Starved.

Starved. Babies. Children. Teenagers. Adults. Absolutely Starved. 

I am not talking about physical starvation, although there is definitely a lot more of that in Kenya than anywhere else I have been. I am talking of a different type of starvation, one that I didn't really realise existed until I came to Kenya. But one that is just as destructive and painful as starvation of food. One that leads to messed up lives, to underdevelopment, to lack of achievement, to sadness, to fear, to violence, to low self-esteem, sometimes even to death. 

A starvation of love. 

Coming from an Australian background where love and care is the norm its hard to understand what it is like for many Kenyans. To be born into a family where you are not really wanted, where you are just another mouth to feed, to grow up with extended family members or neighbours, to shift from place to place, for no one to really know or care whether you are here or there. 

I noticed it at a children's home when I went into the boys dormitory to check on a lad who had a wound on his leg, instantly 3 other boys poked legs and arms out from under their dirty sheets to show me various wounds they had. They hadn't told anyone because there wasn't anyone who would care.

When I told one of these 13 year old orphans that I loved him he looked at me in a puzzled way, like he had never heard those words before.


Probably because he hadn't.


Showing one of my students some photos and videos of a good friend's newborn baby in Australia, he pays close attention to the screen and then looks up at me with a startled expression- 'this is very different to here in Kenya. Here the father says 'You should have used family planning!' or 'No, this isn't my child''. But this father... this father really loves his baby!" 

Upon return back to the school here in Kamukuywa I was greeted with an enormous overwhelming display of excitement and joy from all my students I taught last year. One thing I totally hadn't expected though was the shock on their faces when I greeted them, when I addressed one student by his full name and asked how he was going, he responded  'Madam! surely you don't actually remember an insignificant person like me?!"

Another student after asking me how my time in Australia was and hearing about my home life and family stopped and looking me in the eye said 'Madam. Thank-you for returning. Thank-you for loving us".

I don't think I have ever thanked anyone for loving me.

I have never felt the need, because love has always been there. But for Ferdinand being loved was something out of the ordinary. 

One of the high school students here expresses her feelings about her sponsorship in a letter..'I sincerely appreciate for the love that you have to me, I was wondering how a person I have never seen could be paying for my school fees!' when you don't experience love from people around you, it is hard to comprehend love from someone who doesn't even know you.  

Of course this isn't the case for some, there are exceptions and there are children who have very good relationships with their parents. But the fact that this is reality for so many is heart wrenching. 

Not having the security of being surrounded by loving people is something that affects humans more than we would realise.  Supporting these kids and showing them some of the love of God is something that does and will totally change their lives. 

Can you help?

Have a watch and if you are able to help out these kids, any amount would be much appreciated!

For each of the 56 kids...
Mosquito Net = $5
Sheets = $11
Mattress = $23
Bed = $55
One child fully equipped= $94

Direct Deposit:

Agape in Action, Bank of Queensland

BSB: 124031

Acc No: 20690528

Earmark donation as 'Mutongoi'

Paypal:

Click on the link and scroll down to One Time Project Donation (any amount)

http://www.agapeinaction.com/project_payment.html

For more info send me an email:  tabithaverity@gmail.com 

Sponsorship Photos..

It is a hot African summer day but the breeze blowing in my face from my position perched on the back of the motorbike is cooling enough for it to be a pleasant ride. We are wizzing along dirt trails, through fields of maize and past mud huts in rural coastal Kenya, across paddocks and farms and market places we ride. Every now and again we stop to greet people and ask directions. I am tightly gripping the borrowed SLR camera I have around my neck, it is very essential that it is in working order as the purpose of our searching is to photograph sponsored children to send an update to their sponsors. 

Arriving at a ramshackle cow yard we find a shirtless man, half asleep on the ground. He jumps up, clearly startled at our arrival, groping for a shirt and struggling to find words, he finally secures his shirt with a mismatched button and proudly declares 'Good evening!' in a slightly too loud voice. It is not even 2pm but considering he has only just woken up and English is his 3rd language its not a bad effort. 

We enquire as to the whereabouts of the child we are looking for as the local Agape rep says she usually stays with him, however he informs us that the girls mother is very ill, they don't expect her to survive more than a few days and the child has accompanied her to hospital.
Both men turn to me for a solution, they know that I have travelled hours to come here for the photos, and despite the tragedy of the situation they are genuinely concerned about me returning without the photo  'she is not here, so what do we do then!?'. I assure them that it is fine, the sponsor will understand if they don't receive their photo for a little longer. We can return another time. 

When we arrive at our next falling down farmhouse the lad we are after, Mulilu, is also not around, however family members assure me that if I can just wait they will locate him. Mulilu is out grazing the cattle. He sheepishly comes around the corner of the building, nervously murmuring about being in dirty clothes, once again I assure that it is ok and he manages a big grin for the camera. 

