The last two months, I have spent at school in Gatundu during the middle of Kenyan winter. “Winter” basically means that the temperature hovers around the mid-sixties, but everyone dresses in scarves, heavy jackets, and wool caps. Kids walk around with their entire faces covered! I have to laugh sometimes, but I must admit that 65 feels a lot cooler after being in the Kenyan sun for the past ten months, and I am often in a sweatshirt myself!
When we returned from Mombasa in May, we began a new term, my last one at Icaciri. It has been a term full of moments that are both ordinary and hilarious. I have woken up to the sound of drums coming from the church, stepped outside to see the matron sweeping the leaves off of the path to our home with a broom made of bigger leaves, and been stampeded by a group of primary school children all shouting "how are you? how are you?" as I walked by their school one afternoon. I have spent time sitting in the field on Sunday afternoons talking to our students, and laughed when one of my Form 2 girls, Jemimah, looked at me and said "Teacher, you have hair that is for a horse. My hair is for a human being!" One of their favorite activities these days is to imitate the way that Kari and I walk. Our students here never cease to make me laugh, though it is mostly at myself. At the same time, the past two months have been extremely eventful. The Icaciri handball team was second in Central Province, which is exciting because they had to compete against many schools that are more equipped and better funded. Our school had a "Prize-Giving Day" where they awarded all of the top students in the various grades, the athletes, and the prefects for their hard work. It was fun to see them rewarded for all of the work they put into school and to see their excitement about introducing us to their parents and siblings. Our soccer season both began and ended this term, as our team lost in the division finals last week. I even had a visit from Rebecca McRae, a good friend from W&L, which was amazing! It was so good to have her come, to share with her part of my life here, and to talk to her about her experiences in Tanzania where she was also volunteering this month. What a blessing it was to see her for the first time in almost a year!
Towards the middle of June, all of the volunteers that I am serving with in Kenya got together in Zanzibar for our final retreat. It was a time when we could all rest and hear about the different experiences people have had this year. It also gave me a chance to reflect on what my time here has meant and what it means to go home at the end of this month. When I left Darlington last August, I was leaving my home for a mostly unknown place. Now, as the time nears for me to return, I am leaving a place that has become my home and a community that has become a part of my family and a part of who I am. I have learned more about myself and my faith than I could ever have imagined a year ago. It has been a crazy journey over the past eleven months, but I know without a doubt that this is where God called me to be this year and that He has changed who I am and who I will be by my time here. I have come to a place where logic cannot take me any farther, where I cannot reconcile the brokenness of our world to the idea of a merciful God, and that is a good and a scary place to be, because it is a place where faith happens.
I came here with ideas of mission work as a partnership and those ideas have only been strengthened by my time here. I know now that our lives are bound to the lives of everyone else on this earth, that we are a part of a greater humanity. What that has come to mean is that I am not complete without other people, that I cannot be free until others are free. While we were in Zanzibar, we visited the slave dungeons just near the coast. They were the last stop before men and women from all over East and West Africa were shipped out to Europe, America, and the Middle East. We sat in the same rooms where people were held before being sold into captivity, we saw the tree where they were whipped to determine who was the "strongest" and therefore could fetch a higher price. Even while we were still there, thinking of the promise that never again would our world allow such an atrocity to rob a continent and a people of its strength and dignity, I remembered the bondage that still exists today. I saw the faces of girls who live in Korogocho slum, and the smile of a 7-year old dying of AIDS. I thought back to the street children sifting through piles of garbage in Nairobi, clinging desperately to bottles of glue that can dispel the hunger that plagues their days and nights. I thought of women who spend hours each day fetching water, and of girls in Mombasa who sell themselves into the sex trade because they don't have any other options. People who are not free to make decisions. When my own students get sent home for school fees every term, they are not choosing to end their educations; they are simply unable to continue because they are unable to afford secondary education. I have questioned God this year and have failed to find answers, until I realized that God does not always give answers, instead He gives Himself. Through a pain-filled sacrifice made by a man whose heart was broken by our brokenness, by our inhumanity towards one another, He gave Himself. And in those moments when we can ease the burden of someone else, or when we can allow them to ease ours, we come in contact with our Lord. As I prepare to return to the states in the next few weeks, I want to thank all of you for your continued support and encouragement throughout this year. Thank you for all of the cards, letters, and e-mails that have helped me to remember the wonderful community that I have across the globe. It has been such a blessing to serve here this year and I thank all of you who have gone on this journey with me.
