Day at the Slum and some Mad Props

Yesterday was the first day I went to the streets, to the kids on the streets, in their environment, where they live.

Yeah. It was tough.

We went to, not a slum exactly, but pretty darn close. Walked a little ways through a market and some buildings to what they call a base. It is an area between 2 buildings with a big concrete slab, like a building project that started and never finished. Generally about 200 kids and a few adults live and sleep there.

There were about 40 boys when we got there, along with a few men, and some teenageish girls. And a few little ones toddling around. We learned that one of the girls who had given birth in November, lost the baby over Christmas. It is a wonder any survive at all.

The first and one of the most alarming things one notices is the glue bottles. I would say that all but two or three of the children there had a glue bottle stuck in their mouths or held up to their faces inhaling this seriously strong smelling yellow/brown glue. They sniff glue all day. It drugs them so they don't feel hungry or...anything, really. I would venture to say that all of their eyes were glazed over. Many of them had their eyes rolling back into their heads. A couple had drool just dripping down their chins. No joke, because of their close proximity and the strength of the stuff I walked away with a bit of a contact high. The TKW team said that is pretty normal for the first few times; that they have had new people pass out on occasion.

They boys broke my heart. The kids who are being born on the street broke my heart. The girls who claim multiple husbands, the men who have known that as life for years and years, the families of these kids, the tortured and drugged existence they have breaks my heart. Who knows what has been done to these, what brought them to the streets. How could bear it without the drugs?! There was one boy, who was stumbling a bit, incredibly high, but still able to talk a bit. He spoke a little bit of English. Which means he had to have completed at least a few years of school. He had some sort of skin condition, one shoe, and was dressed in rags. His hands were rough and crusty, he did not smell nice. Where is his family? Does he have family? Are they worried? What drove him to this? What has been done to him on the street? What has he been through? Was it simple ignorance? Does he want to go home? Is there a home for him to go?

It is one of those things that you experience and your mind can't really comprehend the enormity of the pain. Your heart can hardly bear to reflect or become invested because it is so bleak a situation and such a picture of human suffering. I will say that it absolutely got me fired up to dive into the trench's, start setting some roots, and passionately start investing myself in children on the streets--the reason I came. Because I profess Christ, because I follow him, I have a responsibility to these kids. Each one is formed by Gods hand with love and care. They have more worth and value than can ever be measured. I am sure that God destines no one to live disconnected, one the street, alone, and drugged. Solace in glue? No. Solace comes from one source alone.

I was warned before going that I was going to be harassed. I am white. I am a woman. I am going into a slum area. It is kind of a given. Really, truly though, it was not that bad. I quasi talked with a few boys. They were not rude or impolite. Sometimes the drugs make them violent but thankfully this was not the case at all. It did absolutely help that a TKW staffer never left my side and kept an eye on me, telling one boy who kept hugging me to stop, and pulling me close when too many boys surrounded me. I was so thankful. It could have been a much more negative experience otherwise.

While I am on the subject, I just want to say that I have so much respect for the staff at Tumaini Kwa Watoto. They are seriously quality people.

Every morning the day is started with an hour of praise and prayer for individual kids and families. This is crying out/falling on your knees/speaking in tongues/clapping/sometimes crying/shouting/heartfelt prayer and praise. Seriously. Hearts pour out. These folks care deeply about these kids from the streets and their families. They pray for delivery from spirits, and they even deal with kids who are from very dangerous areas and a super dangerous cult. One that is violent, known for beheadings, and dealing with the spirit world. Scary stuff. These folks are not phased. They pray heartily, and for each other. In word and deed you can see their incredible passion for God and for the work he has put before them.

It is encouraging to see some great men of God who are acting as father figures to the boys in the center. They love those boys and are a wonderful example to them. They talk with them about God, about responsibility, dreams for the future, success. Boys all around the world are without a father or father figure. These men are filling that gap and no one can measure the lives they are touching. They are in their lives not only for a brief time, but for the long run because of the empowering of families and follow up that they are committed to. One of the guys here has even given his number to a couple of the boys. One of the guards at the centre lets the boys use their phone sometimes and he talks with them in the evenings sometimes. Once in a while the center gets fed up with some of the boys and they set a deadline for when they will be kicked out of the center. This guy tells them to come to his house if that happens. How amazing is that?!

