What I have experienced in Nairobi.....
I arrived in Nairobi weeks ago, and everything that I have seen, tasted, heard, and smelt has made the experience truly remarkable.
Jacqui and I spent the first few days orienting ourselves to the city. We were accompanied by Joseph Njorge and little Lennox. Lennox is a 7 year old Kenyan boy, who was extremely abused by his mother (Scars from the chicken wire across his leg serve as a painful memory). When Jacqui first lived in Kenya, she met Lennox at Nairobi Children’s home. A state run facility that is supposed to help the children is notorious for its cruel punishment to the displaced children. Joseph started a business called Touch Kenya, where people can either come to volunteer or sponsor Kenyan children to have a better life.
Right now, there are 8 children from all sorts of backgrounds: abuse, abandonment, and extreme poverty...the sad stories are endless. Lennox was with us because Jacqui and her family sponsor him. Including in the sponsoring of a child are gifts and books, new clothes, but also a chance for a decent education. It is an opportunity for the children to excel, and experience something other than their poor situation. What is so inspiring is that all of the children are so resilient. They are all fighters, and they are so appreciative.
I have spent many summers working at YCAMP where a lot of the kids come from affluent families, and though some are grateful, many could care less about the fruits they are able to relish in. For the Children I have met, they hold themselves totally different. The uniforms that the lucky sponsored children get to wear are worn with pride as they know they have been given hope and a chance to change their lives unlike the millions of Kenyan orphans (there are an estimated 2 million!), who will never experience something so prideful.
The 2nd day in Nairobi, the four of us climbed aboard a Matatu –the local transportation, where people pile in like sardines and hope that the driver isn’t too reckless. For only 50p, one can enjoy the thrill of a Matatu for a long distance. We took the Matatu to Heritage Children’s home to collect one of Lennox’s friends and another child who is sponsored.
Enter Njeri:
I have been sitting in this dump for over a month now. The smell of the ratty dogs and the incessant flies that hover over my food is driving me crazy. MaMa and BaBa are nice, but they are not always around. I’m only 5 and the big kids beat me constantly. I have a lump on the side of my head where one 13 yr. old girl hit me with a hammer. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. I so wanted to run to my mother and tell her, but alas, I don’t know my mother. She was, is, and always will be a drunkard. One day as I was sitting on the cold, damp ground picking at the mash (a sorry excuse for a dinner) I heard a few familiar voices. I looked around the corner and I saw Jacqui (the white girl who was so kind at Nairobi Children’s home), Joseph, Lennox, and some giant Mzungu.
I sat in the room and tried to listen intently, but they were speaking fast English. Though my English is good, I’m much better in Swahili, so I couldn’t really understand everything. I knew it was about me though. After the talk was done, the Mama of heritage told me to get my things and I grasped Jacqui and Lennox’s hand, and I left heritage; hopefully, for good. If someone would please just adopt me. I’m 5 and I do my own laundry. I don’t cry much, and I’m not picky. One day, I hope, One day.
Mombasa:
As the sponsored kids would be starting school on Monday, Jacqui and I decided to treat Lennox and Njeri to a nice vacation. We took them to our apartment Westlands Nairobi, nothing great, but something much nicer than they have probably ever seen. Then Jacqui prepared and feast and it was impressive, and sad, watching the small children clean plate after plate of rice and chicken. It was impressive to watch how intricate they ate; every scrap of chicken and every morsel of flesh was devoured. You could hear the crunch of the bone and the smack of satisfaction from their little lips. It brought a smile to my eyes.
Jacqui and I also decided to take the kids to the beach. We paid 20 pounds for two bus seats-the kids sat in our laps-and we rode the 8hr night bus all the way to Mombasa. The kids slept like rocks, while Jacqui and I couldn’t sleep a wink. My seat was broken and jostled roughly with every stop, acceleration, and bump. Not very fun, but when we arrived to Mombasa, it was well worth it. We stayed at the Neptune Santido Beach Resort and for only 180 pounds (or $250) all four of us enjoyed the spoils of the all-inclusive. There was a nice pool where the kids could splash happily and shady palms where Jacqui and I l sat looking out upon the Indian Ocean, while the Beach Boys whistled and called us down to spend money on their goods. Simultaneously, monkeys raced among the branches, while a camel sat patiently waiting for someone to come and ride.