Grace and peace to you all,
Lauren
Friday, June 29, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
An Arrested Morning
So it turns out some of the police in Kenya aren't always so trustworthy...
One morning as we were on the way to a handball tournament in Makuyu, our school bus came across what appeared to be a routine road stop. Roadstops here, however, involve tire spikes and policemen armed with rifles at least 2 feet long. We came to a halt and one of the officers proceeded to inspect the bus. As he approached the window to speak with our driver, we realized something was amiss. The driver climbed down from the vehicle and began a discussion with the officer. Pretty soon, Kari and I got out of the bus as well to find out what the problem was. We discovered that the inspection sticker had expired the previous week and needed to be replaced. That seems simple enough, but oh no. The officer insisted on taking the driver and vehicle to the police station so he could write a bond. What?! We had 23 students on the bus who had a game to play! Eventually our two fellow teachers, Mr. Njenga and Ms. Kigia also alighted from the bus and joined the ongoing debate. As the discussion progressed, it became more and more heated with our teachers suggesting that we continue on the journey and bring the bus back after it dropped off the students and the officer refusing to allow the vehicle to move. As voices and tensions rose, it looked like the situations was going to turn ugly. All of the students unloaded themselves from the bus in the middle of a highway just in time to see one of the officers slap their teacher in the face and handcuff him. They then escorted Mr.Njenga to a waiting police lorry for "obstructing justice." All of our students were just shaking and many of the girls burst into tears. We later got Mr.Njenga back safely, and the girls won both of their games that day, but it was certainly a frightening way to begin the morning!
As it turns out, the officers were angry because the driver and teachers refused to give them a bribe to let us pass. Kenyan police are notorious for their corruption, and we got to see this firsthand, though hopefully it is not something we will have to witness again.
One morning as we were on the way to a handball tournament in Makuyu, our school bus came across what appeared to be a routine road stop. Roadstops here, however, involve tire spikes and policemen armed with rifles at least 2 feet long. We came to a halt and one of the officers proceeded to inspect the bus. As he approached the window to speak with our driver, we realized something was amiss. The driver climbed down from the vehicle and began a discussion with the officer. Pretty soon, Kari and I got out of the bus as well to find out what the problem was. We discovered that the inspection sticker had expired the previous week and needed to be replaced. That seems simple enough, but oh no. The officer insisted on taking the driver and vehicle to the police station so he could write a bond. What?! We had 23 students on the bus who had a game to play! Eventually our two fellow teachers, Mr. Njenga and Ms. Kigia also alighted from the bus and joined the ongoing debate. As the discussion progressed, it became more and more heated with our teachers suggesting that we continue on the journey and bring the bus back after it dropped off the students and the officer refusing to allow the vehicle to move. As voices and tensions rose, it looked like the situations was going to turn ugly. All of the students unloaded themselves from the bus in the middle of a highway just in time to see one of the officers slap their teacher in the face and handcuff him. They then escorted Mr.Njenga to a waiting police lorry for "obstructing justice." All of our students were just shaking and many of the girls burst into tears. We later got Mr.Njenga back safely, and the girls won both of their games that day, but it was certainly a frightening way to begin the morning!