They often go without their salaries on time. When I came in mid-January they still had not been paid out for the year because the money simply was not there. They prayed, had faith, and it came in. Monday morning we prayed for provision for the rest of their January salaries. About an hour after prayer the director came down to say he got an email that someone made a gift that would cover that deficit. That seems to be a regular thing around here and it is really amazing.

When I shared with them on Thursday about the miraculous receiving of my visa (by the way, I got my visa!) and they seriously rejoiced with me (and a few told me not to go, that they wanted me to stay with them!:) THEN they totally changed up the schedule for the day so I could be able to visit a slum and then today go on a home visit and follow up. Over and above, really. They prayed over me as I go to a place that is much different--and they did it powerfully. I really do fall in love with people easily, and this great group was no exception. These folks have inspired, empowered, and challenged me. I have learned so much from them. I am so thankful to have crossed paths with TKW and I am blessed to call them friends.

Kids on Strike

Today was an interesting day at the centre. I and the 2 other non-Kenyans in the office were told that today was our day to plan games and teach a song or two. So we had some ideas and I had planned on a fair amount of winging it...as you never really know how things are going to go in a new place and new culture.

 

So we get there and I wasn't really sure for the first 10 minutes or so what was going on, but you could tell that something about the day was not typical. When someone finally translated/explained what was going on it turns out that the boy's hadn't eaten yet, and were not going to because they were being punished. Because they had no food, they said that they would not sit and listen or participate with us. The boys had refused to wash the floor (well, a few ringleaders did and everyone else followed suit) so the madam's (the ladies who work at the centre and cook and keep house) were punishing them by not making them food. I was talking to one of the boys who said that cleaning the floor is woman's work; that men don't do that. That's fine if they want to think that they are men, but I told him that men who don't work don't eat. They said that they were used to not eating from being on the street so it was ok. I felt so bad for the good boys who wanted to eat, and for the new ones who came over the weekend. So the hour or so we were there, while the TKW staff tried to iron out things and figure out what was going on, I tried to chat with a few boys, then played a little soccer with a boy...because chatting in two different languages can only last so long.

 

Come to find out, it was explained to me on the way back, that one of the security guys started the whole thing because he is having a quibble with the rest of the staff over wanting an office. So he told them not to listen to the madam's and not to wash the floor. If this guy doesn't respect them, why should they? And you could see the lack of respect. Going into the office and taking chairs, badmouthing. One of the gals I work with was saying that in her 3 years going to the center she has never seen the lack of respect this bad. The security guys are the ones who are supposed to be disciplining the boys, and it is an obvious recipie for disaster if they are siding with the boys. The City Council (who runs the centre) will have to get involved if things escalate. Which means, um, not so gentle forms of punishment. We shall see what tomorrow brings.

 

In other news, my visa application is moving forward. Not uncrossing my fingers and toes yet because anything still could happen. Was happy to hear the unexpected good news yesterday though! Oh, and I saw 2 people riding a camel down a busy street on Sunday. And today there are monkeys in the backyard of the office...in the middle of Nairobi.

 

One more in the long list of reasons why I am happy to be in Africa.

Old School

This is a picture of me when I was about 5. Apparently African kids and I go way back.

Monologue

During my solo treks during the day my mind is usually doing one of two things. Singing a few lines of a song that is stuck there, or in an ongoing narrative to which there is no audience. I write like I think. Maybe I think like I write…In any case, in my little mind there is an imaginary audience that I am writing/talking to. I don’t do this purposefully, I just find myself doing it. The events of my day, my feelings, hopes, ponderings are all circling in a storyline of sorts. Some of those things make it in my journal, some on this here blog, some in my actual dialogue with others.

