing stories. When I curled in to a bed that I was going to share with Lydia, I cried, overwhelmed that I was not going to see them for the next few months.
As Sean and I were getting ready to leave the next day, I told the kids that I would see them in a few months. Stella, Veronica and Linda told me, “No Auntie Mary, you’re not going!” After a bit of discussion, they feared that after getting married in Canada, I would decide to stay there and not come back. So they thought that if I didn’t leave Kenya, then it would be a safe bet that I’d be staying here. I had to promise them that I was coming back to Kenya but even as I was leaving, their hugs were a little tighter, a little longer and the whispers of “Nakupenda Auntie Mary!” (means I love you) in my ear, brought the emotions to the surface again.
On Friday, we had our second annual TI Christmas Party for all of the children in our sponsorship program at our compound. There were over 250 people that came and yes, most of them children. It was amazing!!! I have to say that we were quite organized this year. We hired people to be the cooks so that we could spend more time with the children and guests. Each of our projects prepared a song as entertainment to the whole group…that was so entertaining. Each child in our sponsorship program received a gift bag that included pencils, erasers, candy, toothbrush and an extra gift: a toy for the little ones and a t-shirt/top/ for the older ones. Thank you so much to Newmarket Alliance Church for their support this year in sponsoring the Christmas Party. It was a complete success. The TI website will have an update with lots of photos on it early next week. Check it out at: www.transformedinternational.org
This final week here has been a busy one. I’m visiting the remaining projects to do the updates on our children for the sponsors back in North America. In the evenings, we are visiting with friends to say “see you in a few months” to. Sean and I leave Kitale on Friday morning and will spend the night in Nairobi. I’ll pick up my wedding dress on Saturday, do the updates on two kids that we sponsor in the Soweto slums and then Sean and I will be “leaving on a jet plane” on Saturday night (Kenya time), arriving in Toronto on Sunday night (EST time).
I’m not one that minds Change; life is full of them; but depending on what the Change is, I just sometimes have a hard time getting used to them. I remember seeing a bumper sticker or a sign once that said something along the lines of change is something that never changes…it will always be there. I’m simply changing my location for a few months from my home in Kenya to my second home in Canada. I’m changing my status from single to married. And although I’ll miss my home here like crazy for those two months, I’m beyond excited for the change that is to come -- becoming Sean’s wife.
So, for my family and friends here in Kenya, I’ll simply say, “I’ll see you in a few months!” and to my family and friends in Canada, “I’ll see you in a few days!”
I love you all so very much.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Night at the hospital...
I sit in the hospital room, watching Linda color a book with the crayons that I brought. She sits in a white metal hospital crib with one side pulled down all the way. I’m sitting in a lawn chair next to the crib, looking around the room or at Linda, especially when a cough or funny sound comes from her.
In the room there are seven beds, five of them are twin size beds, two of them cribs. All the twin beds are occupied, three with mothers and their children and the other with a grandmother and her granddaughter. One crib is occupied by Linda, the other one empty. It, based on what the nurse just suggested (well more like demanded of me!), will probably house me in a little while as my bed…once the eyelids get heavy.
It’s now 9:00pm and most of the moms and the grandmother are sleeping. There is one mother and her son who are still awake. The mother tells me that her son, Kiprop, is suffering a bad chest cold. He can’t get comfortable and is constantly coughing and gasping for air. His mother is trying to be patient but loses it from time to time by “clicking” at him (which is a not so nice thing here – shows and relays that you’re annoyed or angry with the person) or tells him sternly to “BE QUIET!!”
I ask Linda if she is tired; she says yes. I have her lie down and pull the blanket up to her chin. I tuck her in nice and tight, kiss her all over the face and say good night. She laughs and then snuggles in to her blanket and closes her eyes.
Four minutes later, the silence in the room is broken by a nurse and her cart. She has come to do the evening medication run for the children. Her bedside manners definitely need quite a bit of tweaking. Another nurse comes in; I like her. She’s really nice and gentle with the children; she even calls Linda “sweetie”. Perhaps because I’m there but she’s nice to all the others too. The mothers and grandmother spend the next few minutes pulling out the medication and medical “chart” (which is more like a piece of paper) of their children.
Here, the parents/guardians are responsible to buy all necessary medication and equipment (i.e. needles, IV necessities, etc.) they are also responsible to bring/buy their own bed sheets, blankets, cups and eating utensils for overnight stays. Nothing, except the bed, the mattress and the nurses/doctors is supplied by the hospitals.
I watch the nurse hook a bag full of blood on the wall and connect the IV into the little boy on the bed next to Linda. He’s no more than two years old and I was told that he doesn’t have enough blood in his body so they need to give him blood. Two other mothers come over to watch the blood drip from the bag, through the IV and into the boy’s hand. They talk with the mother as he fights to get comfortable and is a bit upset of the pain of the IV needle.
As the nurses are getting ready to leave, the grandmother with her granddaughter stands up in the middle of the room and starts shouting/singing and then begins doing an African dance. Linda bursts out laughing; what a beautiful laugh (and it helps to drown out the sound of the screaming baby down the hall). The grandmother entertains for about 30 seconds, then sighs, and crawls back into her and her granddaughter’s bed, under the mosquito net and drifts off to sleep.
Linda is now wide awake. She starts gibbering off in Swahili to me. With hand jesters between the two of us and the Swahili that I know, we actually communicate very well. She shows me her IV needle in her hand, although there’s no IV attached to her now. She says she doesn’t like it and it hurts too much.
Now it’s 9:25pm and Linda is hungry again. Just two hours ago, she ate a chicken leg with roasted potatoes. This is a great sign – having her appetite back. I give her about two mouthfuls of my Coke. She likes the fact that we’re sharing my Coke with each other she then asks for her bread and starts to dip her bread in to her Coke. I make a grossed out look on my face and we both burst into laughter.
The little boy, Kiprop, at this point is very fussy. He’s whining and coughing uncontrollably. It sounds likes he’s coughing up his lungs and on the verge of vomiting. His mother is getting impatient and frustrated; she’s tired and just wants to go to sleep. She raises her voice at him but she seems to fail in realizing that the louder and more frustrated she gets, the more upset he becomes and the worse his whining and coughing are. My heart breaks for him.
Linda is now done dipping her bread in to her Coke. I remove the cup and bag of bread from her bed. She wants to go to sleep now so I tightly tuck her back under the blanket and cover her with kisses and say good night to the sound of her laughter.
In the distance, I can hear chanting. It quite possibly could be a number of people praying in unison. I don’t go to check it out; I instead stay and wait for Linda to fall asleep.
It’s now 10:00pm and Linda has fallen asleep quite quickly. I decide to get ready for bed and make a last trip to the not-so-clean toilet and hopefully off to sleep I can go.
As I head to the toilet, I realize that the chanting that I hear is mothers and grandmothers singing softly in the next ward. When I walk by again, they are now praying; the prayers are loud, powerful and some very tearful.
A few minutes later, the prayers have stopped; the only sounds in our room are now Linda’s breathing and a few whining noises from Kiprop and the snoring of his mother.
About ten minutes later, Kiprop’s whining increases into tears of pain and discomfort. He cried through is tears, “Mama! Mama!” She curses at him once and then I hear her snoring again. Again Kiprop says, “Mama! Mama!” over and over again. I go over to console him but then the mother looks over and seems me coming toward them so she pulls out her breast and puts it to his mouth to feed. It quiets him for about three minutes where he then begins again. His mother is furious at this point and some of the others in the room are getting a bit agitated. She clicks at him, tells him to shut up and then ignores him.
I hear Linda toss a bit in the bed; I look over and thankfully she stays asleep despite Kiprop’s whining and calling out to his mother. Kiprop is now sobbing and in between the sobs, he’s gasping for air and then coughing. His mother clicks at him, telling him be quiet and goes back to sleep. This happens over and over again. When I hear she’s snoring and out like a light and he’s still whining, I go over to their bed and kneel down in front of him. I start to rub his cheek, his face and his head. He immediately calms down, and moves his head in the motion of my hand…harder into my hand to feel my touch against his face. He actually begins to close his eyes and starts to fall asleep. I gently lay him down next his mother. He’s quiet and falls asleep.
I can feel the cold night air coming in through the glassless window door that separates us from the outside. Linda has three blankets; one as a pillow, one underneath her and one over top of her and I’m not about to steal any of her blankets. I’ll just put on my sweatshirt and socks…that should work.
I thinks its now bedtime. I crawl in to the crib (a little small but the fetal position always works!) but no sleep right away.
It’s around 11:40pm and Linda wakes up and looks in the direction I was sitting in when she fell asleep. When she doesn’t see me there, panic strikes her voice as she loudly says my name, “Mary!” I say “I’m here!” in Swahili. She turns her head around and literally sighs out loud and then smiles. I ask her if she’s okay and she says she needs the toilet. We get out of our cribs and head to the toilet. The big, main ward, the one we’re not in, smells of urine and vomit. Most of the room is quiet, except for some little crying from children and snoring from mothers or grandmothers. There are a few people awake; just sitting there but somewhere in the back beds, I hear a woman singing to her child.
I bring Linda back to bed, do the routine of tucking her in tightly, cover her with kisses and say goodnight. She falls asleep almost instantly. What an angel!
It’s 2:19am now and I just suddenly got woken by a loud and long scream. I’m looking around the room to confirm that it’s none of us in our ward. I hear women start to sing and pray. The scream turns into sobbing. I wonder if a child has just lost his/her life. As I too say a prayer, tears fall down my face and I drift off to very light sleep.
Wow, I’m not sleeping much. I look at my cell phone; it reads 3:23am. I hear Linda rustling around under her blanket and making a moaning noise. I think she’s having a nightmare. Linda bolts up in bed and calls, “Mary, Mary!” in a panic. She is looking in the opposite direction that I’m sleeping in. I jump out of the crib and say in Swahili, “Linda, I’m here! It’s okay.” I rub her head, give her a kiss and she lies back down. I sit beside her for a moment, rubbing her head until she falls back to sleep. I then crawl back in to my crib.
It’s now 5:15am. I might as well get up, as I’m up at 5:00am every weekday morning anyway. I crawl out of crib and notice that some of the mothers are starting to stir in their beds too. The noise in the hallways is increasing as people all around our section are starting to wake up also. I pull out the chair and sit next to Linda’s bed.
It’s 7:00am and our social worker, Anne, arrives to relieve me from Linda’s bedside, although I realize that I don’t really want to go. I want to stay with her…we’ve had fun. Its a few minutes later and Linda wakes up. She’s definitely not a morning person. She’s very quiet and non-expressive. It’s quite funny to watch her this way.
Anne goes and gets some water and gives her a quick sponge bath in the bed and rubs her face, arms and legs with smearing oil (aka: Vaseline – it keeps their skin soft and smooth).
After a few minutes, I say good-bye to Linda. I need to go home and get some sleep. She asks if I will come back and visit her. “Of course I will come back. I love you Linda.” She smiles at me, a big beautiful smile. I’ll take that as an “I love you too.” : )
****************
On Thursday, November 20th, Linda was released from the hospital. She returned to HBF and so far, so good. She is doing AMAZINGLY well, her appetite is back and she’s laughing along with the other kids.
In the room there are seven beds, five of them are twin size beds, two of them cribs. All the twin beds are occupied, three with mothers and their children and the other with a grandmother and her granddaughter. One crib is occupied by Linda, the other one empty. It, based on what the nurse just suggested (well more like demanded of me!), will probably house me in a little while as my bed…once the eyelids get heavy.
It’s now 9:00pm and most of the moms and the grandmother are sleeping. There is one mother and her son who are still awake. The mother tells me that her son, Kiprop, is suffering a bad chest cold. He can’t get comfortable and is constantly coughing and gasping for air. His mother is trying to be patient but loses it from time to time by “clicking” at him (which is a not so nice thing here – shows and relays that you’re annoyed or angry with the person) or tells him sternly to “BE QUIET!!”
I ask Linda if she is tired; she says yes. I have her lie down and pull the blanket up to her chin. I tuck her in nice and tight, kiss her all over the face and say good night. She laughs and then snuggles in to her blanket and closes her eyes.
Four minutes later, the silence in the room is broken by a nurse and her cart. She has come to do the evening medication run for the children. Her bedside manners definitely need quite a bit of tweaking. Another nurse comes in; I like her. She’s really nice and gentle with the children; she even calls Linda “sweetie”. Perhaps because I’m there but she’s nice to all the others too. The mothers and grandmother spend the next few minutes pulling out the medication and medical “chart” (which is more like a piece of paper) of their children.
Here, the parents/guardians are responsible to buy all necessary medication and equipment (i.e. needles, IV necessities, etc.) they are also responsible to bring/buy their own bed sheets, blankets, cups and eating utensils for overnight stays. Nothing, except the bed, the mattress and the nurses/doctors is supplied by the hospitals.
I watch the nurse hook a bag full of blood on the wall and connect the IV into the little boy on the bed next to Linda. He’s no more than two years old and I was told that he doesn’t have enough blood in his body so they need to give him blood. Two other mothers come over to watch the blood drip from the bag, through the IV and into the boy’s hand. They talk with the mother as he fights to get comfortable and is a bit upset of the pain of the IV needle.
As the nurses are getting ready to leave, the grandmother with her granddaughter stands up in the middle of the room and starts shouting/singing and then begins doing an African dance. Linda bursts out laughing; what a beautiful laugh (and it helps to drown out the sound of the screaming baby down the hall). The grandmother entertains for about 30 seconds, then sighs, and crawls back into her and her granddaughter’s bed, under the mosquito net and drifts off to sleep.