As it turns out, the officers were angry because the driver and teachers refused to give them a bribe to let us pass. Kenyan police are notorious for their corruption, and we got to see this firsthand, though hopefully it is not something we will have to witness again.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Congratulations Icaciri Handball
Handball is a game that I had never even heard of until coming to Kenya, yet somehow I spent almost every weekend in May travelling throughout Central Province watching the Icaciri handball team compete. It turns out we are missing out one of the most exciting and fun-filled sports I have ever seen. Handball seems to be a mix of soccer and basketball: players get called for travelling like basketball, but the ball is thrown into a goal similiar to that used on a soccer field. 
The game is incredibly fast moving and the ball changes hands quite alot which adds to the energy of the play. Each game consists of two 25 minute halves and a 5 minute half-time. Beginning in March, the Icaciri team started competing in our local zone and managed to make their way to the provinical tournament held in Murang'a District. They beat out hundreds of other teams to play in the finals for Central Province and fell just one game short of going to the national tournament in Western Kenya! Congratulations to them!! One of my favorite things about the handball team is their ability to smile and laugh their way through anything! Their journey this year wasn't an easy one, but they managed to surpass everyone's expectations because they work together in a way I have seldom seen. I can't help but adore the girls on this team from their captain, Cate, to Gikonyo, the lead scorer. (*Both shown in the picture above) They are amazing and the joy with which they go about every activity never fails to refresh and inspire my spirit.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
April Newsletter
I have come that all may have life and have it to the fullest.John 10:10
The month of April has been nothing short of hilarious. It has been crazy and hectic, but also full of laughter and adventure! As in December, all of the Kenyan schools close for a month-long holiday and students go home to their families. This meant that the last weeks of March were filled with marking exams, filling out report forms, and saying goodbye to my students and my home for five weeks. As Kari and I left Icaciri, we prepared to go to Arusha, Tanzania where we thought we would be working this month. Little did we know what was in store for us. At 7:30 on the morning of April 11, we boarded a bus to Tanzania with only a business card and the vague idea that we would be working at Enaboishu Secondary School. Well arrive in Arusha we did, only to find out that the headmaster (whose business card we had been given) was out of town at a regional conference. We also quickly realized that the school to which we had been sent was a private school, fully staffed with teachers and 3 British volunteers to do any extra work. Not exactly what we were expecting! 3 days after arriving in Arusha, we boarded a bus back to Nairobi.
After the Arusha debaucle, I began to wonder if anything was going to work out or if we would spend the month of April wondering from place to place. Early Monday morning after our return, Kari and I met with a PCEA minister, Rev Harrison who recently moved to Nairobi from a church in Mombasa on the Kenyan coast. He assured us that he would find us a placement on the coast and let us know by the next day. True to his word, he contacted us Tuesday morning to say that everything was set, so Tuesday night we boarded an overnight bus to Mombasa with nothing but a name and a phone number to call once we arrived. I must say that by this point I was more than a little doubtful about the situation. As it turns out, this proved to be one of the best experiences I have had in Kenya. Kari and I lived with the Kamau family near Mtwapa and walked to work each day at the Shanzu Orphans Home (SOH) nearby. SOH is a beautiful place that houses 21 children from the ages of 2-15. One would normally think of an orphanage as a bleak, depressing place, but SOH is full of life and energy. Since the kids were also out of school for the holiday, we spent our time with them singing songs, teaching them the "Chicken Dance," and taking the older boys to the beach to play soccer. I think Kari and I had as much fun as the children!
Mombasa, as an area, is different than any other part of Kenya I have visited thus far, as it is bombarded every year with European tourists. This influx of people and money sets up a dynamic unlike any I have ever experienced. Aged German, Swiss, and British tourists walk hand-in-hand with beautiful young Kenyans, making child prostitution one of Mombasa's most lucrative ventures. As I looked at the children we worked and played with each day, it was horrifying to consider their options outside of SOH. I had a long talk with Baba Kamau one night about the sex trade on the coast and how poor children continue to fall victim to this gross exploitation. Our walk each day to SOH provided a perfect example of the conditions that allow such perversions to continually occur: just across the road from the luxurious beach resorts is a thatch-roofed village of shanty houses where the workers live with their families. The people in these homes do what it takes to survive.