Today, in my ponderings, my future came up. Frankly with my topsy turvey life these last few months, I really can’t in detail even think past a few weeks at a time. God willing I am here for the next 2-3 years or so. Then I will spend a good few months spending time at home with all the people I love. Then…another term? (Which, is kind of the plan). Maybe more education? A mental breakdown? (jk!) Who really knows?

I got denied for my first try at a visa. Plan B is in affect so hopefully that will come through in the next week or so.

It is an interesting time in my life, and now more than ever I really, really believe that my plans are kind of futile right now and that God will work perfectly without me trying to make sense of everything in my head. Not to say that I don’t have all sorts of hopes and dreams. Including, but not limited to, my own small farm, marriage, authoring a book, see God transform the lives of hurt and broken kiddos, getting my sisters to come see Africa, being fluent in an African language, blackberry bushes in my backyard, an understanding of holistic health, people I love to cook for every day, doing some radical things for God that have yet to be thought of. Mostly I want to be faithful. To live transformed by what Christ did. I am here for the using, and I want it to matter. You can’t have everything you want all at once. That’s a good thing. Right now what I want is to be in Africa (check…), work with children at risk, and have an ample supply of fruits and veggies around. I am happy to be here and I am excited to see the next steps unfold.

Faith is a result of trust I am learning. I trust I will be of some use to someone here. I trust that God uses those who make themselves available. My faith is growing. I hope it never stops.

“I wonder at some points if I am being irresponsible or unwise. But then I realize there is never going to come a day when I stand before God and he looks at me and says, “I wish you would have kept more for yourself.”” David Platt

Sadness and Rats and Hope

The boys center is where I am spending most of my afternoons. Still, obviously, I do not understand 98% of what the boys say. So I usually sit with one of the COH folks and listen to them converse in Kiswahili. Sometimes they kind of translate what’s going on, and sometimes they don’t. Which is fine. I mean, I would like an idea, but I don’t think it’s necessary for them to continually stop, while they are relating one on one with a child, to tell me what they are saying. I am happy for the focus to remain where it belongs.

But it does not take a Kiswahili translator to know that there is a whole lot of hurt in that place.

Today there was a new boy there. He is so small! Can’t be more than 6 or so. We just talked with him for a bit, but apparently his Dad died a few years ago, he has never been to school, and his mom sends him out to the streets to beg, which is where he was picked up by the police and taken to the center. So, so sad.

Also, we learned this week that there is a lot of, um, sodomy going on. Keep in mind that these boys are mostly 8-14 years old. I know that these things exist; I was aware of it in one of the homes I spent time in when I was in Guatemala and I have done my fair share of reading about children at risk. But when you see the faces of the boys it is really heartwrenching to think about.

One of the staff members was telling me that last year at the center there was a big rat problem. I mean big, not only as in they were heavy in number, but they were apparently quite large. Like, they scared the dog. There is barely enough food to go around for the boys, sometimes they only get one meal a day or less, so that left nothing for the rats to eat. So the rats CHEWED ON THE BOYS. Seriously. They said that the boys had bite marks and open bleeding wounds on their legs and ankles. The lovely folks I worked with paid for them to be eradicated. Good people. Can you imagine?!

According to the stories I have read and one girl that I work with the center used to be a whole lot worse when it first started in 2005. There were over 100 boys in a small room, 2-3 to a bed, they were never let outside, had only one small cup of porridge a day, and many of them were sick. A little while after the place had been in operation; because it was so bad a group of 150 kids or so who were still living on the streets banded together, made makeshift weapons, broke into the center, and set the boys free. They carried the sick boys out on sheets of metal and took them straight to the hospital where they demanded treatment for them. Isn’t that kind of amazing? The guards of the center said after the fact that they were kind of glad that someone did something because it was so bad there.