Linda is now wide awake. She starts gibbering off in Swahili to me. With hand jesters between the two of us and the Swahili that I know, we actually communicate very well. She shows me her IV needle in her hand, although there’s no IV attached to her now. She says she doesn’t like it and it hurts too much.
Now it’s 9:25pm and Linda is hungry again. Just two hours ago, she ate a chicken leg with roasted potatoes. This is a great sign – having her appetite back. I give her about two mouthfuls of my Coke. She likes the fact that we’re sharing my Coke with each other she then asks for her bread and starts to dip her bread in to her Coke. I make a grossed out look on my face and we both burst into laughter.
The little boy, Kiprop, at this point is very fussy. He’s whining and coughing uncontrollably. It sounds likes he’s coughing up his lungs and on the verge of vomiting. His mother is getting impatient and frustrated; she’s tired and just wants to go to sleep. She raises her voice at him but she seems to fail in realizing that the louder and more frustrated she gets, the more upset he becomes and the worse his whining and coughing are. My heart breaks for him.
Linda is now done dipping her bread in to her Coke. I remove the cup and bag of bread from her bed. She wants to go to sleep now so I tightly tuck her back under the blanket and cover her with kisses and say good night to the sound of her laughter.
In the distance, I can hear chanting. It quite possibly could be a number of people praying in unison. I don’t go to check it out; I instead stay and wait for Linda to fall asleep.
It’s now 10:00pm and Linda has fallen asleep quite quickly. I decide to get ready for bed and make a last trip to the not-so-clean toilet and hopefully off to sleep I can go.
As I head to the toilet, I realize that the chanting that I hear is mothers and grandmothers singing softly in the next ward. When I walk by again, they are now praying; the prayers are loud, powerful and some very tearful.
A few minutes later, the prayers have stopped; the only sounds in our room are now Linda’s breathing and a few whining noises from Kiprop and the snoring of his mother.
About ten minutes later, Kiprop’s whining increases into tears of pain and discomfort. He cried through is tears, “Mama! Mama!” She curses at him once and then I hear her snoring again. Again Kiprop says, “Mama! Mama!” over and over again. I go over to console him but then the mother looks over and seems me coming toward them so she pulls out her breast and puts it to his mouth to feed. It quiets him for about three minutes where he then begins again. His mother is furious at this point and some of the others in the room are getting a bit agitated. She clicks at him, tells him to shut up and then ignores him.
I hear Linda toss a bit in the bed; I look over and thankfully she stays asleep despite Kiprop’s whining and calling out to his mother. Kiprop is now sobbing and in between the sobs, he’s gasping for air and then coughing. His mother clicks at him, telling him be quiet and goes back to sleep. This happens over and over again. When I hear she’s snoring and out like a light and he’s still whining, I go over to their bed and kneel down in front of him. I start to rub his cheek, his face and his head. He immediately calms down, and moves his head in the motion of my hand…harder into my hand to feel my touch against his face. He actually begins to close his eyes and starts to fall asleep. I gently lay him down next his mother. He’s quiet and falls asleep.
I can feel the cold night air coming in through the glassless window door that separates us from the outside. Linda has three blankets; one as a pillow, one underneath her and one over top of her and I’m not about to steal any of her blankets. I’ll just put on my sweatshirt and socks…that should work.
I thinks its now bedtime. I crawl in to the crib (a little small but the fetal position always works!) but no sleep right away.
It’s around 11:40pm and Linda wakes up and looks in the direction I was sitting in when she fell asleep. When she doesn’t see me there, panic strikes her voice as she loudly says my name, “Mary!” I say “I’m here!” in Swahili. She turns her head around and literally sighs out loud and then smiles. I ask her if she’s okay and she says she needs the toilet. We get out of our cribs and head to the toilet. The big, main ward, the one we’re not in, smells of urine and vomit. Most of the room is quiet, except for some little crying from children and snoring from mothers or grandmothers. There are a few people awake; just sitting there but somewhere in the back beds, I hear a woman singing to her child.
I bring Linda back to bed, do the routine of tucking her in tightly, cover her with kisses and say goodnight. She falls asleep almost instantly. What an angel!
It’s 2:19am now and I just suddenly got woken by a loud and long scream. I’m looking around the room to confirm that it’s none of us in our ward. I hear women start to sing and pray. The scream turns into sobbing. I wonder if a child has just lost his/her life. As I too say a prayer, tears fall down my face and I drift off to very light sleep.
Wow, I’m not sleeping much. I look at my cell phone; it reads 3:23am. I hear Linda rustling around under her blanket and making a moaning noise. I think she’s having a nightmare. Linda bolts up in bed and calls, “Mary, Mary!” in a panic. She is looking in the opposite direction that I’m sleeping in. I jump out of the crib and say in Swahili, “Linda, I’m here! It’s okay.” I rub her head, give her a kiss and she lies back down. I sit beside her for a moment, rubbing her head until she falls back to sleep. I then crawl back in to my crib.
It’s now 5:15am. I might as well get up, as I’m up at 5:00am every weekday morning anyway. I crawl out of crib and notice that some of the mothers are starting to stir in their beds too. The noise in the hallways is increasing as people all around our section are starting to wake up also. I pull out the chair and sit next to Linda’s bed.
It’s 7:00am and our social worker, Anne, arrives to relieve me from Linda’s bedside, although I realize that I don’t really want to go. I want to stay with her…we’ve had fun. Its a few minutes later and Linda wakes up. She’s definitely not a morning person. She’s very quiet and non-expressive. It’s quite funny to watch her this way.
Anne goes and gets some water and gives her a quick sponge bath in the bed and rubs her face, arms and legs with smearing oil (aka: Vaseline – it keeps their skin soft and smooth).
After a few minutes, I say good-bye to Linda. I need to go home and get some sleep. She asks if I will come back and visit her. “Of course I will come back. I love you Linda.” She smiles at me, a big beautiful smile. I’ll take that as an “I love you too.” : )
****************
On Thursday, November 20th, Linda was released from the hospital. She returned to HBF and so far, so good. She is doing AMAZINGLY well, her appetite is back and she’s laughing along with the other kids.
Monday, November 17, 2008
A Day Full of Questions....
There are moments when I question all I have been taught, all that I have believed in. There are times when I don’t have a single clue as to why things happen the way they do and when they do. There are days when I just want to throw in the towel and say, “what the hell am I doing here?”
On Saturday, Daniel took our visitor Theresa, along with our social worker Anne, on an assessment. It was in the same area as our children’s home, Hope Bright Future (HBF), where the rest of us were, playing with our children, as per every Saturday.
Daniel and the crew arrived back at HBF but they brought with them two little girls: Stella, twelve years old and her extremely sick younger sister, Linda, seven years old. Daniel was carrying Linda in his arms; she looked so ill. I immediately went over to Stella and introduced myself to her, wrapped my arms around her and had her sat beside me. We talked for a few minutes before she went off to play with the other children at the home.
Daniel told me their story.
The grandmother had abandoned the girls a few weeks back. Some people in the community had made a child neglect complaint against the grandmother to the area chief (similar to a town councilor). The area chief summoned the grandmother and when she arrived, her response to the area chief, “I don’t care. Let them die.”
Let them die? My heart sank. Who could do that? Who could leave a twelve year old alone with her very sickly younger sister? I was angry; I was sad; I was broken.
We looked at Linda’s frail body; malnutrition was definitely there. There were sores on her body; her eyelashes curled up, showing signs of severe dehydration. She was in and out of the awareness of her surroundings. Daniel immediately gave her fluids to try to get some hydration back in to her.
I sat with her for awhile; I asked her if she was tired and she nodded her head yes, so I took her to the girl’s room to lie down. All of us “white people” went in to the girl’s room, sat around her on the bed and began to pray for her. What we prayed, I don’t really recall at this moment…but I know that we all felt emotion. We all felt an overwhelming sadness in what we saw lying there on the bed.
Fast forward to today….
Anne, our social worker is meeting Zipporah (the manager of HBF) and Linda at the hospital today. Linda is getting checked out and a possible HIV test….
A bunch of us went for lunch today. When Lauren S and I arrived at the restaurant, I saw friends of ours: Jeff and Carla. They run a baby’s home for abandoned or orphaned babies. When I saw Carla, she was carrying a little boy named Teddy. His mother abused and then abandoned him quite a few months back. The children’s department got Teddy and handed him over to Jeff and Carla’s ministry. The mother was in prison for the abuse and abandonment but somehow, some judge who must’ve been smoking crack that day, allowed the mother custody of Teddy again. She started raising him….IN PRISON. Shortly thereafter, Teddy got sick and so he was taken to the district hospital. It was then that the mother, receiving a hospital bill that she of course could not afford, said that the baby could return to the children’s department and back to Jeff and Carla.
I immediately swooped Teddy in to my arms and held on to me. We made kissy lips at each other; I did blow farts on his face; he nuzzled in to my neck. We were really a good match for each other. :-) Then Carla said, “Come, meet the newbies.” So we went around the corner and there at one of the tables were two little kids. One I knew for sure was a girl, the other, I wasn’t too sure about (later finding out it was a boy with the possible name of Jackson). Jeff and Carla had picked up these two kids today. The girl, not knowing her name, was a cute chubby little thing, the brother, Jackson, was not at all healthy looking. He looked to be about eight months old but based on the teeth in his mouth; he was probably closer to the age of two, similar to his sister’s age.
As the story was told, the father of the children had chased away the mother and then shortly after, abandoned his two children. The girl was strong enough to walk around and leave the house on her own so the neighbours would care for her, give her food and tea….but never knowing that there was a little boy in the house.
He is your typical World Vision looking kid, the extremely scrawny arms, rib cage protruding from his skin and a bulged out belly. I handed Teddy to Lauren S for a moment and picked up Jackson. He immediately cuddled in to my neck and got as close to my skin as he could. The denial and wanting affection was so evident in this little boy. I looked at his sad little face and again was overcome with emotions of anger, sadness and brokenness.
We ended up holding Teddy and Jackson all through our lunch. I thought it was because I wanted to give Carla a break but in actuality, I just wanted a baby to hold, a baby that I could smother complete affection on and cover in kisses.
After our lunch and busy afternoon of shopping and putting the groceries away, I started doing some accounting work. I got a call from Anne…
They’ve admitted Linda in to the hospital. She has severe malaria, severe pneumonia and yes, tested positive for HIV. All the questions started flooding my mind. The question why came up again and again in my head. I lost it. I sat on the chair and burst in to tears. Sean immediately came over and let me cry on his shoulder.
A mother abuses and abandons her child twice. A father abandons his children; one on the brink of starvation. A grandmother says she doesn’t care if her grandchildren die. Who are these people? How could they do this?
I am at a loss of words and at the moment at a loss of hope. When does it end? When does a child stop suffering? I don’t know what else to say right now…my heart is too broken, my words don’t make sense and my mind is all over the place.
On Saturday, Daniel took our visitor Theresa, along with our social worker Anne, on an assessment. It was in the same area as our children’s home, Hope Bright Future (HBF), where the rest of us were, playing with our children, as per every Saturday.
Daniel and the crew arrived back at HBF but they brought with them two little girls: Stella, twelve years old and her extremely sick younger sister, Linda, seven years old. Daniel was carrying Linda in his arms; she looked so ill. I immediately went over to Stella and introduced myself to her, wrapped my arms around her and had her sat beside me. We talked for a few minutes before she went off to play with the other children at the home.
Daniel told me their story.
The grandmother had abandoned the girls a few weeks back. Some people in the community had made a child neglect complaint against the grandmother to the area chief (similar to a town councilor). The area chief summoned the grandmother and when she arrived, her response to the area chief, “I don’t care. Let them die.”
Let them die? My heart sank. Who could do that? Who could leave a twelve year old alone with her very sickly younger sister? I was angry; I was sad; I was broken.
We looked at Linda’s frail body; malnutrition was definitely there. There were sores on her body; her eyelashes curled up, showing signs of severe dehydration. She was in and out of the awareness of her surroundings. Daniel immediately gave her fluids to try to get some hydration back in to her.
I sat with her for awhile; I asked her if she was tired and she nodded her head yes, so I took her to the girl’s room to lie down. All of us “white people” went in to the girl’s room, sat around her on the bed and began to pray for her. What we prayed, I don’t really recall at this moment…but I know that we all felt emotion. We all felt an overwhelming sadness in what we saw lying there on the bed.
Fast forward to today….
Anne, our social worker is meeting Zipporah (the manager of HBF) and Linda at the hospital today. Linda is getting checked out and a possible HIV test….
A bunch of us went for lunch today. When Lauren S and I arrived at the restaurant, I saw friends of ours: Jeff and Carla. They run a baby’s home for abandoned or orphaned babies. When I saw Carla, she was carrying a little boy named Teddy. His mother abused and then abandoned him quite a few months back. The children’s department got Teddy and handed him over to Jeff and Carla’s ministry. The mother was in prison for the abuse and abandonment but somehow, some judge who must’ve been smoking crack that day, allowed the mother custody of Teddy again. She started raising him….IN PRISON. Shortly thereafter, Teddy got sick and so he was taken to the district hospital. It was then that the mother, receiving a hospital bill that she of course could not afford, said that the baby could return to the children’s department and back to Jeff and Carla.