It was a treat seeing the joy in the kids’ faces. Euphoria was buried in their faces and the expression of solitude they held was priceless. I sat in a deep reverie and enjoyed my cocktail, and thought life is good.
On the way back to Nairobi, Jacqui and I decided to take the train. It was a bit pricey, but each of us had a bed, a 3 course dinner, breakfast, and shortly after breakfast we were graced with zebras, giraffes, gazelles, and water buffalo running joyfully and freely throughout the plain.
As we approached Nairobi, we rode past Kibera Slums. It is the worst in Kenya and the 2nd worst in all of Africa. Houses constructed of scraps of tin and rotten wood. The people with sad faces emerged from their abodes to hear, and see, the rumble of the train. We were deep into the Slums’ limits, the smell of death slapped me across the face. A smell similar to what Andy Dufrane experienced when he escaped from Shawshank. I soon learned that there is no sewage, and as I passed I could see children waving, and standing in puddles of feces and other waste. Sad. Actually, it’s beyond sad, it’s rather depressing. Still, kids were smiling, as if they didn’t know any better, and to them, life is beyond great. If we could all look through children’s eyes, I think the world would be a much better place.
Taking the Kids to School:
After spending time at the coast, it was time to take the kids back to school. What should have been a half day trip, turned into an all day affair due to poor planning and lack of logistical precision. Nonetheless, I was able to experience something devastatingly profound. One stop we made was at Thika Boys Recue center. The center is a state run facility with over 90 boys aged 5 and up, with little to no supervision. Walking around the place it became apparent how sad the place was. The center is so short staffed; I’d say that the average ratio is 25: 1. There are no teachers, no school supplies, and only the bare necessities for the kids to live on. I went by the bathroom and it reminded me on the same aroma that was the Kibera slums. As I continued along the path, I found a group of boys (5 maybe 6 yrs old) violently scrubbing their laundry, and when they noticed someone new, they began to smile. You could tell a smile was a rare occurrence. After we picked up the one boy who is sponsored we made our way. I asked Kenyan’s why the Thika home was so bad, and they simply noted that no one cares about young boys. All international aid goes to babies and girls. The lost boys are simply forgotten. I ask you not to forget them. They have dreams. They have beautiful smiles and energetic laughs, but they have no help. They are all alone except for their brothers. They sit around all day twiddling their thumbs, casually regressing until their sharp minds become docile and irreparable.
I you would like to get involved, please contact me. I will be here for another week or so. I have raised a fair amount of money, I think I will plan to take the leftovers to Thika. It is a place that needs our love, our affection, and yes , our check books. Also, if after reading this, you are interested in sponsoring a child, I can put in contact with Touch Kenya. You can’t imagine the impact you will have in a child’s life.
Just think about it. Everyone needs a someone to lean on, and how rewarding it would be to be that support, that strong arm supporting someone in need.
Disparities:
Although Kenya is filled with poverty, it also has some of the most exquisite places to wine and dine. What is interesting, however, is all of the patrons are not native. We dined at a Sushi restaurant the other night and looking around I saw only white faces eating the food, while the Kenyans were the servers and cooks. I just find it strange how in one area people can be starving and living in desolate conditions, but as soon as you turn the corner, it’s like you’re in a fashionable restaurant. Weird.
New:
Today, I visited the Giraffe center, where you can go and feed giraffes and warthogs.
Tonight, I went to a place called Ronallo’s. A authentic Kenyan restaurant that serves up some delicious cuisine. While the funky reggae band is jamming, Jacqui and I munched on a whole fish (bones, head, and tail) and it was one of the most delicious, most succulent pieces of pescado I’ve ever tasted. The meat fell off the bone and was nicely washed down with a Tusker Lager. (A British influenced African lager.) Coupled with Ugalia (a wheat/cornmeal type substance), and rice. It was delicious and it settled so smoothly while the funky rhythm kept slapping the bass, man.
Tomorrow: Jacqui, me and some others, are driving 2.5 hrs north to a small fishing village, where we plan to go on horses and catch fish for our dinner. Our cabin happens to be 5 minutes from the equator so I can’t wait to test the water experiment. I feel bad about enjoying the goods while there is so much bad going on, but I’m a thankful for where I’ve come from and being able to experience this.
There will be more blogs to follow. I hope you lives are treating you well. I may be coming to Georgia in the near future for a quick visit. If so, I hope to see you all.
Peace and Love,
William
PS: Pictures will soon follow.