Which brings me to my next thought. Hope. Obviously I do not outright advocate all the destruction and use of weapons and such. But the leadership, teamwork, passion, and ingenuity that went into setting those boys free are incredible. What amazing potential for good! The other day at the center a teenage boy came by to give his grade report to one of the COH staff. This kid was nicely dressed, clean cut, polite. He was rescued from the home a couple of years back, and is under sponsorship for his schooling. You would have never guessed, He is one of the 325 or so kids that have been rescued, and while not all are success stories, he is the reason why they do what they do. He stayed a little while and went around talking to some of the boys about how he used to be exactly where they are, to encourage them to go home, and tell them that they can do great things. Incredible.

Bananas and Other Stories

A few amusing snippets from these first few weeks.

When I was on safari we had been on a particularly long game drive. I really had to pee. Our small convoy stopped and a fellow got out and relieved himself. Another lady went to go behind a bush out a ways, so I decided to join in. I dodged a large pile of rhino droppings, found a bush, kept a lookout for snakes and went for it. Only to be yelled at halfway through that we were only 2 minutes from the park gate. No one could have mentioned that before 3 of us got out and mentioned our intentions?

Even what I thought were mostly perfectly comfortable shoes, have still given me blisters in my 1.5+hours of walking each day. Very thankful that I brought 2 pairs of Toms with me.

The wind from a passing Matatu is enough to blow up your skirt. Yup.

I look down when I walk by myself for a few reasons. First of all, I am painfully aware that I am a bit out of place and am being stared at by some. Looking down helps me not face this reality. Second, there are very, very few conventional sidewalks. Some streets have barely any room to walk, most have some sort of dirt trodden path.  Some of these paths have rocks. Some of these rocks are loose. Some of these loose rocks are on sections that are at a bit of an incline. These things lead to tripping and slipping (so far no falling though!), which frankly, is kind of embarrassing. Third, there is a lot of dirt and exhaust being blown around constantly and looking down helps in preventing dirt from getting in my eyes. There are also random piles of, um, waste that I would prefer to not step in. I also look down because the couple of times I have looked up and at people (because in the US it is impolite to be looking down at your feet all the time) it has usually invited some sort of verbal greeting or comment. Which would be ok I guess except that as I walk past I heard a few men mock my “hello” response, and I just felt a little uncomfortable. I am absolutely still learning what is culturally acceptable and such (like, is eye contact inviting? If I smile at a stranger does that mean more than I think it does? Is it stupid to try and text while I walk? Etc), and it is likely that is me being a little paranoid. But I am ok with that for now. So, I will continue to look at my feet to avoid falling for the time being.

Crossing the street is scaaary. There are no traffic lights, crosswalks, or road signs really. So when crossing a street you kind of wait for a break in traffic, usually there isn’t really one. Generally I kind of take a deep breath cross one lane, stand in the middle, then run through the other lane. Some kind souls slow down so you can go. Sometimes it works out that someone is turning and you get a lucky break. I always hope for locals or someone else at the same intersection who is braver than me to be crossing the same way, and I just follow their lead. One day the road was really busy and I was feeling a little overwhelmed so I just stood there for a minute. A guy standing there must have sensed my insecurity said “You can just go, they will stop.” I said, “Uhh..ok,” and ran across. The cars did slow down. That was nice. I was telling a Kenyan girl at the office about it and she found the story really funny. Silly Americans.

On my walk home the other day I passed a man on the ground with some sort of bloody head injury and bloody hands with a small crowd of people around, that had doubled by the time I got halfway up the street. If that doesn’t serve to pick up ones pace when walking I don’t know what will.

On a more amusing note, I accidentally bought 20 bananas from a street vendor the other day. Whoops. It only cost me about $1.15, though, so no harm done really.

What do you do with all those bananas? Share some with your guard of course. Now we are friends. He told me his name was Oballa, not Obama. I was amused, and it helped me remember his name.

I have had a few Africans ask me how their boy (Obama) is doing. They love him.