I immediately swooped Teddy in to my arms and held on to me. We made kissy lips at each other; I did blow farts on his face; he nuzzled in to my neck. We were really a good match for each other. :-) Then Carla said, “Come, meet the newbies.” So we went around the corner and there at one of the tables were two little kids. One I knew for sure was a girl, the other, I wasn’t too sure about (later finding out it was a boy with the possible name of Jackson). Jeff and Carla had picked up these two kids today. The girl, not knowing her name, was a cute chubby little thing, the brother, Jackson, was not at all healthy looking. He looked to be about eight months old but based on the teeth in his mouth; he was probably closer to the age of two, similar to his sister’s age.
As the story was told, the father of the children had chased away the mother and then shortly after, abandoned his two children. The girl was strong enough to walk around and leave the house on her own so the neighbours would care for her, give her food and tea….but never knowing that there was a little boy in the house.
He is your typical World Vision looking kid, the extremely scrawny arms, rib cage protruding from his skin and a bulged out belly. I handed Teddy to Lauren S for a moment and picked up Jackson. He immediately cuddled in to my neck and got as close to my skin as he could. The denial and wanting affection was so evident in this little boy. I looked at his sad little face and again was overcome with emotions of anger, sadness and brokenness.
We ended up holding Teddy and Jackson all through our lunch. I thought it was because I wanted to give Carla a break but in actuality, I just wanted a baby to hold, a baby that I could smother complete affection on and cover in kisses.
After our lunch and busy afternoon of shopping and putting the groceries away, I started doing some accounting work. I got a call from Anne…
They’ve admitted Linda in to the hospital. She has severe malaria, severe pneumonia and yes, tested positive for HIV. All the questions started flooding my mind. The question why came up again and again in my head. I lost it. I sat on the chair and burst in to tears. Sean immediately came over and let me cry on his shoulder.
A mother abuses and abandons her child twice. A father abandons his children; one on the brink of starvation. A grandmother says she doesn’t care if her grandchildren die. Who are these people? How could they do this?
I am at a loss of words and at the moment at a loss of hope. When does it end? When does a child stop suffering? I don’t know what else to say right now…my heart is too broken, my words don’t make sense and my mind is all over the place.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Sharing My Story...
I want to share this story with you because I want to share the children’s questions, the children’s views on things here. But to share this story with you means I need to share a little bit more of myself with some of you who don’t know. So here it goes…
Four of our interns, Andrew, Nate, Andrea and Lauren S, go to a primary school that is located on the outskirts of a slum, just 5 minutes from our compound. They go to the school twice a week, after school is done and talk with six, seven and eighth graders. They’ve touched on topics such as Christianity, puberty, and sex.
This past Tuesday, the topic for the day’s discussion was rape. I was asked to come and speak to the students, to share my story, my struggles and my forgiveness from my rape that happened over 15 years ago.
When I started to tell them that I had been raped, some kids laughed. I asked why they thought something of a serious nature would be funny to them. They didn’t answer so I gave some thoughts as to why they thought it was humorous. The reason: they never thought bad things happened to white people.
I told them that 1 out of every 4 women in North America are raped. Therefore, out of the three of us white women at the front of the class; I was that one that had been raped. It shocked them.
I spoke at times, directly to the boys. “When a girl says no, you MUST listen to her. You MUST respect her no and not push her further or force yourself upon her.” I could see snickers on some of their faces. In a culture where in many places are still old school traditions, the men are still superior to women, the men still have control of women, the men can take whatever they want from women…some of these boys still lived in that warped existence.
I asked the boys who had sisters to raise their hand. Almost all the boys raised their hands. I then asked the boys who had mothers to raise their hand; again almost all the boys raised their hands. Then I said, “Picture your sister coming home, crying, bleeding, beaten, with torn clothes and she tells you that she has been raped. Picture it.” The boys grow quiet. “When your sister tells you this, are you happy? Are you happy to hear that she has been raped?” All the boys say no. I said, “Are you angry? Very angry at what just happened to your sister?” They all shout, “Yes!!” I said, “Are you so angry that they did this to your sister, that you want to go and beat them?” “YES!!!” They shout.
Then I say it. “Now remember boys, the next time you want to force yourself upon a girl, remember that she is somebody’s sister.” You could hear a pin drop in the room.
After sharing my story, I opened it up for questioning for the whole group: boys and girls. At first, similar questions were asked: “Were you angry with him?”, “How long did it take you to forgive him?” “Were you afraid that you could be pregnant?” and so on.
One of the first questions from a boy was, “Can boys also be raped?” And the look on his face was so serious, so sad. “Absolutely!” I said, “And it’s no less scary or wrong for a man to be raped as it is for woman.”
Another boy asked me the name of the person who had raped me. I wouldn’t tell them. I knew that this question was going to be asked and I had prepared an answer for when it was asked. I wouldn’t give the name out because I wanted to respect any boy in that room that could have the same name. I knew that if I had told them, they would all immediately point and laugh at the boy in the class who had the same name (if there was even a boy with the same name) and I didn’t want to cause embarrassment to someone that had nothing to do with my story. The students agreed that they would’ve done that and I’m sure all the boys were thankful for me not releasing the name, dreading that it may be their name.
After awhile, we separated the boys and girls. The boys left with Andrew and Nate to discuss more in-depth questions that may be awkward for them to ask in front of the girls. Andrea, Lauren and I stayed to talk with the girls and some of the most difficult questions were asked to me. With almost every question asked, I had to take a silent moment and ask God for wisdom. Without Him, I don’t think I would’ve been able to answer some of them.
Here is a list of some of the questions:
- After you wrote him the letter forgiving him, did he contact you? Are you two friends now?
- What if you’re raped and he gives you HIV/AIDS from the rape? How can you forgive him for ruining the rest of your life?
- What do you do if you’re raped and you get pregnant and you have the child and the child looks like the man who raped you and you hate that child because it reminds you of the rape?
- How can you know if a baby has been raped?
- How can you tell if a girl has been raped?
- What do you do to get rid of the sadness that’s inside of you if you have been raped?
- What should you do if you are raped?
- Are women in North America raped by their fathers or other men that they know?
There were so many questions; all of them valid; all of them asked with extreme seriousness. I looked around the room and saw in to some of their girl’s eyes. I could see the sadness; I could see the pain; I could see the rape victims. And it broke me.
I went through a time in my life, after the rape, where I was angry with God. I blamed Him, asked Him, “Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you stop it?” Back in 2001, God gave me the reason. He showed me the verse 2 Corinthians 1:3-4: Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
I believe that God can take every bad situation that happens and turn it in to something good. And talking to those kids, especially the girls, on Tuesday about my story, sharing my pain, my thoughts, my healing and my suggestions to them, helped some of them. Even if it only helped one girl, then it was all worth it. When a girl or woman that I know has been raped, I am thankful that I am reminded of the pain that I went through because I know how to comfort and pray for those girls and women.
A few years back, I decided to work with God rather than fight Him and take the something bad and make it something good. It’s amazing how wonderful it really feels.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Crazy Week - Part 3
Our final trip with the Foster Group was in Nairobi. The Foster Group left our home on October 3rd and the TI team traveled to Nairobi on October 5th and spent a few days there. We spent October 6th, our last day with the Foster Group in one of the many Nairobi slums, called Soweto.
Soweto Slums
Soweto is a name that is derived from the place in South Africa. It means “trouble”. Soweto in South Africa is a dangerous, dirty place (from what I’ve been told and read about). So does the curse of the word, the name, follow….who knows?
I’ve blogged about Soweto to you before. It’s a slum in Nairobi that is very much forgotten. It can’t even compare to the commercialism that has followed the largest slum in Africa, which is Kibera (Key-bear-a) and therefore little to no assistance reaches these people.
There is a school in Soweto that TI has a relationship with. We are good friends of the people who run the school, we sponsor a few children at the school and the Foster Group for the past months has provided the food to the students of this school. On most days, it’s the only food these children receive.
The group was shocked by the huge dump site on the outskirt of the slums, where there were dozens of people, children included, rummaging through the garbage for food to eat, and for plastic bottles to take back to recycling companies for money back, even if it was for only a few pennies. As we crossed the river, I could see the curled noses at the sight and stench of the dark grey river filled with garbage and human waste.
We did a tour of the slum, to which became too difficult for some of the group members. The dirty, hungry looking, sick children running around us, wanting to greet us and hold our hands, was overwhelming. Just being there for a half an hour was emotionally draining on some people.
We went to the school that we assist and were greeted with screams of excitement by the children. On mine and Daniel’s last trip there in May with Daniel’s parents, the children sang and danced for us. I had joined them in the dancing and (un)fortunately they remembered that and therefore some of the girls wanted me to stand alongside them again and be a part of the dancing. :-) Thankfully, I was saved from the teachers and they agreed that I didn’t practice the routines so I would be a little lost. “Next time, Mary! You dance with us next time.” That’s what they said. Yep, next time I will!
The students presented some songs and skits for us all. Their faces were painted and they even wore costumes for their performances. The teams got a tour of the school and were introduced to each teacher.
From there, the Foster Group presented to the teachers, books and supplies for the school. There was excitement in their faces; seeing that they have more supplies now to work with, to help better teach their students. It is so evident that these teachers love their job and love their students despite the hardships that they all encounter there on a daily basis.
After a few hours at the school, we headed back to the city, said our goodbyes to the Foster Group and parted ways with them. For me, it was an emotional goodbye. I have made some great friends in Sandy and Cathy and I really miss them.
Walking through Soweto
Doing skits for us
Beautiful kids of Soweto
Holding a doll, tightly...
TI in Nairobi
The TI crew stayed another day in Nairobi. We celebrated my birthday the evening we arrived (October 5th). Thank you to EVERYONE who sent me birthday wishes; I SOOOOOOOO appreciated and loved it. For my birthday, I got from the TI crew, a kick-butt 3-CD changer stereo. It’s pretty amazing.
On October 7th, the TI crew went to Nairobi City Park for some fun with the monkeys. We heard about this park from a few friends of ours and decided to check it out. Oh my, it was so much fun. Get some nuts, fruit and bananas and your guaranteed to have monkeys crawling all over you. And we did. It was so much stinkin’ fun!!!
We chased away the aggressive monkeys that weren’t letting the little ones eat or have fun. We got them to climb up on our shoulders, our heads and wherever else they knew they could get to the food. Some monkeys were a little more timid than others. It was a moment of, “Oh my gosh, I’m in Africa. I have monkeys on my shoulder, on my head.” It helped us release a bit of what we had just been a part of for the past two weeks; it allowed us to have some fun and enjoy the sillier things here…even if it was just for a little while.
Sean and his newfound friend.
Nate and his friend, ED
Me with George
"Give me food!"
Lauren's found love!
"Give me nuts!"
They were seriously fighting over Andrew.
Andrea & Andrew just hanging out with their friends.
Soweto Slums
Soweto is a name that is derived from the place in South Africa. It means “trouble”. Soweto in South Africa is a dangerous, dirty place (from what I’ve been told and read about). So does the curse of the word, the name, follow….who knows?
I’ve blogged about Soweto to you before. It’s a slum in Nairobi that is very much forgotten. It can’t even compare to the commercialism that has followed the largest slum in Africa, which is Kibera (Key-bear-a) and therefore little to no assistance reaches these people.
There is a school in Soweto that TI has a relationship with. We are good friends of the people who run the school, we sponsor a few children at the school and the Foster Group for the past months has provided the food to the students of this school. On most days, it’s the only food these children receive.
The group was shocked by the huge dump site on the outskirt of the slums, where there were dozens of people, children included, rummaging through the garbage for food to eat, and for plastic bottles to take back to recycling companies for money back, even if it was for only a few pennies. As we crossed the river, I could see the curled noses at the sight and stench of the dark grey river filled with garbage and human waste.
We did a tour of the slum, to which became too difficult for some of the group members. The dirty, hungry looking, sick children running around us, wanting to greet us and hold our hands, was overwhelming. Just being there for a half an hour was emotionally draining on some people.
We went to the school that we assist and were greeted with screams of excitement by the children. On mine and Daniel’s last trip there in May with Daniel’s parents, the children sang and danced for us. I had joined them in the dancing and (un)fortunately they remembered that and therefore some of the girls wanted me to stand alongside them again and be a part of the dancing. :-) Thankfully, I was saved from the teachers and they agreed that I didn’t practice the routines so I would be a little lost. “Next time, Mary! You dance with us next time.” That’s what they said. Yep, next time I will!
The students presented some songs and skits for us all. Their faces were painted and they even wore costumes for their performances. The teams got a tour of the school and were introduced to each teacher.
From there, the Foster Group presented to the teachers, books and supplies for the school. There was excitement in their faces; seeing that they have more supplies now to work with, to help better teach their students. It is so evident that these teachers love their job and love their students despite the hardships that they all encounter there on a daily basis.
After a few hours at the school, we headed back to the city, said our goodbyes to the Foster Group and parted ways with them. For me, it was an emotional goodbye. I have made some great friends in Sandy and Cathy and I really miss them.
Walking through Soweto
Doing skits for us
Beautiful kids of Soweto
Holding a doll, tightly...TI in Nairobi
The TI crew stayed another day in Nairobi. We celebrated my birthday the evening we arrived (October 5th). Thank you to EVERYONE who sent me birthday wishes; I SOOOOOOOO appreciated and loved it. For my birthday, I got from the TI crew, a kick-butt 3-CD changer stereo. It’s pretty amazing.
On October 7th, the TI crew went to Nairobi City Park for some fun with the monkeys. We heard about this park from a few friends of ours and decided to check it out. Oh my, it was so much fun. Get some nuts, fruit and bananas and your guaranteed to have monkeys crawling all over you. And we did. It was so much stinkin’ fun!!!