As April began, my mind was a flurry of doubts and questions raised by much of what I have seen this year. Answers are not easy to find, but on April 7, something wonderful happened... Easter. I have begun to realize that all of the pain and suffering that we see in the world, all of the cries for justice, find their answer in the cross. The obscenity of a seven year old girl infected with HIV is reflected in the scandal of our crucified Lord. All of our suffering is heard in His cries.
I walked into worship Easter morning only half-believing that it would be any different than other Sundays. I left that morning knowing that pain cannot have the final word, because the cross is not the end. Easter dawns and with it dawns the promise that in the end, darkness will not prevail. The risen Christ offers us the healing and the redemption that we all so desperately need.
Our students sing a Swahili song that I think expresses this idea perfectly:
After the Arusha debaucle, I began to wonder if anything was going to work out or if we would spend the month of April wondering from place to place. Early Monday morning after our return, Kari and I met with a PCEA minister, Rev Harrison who recently moved to Nairobi from a church in Mombasa on the Kenyan coast. He assured us that he would find us a placement on the coast and let us know by the next day. True to his word, he contacted us Tuesday morning to say that everything was set, so Tuesday night we boarded an overnight bus to Mombasa with nothing but a name and a phone number to call once we arrived. I must say that by this point I was more than a little doubtful about the situation. As it turns out, this proved to be one of the best experiences I have had in Kenya. Kari and I lived with the Kamau family near Mtwapa and walked to work each day at the Shanzu Orphans Home (SOH) nearby. SOH is a beautiful place that houses 21 children from the ages of 2-15. One would normally think of an orphanage as a bleak, depressing place, but SOH is full of life and energy. Since the kids were also out of school for the holiday, we spent our time with them singing songs, teaching them the "Chicken Dance," and taking the older boys to the beach to play soccer. I think Kari and I had as much fun as the children!
Mombasa, as an area, is different than any other part of Kenya I have visited thus far, as it is bombarded every year with European tourists. This influx of people and money sets up a dynamic unlike any I have ever experienced. Aged German, Swiss, and British tourists walk hand-in-hand with beautiful young Kenyans, making child prostitution one of Mombasa's most lucrative ventures. As I looked at the children we worked and played with each day, it was horrifying to consider their options outside of SOH. I had a long talk with Baba Kamau one night about the sex trade on the coast and how poor children continue to fall victim to this gross exploitation. Our walk each day to SOH provided a perfect example of the conditions that allow such perversions to continually occur: just across the road from the luxurious beach resorts is a thatch-roofed village of shanty houses where the workers live with their families. The people in these homes do what it takes to survive.
As April began, my mind was a flurry of doubts and questions raised by much of what I have seen this year. Answers are not easy to find, but on April 7, something wonderful happened... Easter. I have begun to realize that all of the pain and suffering that we see in the world, all of the cries for justice, find their answer in the cross. The obscenity of a seven year old girl infected with HIV is reflected in the scandal of our crucified Lord. All of our suffering is heard in His cries.
I walked into worship Easter morning only half-believing that it would be any different than other Sundays. I left that morning knowing that pain cannot have the final word, because the cross is not the end. Easter dawns and with it dawns the promise that in the end, darkness will not prevail. The risen Christ offers us the healing and the redemption that we all so desperately need.
Our students sing a Swahili song that I think expresses this idea perfectly:
Mambo sawa sawa.
Mambo sawa sawa.
Yesu akiwa enzini.
Mambo sawa sawa.
Which in English translates:
Things are already better.
Things are already better.
When the Lord is on the throne,
Things are already better.
We live in a post-Easter world, our Lord is alive and on the throne, the healing has begun.