On my walk there is a sweet old beggar man with a prosthetic leg that sits next to him. Its not a good idea to give money to beggars for multiple reasons. This man seems really sweet so I bring an extra banana (because I have a few to spare) or sandwich or something to give him every day. I know it isn’t much, but to do nothing feels kind of callous. The kids who follow you with open palms are the hardest to walk by, and also the most persistent..especially when you are carrying 2 bags of groceries. A few seem a little taken aback when I reach in my bag and hand them fruit. I did hear, though, that in big cities that some gangs use beggars. That’s tough. So I carry very little money…and extra bananas.

Nairobi

As I await things to settle following the referendum voting and my visa for Sudan I am in Nairobi working with Kenya Children of Hope (http://www.kenyachildrenofhope.org/). I am so thankful for the opportunity to basically tag a long and learn from them while I am here. The fact that it is in walking distance from where I am staying (well, 50 minutes each way) is a gift as well. I am not brave enough to brave the Matatus (brightly colored run down vans that rush around the city and serve as the form of public transportation) yet on my own. The staff is totally Kenyan, except for the founder and a gal from India who just recently joined the team. Their approach is a bit different from what I have seen before. They work with the Kenyan government’s “rehabilitation center.”  When police arrest boys for walking alone in the city, this is where they take them. All of them have spent at least some time living in the streets. COH goes there 3 days a week to talk with a handful of boys one on one. During this time they build relationship and trust with the boys. They learn their story as to how they got there, about their family, and will ask multiple times over the course of a few weeks until the story seems consistent and they have enough information to start tracing the family. They always pray with the boys when they are done talking, as well as the team before and after the visits. They also hold informal school Tues-Thurs because they are not in school at all while at the center, and they want them to be able to catch up as quickly as possible once they are back with their families and in school. Once they have enough information they are able to start tracing the family. This usually involves a visit, meeting with the family, and figuring out the issues that are there and how to bring reconciliation. The goal is to place every boy back in his family, and if that is not possible they find foster care. COH provides help with good parenting seminars, school fees, support from local leaders in the community where the family is (teachers, church leaders), all with discouraging dependency and working to empower the families. Once they are reconciled they continue to follow up and make sure that everyone is doing well. Many of the boys are from single parent homes, slums, families with drug or alcohol issues. COH restores boys to their families while helping the families lift out of difficult circumstances. It is really awesome to see, and their approach is really intriguing.

COH spends all of Monday morning every week fasting and in prayer for the boys, their families, and the work they are doing. Then the rest of the day is spent planning for the week. This is done at their not yet operational halfway house. Tuesday-Friday the day starts at 8 with prayer, praise, and devotions, which lasts until 9:30 or so. And…yeah, I am in Africa! Haha, their time of devotions is very different from what I am used to. It consists a lot of everyone praying out loud, loudly, all at the same time. Sometimes breaking out into songs in Swahili, breaking here and there to read a few verses. Ends with some sharing of praise and prayer requests for the boys and their families, of which, each one is followed by everyone praying out loud. Tuesday-Thursday they go to the center for the rest of the morning, but on Fridays they go to a slum. They go there to meet the boys on the street, build a relationship, and try to reconcile them to their families one by one. This Friday will be my first experience with that.

At the halfway house they have a small farm, a greenhouse, and some goats and chickens. They are selling the produce currently to raise revenue and one day they plan to teach farming skills and other vocational things as well. For those of you that are not aware, I fancy myself an organic farmer with a beehive and some chickens. Well, not yet anyway; but one day. It is part of my mental image of the future version of myself. To see a place like this, a place of healing for kids with all kinds of goodness coming up from the earth, was a bit like seeing something I had been picturing in my head for a long while. It is encouraging and exciting to see that  in existence.

Like I said, this is a really incredible opportunity to observe and learn from these lovely folks. I am really limited in my ability to communicate as I know no Kiswahili, but I plan on learning quite a bit in my (hoooopefully short) time here. I have experience with all kinds of kids, but this is my first time with working with street kids. It is a wonderful chance to get a little insight before I start over in Sudan learning Arabic and working at the street kid’s center there.

Hope those of you back in the US are not buried under too much snow. Love to you all the way from Africa!