We chased away the aggressive monkeys that weren’t letting the little ones eat or have fun. We got them to climb up on our shoulders, our heads and wherever else they knew they could get to the food. Some monkeys were a little more timid than others. It was a moment of, “Oh my gosh, I’m in Africa. I have monkeys on my shoulder, on my head.” It helped us release a bit of what we had just been a part of for the past two weeks; it allowed us to have some fun and enjoy the sillier things here…even if it was just for a little while.
Sean and his newfound friend.
Nate and his friend, ED
Me with George
"Give me food!"
Lauren's found love!
"Give me nuts!"
They were seriously fighting over Andrew.
Andrea & Andrew just hanging out with their friends.Thursday, October 23, 2008
Crazy Week - Part 2
As mentioned in my Part 1 blog, we did two food distributions to needy communities in our area. We had one more community a few days after that. This community hit people in more ways than the previous two; it left many of us emotional.
Kolongolo Village
Kolongolo (Colon-go-low) is a community that is deep in the bush. It is a village over an hour away from Kitale, most of it on rough dirt roads. It’s about 2kms from the border of West Pokot (Po-cot), which is considered a fairy violent tribe among other Kenyans. The Pokot people believe that all livestock, especially cattle, belongs to them, therefore other people living in the area of the Pokot, do not own cattle. If they did, the cattle would have been stolen and if people tried to protect their livestock, they would’ve been killed. There are very few people in this community who have livestock and if they did, they have permission by the Pokot to keep their own livestock. How they get the permission and from who, I don’t know.
Kolongolo is a very poor community. HIV/AIDs has swept this area and the high percentage of this place is widows raising their children on their own and grandmothers left to care for the grandchildren. We connected with this community because a Kenyan family that we are close to has their home out there. The mother/wife in this family has been connected to this community for years, has been assisting from their own farm and resources to help these women and children survive.
On September 30th, the Foster Group and TI delivered maize, beans, blankets and school uniforms to 15 families. The welcome was overwhelming. Here were women and children without anything, but together, they presented us with a large bag of corn on the cob and a dozen eggs as a thank you for coming and assisting them. They were giving us food, a gift of thanks. That in itself was completely overwhelming.
We had some of the children present songs to us, then some of the widows and grandmothers. During the time at Kolongolo, we found a few children who were really sick.
There was one boy, Isaiah, who the previous week had hurt himself on a bike. The wound in his ankle area had not been properly taken care of. Lauren R removed the dirty bandage to find it was infected and smelled horribly. The bone was showing; I had never seen a cut that deep, flesh so infected and exposed before. With the little resources that we had available, anti-bacterial wipes, a tank top and a Swiss army knife, she cleaned up the wound, tied it up and we arranged to have the boy taken to the hospital for further examination.
There was a young mother there whose husband had died of AIDs; she did not know if she or her child had contracted the illness from him. We recommended that they be taken to the hospital as well to find out. We gave these families transport money and arranged when we would meet them at the hospital.
We left Kolongolo that day even more so physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted than we did at Maili Saba and Shimo. The Foster Group was deeply touched by this village and prayers have been answered in Kolongolo. We look forward to see what comes about over the next year here.
The Hospital
On October 2nd, Anne (our social worker), Lauren R and I went to Kitale’s district hospital, to meet with the families from Kolongolo that needed medical assistance.
The first was a little girl named Rachel. She hadn’t been feeling well for quite awhile. After testing, it was confirmed that she had Tuberculosis. The doctor and Anne thoroughly explained to Rachel’s grandmother, the importance and necessity of the medication for Rachel. The curing of Tuberculosis is a lengthy process and missing of treatment can lead to starting the treatment all over again.
The second was a sweet little boy named Kevin. He has had this sore in his belly button for awhile that we’ve been treating. From what it looks like and after a bit of research, it’s a common illness where the intestine pushes out the belly button. The doctor looked at it, gave him two injections (arm and bum) of something that I’m not sure of but knew that Kevin didn’t like as he cried for quite awhile, rubbing his arm and bum. He also got medication and will go back for a follow-up in the next little while.
The third case was that of Isaiah’s, the boy with the hole on his ankle. We got to go in to the ‘minor surgery’ room and Lauren and I were quite excited about it, thinking we just might get to see a bit of surgery done. We were sadly mistaken, although I’m sure Isaiah was thankful that there was no surgery. When the doctor removed the bandage that Lauren had done back in Kolongolo, he asked Isaiah’s mother when it had happened, she told him about a week before. The doctor glared at the mother and demanded to know why she didn’t bring him in sooner, to which Anne defended Isaiah’s mother saying she lived deep in the village where there is no medical care or finances. The doctor ignored Anne and attacked the mother again, to which the mother, put her head down in shame and said in Swahili, “I have no money to bring him here.” The doctor shut up.
The cost of transportation to and from the hospital for Isaiah’s mother is about $6. To us, that amount of money is nothing but here in Kenya, to a widow who has no means of income and has mouths to feed, $6 is unimaginable. And then there is the medication and the hospital fees to pay on top of that. Six dollars now turns in to $10 or $15 dollars, more than she could financially handle. So she cleans the wound with soap and dirty water, wraps it with an old dirty rag from somewhere around their home and prays for the best. That’s all she can do.
The doctor took the bandage off, rubbed it with alcohol, to which made Isaiah wince and cry and then covered a bandage in iodine, placed it on the wound, wrapped it up and told them to come back on Saturday and Monday. That was it! We were shocked at that; we could’ve done those ourselves. And so we made sure Isaiah’s mother had money for transport and medical care for those days that she was to return.
The fourth case was the wife whose husband had died of AIDS and her little girl Nancy. We all walked in to the pediatrician’s ward (if that’s what you could call it). We walked in to this large room and it was quite a sight to see. There were over 100 mothers PLUS their children in this semi-large open room. Some of the mothers looked as young as 13-14 years old, holding their children. I stared at them thinking, “These are children themselves, now raising children.”
The room was packed; it had benches lining the walls of the room and a few more in the middle. The only empty spots on the benches remaining were the ones we sat on when we arrived. There were two tables in the room; one in the middle, considered the “reception desk” that had doctors and nurses just hanging out at. They weren’t doing too much from what I could see, except for having a conversation among each other. The other table was to the right, in the corner. There were two doctors and a weigh scale for babies; they were busy working away as baby after baby was laid on the scale, the doctors writing something down, saying something to the mother and then moving on to the next baby.
A nurse came over to us and asked if we could be helped. Anne spoke to the nurse regarding this mother’s situation and the nurse took us to another area of the hospital. Lauren and I could see the nervousness on this mother’s face, knowing the rest of her life and what it may look like was going to be determined today. We went to the area of the hospital for HIV/AIDS counseling, medication, etc. The mother was told that she would be tested and if it was positive, she would immediately be counseled and assisted for the free medication provided by the government (and other countries) to help prolong her life and assist her immune system.
We were not able to stay with her during this time so we all went and had lunch with the other three families that we had assisted at the hospital and then sent them on their way back to Kolongolo.
Lauren and I went back to town to do some other things while we waited for the details of the mother and her little daughter Nancy’s status. We ended up meeting back up with Daniel, Anne, the mother and Nancy in town.
The mother and Nancy were tested positive for HIV. I hugged the mother for as long as I could and as tightly as I could. I kissed Nancy’s face over and over again until I saw that beautiful smile of hers appear. And before my tears could flow, I said goodbye to them and walked over to our taxi, told Lauren the news, both of us put our sunglasses on and started to cry. Two more lives devastated by a disease that I can’t begin to comprehend and despise more than I can ever explain.
And that’s all I can say for now…
Kolongolo Village
Kolongolo (Colon-go-low) is a community that is deep in the bush. It is a village over an hour away from Kitale, most of it on rough dirt roads. It’s about 2kms from the border of West Pokot (Po-cot), which is considered a fairy violent tribe among other Kenyans. The Pokot people believe that all livestock, especially cattle, belongs to them, therefore other people living in the area of the Pokot, do not own cattle. If they did, the cattle would have been stolen and if people tried to protect their livestock, they would’ve been killed. There are very few people in this community who have livestock and if they did, they have permission by the Pokot to keep their own livestock. How they get the permission and from who, I don’t know.
Kolongolo is a very poor community. HIV/AIDs has swept this area and the high percentage of this place is widows raising their children on their own and grandmothers left to care for the grandchildren. We connected with this community because a Kenyan family that we are close to has their home out there. The mother/wife in this family has been connected to this community for years, has been assisting from their own farm and resources to help these women and children survive.
On September 30th, the Foster Group and TI delivered maize, beans, blankets and school uniforms to 15 families. The welcome was overwhelming. Here were women and children without anything, but together, they presented us with a large bag of corn on the cob and a dozen eggs as a thank you for coming and assisting them. They were giving us food, a gift of thanks. That in itself was completely overwhelming.
We had some of the children present songs to us, then some of the widows and grandmothers. During the time at Kolongolo, we found a few children who were really sick.
There was one boy, Isaiah, who the previous week had hurt himself on a bike. The wound in his ankle area had not been properly taken care of. Lauren R removed the dirty bandage to find it was infected and smelled horribly. The bone was showing; I had never seen a cut that deep, flesh so infected and exposed before. With the little resources that we had available, anti-bacterial wipes, a tank top and a Swiss army knife, she cleaned up the wound, tied it up and we arranged to have the boy taken to the hospital for further examination.
There was a young mother there whose husband had died of AIDs; she did not know if she or her child had contracted the illness from him. We recommended that they be taken to the hospital as well to find out. We gave these families transport money and arranged when we would meet them at the hospital.
We left Kolongolo that day even more so physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted than we did at Maili Saba and Shimo. The Foster Group was deeply touched by this village and prayers have been answered in Kolongolo. We look forward to see what comes about over the next year here.
The Hospital
On October 2nd, Anne (our social worker), Lauren R and I went to Kitale’s district hospital, to meet with the families from Kolongolo that needed medical assistance.
The first was a little girl named Rachel. She hadn’t been feeling well for quite awhile. After testing, it was confirmed that she had Tuberculosis. The doctor and Anne thoroughly explained to Rachel’s grandmother, the importance and necessity of the medication for Rachel. The curing of Tuberculosis is a lengthy process and missing of treatment can lead to starting the treatment all over again.
The second was a sweet little boy named Kevin. He has had this sore in his belly button for awhile that we’ve been treating. From what it looks like and after a bit of research, it’s a common illness where the intestine pushes out the belly button. The doctor looked at it, gave him two injections (arm and bum) of something that I’m not sure of but knew that Kevin didn’t like as he cried for quite awhile, rubbing his arm and bum. He also got medication and will go back for a follow-up in the next little while.
The third case was that of Isaiah’s, the boy with the hole on his ankle. We got to go in to the ‘minor surgery’ room and Lauren and I were quite excited about it, thinking we just might get to see a bit of surgery done. We were sadly mistaken, although I’m sure Isaiah was thankful that there was no surgery. When the doctor removed the bandage that Lauren had done back in Kolongolo, he asked Isaiah’s mother when it had happened, she told him about a week before. The doctor glared at the mother and demanded to know why she didn’t bring him in sooner, to which Anne defended Isaiah’s mother saying she lived deep in the village where there is no medical care or finances. The doctor ignored Anne and attacked the mother again, to which the mother, put her head down in shame and said in Swahili, “I have no money to bring him here.” The doctor shut up.
The cost of transportation to and from the hospital for Isaiah’s mother is about $6. To us, that amount of money is nothing but here in Kenya, to a widow who has no means of income and has mouths to feed, $6 is unimaginable. And then there is the medication and the hospital fees to pay on top of that. Six dollars now turns in to $10 or $15 dollars, more than she could financially handle. So she cleans the wound with soap and dirty water, wraps it with an old dirty rag from somewhere around their home and prays for the best. That’s all she can do.
The doctor took the bandage off, rubbed it with alcohol, to which made Isaiah wince and cry and then covered a bandage in iodine, placed it on the wound, wrapped it up and told them to come back on Saturday and Monday. That was it! We were shocked at that; we could’ve done those ourselves. And so we made sure Isaiah’s mother had money for transport and medical care for those days that she was to return.
The fourth case was the wife whose husband had died of AIDS and her little girl Nancy. We all walked in to the pediatrician’s ward (if that’s what you could call it). We walked in to this large room and it was quite a sight to see. There were over 100 mothers PLUS their children in this semi-large open room. Some of the mothers looked as young as 13-14 years old, holding their children. I stared at them thinking, “These are children themselves, now raising children.”
The room was packed; it had benches lining the walls of the room and a few more in the middle. The only empty spots on the benches remaining were the ones we sat on when we arrived. There were two tables in the room; one in the middle, considered the “reception desk” that had doctors and nurses just hanging out at. They weren’t doing too much from what I could see, except for having a conversation among each other. The other table was to the right, in the corner. There were two doctors and a weigh scale for babies; they were busy working away as baby after baby was laid on the scale, the doctors writing something down, saying something to the mother and then moving on to the next baby.
A nurse came over to us and asked if we could be helped. Anne spoke to the nurse regarding this mother’s situation and the nurse took us to another area of the hospital. Lauren and I could see the nervousness on this mother’s face, knowing the rest of her life and what it may look like was going to be determined today. We went to the area of the hospital for HIV/AIDS counseling, medication, etc. The mother was told that she would be tested and if it was positive, she would immediately be counseled and assisted for the free medication provided by the government (and other countries) to help prolong her life and assist her immune system.