Peace to you all,
Lauren
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Adventure Arusha
Sorry it has been so long since my last update, but the last few weeks have been nothing short of hilarious! April began with the end of first term and the closing of school for a month long holiday. For the first week, Kari and I stayed behind at Icaciri with our soccer team. Each day we made the trek from school to Mathare (part of Nairobi) for a tournament. Our girls made it to the quarter finals, but only because two of the three other teams in their pool forfeited... we didn't actually win any games, but we all had a great time anyway!
After the Mathare tournament, Kari and I stayed in Nairobi for a couple of days to meet with our coordinator about the next few weeks. On Thursday, April 9 at 7:30 am we boarded a bus for Arusha, Tanzania with only a business card and the vague promise that we would be working at a secondary school in the Arusha area. Well arrive in Arusha we did, only to find out that the headmaster (whose business card we had been given) was out of town at a regional conference. We also quickly realized that the school to which we had been sent was a private school, fully staffed with teachers and 3 British volunteers to do any extra work. Not exactly what we were expecting!
We called our site coordinator to inform her of the mix-up and to find out what other possibilities there were for us this April. So... exactly two days after we arrived in Tanzania to work for the month, we got back on an early morning bus and headed back to Kenya!
Safely back in Nairobi, we met with a PCEA minister, Rev Harrison who told us about some work he had done in Mombasa, and a couple of days later we boarded an overnight bus to the coast with nothing but a name and a phone number to call when we arrived!
If nothing else, this month has been a continuous lesson in faith and flexibility. The past weeks have meant taking that first step (or bus ride) down a path you cannot see to a destination you do not know, but trusting nonetheless that our Lord will be there to guide you. And He has indeed been there each time and continues to guide each day that I serve here. God bless you all!
After the Mathare tournament, Kari and I stayed in Nairobi for a couple of days to meet with our coordinator about the next few weeks. On Thursday, April 9 at 7:30 am we boarded a bus for Arusha, Tanzania with only a business card and the vague promise that we would be working at a secondary school in the Arusha area. Well arrive in Arusha we did, only to find out that the headmaster (whose business card we had been given) was out of town at a regional conference. We also quickly realized that the school to which we had been sent was a private school, fully staffed with teachers and 3 British volunteers to do any extra work. Not exactly what we were expecting!
We called our site coordinator to inform her of the mix-up and to find out what other possibilities there were for us this April. So... exactly two days after we arrived in Tanzania to work for the month, we got back on an early morning bus and headed back to Kenya!
Safely back in Nairobi, we met with a PCEA minister, Rev Harrison who told us about some work he had done in Mombasa, and a couple of days later we boarded an overnight bus to the coast with nothing but a name and a phone number to call when we arrived!If nothing else, this month has been a continuous lesson in faith and flexibility. The past weeks have meant taking that first step (or bus ride) down a path you cannot see to a destination you do not know, but trusting nonetheless that our Lord will be there to guide you. And He has indeed been there each time and continues to guide each day that I serve here. God bless you all!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
February Newsletter
February has been another whirlwind month, and it seems like time is flying by these days. We began the month at school with the addition of about seventy Form 1 (freshmen) students who now make up about a quarter of the student body. I am teaching both biology and history to one of the classes, so my number of lessons each week has almost doubled. The students, themselves, however are wonderful. They are excited and enthusiastic about school, which has been a blessing and a huge encouragement for me. Anytime I ask my Form 1 class a question, immediately thirty hands go up waving wildly and echoes of "teacher! teacher!" fill the clasroom.Much to my surprise, Valentine's Day was a huge deal to our students at Icaciri, and all of them showed up wearing red shirts underneath their blue uniforms. It was hilarious as girls lined up around the school bus hoping to receive a card or letter from a "special" friend. Kari and I made cards for all of the girls on our soccer team, and as I went to class in the afternoon, I noticed that one of our girls had pinned hers to the front of her shirt! Sometimes the students make me laugh out loud.
