The Children's Home

For the first time since being here I got to sleep in. Well, at least until the men started hammering something outside my window, but it was still nice. After a quick breakfast Karen picked me up and we headed to Nauvis, the local supermarket to grab some sweets for the children we were going to play with and entertain for the day. The store was less crowded than I had originally remembered it, but maybe I am just getting used to the crowds. We met Randall, another icipe worker, there and David picked us up on the street to drive the rest of the way. While waiting for David on a corner, I watched a little girl point at me and look at her father quizzically. I have come to the realization that me being here is not just about me being cultured on the African way, but people being cultured on my way as well. Even a day after the last rain the streets were filled with puddles, no wonder malaria is such a problem. The traffic was also horrible, as usual. I told Karen that it may help if they put some lines in the road and people followed traffic signals like in America. Karen said Kenyans have their own way of doing things and our methods would probably hold people up more. She is right, though. Americans always seem to think their way is the best, when actually another culture may be most efficient. While driving through the streets I felt as if I was polluting my body by breathing in the dense diesel filled air. I’m not sure if their vehicles are that inefficient or something else is causing the problem, but I can guarantee the air pollution is affecting not only the people, but the wildlife surrounding.

We arrived at the Children’s Home fairly quickly. The house was tucked back on dirt roads in an alley. The children must have heard the car approaching because before we even had a chance to get out, they greeted us with smiles and handshakes. Most of them spoke minimal English, but with a smile anything could be communicated. After greeting everyone, we sat down with the “Dad” of the home and he explained the basics to me. Amazing Grace Children’s Home houses about twenty children. For a visual sense, these children are housed in an area about the size of an average American apartment. Some of the children have been left on the doorstep at birth. Others, are given up due to deaths of parents or parental diseases. “Dad” discussed how hard their current economic situation is.  The government does not provide any funds and their donors come sporadically from churches. Then there are the occasional visitors like ourselves. In order to fund the home is costs about 180,000 Kenyan shillings a month, which is equivalent to $2,250.  “Dad” often times cannot pay the private school the children are sent to, or afford food for the kids, but he makes deals with these places that when the money comes he will give it to them—anything to preserve the lives of the children. Going to a private school is almost cheaper. With that comes more costs in maintaining the children’s appearance at a higher caliber. In order to perform well, the children need to dress like the rest, which sometimes causes more financial hardships. He also talked about the importance of the children associating with their families and getting to know them, especially over the holidays. However, whenever the families are contacted they think the home is asking for money and do not want to claim their children. When actually, the children are the only hope for the family to get out of poverty someday. The whole situation is really sad and depressing. David also told a story about his parents taking in a child off of the streets. The intelligence of this child never fails to amaze David. David said this boy even goes back to his parents and mocks their excessive drinking and explains how much more he has now, from working hard. The conversation was fascinating. I have so much respect for people running programs such as the one I visited. Those are the people who have a powerful effect on the future of the world.

After talking we headed on a tour around the home. We saw the sleeping quarters where ten kids sleep in bunk beds in one room, a room smaller than my own back home. We went to the front area where a recent delivery of vegetables was waiting to be processed. We offered to sort these mixed greens and take the ends off of the green beans. Before doing so, the caretakers of the house offered us rice and cabbage. I took the meal, only after Karen insisted it was rude if I did not. I felt so bad, though. We had just finished listening to the “Dad” talk about how hard it was for them to get food and make ends meet, and here I was, a perfectly well fed American only wanting to help out the children, eating the slim supply of food they had. I felt rude and greedy. The African culture is different from my own, in that taking care of visitors is of first priority. It was also considered rude if I did not finish eating all of the food. So as unappetizing as it may have been, I took it. To make up for the food I had just taken away from the kids, I worked hard at taking the ends off the green beans. The bucket was huge and even after over an hour of labor, we got through merely half of it. My thumbs were getting sore. Usually the children do this job. We decided it was play time and while Karen went to cook the popcorn we brought, we began to play a ball game inside the front gated area. Two people were on both ends throwing a ball back and forth trying to hit the people running back and forth in the middle. However, a ball is rare in homes such as this one, so a pair of balled up socks was used. Realizing the area was not big enough for a game, we headed to a field.

Although the field was a mere block away, David offered to drive the kids, blaring the music the whole way. I have never seen so many kids, so enthusiastically pile into a car. The opportunity was rare for all of them, when many kids in America ride in a car daily. Their smiles were so big as their arms waved out the window in the breeze. The field we entered had a barbed wire fence around it. The kids had separated the wires enough to squeeze through. When asking Karen why this was, she said the area was not meant to be a playground, it was property to be sold. Why not use it as a playground if they could and no one else was using it? The soil was packed hard and sparse grass and weeds grew all over the place. We continued our ball game while others took up a game of football, or American soccer, as we would say. The children soon grew old with the games and began to jump rope. The ropes we used were old and clearly meant for other tasks, but they worked fine for our purpose. I began to take pictures, something the children were fascinated with. One of the eldest girls asked to take some herself, and I allowed her to, as long as she was careful. The children grew bored with looking at pictures and jumping rope so I decided to introduce them to American hand games. I taught them Ms. Mary Mack. They had no idea what I was saying in English, but soon some of them joined in trying to sound out the words. Later we got into a circle and played dancing games. These were in Swahili and I tried to sound out the words and sing along. Hours passed by before long. We brought the kids back to their home and served them some treats we had brought for them. The juice was pineapple. This juice was different from American juice, as it needs to be diluted before serving. I wasn’t a huge fan of it. The biscuits and popcorn were a big hit! I also served them a piece of an American Hershey Bar. I’m not sure if I am doing them a injustice by exposing them to such a sweet and delicious food; I guess I can say I’m culturing them, just as they have cultured me. Since it was one of the girls’ birthday we sang to her. As African tradition, a group poured glasses of water on her as well. I took a group picture with the kids, prayed, and left.

Reflecting on my experience at the Children’s Home makes me so grateful for everything I am blessed with. Americans hear about and see pictures of poverty in books and on television, but experiencing and sharing a day with those in poverty is something that truly creates understanding. The day went by so quickly due to the children being so happy and fun to play with. They have so little, yet, so much in spirit. I find it not only hard to understand the children’s lives, but to comprehend how many more of these children there are roaming the streets. I know it is physically impossible to help them all, but that is just what I want to do.

After the Children’s Home we picked up some fresh vegetables and whole Tilapia from street vendors and went back to David’s apartment and I received my first lesson on Kenyan cooking. We cooked ugali, even though I still don’t like it. The fish was whole, as I had experienced yesterday. The avocado and tomato salad was really good, though. I also learned chickens are sold whole as well. They say they’re going to make me slaughter one. We will see if that actually happens.

Today I found more inspiration than what I bargained for. The images of the children are enough to keep me working hard, no matter what because I have opportunities those children can only dream about.