We were not able to stay with her during this time so we all went and had lunch with the other three families that we had assisted at the hospital and then sent them on their way back to Kolongolo.
Lauren and I went back to town to do some other things while we waited for the details of the mother and her little daughter Nancy’s status. We ended up meeting back up with Daniel, Anne, the mother and Nancy in town.
The mother and Nancy were tested positive for HIV. I hugged the mother for as long as I could and as tightly as I could. I kissed Nancy’s face over and over again until I saw that beautiful smile of hers appear. And before my tears could flow, I said goodbye to them and walked over to our taxi, told Lauren the news, both of us put our sunglasses on and started to cry. Two more lives devastated by a disease that I can’t begin to comprehend and despise more than I can ever explain.
And that’s all I can say for now…
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Crazy Week - Part 1
Quick note: I’m sorry that this email/blog is almost a month late. One, it was extremely busy few weeks with the team here and two, our internet has been down for over two weeks, which makes it difficult to post pictures. Hopefully, you’ll forgive and enjoy the next few updates…
Crazy Week – Part 1
It’s been a crazy and emotional few weeks for all of us here at the TI compound. We’ve all experienced different types of emotions but for the most part, it’s been emotional. In order not to bore everyone or have a blog that is about 10 pages long (because trust me, with all that’s happened, it very well could be), I’ll break down the past week in to separate blogs.
Maili Saba & Shimo
On Thursday, September 25th, the TI team (staff and interns) as well as the Foster Group (Sandy, Don, Cathy, Carol and Julie), spent the day at the compound packing food for the big distribution that we were going to be having the following day. There were enough bags of maize (corn) and beans to feed 177 families as well as 500 blankets to distribute to each family.
It was a long day and an exhausting one for us as all as we (well lets be honest, it was mostly the guys) carried up to 190lbs bags of maize to package.
Distributing the food for the big day.
On Friday, September 26th, was the big distribution day. We were ready to go and had the three pick up trucks loaded by 9:30am. We drove to our first destination called Maili Saba (my-lee sa-baa). As we approached the road, there lining the path were tons of children with their old grandmothers and children with their widowed mothers. When they saw the trucks and the taxis arrive, they began to sing and dance. It was beautiful and emotional.
The Families
Trucks full of food
We unloaded the trucks and got organized. This food distribution stop was the largest one out of all of them. There were 108 widows and grandmothers that we assisted. We set up the food along one side, calling over 20 families at a time. They would receive their blankets first, some getting more blankets than others depending on the size of the family.
Families lined up for food and blankets.
The line-up of women and children was overwhelming. We did the same community last year when the Foster Group was here but this year was different. There were more children which meant more poverty hitting more families, more children. It was way too difficult.
As each family received their food and blankets, they were then prayed for by our interns. They were welcoming and so incredibly thankful of the prayers.
I had two beautiful little girls, Chebet (my Nandi tribe name) and Nancy, cling to me for most of the time there at Maili Saba. All of us made some new, cute little friends that day.
Chebet & Nancy
Nancy, Me & Chebet
Carrying her blanket home...
After we returned from Maili Saba, we grabbed lunch in town and then headed back to our compound to fill up the pick up truck with maize, beans and blankets for our next food distribution location, Shimo La Tewa (She-mo La Tay-wa). We had done this location last year as well with the Foster Group. It is a slum area, about 5 minutes from our home. It is filled with drunkards, young children, rape victims, widows, grandmothers and prostitutes. It’s an area that is forgotten because it’s in a corner of the town and not as large as the other slum in Kitale.
There is a school that borders the slum and our community, called Shimo La Tewa Primary. This is where we do our distribution. We have a relationship with the Headmaster (principal) there and the school counselor (it’s the school counselor that assists on finding the families for the distribution as she is familiar with the needy in this community). The school counselor, in fact, informed us that this year, four girls in grades seven and eight dropped out of school because they were pregnant. Grade Seven and Eight?!?!?!? Sadness, complete sadness.
When we arrived at the school, there were the women, sitting in wooden school desks in the yard of the school, as students still in class looked out the window, watching the commotion begin. The women started to dance and sing for us. And like at Maila Saba, there were more children and here, the children were dirty, wearing torn clothes that probably hadn’t been washed in weeks. But that didn’t stop us from hugging, chasing, kissing and loving on these children.
Kenyan Child Beauty
He got his lollypop stolen...
In Shimo, we assisted over 50 families with maize, beans, blankets and prayers. At the end of the day, we were all physically, emotional and spiritually exhausted. Some of us came home and cried, cried over the poverty we had just seen, cried over the children that were so dirty, cried over the lack of love or affection these children receive at their homes. We just didn’t understand why people have to live this way. We did a lot of processing, knowing that we still had one more distribution to do in the next few days.
Food for Shimo
Praying for the people of Shimo
THE TI CREW...
Crazy Week – Part 1
It’s been a crazy and emotional few weeks for all of us here at the TI compound. We’ve all experienced different types of emotions but for the most part, it’s been emotional. In order not to bore everyone or have a blog that is about 10 pages long (because trust me, with all that’s happened, it very well could be), I’ll break down the past week in to separate blogs.
Maili Saba & Shimo
On Thursday, September 25th, the TI team (staff and interns) as well as the Foster Group (Sandy, Don, Cathy, Carol and Julie), spent the day at the compound packing food for the big distribution that we were going to be having the following day. There were enough bags of maize (corn) and beans to feed 177 families as well as 500 blankets to distribute to each family.
It was a long day and an exhausting one for us as all as we (well lets be honest, it was mostly the guys) carried up to 190lbs bags of maize to package.
Distributing the food for the big day.On Friday, September 26th, was the big distribution day. We were ready to go and had the three pick up trucks loaded by 9:30am. We drove to our first destination called Maili Saba (my-lee sa-baa). As we approached the road, there lining the path were tons of children with their old grandmothers and children with their widowed mothers. When they saw the trucks and the taxis arrive, they began to sing and dance. It was beautiful and emotional.
The Families Trucks full of foodWe unloaded the trucks and got organized. This food distribution stop was the largest one out of all of them. There were 108 widows and grandmothers that we assisted. We set up the food along one side, calling over 20 families at a time. They would receive their blankets first, some getting more blankets than others depending on the size of the family.
Families lined up for food and blankets. The line-up of women and children was overwhelming. We did the same community last year when the Foster Group was here but this year was different. There were more children which meant more poverty hitting more families, more children. It was way too difficult.
As each family received their food and blankets, they were then prayed for by our interns. They were welcoming and so incredibly thankful of the prayers.
I had two beautiful little girls, Chebet (my Nandi tribe name) and Nancy, cling to me for most of the time there at Maili Saba. All of us made some new, cute little friends that day.
Chebet & Nancy
Nancy, Me & Chebet
Carrying her blanket home...After we returned from Maili Saba, we grabbed lunch in town and then headed back to our compound to fill up the pick up truck with maize, beans and blankets for our next food distribution location, Shimo La Tewa (She-mo La Tay-wa). We had done this location last year as well with the Foster Group. It is a slum area, about 5 minutes from our home. It is filled with drunkards, young children, rape victims, widows, grandmothers and prostitutes. It’s an area that is forgotten because it’s in a corner of the town and not as large as the other slum in Kitale.
There is a school that borders the slum and our community, called Shimo La Tewa Primary. This is where we do our distribution. We have a relationship with the Headmaster (principal) there and the school counselor (it’s the school counselor that assists on finding the families for the distribution as she is familiar with the needy in this community). The school counselor, in fact, informed us that this year, four girls in grades seven and eight dropped out of school because they were pregnant. Grade Seven and Eight?!?!?!? Sadness, complete sadness.
When we arrived at the school, there were the women, sitting in wooden school desks in the yard of the school, as students still in class looked out the window, watching the commotion begin. The women started to dance and sing for us. And like at Maila Saba, there were more children and here, the children were dirty, wearing torn clothes that probably hadn’t been washed in weeks. But that didn’t stop us from hugging, chasing, kissing and loving on these children.
Kenyan Child Beauty
He got his lollypop stolen...In Shimo, we assisted over 50 families with maize, beans, blankets and prayers. At the end of the day, we were all physically, emotional and spiritually exhausted. Some of us came home and cried, cried over the poverty we had just seen, cried over the children that were so dirty, cried over the lack of love or affection these children receive at their homes. We just didn’t understand why people have to live this way. We did a lot of processing, knowing that we still had one more distribution to do in the next few days.
Food for Shimo
Praying for the people of ShimoThat’s for Part 2…
THE TI CREW...Back row: Sean, Andrea, Andrew, Daniel
Front row: Lauren R, Nate, Lauren S, Ina, Meredith
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Police Escort & Sunrises
I traveled on the night bus to Nairobi on Monday night. It’s an eight hour bus ride that’s usually a ride from…you know what. Thankfully, I didn’t get much sleep the night before and the roads have gotten much better en route to Nairobi, that I was able to sleep most of the way (which is so unlike me).
There is one section of the trip that requires a police escort for the buses at night. Apparently, there are thugs/thieves that wait on the side of the road for those poor buses to chug up the hill, where they then make a roadblock, force the people out of the bus or fight their way on to the bus and rob everyone of their valuables (i.e. money, cell phones).
So we waited at the police check before the dangerous section. We were the first bus to be pulled over and the police told our drive that we wouldn’t get a police escort until there were 15 buses to convoy. So we were told that we would have to wait….and the driver said it would take up to about 2 hours to collect that amount of buses. The passengers on our bus (and a few that ended up coming up behind us) started getting angry and shouting. Now this was after only 10 minutes of waiting. People were suggesting the strong men on the bus should go and confront the police…demand that they take those buses that were waiting NOW, even if there were only a few. There were a few people who even recommended sending the mzungu (white person – and that would be ME) out to talk to the police. They thought since I was a white girl, I may have better luck at swaying the police officers. Thanks for sending me out to the lions!!
After much arguing and shouting from passengers of the buses waiting, we got the police escort. There were about 12 buses in the convoy. And as we approached the area of the thugs/thieves, I realized the police escort wouldn’t have done much good for our bus anyway. All these different bus companies went zooming by us as we approached “the hill” and yes, we were the last bus, chugging up the hill, the rest of the convoy far ahead.
As we approached the top of the hill, there were about half a dozen boys that came out of the darkness onto the side of the road. I heard a lady say, “oh no…” softly. The man across the isle from me clutched the arm rest, all of us staring out the window. Excitement, seriously, came over me….I like adventures….ones where no one gets hurt obviously….but there’s something about the risk. Sick, I know!
And as we approached these boys, the only sound you could hear was the sound of the engine of the bus, fighting to get up the hill. The once angry, shouting passengers were quiet. Then we drove by the boys…and they threw a couple things at the bus. Yep, that was it. We heard a couple of ping-ping sounds off the side of the bus but we kept on going. There was relief from everyone as we kept chugging along the road. After that, it was lights out for me. I fell asleep for most of the trip…not a care in the world.
I was to pick up our intern, Andrea at the airport for 6:30 on Tuesday morning. I got to the airport and saw that her airplane was going to be arriving a half an hour earlier. I was happy about that; it meant I could get home faster. But after 8:00am, the plane landing and the entire luggage being collected and still no Andrea, I got a little worried. I called Daniel and he called Andrea’s home. Andrea wasn’t getting in to Nairobi until the next morning. She had given us the wrong date of her arrival in to Kenya. So I went and got a hotel room back in the city and spent the day sitting in a park or in my hotel room, reading a good book that I bought at a book store by the hotel.
In the evening, I wanted to take a shower because at the hotel, in the evenings and in the early mornings, the water is hot, whereas during the day, it’s cold. I went to take a shower but there was no water….nothing! So I went down to the front desk and they said that there was a problem with the water and that it wouldn’t be fixed or ready until about 3:00 in the morning. I had been on a bus all night, all over the place during the day and desperately wanted to be clean. So one of the staff members said that he would have water heated for me and brought to my room in a basin.
About 40 minutes later, he knocked on my door and I opened it just a bit. There he was with a bucket full of warm water. I put my hand through the door to grab the bucket and then he said, “Its okay, I can bring it in for you.” Then I replied, “No it’s okay, I can take it from you. I can carry it just fine.” He tried to insist on carrying it for me; I then said firmly, “I don’t want you in my room. Just give me the bucket.” Maybe he realized at that moment, I wasn’t giving in or that I was thinking the wrong thing and all he wanted to do was be a gentleman and carry the bucket in. Either way, there was no way I was letting a man in to my room, especially being by myself.
It was hard to sleep that night. Being in a hotel room, hearing people walk by your room at all hours of the night, having some European guy outside your hotel room talking on his cell phone, etc. made for a bit of a crabby Meredith when I woke up for 4:45am.
I got in a taxi outside the hotel (the same taxi driver I used when I was in Nairobi picking up my cousin Sarah and also Sean – we both remembered each other. “You’re back again!” he said when he saw me) and headed for the airport…this time knowing Andrea was going to be there.
As we drove out of the centre of Nairobi and towards the outskirts of this massive city, I spent some time talking to God.
And then I noticed it…the sky. It was absolutely gorgeous. It was the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen (and I’ve seen so many in Kenya). The sky was covered in red, orange, yellow, purple and blue, the sun’s rising rays, shining between the colors. It was as if I was looking at a rainbow. It was so beautiful, it gave me goose bumps and tears welled up in my eyes. I was completely in awe of it and then I heard, “This is for you, Meredith.”