One of the biggest struggles of the month came just two weeks after our new students arrived. One of the girls in my class, Evelyn Wanjiru, was taken to the hospital for a pregnancy test. When the result came back positive, her mother was called and came to Icaciri to get her. After talking to the deputy principal for a while, it was discovered that the man who impregnated her was the headmaster of her primary school, a man she trusted as an authority figure, and a good friend of her father. Whether or not he will be punished is yet to be determined, but in a culture where the attitudes about women and girls are still highly traditional, the word of a 14 year old girl has little weight against a respected older man. Later on the same week, one of my brightest Form 2 students, Beth Mirigo was sent home because her parents have failed to pay her school fees, and therefore she is not allowed to attend class. Education is the only way for kids in rural homes to get out of the poverty that cripples them, yet that same poverty prevents them from being educated. I sat outside for a long time that afternoon trying to make peace with this system, but I cannot get past the fact that it feels like students are being punished for being poor. We worship a God of love and justice, yet we live in a world visibly broken by inequality and unfairness. My life here brings about questions and difficulties I could never have imagined on my own, but I am learning to trust in the fact that God is big enough to answer the needs of a world that is tearing itself apart.
The last weekend of February, Kari and I travelled from our home in Gatundu to Nairobi to meet with the other volunteers, and head out on an adventure through Kenya. We left the city early Friday morning, loaded into two vans, and headed for Nyanza Province. We made it to the ancestral home of our coordinator's husband just before sunset. Their compound is up on a hill overlooking shambas below and just at the horizon you can see Lake Victoria, it is an amazing view. Ochillo's father had seven wives, and though his own mother is deceased, there were plenty of family members to welcome us, as always, with open arms. They had prepared a feast for us, and we tried a bit of everything, including fish eyeballs, which are a traditional Luo treat. Saturday morning dawned and we headed back down the hill into the village of Migori where we worked on building a children's home, picked maize, planted flowers, and painted a classroom in a local primary school. It was an action-packed day and we went home that night ready for some rest. Instead, we spent much of the evening laughing with the danis (Luo for grandmothers) who don't speak a word of English or Kiswahili, but who sang and clapped with us anyway.
Sunday morning we loaded back into the vans for a trip to the Masai Mara, one of Kenya's most densely populated game reserves. We left the Ochillo home at 7:30 am, expecting to reach our destination in time for lunch and a meeting with our coordinator, little did we know what lay ahead. Shortly after leaving Migori, our drivers decided to take a "shortcut," and that is when the real adventure began. We almost immediately got stuck in the mud, and an entire village showed up to point, laugh, and eventually offer some help. Unfortunately there were a few too many "chiefs" arguing about how they should help us, and we ended up stranded for about an hour. The journey continued in this manner for most of the day, but luckily we got better at pushing the van out on our own so each stop got a little shorter. That is until we made it about 60 km into the Masai Mara game reserve, home to lions, cheetahs, hippos, crocodiles, and an entire host of other wild animals. Just as darkness fell, we got stuck again, and this time we were stuck kabisa. For about two and a half hours we walked back and forth across the savannah trying to get ourselves out of the mud, hoping our noise would scare away any potential danger. Finally some rangers showed up, laughed a little, and pulled us out of the mud. We made it to our lodge at about 9:30 pm, approximately fourteen hours after leaving Nyanza!
Each day that I wake up here, I am thankful for the opportunity God has given me to learn and to grow, to see life in a different way. It can be challenging and overwhelming, but I would not change one moment.
Thank you all for your continued support and encouragement, your thoughts and prayers are a great blessing.
Grace and peace,
Lauren
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Photos from Nyanza Province
Here are some pictures from our journey to Nyanza Province. Enjoy!