As I hop on the back of the bike for another search I can't help but smile to myself, I don't know what I really imagined when I first heard of the concept of 'sponsoring children' or how I thought the photos came about when I received email updates of the girl I started sponsoring many years ago, but now I stop and think about it, of course a child from a rural farming background will live hours from comfortable cities and good roads suitable for cars... However, little did I imagine that I would be the one hooting around the countryside snapping pictures of these gorgeous kids!  

Parent for a day :)

The sleepy kids mumble greetings as they line up. It's only 5:30 am so I don't blame them for their lack of energy, it's fine for me to be perky as I am not doing this everyday and hence I have a lot more enthusiasm, but for them this is just another school day. I pour hot porridge into their proffered bowls and hand them a slice of bread. Most eat quickly as they have to get dressed and start walking before 6. 

I am staying at an Agape children's home at the coast and today I am playing the role of 'parent' for 3 of the high school lads here who have parent teacher interviews at school. The school is a distance of around 6  kms and it takes over an hour to walk there, we laugh and chat on the way, all trying not to be the last one. Despite our brisk pace we arrive at school at 7:06 meaning that the boys get punished with sweeping the classrooms.

Antony, Isaac and Chalo

I have a meeting with the deputy principal who is very interested to see a white person and wants to know all about what I am doing. The parent teacher interviews aren't starting til after 9 so there is some time to kill. I decide to have a squiz at the school assembly, which of course results in an invitation to speak to the whole school. I opt for a simple introduction and a 'happy to be here' and the deputy reiterates how happy they are to have me there. 

After a bit of waiting around we have a parent and teachers meeting, which goes for a couple of hours and is entirely in Kiswahili except for the bit when once again I am introduced to everyone there. Aware that most of the room are watching me I try my best to stay awake and interested, despite only understanding words here and there.

Once the meeting is over we are all handed the files of our kids with their results for all the exams they have done and given the opportunity to go around with the kids to each department and consult with the teachers on how the students are going and how they can improve. I am the only 'parent' who has more than one child and my presence is clearly somewhat confusing to everyone. The boys think it's a great lark, calling me 'Mum!' and telling their classmates 'this is my mum, she is white and I am black- we don't know what happened-hahaha!' I have a little giggle when I look at their documents and realize a couple of them are only a few years younger than me, but it doesn't matter, this is Kenya and for the purpose of the day I am their Mum. 

Typical teachers comments

Unfortunately in Kenyan schools the default is 'work harder, you arnt trying'. The ridiculous curriculum makes it very difficult to do well and it turn out most of the interviews consist of the teacher berating the student with the parents reinforcement. After a few of my interviews I am totally sick of the teachers ranting at my boys. One of the teachers is remonstrating with Antony, 'this is such a shame, look at these marks! How do u feel when you see them? You arnt trying!' Antony responds in a whisper 'when I see this, I feel to cry' 

I decide I have had enough- I point to his results page- 'yes, he had an E for biology, but he has increased by 5 marks from last exam- he is improving!' 

Another grumpy teacher starts raging at Chalo. 'You are lazy and not putting in effort'. I cut her short. 'There is a difference between being lazy and not understanding, I don't think he is understanding the teaching!'. She looks startled at being taken to task, quickly signs the paper and hands it back. I collect up the files and head out with the boys. 

Out of the clutches of the demanding teacher the boys are much happier. They promise to work hard and tell me they are trying their best and I tell them that's the best thing they can do and not to get too bothered by what the teachers said. 

It is after dark by the time we are all finished and start the 6km walk home through the lanes and across the fields, we walk together in a group and despite the lateness and darkness we race, laugh and chat all the way back home. 

Kenyan negotiations

We are sitting in a bright pink room which I suspect has been freshly painted for the occasion, a feast laid out before us and the room filled with chairs.

A relative of one of our friends has started a relationship with a guy she met in town. He is the son of a high ranking government official and this meeting has been called to negotiate the relationship…however the situation is somewhat complicated by her heavily pregnant state.

According to the culture of this tribe there is not allowed to be any discussions of dowry until after a pregnant girl has given birth, but instead this is a meeting to determine if marriage is a good idea or not and for the parents of the groom to offer a welcome ‘gift’ (in cash). For some reason myself and Abi's transport arrangements have resulted in two witless muzungus crashing the party.

After taking our seat and a myriad of introductions, the young couple are required to leave the room as culture doesn’t permit them to eat with their in-laws if they are indeed to be married and of course, events such as this begin with an enormous feast.

I take a large mouthful of my food and instantly choke on the strong chilli, both me and Abi find this funny, but our laughing and coughing is soon cut down by a sharp reminder to ‘behave ourselves!’  I look up and notice the guy next to me has a pistol down his pants… it turns out the security of the government official is not something to be taken lightly. I decide to focus on my food and not making any more of a scene than possible being a random white girl sitting in on a personal and touchy meeting such as I am (why am I here again?).

