Wrecked.

Kenya has ruined me.
Moving out here right after graduation was the best - and worst - decision I could possible have made. I can't imagine a better first "job" to have straight after college. I also can't imagine what job I could possibly get after this that will live up to my now exceedingly high expectations.
Where can I work where I walk home after work, and see my coworkers who have become my family right next door? What other job boasts such a scenic route to work, surrounded by hundreds of flowers, butterflies, tiny, brightly-colored birds, and a light breeze?
MITS has utterly wrecked every plan I had.
I wanted to be in a stable job, working in an office space Monday through Friday. I wanted to be in a serious relationship, totally committed, ready to get hitched and start furnishing my newly-wed apartment with anthropology furniture. I had so many tiny, insignificant plans that got blown apart the moment I fell in love with this place, these people.
You know that saying, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans?" I don't think God laughs when he see's us placing hope in future plans. I think he chuckles quietly to himself and says "Oh, my child, just wait and see what I have in store for you."

Can Cockroaches Climb?

Those of you who know me will get a good chuckle out of this. Picture it…night one in my new digs. I’m busy organizing my things, stocking my kitchen, and making my bed. I sit down in a very comfy-looking chair for a break, and I hear – yes, HEAR – little legs scurrying beneath me. I look up in time to see the most giant cockroach I’ve ever seen run with it’s disgusting little legs underneath the desk about 4 feet away. I jump up (don’t ask me why…the chair was most definitely a better sanctuary – what if the vile creature had cohorts also seeking shelter under my seat?) and run into the kitchen, then back into the living room, because I have to watch the desk so I know where the little invader goes, right?

Just so you know, it’s been 3 hours, and I’m still sitting in the living room, watching the desk. The filthy insect has yet to show it’s face, but when it does, you bet I will be there with a big shoe.

Update – I pre-wrote this blog, fully planning on posting it the next day. Since I didn’t do that, the cockroach has had babies. In my house.

Update on the update – I’m moving.

Much Ado About Nothing.

You will notice, when you come to Kamulu, the lack of popular childrens’ toys. There are no Tickle Me Elmos laying around, no battery powered or remote controlled cars. You might see some Hot Wheels, missing wheels and very dearly loved, or some sticks being used to roll wooden hoops along the ground. And the little ones are perfectly content. Give a handful of gravel to Angie and Victor’s daughter, Arianna, and she will play for hours throwing it onto your cement porch.

This fact was actually really difficult for me to wrap my head around, because I’m so used to seeing kids with iPads in their hands, or toddler cell phones that light up, make noise, and talk to you. The simplicity is very profound, and it again highlights something that I am constantly confounded by…the people of Kamulu are so happy with so “little,” a word which here means “enough.”

How often do you hear someone say they have enough?

Do you have enough?

Commitment.

You’d think, having gone through so much, that the kids here at MITS would have attachment issues. You’d think, having been abandoned by their moms and dads, grandparents, aunts and uncles, they’d have trust issues. You’d think, having begged on the streets for a piece of your trash for their dinner, and being scorned over and over again, that they would be skeptical of people who come and go.

They don’t have attachment issues, they trust from the beginning, and they love whole heartedly for as long as they have you around. Yes, they have been forever changed by what they’ve gone through, but every time a visitor comes, even for just a week, the students throw themselves into their welcome. They ask for one thing in return – though the request is not verbal. Their desire to be loved, accepted, and nurtured, though silent, is felt as strongly as if they were shouting the words at you. Their shy hugs, their handshakes, their excitement when you read a book aloud to them…it speaks volumes. Don’t take for granted the small expressions of love you receive every day. To you it may seem small, that smile as you enter the office, or that hug of greeting you received from your friend, but to these kids, that is all they want, to know they are loved and accepted. 

Children.

Sometimes I’m at a loss for words. What does a sheltered, middle-class American have to say about the state of a desolate country and it’s broken, hurting people?

Sometimes I look at the sweet faces of the students here at MITS, and I can’t imagine them living on the streets, getting high every day to mask the pain of abuse, neglect, and despair. They come to chapel everyday with smiles on their faces and sing their hearts out, you’d never know that their pasts include, rape, murder, poison, drugs, and alcohol. They tell their stories like these events are a given, not sickening situations that horrify even the most hardened individual.

These kids understand something that most of us are still struggling to comprehend…we are not our pasts. The events that happened twenty years ago, or the events that happened yesterday are not who we are today. Today, we are renewed, revived, refreshed children of God, because we are saved by the blood of Jesus Christ. That is who we are. Not the children of rape, of murderers, of drug overdoses. We are the children of a man whose blood was freely shed so that every day, we are new. That is who we are.

The Eyes Have It.

Mathare Valley. The largest continuous slum in Africa. Home to 1.5 million of God’s precious children.

Wandering the dirty, trash strewn streets, ducking under low, tin roofs while trying to avoid the drips of waste water falling from the mud building above, you are only looking at your feet. But, gradually, you look up and around as you hear the first tiny whisper “’Ow are you?” and you look into the tiny, dirty face that is the source of the question. The wide eyes that belong to the small one are smiling as they hold out a miniscule, wrinkled hand to shake. They don’t actually know what they are asking, and rarely do they understand your answer, but their eyes express the joy and wonder they’re feeling at having visitors, and they light up when you shake the proffered hand.

These little blessings are some of the many examples of the joy people in Kenya show in the face of extreme poverty, unconquerable situations, and uncertain futures. Constantly, I am reminded of my ignorance of every little gift from God. My new goal is to show joy in the face of every “adversity” in life – although those adversities seem pretty menial nowadays.

Music of the Night.

When you’ve been in Kenya for a while, you get used to the constant noise and rhythm that pulses around you…your neighbor’s bongo practice, the donkeys braying, the roosters crowing, the leaves rustling.  It becomes almost musical after awhile, and instead of lying awake wising the roosters would get the memo that 4:00 AM is NOT an appropriate time to “cockadoodledoo,” you wonder why they aren’t. Where is the buzz of the mosquitos? The tap on the tin roof where the birds landed? The soft hum of the guards radio?

This lullaby is the music of Kamulu nights, and the music of the day is no less hypnotizing. The laughter of the kids at the learning center, the slap of flip flops on the concrete, the rush of water out of the spigot outside. It all comes together to create a beautiful orchestra.