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?Uc=ao36oqbn.9a9mv5sn&Uy=-hejy6t&Upost_signin=Slideshow.jsp%3Fmode%3Dfromshare&Ux=0&mode=fromshare&conn_speed=1
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?Uc=ao36oqbn.9a9mv5sn&Uy=-hejy6t&Upost_signin=Slideshow.jsp%3Fmode%3Dfromshare&Ux=0&mode=fromshare&conn_speed=1
Saturday, January 27, 2007
January Newsletter
As January quickly comes to an end, I find myself wondering where the month has gone! My school reopened on January 8, so I am back to the day to day routine of teaching, coaching soccer, and living in rural Kenya. When it was time to leave Nairobi, I wondered whether or not it would be difficult to readjust to life at Icaciri, whether or not people would be happy about our return. The readjustment could not have been any easier. We were welcomed with open arms and enormous smiles, with lots of shouting in Kikuyu and hardy handshakes by everyone in the community. It is quite refreshing to be back in a place that I love and feel loved by so many people, to be back in a place where I wake up to sunshine and children laughing at the primary instead of car alarms and shouting. I feel more at peace here than ever before, like our return has made us even more a part of this place and these people. Our first week back was filled not only with classes, but every afternoon we had a different home to visit, and every time we left full of mukimu, ndoma, or some other Kikuyu dish.
Upon our return, we were greeted by Njeri, the daughter of our school's secretary, and her younger brother Njau, who readily informed us that all of the children were wondering where we had been and why we were gone for so long. She is a good ally to have, because she also let us know that they refer to Kari and I as "the tall mthongo" and "the short mthongo" in Kikuyu, and that they are not really sure we are human because they think our skin is the color of pigs!
The newest part of my routine here involves Gatundu Children's Home. Kari and I have begun volunteering there each Saturday, and it is quickly becoming one of my favorite parts of the week. Every time that we go, we are greeted with laughter and hugs. We play and dance; we eat sukuma wiki and ugali and then help clean the compound. The kids spend so much time just petting our hair because they think it is "so soft" and that theirs feels like steel wool. It is a home that houses 43 children from the Gatundu area who have been orphaned by AIDS or poverty and who have nowhere else to go. They are children whose relatives, the people in traditional African society who would care for them, have abused and mistreated them. Florence, the manager of the home, goes on a visit to see each child before they are taken, and accepts only the most desperate cases. There is Mary Wambui, a skinny 8 year old whose seventy year old grandfather was discovered to be abusing her before she was taken at the age of six. There is Ester Wainana, a light-skinned girl of 16 who is mentally retarded, she cannot understand how to put on pants (she puts both legs in one hole) and who was sexually abused by every man who passed through the home of her aunt and uncle because she could not tell. There are Micheal and Patrick, brothers who were taken from a market in Kikuyu town where they lived with their mother and her "customers." There are twin boys, Njoroge and Muthoni, who are five years old, who wrestle and fight like any kindergarteners. There is Kamau who can climb to the top of a mango tree quicker than a monkey. There is Njambi who just finished at Kenya High School, one of the best national secondary schools in Kenya; she wants to go to university and study pharmacy once she gets her KCSE results. There are Susan, Naomi, Jane, Simon, Mbari, forty-three children who have a home, who have food to eat, and a chance to go to school because of Florence and all of the people, local and foreign who support them. On our first visit, Florence explained to us why she works as hard as she does, and why she knows that this is where the Lord has called her to work even though she turned it down at first. Now when the Lord asks her "where were you when I was hungry? when I was lonely? when I was sexually abused?" she will have an answer.
When I look at the children here and think about the pain that has marked their young lives, I realize anew that the battle against AIDS, poverty, and injustice is one that we must all fight. Because one of us is affected, we are all affected. Whether we have skin the color of pigs or hair like steel wool, we are all human. When one of us suffers, we all suffer; when one of us, even the smallest child, is abused, we all feel the pain. When one person is degraded, we all feel the shame because we are all human beings. God poured out His grace on the world in the form of Jesus Christ, and in doing so, he offered us joy and freedom, yet there can be no real joy, no real freedom for anyone, unless there is joy and freedom for all.
May the grace of our Lord be with you all.