An elderly lady enters the room and all rise to greet her, I whisper to Abi next to me the appropriate mother tongue greeting ('aaa mwaitu', in response to 'wakya'), Abi is so worried she’ll forget it she grabs the ladies hand and blurts out the response before the grandma has a chance to say a word… looking somewhat startled the lady takes her seat and I try to disguise my hilarity.

After the food the conversation begins in earnest. Discussion flows back and forth, the two parties leave the room separately and re-enter several times. We watch as the bride-and-groom- to-be are questioned as to whether or not they truly love each other. The groom squirms awkwardly and looks at the ground. The bride is sweating profusely, and uncomfortably mops her brow with her hanky, her heavily pregnant state not enjoying the heat of the room or apparently the intensity of the situation, I have to admit I wouldn't want to be in her shoes, all the in-

laws and family members, police official and then a couple of clueless random muzungus all listening in to her confessions of love.

Finally after a couple of hours we all stand up, the negotiations appear to be over and there are smiles all round- except for the aforementioned grandma who refuses to stand and looks less than impressed. The-groom-to-be clearly wants everyone to be happy and pulls a 1000 ksh note out his wallet and hands it to granny. There are hugs between all the family members and ‘new family’ photos. We all walk out of the room to the resounding belch of granny, who despite the cash remains seated and glowering at her new son-in-law.

Despite the randomness of the entire situation it was a very interesting occasion to be involved in and such a very Kenyan experience!

Return.

The streets are busy and clean. Workers are sweeping, hosing and smiling, nicely dressed people are opening up their shops, coffee in one hand, keys in the other. 

I smile and a passing man catches my eye and says good morning.
It's safe, it's friendly it's wealthy. 

I go to the public bathroom, it is warm and clean, toilet paper in every cubicle, running water, no cost.

My phone lights up in my hand- there is free unlimited wifi the whole length of the mall.

At intervals along the paved walkway there are drinking fountains with purified water, free, as much as you like. 

A lady is offering out free food samples to promote a product. Free food. Most people don't take it because they aren't hungry, they have food in their bags and money in their wallets anyway. 

There is no fear, there is no danger, this is a safe place.

Where are the street children, grabbing at my skirt begging for a shilling? The youths rummaging through the dumpsters sucking on rotten tomatoes, the slimy mould dripping down their dirty hands? The old ladies dressed in tattered clothes sitting on the dirt?
Why is there no need to hide my wallet, keep my eyes down and walk fast?

Because this is Rundle Mall in Adelaide not Kenyatta street in Kitale.

I have arranged to catchup with a friend in town and I am supposed to be working from my laptop while I wait, but instead I find myself drifting into a bookshop and flicking through the travel guides to Kenya. I finally drag out my computer but instead of doing my work I find myself browsing through my photos, writing articles for newsletters and googling Swahili phrases.

My jobs in Australia are well paid and relatively easy, I am welcomed back with open arms, I have all I could need or want...however it doesn't feel right.
I think of my students in Kenya, their cute farewell letters, littered with phrases such as 'don't forget us' and 'please return', I think of the projects and programs I was involved in and I think of the friends and brothers and sisters I have left...

A few months later, instead of talking and thinking about Kenya I am now on the plane heading back over. Five months will make up my itinerary this time.. looking forward to getting stuck back into it all :) 

Farewell Kenya...for now

Jan 1st 2014 Diary entry on flight to Kenya: "Previously I have just been thinking about how to get my luggage there and get organised etc and haven't really though about it all much. But I tell you what, right now it hurts, a year feels like forever and my eyes keep welling up!"

I have lived in Kenya for a year.

I have been called madam, I have been called mum, I have had my phone stolen, my passport stolen, my wallet stolen, I have had students ask me to leave the classroom because I am laughing too loud, I have had a completely sleepless night, I have ran a half marathon, I have carried buckets of water from the well on my head, I have held the hand of a dying girl as we race to hospital, I have seen a fatal hit and run, I have been rammed by a cow, attacked by a chicken, bitten by a dog, I have been guest of honour at many events, I have danced for hours with the kids, I have milked a cow, I have cleaned the inside of rainwater tanks, I have had policemen attempt to arrest me, I have driven a car with no brakes, I have won a running race, I have smeared a whole house floor with cow dung, I have taken minutes in meetings that last an entire day, I have coached a football team, ran a library, taught an unfamiliar curriculum, I have treated over 1400 first aid cases, I have been to hospitals, I have been to funerals, I have eaten roasted maize, boiled maize, maize flour, maize porridge, I have seen children be beaten, I have first aided children who have been beaten, I have made nutrition drink for malnourished children, I have danced with widows, I have been kissed by a giraffe, I have swung off a vine, swum in a waterfall, climbed a mountain, come within two metres of a lion, I have played football, I have dug trenches, I have visited hot springs, I have cried, I have laughed until I cried, I have repaired countless desks, filled countless drinkbottles, issued countless textbooks, said 'I am fine' countless times, I have had malaria, I have had kids throw up on me, I have had bugs make a home in my feet...

But I havn't had enough.

Kenya....Nitarudi! (I will return!)