I forgot the rest of the drive to the airport; I just stared at the sunrise for as long as I could, mesmerized by its beauty, thankful that I got to experience it’s beauty. I wondered how many other people were staring at this same sunrise and appreciating what they were seeing. I wish I had had my camera to take a picture of it, but a picture wouldn’t have even captured an eighth of the beauty. Maybe it was just a moment of beauty to be shared between God and me.
There is one section of the trip that requires a police escort for the buses at night. Apparently, there are thugs/thieves that wait on the side of the road for those poor buses to chug up the hill, where they then make a roadblock, force the people out of the bus or fight their way on to the bus and rob everyone of their valuables (i.e. money, cell phones).
So we waited at the police check before the dangerous section. We were the first bus to be pulled over and the police told our drive that we wouldn’t get a police escort until there were 15 buses to convoy. So we were told that we would have to wait….and the driver said it would take up to about 2 hours to collect that amount of buses. The passengers on our bus (and a few that ended up coming up behind us) started getting angry and shouting. Now this was after only 10 minutes of waiting. People were suggesting the strong men on the bus should go and confront the police…demand that they take those buses that were waiting NOW, even if there were only a few. There were a few people who even recommended sending the mzungu (white person – and that would be ME) out to talk to the police. They thought since I was a white girl, I may have better luck at swaying the police officers. Thanks for sending me out to the lions!!
After much arguing and shouting from passengers of the buses waiting, we got the police escort. There were about 12 buses in the convoy. And as we approached the area of the thugs/thieves, I realized the police escort wouldn’t have done much good for our bus anyway. All these different bus companies went zooming by us as we approached “the hill” and yes, we were the last bus, chugging up the hill, the rest of the convoy far ahead.
As we approached the top of the hill, there were about half a dozen boys that came out of the darkness onto the side of the road. I heard a lady say, “oh no…” softly. The man across the isle from me clutched the arm rest, all of us staring out the window. Excitement, seriously, came over me….I like adventures….ones where no one gets hurt obviously….but there’s something about the risk. Sick, I know!
And as we approached these boys, the only sound you could hear was the sound of the engine of the bus, fighting to get up the hill. The once angry, shouting passengers were quiet. Then we drove by the boys…and they threw a couple things at the bus. Yep, that was it. We heard a couple of ping-ping sounds off the side of the bus but we kept on going. There was relief from everyone as we kept chugging along the road. After that, it was lights out for me. I fell asleep for most of the trip…not a care in the world.
I was to pick up our intern, Andrea at the airport for 6:30 on Tuesday morning. I got to the airport and saw that her airplane was going to be arriving a half an hour earlier. I was happy about that; it meant I could get home faster. But after 8:00am, the plane landing and the entire luggage being collected and still no Andrea, I got a little worried. I called Daniel and he called Andrea’s home. Andrea wasn’t getting in to Nairobi until the next morning. She had given us the wrong date of her arrival in to Kenya. So I went and got a hotel room back in the city and spent the day sitting in a park or in my hotel room, reading a good book that I bought at a book store by the hotel.
In the evening, I wanted to take a shower because at the hotel, in the evenings and in the early mornings, the water is hot, whereas during the day, it’s cold. I went to take a shower but there was no water….nothing! So I went down to the front desk and they said that there was a problem with the water and that it wouldn’t be fixed or ready until about 3:00 in the morning. I had been on a bus all night, all over the place during the day and desperately wanted to be clean. So one of the staff members said that he would have water heated for me and brought to my room in a basin.
About 40 minutes later, he knocked on my door and I opened it just a bit. There he was with a bucket full of warm water. I put my hand through the door to grab the bucket and then he said, “Its okay, I can bring it in for you.” Then I replied, “No it’s okay, I can take it from you. I can carry it just fine.” He tried to insist on carrying it for me; I then said firmly, “I don’t want you in my room. Just give me the bucket.” Maybe he realized at that moment, I wasn’t giving in or that I was thinking the wrong thing and all he wanted to do was be a gentleman and carry the bucket in. Either way, there was no way I was letting a man in to my room, especially being by myself.
It was hard to sleep that night. Being in a hotel room, hearing people walk by your room at all hours of the night, having some European guy outside your hotel room talking on his cell phone, etc. made for a bit of a crabby Meredith when I woke up for 4:45am.
I got in a taxi outside the hotel (the same taxi driver I used when I was in Nairobi picking up my cousin Sarah and also Sean – we both remembered each other. “You’re back again!” he said when he saw me) and headed for the airport…this time knowing Andrea was going to be there.
As we drove out of the centre of Nairobi and towards the outskirts of this massive city, I spent some time talking to God.
And then I noticed it…the sky. It was absolutely gorgeous. It was the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen (and I’ve seen so many in Kenya). The sky was covered in red, orange, yellow, purple and blue, the sun’s rising rays, shining between the colors. It was as if I was looking at a rainbow. It was so beautiful, it gave me goose bumps and tears welled up in my eyes. I was completely in awe of it and then I heard, “This is for you, Meredith.”
I forgot the rest of the drive to the airport; I just stared at the sunrise for as long as I could, mesmerized by its beauty, thankful that I got to experience it’s beauty. I wondered how many other people were staring at this same sunrise and appreciating what they were seeing. I wish I had had my camera to take a picture of it, but a picture wouldn’t have even captured an eighth of the beauty. Maybe it was just a moment of beauty to be shared between God and me.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Intern Fun....
The interns have been here for almost two weeks now. Our interns are: Nate, Andrew, Ina (ee-na) and Lauren S. They are a pretty cool bunch. It’s great to go from moments of serious, in-depth talks to moments of uncontrollable laughter. We’ve become a very tight, united family; I really appreciate it.
On Tuesday, we went to Graceway Academy. It’s a free pre-school for children who live in the slums of Tuwaini (two-wa-nee). It’s funded by our friends Africa Connect, from the US. In Kenya, Early Childhood Development (ECD) classes, such as nursery, junior kindergarten and senior kindergarten are not covered by the government. Therefore, this makes grade one a huge challenge for them, most of them not even attending school without the ECD classes under their belt. This school gives the children the foundation and opportunity to carry on to grade one and through primary school.
In the morning, I was thinking of what we could do at Graceway. After girl’s cell time, I suggest we make crafts with the children, remembering that we had a big bin filled with stuff. So Lauren R and I went through the bins and found stickers, glitter glue, crayons, pencils, sticker boards, etc. So we got together a bunch of stuff and took it to Graceway with us.
The children were outside on the school property playing when we arrived and when they saw us, they started SCREAMING. They were so excited; they came running out of the gate and bombarded us all. We each had about 20 plus children around us each; fighting to hold our hands, give us hugs or just to touch our arms.
Lauren and I got the crafts all ready as everyone played with the children. After getting the children settled back in their classrooms, I took the team to each of the rooms and introduced the team to them. Then we split up in to groups and helped the children with the crafts. We made little bookmarks for them, full of stickers and glitter glue. By the end of the hour and half, there was just as much glitter on the children’s faces as there was on their stickers. Success!!!! :-)
When we were getting ready to leave, one of the little girls came over to me, grabbed my hand and in Swahili said, “Mary, are you coming tomorrow?” I said, “No, I’m sorry. We can’t come tomorrow.” She looked sad and then said, “When?” I told her, “We’ll come again soon!” She got all excited, hugged my waist and said, “Thank you for coming today.”
We, the team, all left there having so much fun. Helping these children make crafts, doing little games with them in the playground, spending time on the ground with them, hugging them…such small things that a made a huge difference in the children that day. We got just as much out of it as they did….we all benefited from it.
On Wednesday, we introduced the team to our girls, our EX-street girls. We played volleyball with them for awhile, which was quite fun and funny. :-) Later, I had Lillian sitting beside me reading from her English book to me. I looked up at her in amazement. She was trying, really trying.
Lillian had been one of the original girls in our home when it opened. She ran away when the others did. About a month ago, she found Anne, our social worker and pleaded to come back. We prayed about and talked about it and decided that we would give her another try. She’s been there for almost a month now and the transformation in her is incredible. With a different group of girls in the home now, rather then her close friends from the street that she was originally with, she’s a totally different person. She’s quite, humble, respectful and determined. We set strict guidelines on her due to this being her second chance in the home and she’s abided by each one. The first week she was there, she apologized to Daniel, Anne and I for running away. She said that she was so sorry and that she won’t be doing it again. She wanted to stay in the home and get her life straightened out.
And as I watched her on Wednesday, playing volleyball, helping me read a Swahili text book and my helping her read an English text book, I asked God, I begged God to please have her stay, to please make it work this time. This project is my heart; these girls have my heart. It’s the motherly love and protection I feel.
Anyway, that's all for now.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Widows & Grandmothers...
In a few weeks, the TI team will be teaming up with the Foster Group to do massive distribution of food to four areas: Maili Saba (my-lee), Kiminini, Shimo La Tewa (tay-wa) and Kolongolo. So on Tuesday, we began doing our assessments on widows and grandmothers in Maili Saba.
When we arrived at the central point where all these widows and grandmothers were to meet, we were welcomed with singing and shouting by the women. I was attacked immediately by little old women who continually hugged me, shook my hand and said Asante sana (thank you very much) in my ear. I must have hugged at least 40 women.
There were streams and streams of little children, staring at the white people. Some would turn away at the very moment of eye contact, while others would stare and when I smiled at them, came running to greet me by shaking my hand.
It took us about 4 hours to go through the assessments and pictures of over 80 widows and grandmothers. As we listened to some of the stories, I was saddened by the condition some of them looked to be in. There was one little boy who sat down with his grandmother and sibling with big tears rolling down his cheeks. I was told he had a headache.
I called him over to sit next to me on my bench. He was a little hesitant at first but after me saying, it’s okay to come here in Swahili a few times, he came and sat next to me. I felt his forehead and he was on fire. Thankfully, I had some headache/fever medication in my purse. We got water and I handed him a pill and gave him water to drink. Then I just wrapped my arms around him and hugged him. When it came time for him to leave and get the family photo taken, he didn’t want to leave. He preferred to stay seated beside me, my arms wrapped around him, him snuggled up against me.
I thoroughly enjoyed the day, meeting all of these amazing women, grandmothers who are raising their grandchildren, fighting to keep the family going, to find food to put on the table. It’s a life that most of us can never imagine having to live. And we found just a small few in a small community that day. There are so many more out there.
We visited Shimo La Tewa on Wednesday and did the same thing, doing assessments on over 40 widows and grandmothers. There was this one sweet little girl; she may have had a cute little dress on but you couldn’t tell because over the dress, she wore a Finding Nemo housecoat. I thought she was the cutest thing and she thought she was the coolest thing with her little housecoat on; it tied tightly around her waist.
I could seriously go on and on about all the little children I met over those two days of assessments but I’ll refrain….for now.
I have so much to write….but I’ll leave it…again, for now.
When we arrived at the central point where all these widows and grandmothers were to meet, we were welcomed with singing and shouting by the women. I was attacked immediately by little old women who continually hugged me, shook my hand and said Asante sana (thank you very much) in my ear. I must have hugged at least 40 women.
There were streams and streams of little children, staring at the white people. Some would turn away at the very moment of eye contact, while others would stare and when I smiled at them, came running to greet me by shaking my hand.
It took us about 4 hours to go through the assessments and pictures of over 80 widows and grandmothers. As we listened to some of the stories, I was saddened by the condition some of them looked to be in. There was one little boy who sat down with his grandmother and sibling with big tears rolling down his cheeks. I was told he had a headache.
I called him over to sit next to me on my bench. He was a little hesitant at first but after me saying, it’s okay to come here in Swahili a few times, he came and sat next to me. I felt his forehead and he was on fire. Thankfully, I had some headache/fever medication in my purse. We got water and I handed him a pill and gave him water to drink. Then I just wrapped my arms around him and hugged him. When it came time for him to leave and get the family photo taken, he didn’t want to leave. He preferred to stay seated beside me, my arms wrapped around him, him snuggled up against me.
I thoroughly enjoyed the day, meeting all of these amazing women, grandmothers who are raising their grandchildren, fighting to keep the family going, to find food to put on the table. It’s a life that most of us can never imagine having to live. And we found just a small few in a small community that day. There are so many more out there.
We visited Shimo La Tewa on Wednesday and did the same thing, doing assessments on over 40 widows and grandmothers. There was this one sweet little girl; she may have had a cute little dress on but you couldn’t tell because over the dress, she wore a Finding Nemo housecoat. I thought she was the cutest thing and she thought she was the coolest thing with her little housecoat on; it tied tightly around her waist.
I could seriously go on and on about all the little children I met over those two days of assessments but I’ll refrain….for now.
I have so much to write….but I’ll leave it…again, for now.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Ezekiel & Me...
I was at HBF (our children’s home) on Saturday. I spent most of my day with a 3.5 month old in my arms. His name is Ezekiel. He is the son of the director to the home.
I was the first visitor to hold Ezekiel when he was born (after hospital staff and his mother). He was just a few hours old. His skin was so light that they jokingly called him mzungu (for white person/European here). It was a joke that he could totally pass for my son…half white/half Kenyan. I was definitely willing at that moment to take him home with me.
Three and a half months later and he’s changed to a beautiful shade of brown with these beautiful big brown eyes. He can no longer be mistaken for an mzungu. His mother says that Ezekiel and I have a special bond. She says he knows me well. She calls me his second mother. When he’s fussy, I take him and unless he’s hungry, I can calm him down. I sing to him, I pat his bottom, I rock him, I cuddle to him, I kiss him. On Saturday, I had him smiling and talking up a storm (well more like baby gurgling sounds but I’ll take what I can get). I engaged in eye contact and baby gurgling conversation with him. Every time he smiled that toothless, gum-filled smile, it made me smile more.