Lauren
Upon our return, we were greeted by Njeri, the daughter of our school's secretary, and her younger brother Njau, who readily informed us that all of the children were wondering where we had been and why we were gone for so long. She is a good ally to have, because she also let us know that they refer to Kari and I as "the tall mthongo" and "the short mthongo" in Kikuyu, and that they are not really sure we are human because they think our skin is the color of pigs!
The newest part of my routine here involves Gatundu Children's Home. Kari and I have begun volunteering there each Saturday, and it is quickly becoming one of my favorite parts of the week. Every time that we go, we are greeted with laughter and hugs. We play and dance; we eat sukuma wiki and ugali and then help clean the compound. The kids spend so much time just petting our hair because they think it is "so soft" and that theirs feels like steel wool. It is a home that houses 43 children from the Gatundu area who have been orphaned by AIDS or poverty and who have nowhere else to go. They are children whose relatives, the people in traditional African society who would care for them, have abused and mistreated them. Florence, the manager of the home, goes on a visit to see each child before they are taken, and accepts only the most desperate cases. There is Mary Wambui, a skinny 8 year old whose seventy year old grandfather was discovered to be abusing her before she was taken at the age of six. There is Ester Wainana, a light-skinned girl of 16 who is mentally retarded, she cannot understand how to put on pants (she puts both legs in one hole) and who was sexually abused by every man who passed through the home of her aunt and uncle because she could not tell. There are Micheal and Patrick, brothers who were taken from a market in Kikuyu town where they lived with their mother and her "customers." There are twin boys, Njoroge and Muthoni, who are five years old, who wrestle and fight like any kindergarteners. There is Kamau who can climb to the top of a mango tree quicker than a monkey. There is Njambi who just finished at Kenya High School, one of the best national secondary schools in Kenya; she wants to go to university and study pharmacy once she gets her KCSE results. There are Susan, Naomi, Jane, Simon, Mbari, forty-three children who have a home, who have food to eat, and a chance to go to school because of Florence and all of the people, local and foreign who support them. On our first visit, Florence explained to us why she works as hard as she does, and why she knows that this is where the Lord has called her to work even though she turned it down at first. Now when the Lord asks her "where were you when I was hungry? when I was lonely? when I was sexually abused?" she will have an answer.
When I look at the children here and think about the pain that has marked their young lives, I realize anew that the battle against AIDS, poverty, and injustice is one that we must all fight. Because one of us is affected, we are all affected. Whether we have skin the color of pigs or hair like steel wool, we are all human. When one of us suffers, we all suffer; when one of us, even the smallest child, is abused, we all feel the pain. When one person is degraded, we all feel the shame because we are all human beings. God poured out His grace on the world in the form of Jesus Christ, and in doing so, he offered us joy and freedom, yet there can be no real joy, no real freedom for anyone, unless there is joy and freedom for all.
May the grace of our Lord be with you all.
Lauren
Monday, January 08, 2007
Safari Njema
Tsavo National Park is about five hours east of Nairobi... it is a place with dense underbrush and extreme landscapes... the perfect place for stories and legends. Beginning in March of 1898, when the railroad was being built from Kenya to Uganda, the lions of Tsavo are said to have devoured over 142 railway workers as they camped by the sight. The workers built fences, set traps and ambushes, but the maneless male lions were too sly to be caught and managed night after night to drag the workers from their tents. Finally, on December 9, 1898, engineer J.H. Patterson shot the first of the two lions and the second followed three weeks later. Their reign of terror was over.
Last week, all of the volunteers travelled to this fabled park for a weekend retreat. Unfortunately, we saw none of the famous man-eating lions, but we did see elephants, zebras, water buffalo, and a few giraffes who held up traffic as they crossed the road! It was a wonderful way to end our time here in Nairobi as Kari and I prepare to head back to Icaciri later this afternoon, and it gave all of us a chance to come together and rest from our normal routines. It was also a great reminder of the amazing history and wildlife that this country has to offer... what a wonderful experience!
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