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

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!