The children were laughing at my interaction with Ezekiel, seeing an adult pretend to understand the language of a 3.5 month old. But the more I showed my interest in what he was moving on about or gurgling about, the more he would smile, kick his feet and gurgle.
It’s an amazing thing to see; to see the smile of a baby, of a child.
It’s moments like this when I ache to be a mom; to be able to hold a child of my own. I can’t wait for morning sickness (yes seriously!), baby kicks, back pains, discomfort, hours of labor…all for the life of a child. To me, the nine months is worth it all. To see my husband, hold his baby for the first time…to see him have gurgling conversations with our baby. On Saturday as I held Ezekiel, I ached for all of that even more.
I remember having a conversation with a family member, before I knew Kenya was were I was going to be. We were talking about wanting children some day and she said to me, “Meredith, I know you will have children some day. They may or may not be yours in flesh but you will forever be surrounded by children and you will be called Mom.” Four years later, I was in Kenya, surrounded by children and many called me, and still call me, Mom.
Children mean so much to me. I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t. To see the transformation of a malnourished, sad being to a healthy, happy child is amazing and so wonderful to be a part of. It’s amazing to see what God does in these children.
There are over 2 million orphans in Kenya alone. I wish my arms were long enough to hug them all, but since they aren’t, I’ll hug as many of them, individually, whenever I can. I may not be a “mom” yet, but I have the love in me…why not give it out to the children who need it.
I was the first visitor to hold Ezekiel when he was born (after hospital staff and his mother). He was just a few hours old. His skin was so light that they jokingly called him mzungu (for white person/European here). It was a joke that he could totally pass for my son…half white/half Kenyan. I was definitely willing at that moment to take him home with me.
Three and a half months later and he’s changed to a beautiful shade of brown with these beautiful big brown eyes. He can no longer be mistaken for an mzungu. His mother says that Ezekiel and I have a special bond. She says he knows me well. She calls me his second mother. When he’s fussy, I take him and unless he’s hungry, I can calm him down. I sing to him, I pat his bottom, I rock him, I cuddle to him, I kiss him. On Saturday, I had him smiling and talking up a storm (well more like baby gurgling sounds but I’ll take what I can get). I engaged in eye contact and baby gurgling conversation with him. Every time he smiled that toothless, gum-filled smile, it made me smile more.
The children were laughing at my interaction with Ezekiel, seeing an adult pretend to understand the language of a 3.5 month old. But the more I showed my interest in what he was moving on about or gurgling about, the more he would smile, kick his feet and gurgle.
It’s an amazing thing to see; to see the smile of a baby, of a child.
It’s moments like this when I ache to be a mom; to be able to hold a child of my own. I can’t wait for morning sickness (yes seriously!), baby kicks, back pains, discomfort, hours of labor…all for the life of a child. To me, the nine months is worth it all. To see my husband, hold his baby for the first time…to see him have gurgling conversations with our baby. On Saturday as I held Ezekiel, I ached for all of that even more.
I remember having a conversation with a family member, before I knew Kenya was were I was going to be. We were talking about wanting children some day and she said to me, “Meredith, I know you will have children some day. They may or may not be yours in flesh but you will forever be surrounded by children and you will be called Mom.” Four years later, I was in Kenya, surrounded by children and many called me, and still call me, Mom.
Children mean so much to me. I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t. To see the transformation of a malnourished, sad being to a healthy, happy child is amazing and so wonderful to be a part of. It’s amazing to see what God does in these children.
There are over 2 million orphans in Kenya alone. I wish my arms were long enough to hug them all, but since they aren’t, I’ll hug as many of them, individually, whenever I can. I may not be a “mom” yet, but I have the love in me…why not give it out to the children who need it.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Sponsorship & Widows...
It’s been a little awhile since I wrote up a blog/email. It’s been quite the crazy few weeks.
It’s August, which means update month for all of our children in our sponsorship program. Every three months, we go to all of our projects and take updated photos and information on our children. I then compile them into little update pages and send them to the sponsors in North America. Last Saturday, alone, I did this for 45 children.
It’s a lot of work but I thoroughly enjoy it. I get to watch the expressions on the children’s faces as they answer the questions or tell their stories. I love it when we tell the kids to smile for the camera and some are either too shy to smile or some just burst out laughing with sheer excitement.
Last week, Anne, Hoglah and I went out to a village that the whole TI team went out to a month ago, where we did assessments of over 20 families: grandmothers with orphan grandchildren or widows with children. The last time we went to the village, we met these families at a central location; this time around, Anne, Hoglah and I went to their individual homes. That day we walked over 15 kilometers and visited many homes.
The first home we went to, we had to walk down a deep, beautiful ravine and back up again. We arrived at the home of Sophia and her children. Her husband had died a few years ago, leaving them with about 3 acres of land but no money. We walked into their smoke-filled home of mud walls and grass roof. There was a small jeico (gee-koo – a small coal like BBQ) in the corner cooking some rice in the corner. The smoke from the coals was filling up the home; my eyes were stinging. I looked around the house to find a half a bag of something (either rice or corn), the jeico and a bench under the roof. That’s it. That’s all that they had in their home. I asked Anne why this was all they had. Anne asked Sophia and she said that her husband was the only son in the family and when he died, his family came and took everything. He, being the only boy, would be the one to care for his parents in their old age but since he was gone now, they “felt” they had the right to his things. Those things would take care of them, perhaps?
And since Sophia was simply an in-law, she had no right to them, even if she was the mother to their son’s children. Thankfully, the one thing she had was the land. But because of no money, planting in the farm was pointless so she rented it out to a nearby community member. It gave her some money, for a little while, to provide food for her children. Food being far more important to her, than a couch or bed for her and the children to sleep on.
Sophia is beautiful. When we arrived, she welcomed us with the biggest smile. I remembered her smile from when we first met her a few weeks before that. She had such a young and beautiful face and she hugged, big, heartfelt hugs. My heart ached for her….for all the homes that we visited that day. They, for the most part were all very similar…in their conditions and situations.
It’s overwhelming; it’s heartbreaking. This is just a small village outside our town, in the deep interior. We didn’t reach every home, every widow, and every heart breaking story in this village alone. There are still so many people in our area we haven’t visited, children we haven’t heard about. And with the decrease of food happening, the increase of prices….this will bring along the increase of extreme poverty. It’s frustrating.
We can only imagine the more difficult times here to come in the next year.
I was in Nairobi last week to pick up Sean. Yes, Sean is finally here! For those of you who haven’t heard, he did make it safely. I’m sure you NACers will hear from him soon. The poor guy hit the ground running here. We spent all of Thursday on a bus back to Kitale. On Friday, he had to endure the wonderful, crammed matatu rides, a corrupt police check (or 4!) and walking up a steep hill…to get to one of our projects. But I think it was worth it when he got to hug on a few beautiful Kenyan children. And just wait until he tells you about our children’s home and his bonding with some of the kids on the Saturday. Yeah, he’ll do great here. J
As this next week begins and more craziness, I’ll keep you posted…as always.
Oh yeah, we have kids on our website that need to be sponsored. Go to www.transformedinternational.org to check them out.
It’s August, which means update month for all of our children in our sponsorship program. Every three months, we go to all of our projects and take updated photos and information on our children. I then compile them into little update pages and send them to the sponsors in North America. Last Saturday, alone, I did this for 45 children.
It’s a lot of work but I thoroughly enjoy it. I get to watch the expressions on the children’s faces as they answer the questions or tell their stories. I love it when we tell the kids to smile for the camera and some are either too shy to smile or some just burst out laughing with sheer excitement.
Last week, Anne, Hoglah and I went out to a village that the whole TI team went out to a month ago, where we did assessments of over 20 families: grandmothers with orphan grandchildren or widows with children. The last time we went to the village, we met these families at a central location; this time around, Anne, Hoglah and I went to their individual homes. That day we walked over 15 kilometers and visited many homes.
The first home we went to, we had to walk down a deep, beautiful ravine and back up again. We arrived at the home of Sophia and her children. Her husband had died a few years ago, leaving them with about 3 acres of land but no money. We walked into their smoke-filled home of mud walls and grass roof. There was a small jeico (gee-koo – a small coal like BBQ) in the corner cooking some rice in the corner. The smoke from the coals was filling up the home; my eyes were stinging. I looked around the house to find a half a bag of something (either rice or corn), the jeico and a bench under the roof. That’s it. That’s all that they had in their home. I asked Anne why this was all they had. Anne asked Sophia and she said that her husband was the only son in the family and when he died, his family came and took everything. He, being the only boy, would be the one to care for his parents in their old age but since he was gone now, they “felt” they had the right to his things. Those things would take care of them, perhaps?
And since Sophia was simply an in-law, she had no right to them, even if she was the mother to their son’s children. Thankfully, the one thing she had was the land. But because of no money, planting in the farm was pointless so she rented it out to a nearby community member. It gave her some money, for a little while, to provide food for her children. Food being far more important to her, than a couch or bed for her and the children to sleep on.
Sophia is beautiful. When we arrived, she welcomed us with the biggest smile. I remembered her smile from when we first met her a few weeks before that. She had such a young and beautiful face and she hugged, big, heartfelt hugs. My heart ached for her….for all the homes that we visited that day. They, for the most part were all very similar…in their conditions and situations.
It’s overwhelming; it’s heartbreaking. This is just a small village outside our town, in the deep interior. We didn’t reach every home, every widow, and every heart breaking story in this village alone. There are still so many people in our area we haven’t visited, children we haven’t heard about. And with the decrease of food happening, the increase of prices….this will bring along the increase of extreme poverty. It’s frustrating.
We can only imagine the more difficult times here to come in the next year.
I was in Nairobi last week to pick up Sean. Yes, Sean is finally here! For those of you who haven’t heard, he did make it safely. I’m sure you NACers will hear from him soon. The poor guy hit the ground running here. We spent all of Thursday on a bus back to Kitale. On Friday, he had to endure the wonderful, crammed matatu rides, a corrupt police check (or 4!) and walking up a steep hill…to get to one of our projects. But I think it was worth it when he got to hug on a few beautiful Kenyan children. And just wait until he tells you about our children’s home and his bonding with some of the kids on the Saturday. Yeah, he’ll do great here. J
As this next week begins and more craziness, I’ll keep you posted…as always.
Oh yeah, we have kids on our website that need to be sponsored. Go to www.transformedinternational.org to check them out.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Part 3 - Kenyan Wedding
A friend of ours got married on Saturday, here in Kitale.
The wedding was to start at 10:00 am. Weddings here usually start in the morning and go until about 5:00 pm (the reception). It’s much different from our usual North American weddings – starting in the afternoon and going until midnight or so. :-)
We arrived at the venue at 10:20 am, knowing very well that it was not going to start on time. The tent was still not up; more than half of the guests hadn’t arrived yet and the groom hadn’t even left to go and pick up the bride.
The bridal party tent...
The groom goes with his wedding party to pick-up the bride from her home where she waits with her wedding party and parents. The groom remains in the car while the best man goes in to the house to get the bride. The best man lifts the veil of the bride and confirms in front of everyone that yes, this is in fact the woman that the groom is to marry. Then they are all off to the wedding…the jest of that part anyway.
So the groom in this case, left the venue at about 11:00 to go and pick up his bride…which was about 45 minutes away. The choir from their church was there to entertain us for awhile with music. Daniel, Tim, Josh and I played with and talked to some of the street kids who had come to see the ceremony as well as little children who were with their parents. I held a beautiful little baby named Jessica and had her giggling and smiling up at me (yes, I wanted to take her home with me).
This is Jessica...staring up at me...isn't she gorgeous?!?!?
Finally, at almost 1:00 pm (3 hours past the supposed start time), we could hear the cheering from children and the sound of the cars. The bride, groom, wedding party and parents of the couple, had arrived.
The groom walked in with his groomsmen and ring bearers, slowly, toward the special tent and chairs for them. Next were the bride and her entourage, including her parents. She too, walked slowly toward the special tent and chairs.
The groom's entrance (he's in all black)
The bride and her entourage...
The bride and groom sit in chairs across from each other, about 6 feet apart. Then a guest/pastor gets up and reads a bit from the Bible, gives his advice to the bride and groom and then the choir sings.
Because the wedding was almost three hours late and it’s rainy season, we could see from the distance the rain clouds coming in. So what would’ve been a far longer ceremony was being cut shorter and shorter to prevent the dumping of rain on everyone.
The bride and groom were then called up to the front. The groom lifts the veil in front of everyone…to again confirm that this is the woman that he is to marry. They again stood about 6 feet apart from each other, never holding hands and even when repeating their vows, never looking at one another. The only time there was physical touch was after the rings were placed on each other’s fingers, the pastor held up the ring hands and joined them together. The “you may now kiss the bride” that we are so accustomed to in North America was now, “you may now reveal your wife” and the groom lifted her veil. No kiss!
The bride and groom...
The joining of hands...
Everyone stood up and cheered for them at that moment…hooting and hollering!!!
And the rain came….
We all ran for shelter in the school that was there. Daniel, Tim, Josh and I ended up in the area where all the kids also ran for shelter. It turned in to a great time, sitting with a bunch of little kids in the rain. We ended up missing the opening of gifts. Yes, after the ceremony, they then open up all the gifts in front of everyone. Then the reception started; some food was served and I don’t know if there was dancing. We ended up leaving as the rains wouldn’t stop and we were all hungry (we didn’t get any food – too busy playing with the kids!).
My beautiful Evans...I adore him.
Hanging out....
Hanging out again. Yes Kate, that's Collins in the red. He says HI!!!!
Faith & Me...a gorgeous smile - her, not me!
Moses & me - before the wedding started.
Tim & Me...killing time before the wedding.
It was interesting; the wedding as a whole; and very different. I know there is love between the bride and groom but it lacked emotion, lacked excitement. Yes, I guess this is coming from an emotional woman, a woman who fully intends on taking advantage of the whole “you may now kiss the bride” thing. I fully intend on standing close to my groom, holding his hand through the whole ceremony and pretty much looking at him and only him the whole time. So be prepared!!! :-)
I love seeing different things; different cultures; different reactions to situations. I know not all Kenyan weddings are like the one above; it depends on the couple getting married. But I liked seeing a different side of a wedding…definitely different from any other wedding I’ve been to before, especially in North America. It’s another story for me to share with you…to give you a little taste of Kenya and the beautiful people in this beautiful country.
The wedding was to start at 10:00 am. Weddings here usually start in the morning and go until about 5:00 pm (the reception). It’s much different from our usual North American weddings – starting in the afternoon and going until midnight or so. :-)
We arrived at the venue at 10:20 am, knowing very well that it was not going to start on time. The tent was still not up; more than half of the guests hadn’t arrived yet and the groom hadn’t even left to go and pick up the bride.
The bridal party tent...
The groom goes with his wedding party to pick-up the bride from her home where she waits with her wedding party and parents. The groom remains in the car while the best man goes in to the house to get the bride. The best man lifts the veil of the bride and confirms in front of everyone that yes, this is in fact the woman that the groom is to marry. Then they are all off to the wedding…the jest of that part anyway.
So the groom in this case, left the venue at about 11:00 to go and pick up his bride…which was about 45 minutes away. The choir from their church was there to entertain us for awhile with music. Daniel, Tim, Josh and I played with and talked to some of the street kids who had come to see the ceremony as well as little children who were with their parents. I held a beautiful little baby named Jessica and had her giggling and smiling up at me (yes, I wanted to take her home with me).
This is Jessica...staring up at me...isn't she gorgeous?!?!?
Finally, at almost 1:00 pm (3 hours past the supposed start time), we could hear the cheering from children and the sound of the cars. The bride, groom, wedding party and parents of the couple, had arrived.
The groom walked in with his groomsmen and ring bearers, slowly, toward the special tent and chairs for them. Next were the bride and her entourage, including her parents. She too, walked slowly toward the special tent and chairs.
The groom's entrance (he's in all black)
The bride and her entourage...
The bride and groom sit in chairs across from each other, about 6 feet apart. Then a guest/pastor gets up and reads a bit from the Bible, gives his advice to the bride and groom and then the choir sings.
Because the wedding was almost three hours late and it’s rainy season, we could see from the distance the rain clouds coming in. So what would’ve been a far longer ceremony was being cut shorter and shorter to prevent the dumping of rain on everyone.
The bride and groom were then called up to the front. The groom lifts the veil in front of everyone…to again confirm that this is the woman that he is to marry. They again stood about 6 feet apart from each other, never holding hands and even when repeating their vows, never looking at one another. The only time there was physical touch was after the rings were placed on each other’s fingers, the pastor held up the ring hands and joined them together. The “you may now kiss the bride” that we are so accustomed to in North America was now, “you may now reveal your wife” and the groom lifted her veil. No kiss!
The bride and groom...
The joining of hands...
Everyone stood up and cheered for them at that moment…hooting and hollering!!!
And the rain came….
We all ran for shelter in the school that was there. Daniel, Tim, Josh and I ended up in the area where all the kids also ran for shelter. It turned in to a great time, sitting with a bunch of little kids in the rain. We ended up missing the opening of gifts. Yes, after the ceremony, they then open up all the gifts in front of everyone. Then the reception started; some food was served and I don’t know if there was dancing. We ended up leaving as the rains wouldn’t stop and we were all hungry (we didn’t get any food – too busy playing with the kids!).
My beautiful Evans...I adore him.
Hanging out....
Hanging out again. Yes Kate, that's Collins in the red. He says HI!!!!
Faith & Me...a gorgeous smile - her, not me!
Moses & me - before the wedding started.
Tim & Me...killing time before the wedding.
It was interesting; the wedding as a whole; and very different. I know there is love between the bride and groom but it lacked emotion, lacked excitement. Yes, I guess this is coming from an emotional woman, a woman who fully intends on taking advantage of the whole “you may now kiss the bride” thing. I fully intend on standing close to my groom, holding his hand through the whole ceremony and pretty much looking at him and only him the whole time. So be prepared!!! :-)
I love seeing different things; different cultures; different reactions to situations. I know not all Kenyan weddings are like the one above; it depends on the couple getting married. But I liked seeing a different side of a wedding…definitely different from any other wedding I’ve been to before, especially in North America. It’s another story for me to share with you…to give you a little taste of Kenya and the beautiful people in this beautiful country.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Part 2 - Emotional Friday
We have a grandmother, one of the sweetest women EVER, taking care of her five grandchildren, their parents having died of AIDS.
I’ve talked about this family before; they lived in a 10x12 mud house with tin roof. Their home consisted of one room that served as a bedroom, sitting room and kitchen. There was a little 1x1 window that allowed minimal light in throughout the day.
On Friday; however, the TI team moved the grandmother and her five grandchildren to a new home. A home that has two rooms: a bedroom and a sitting room and an outside small hut to serve as the kitchen.
The old house....
We arrived at their old home, to see that they had everything packed and were ready to go. We hired a small pick-up truck to load their belongings in. Yes, all of their belongings…ALL of them….fit in the back of a small pick-up truck. We loaded the truck up, the community children gathered around to say good-bye to the family and off we went.
All of their belongings - fitting in the back of a small pick-up truck...
The community children coming out to say goodbye to the family....
My little Kevin...he pulls at my heartstrings...we have a special bond.
We arrived at the new home; the children were in awe of the little property they had, the trees that surrounded their home and the welcoming greetings they were receiving from the neighbours. The children could not wipe the smiles off their faces.
Their new home....
Anne and I met with the grandmother and grandchildren for a few minutes. When we were done talking, she ran over to Anne, wrapped her arms around her, kissed her cheek and shouted, “Thank you so much!” in Swahili. After she was done hugging Anne, she ran over to me and said the same thing, tears in her eyes. I hugged that woman back with all my might, told her that I loved her and we thanked God together for being able to make this happen for her and her grandchildren.
It was wonderful to see this family so excited about moving to a new home, a whole new community and starting fresh. It’s a little step for them…in the right direction. And it’s great to be a part of it.
After getting the grandmother and grandchildren all settled, we headed over to another family that we are supporting to do their monthly food delivery. This family is a disabled Aunt caring for her three nephews. She doesn’t have children of her own and is not married; she said she gladly gives all that up to care for her three boys. They are her family.
When we arrived at the home, it began to downpour rain. Not just a little rain, hardcore downpour…that turned in to hail balls. I was thankful for this opportunity; for I got to see the way they really live.
Their home is made completely out of tin sheets with wood framing. There is no window in the house, only the front door. They have two rooms: a bedroom and a sitting room. The sitting room also acts as the boy’s bedroom. They have no couch, just a few chairs and a table. The floor is the boy’s bed.
When you walk in to their home, you need to step down in to it. This normally wouldn’t be a problem, except when it rains. The front of their complex (like a rows of homes built together) floods and the water comes rushing under their front door, in to the sitting room…also known as the boys’ beds. The joints where the iron sheets meet, rain comes down in to the sitting room and the bedroom. Because the rain was so hard, it wasn’t just a drip-drip into the sitting room, it was as if a water faucet had been left on. We all had to move around the sitting room, trying to find a place in the small room where there WASN’T water leaking through.
This was reality to me…and that night, the children were going to sleep on a wet floor with no bed, no mattress and no blanket.
Anne, our social worker, looked at me. I had to hold back the tears. She said, “Meredith, do you think we could take some of the money (from the sponsorship) and have a bunk bed made for them today? We’ll buy mattress and a few blankets too. That way by tomorrow or so, the boys will be able to sleep on a bed.”
Of course! For the boys to have to continue to sleep on a wet, cold floor was saddening to me. That’s what part of the sponsorship is for….to care for these children’s needs. No wonder the boys have been sick so much in the past. No child should have to live like that.
It again, was reality of Africa, reality of a third world country, slapping me in the face. There is so much work to be done, so many children, widows and grandmothers to help.
Yes, it can be overwhelming, knowing that there aren’t a few hundred or even a few thousand out there that need help. No, it’s in the millions. If you look at it that way, yeah, you might want to give up, think it’s too much to do, to accomplish…but we don’t think that. We look at it in the way of helping one child, one family at a time and trusting in God to lead the way. Seeing a child’s smile come across their lips because now there is some security….security in knowing that he/she will have food every day, security that they won’t have to go to bed on an empty stomach for the second, third or fourth day in a row…that’s what it’s all about. Caring for the orphans and the widows…loving them they way they deserve to be loved, so desperately wanting to be loved. That’s what I love…loving them.
We may say, “What a small world”…but in fact, it’s a big world with BIG problems. We can’t turn a blind eye to it. Let’s open our eyes to more than just what’s going on in our own backyards.
I’ve talked about this family before; they lived in a 10x12 mud house with tin roof. Their home consisted of one room that served as a bedroom, sitting room and kitchen. There was a little 1x1 window that allowed minimal light in throughout the day.
On Friday; however, the TI team moved the grandmother and her five grandchildren to a new home. A home that has two rooms: a bedroom and a sitting room and an outside small hut to serve as the kitchen.
The old house....
We arrived at their old home, to see that they had everything packed and were ready to go. We hired a small pick-up truck to load their belongings in. Yes, all of their belongings…ALL of them….fit in the back of a small pick-up truck. We loaded the truck up, the community children gathered around to say good-bye to the family and off we went.
All of their belongings - fitting in the back of a small pick-up truck...
The community children coming out to say goodbye to the family....
My little Kevin...he pulls at my heartstrings...we have a special bond.
We arrived at the new home; the children were in awe of the little property they had, the trees that surrounded their home and the welcoming greetings they were receiving from the neighbours. The children could not wipe the smiles off their faces.
Their new home....
Anne and I met with the grandmother and grandchildren for a few minutes. When we were done talking, she ran over to Anne, wrapped her arms around her, kissed her cheek and shouted, “Thank you so much!” in Swahili. After she was done hugging Anne, she ran over to me and said the same thing, tears in her eyes. I hugged that woman back with all my might, told her that I loved her and we thanked God together for being able to make this happen for her and her grandchildren.
It was wonderful to see this family so excited about moving to a new home, a whole new community and starting fresh. It’s a little step for them…in the right direction. And it’s great to be a part of it.
After getting the grandmother and grandchildren all settled, we headed over to another family that we are supporting to do their monthly food delivery. This family is a disabled Aunt caring for her three nephews. She doesn’t have children of her own and is not married; she said she gladly gives all that up to care for her three boys. They are her family.
When we arrived at the home, it began to downpour rain. Not just a little rain, hardcore downpour…that turned in to hail balls. I was thankful for this opportunity; for I got to see the way they really live.
Their home is made completely out of tin sheets with wood framing. There is no window in the house, only the front door. They have two rooms: a bedroom and a sitting room. The sitting room also acts as the boy’s bedroom. They have no couch, just a few chairs and a table. The floor is the boy’s bed.
When you walk in to their home, you need to step down in to it. This normally wouldn’t be a problem, except when it rains. The front of their complex (like a rows of homes built together) floods and the water comes rushing under their front door, in to the sitting room…also known as the boys’ beds. The joints where the iron sheets meet, rain comes down in to the sitting room and the bedroom. Because the rain was so hard, it wasn’t just a drip-drip into the sitting room, it was as if a water faucet had been left on. We all had to move around the sitting room, trying to find a place in the small room where there WASN’T water leaking through.
This was reality to me…and that night, the children were going to sleep on a wet floor with no bed, no mattress and no blanket.
Anne, our social worker, looked at me. I had to hold back the tears. She said, “Meredith, do you think we could take some of the money (from the sponsorship) and have a bunk bed made for them today? We’ll buy mattress and a few blankets too. That way by tomorrow or so, the boys will be able to sleep on a bed.”
Of course! For the boys to have to continue to sleep on a wet, cold floor was saddening to me. That’s what part of the sponsorship is for….to care for these children’s needs. No wonder the boys have been sick so much in the past. No child should have to live like that.
It again, was reality of Africa, reality of a third world country, slapping me in the face. There is so much work to be done, so many children, widows and grandmothers to help.
Yes, it can be overwhelming, knowing that there aren’t a few hundred or even a few thousand out there that need help. No, it’s in the millions. If you look at it that way, yeah, you might want to give up, think it’s too much to do, to accomplish…but we don’t think that. We look at it in the way of helping one child, one family at a time and trusting in God to lead the way. Seeing a child’s smile come across their lips because now there is some security….security in knowing that he/she will have food every day, security that they won’t have to go to bed on an empty stomach for the second, third or fourth day in a row…that’s what it’s all about. Caring for the orphans and the widows…loving them they way they deserve to be loved, so desperately wanting to be loved. That’s what I love…loving them.
We may say, “What a small world”…but in fact, it’s a big world with BIG problems. We can’t turn a blind eye to it. Let’s open our eyes to more than just what’s going on in our own backyards.
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