Grandmas Stories And Piggies

After visiting Safari, Marya and I headed back to Nairobi. We had one more big project before we parted ways, and we were excited.



We partnered with a humanitarian organization called One Horizon to help with a sustainable farming project that provides pigs and food so grandmothers who are caring for their grandchildren can break the cycle of poverty.



We met up with Soloman, our host for the day. An upbeat, loving local, he told us how he himself was raised in unimaginable poverty. Working 4 am to midnight for years, he made only $150 a month. Although married with two kids, he never saw them because of his hours. Only thanks to generous donors was he able to change his life and crawl from poverty.



As we drove, we passed Kibera slum. The slum is the largest in Africa. About 250,000 people call the slum home. With rusty tin rooms and broken down shacks, the residents are charged only 20 dollars a month for rent, but even so, many cant afford it and are kicked out to live on the streets.



Work is almost nonexistant, and Soloman tells us that people will do anything - we pass boys with shovels and he says that they fill potholes with mud and try to stop cars for 10 or 20 cents. They will do anything to try to make a living because there is just no work...life is hard.



We drove out of Nairobi, and past the slums were huge mansions. Rich along the poor, oblivious by choice. (I didn't get a pic of the mansions...these are office buildings, but either way, huge difference.)



Our first stop was at the home of Mary. Mary doesn't know how old she is, she has no clue. In Africa, most of the people have no idea when their birthday is. They're born at home and life goes on, every day the same.



Mary had a wrinkled face, telling stories her words never could. She had seven of her grandchildren living with her. A mother to 12, two of her kids had died from aids and hiv. After her other children married and divorced, they brought the kids back and left them with grandma. Many of the fathers are alcoholics and addicts, choosing to spend money on weak salve to their world problems instead of feeding their children. Unfortunetly, this is more often than not, the norm in Kenya.



Mary invited us into her home - two rooms, a old, flat couch and a few plastic plates piled in a corner under a tiny tv they said was the kitchen.



The visit was quick but we were assured we would meet up again later, and we headed to another home, Beatrice's.



Again we were welcomed in, first for a lool around her tiny farm of five pigs, all donated through One Horizon, and a few chickens.







Then, we were ushered into the small house and took a seat on the again old, worn couch. 



Across from us sat Beatrice and her husbands parents. Although her husband is not often around, she lives with and cares for his parents, along with several grandchildren.





The house had open windows and doors, and every so often a chicken would wander in and someone would get up to shoo it outside. More flies swarmed around than I've ever seen.

Yet they were so happy just to have a house and a couch for visiters to sit on. Over the next hour or so, Beatrice shared her story with us.



Telling her story would take hours, but to summarize, she started work at age 4. She had one pair of clothes most her life, and couldn't afford to go to school. Like so many in Kenya, she lived off ugali, a corn mush, often just once a day, sometimes just a few times a week. Then, she was fortunate enough to be sponsored. Her sponsor provided money for food, clothes, and money for school. It was great for awhile...and then her sponsor died, sending her back to work and out of school. She was 14. She married, had marriage problems, raised kids, who also married and divorced, leaving her with her grandkids. Thanks to One Horizon, she is now raising pigs and teaching her grandkids about farming.

I couldn't retell her story to do it justice, but so many times I found myself wanting to cry, wondering how life can be so different just depending on where you're born.



We asked her questions, and over and over she thanked us for coming and helping. She hugged us and tears filled her eyes. When we took a photo, she grabbed our hands and hugged us like old friends.

I did take a video of her story, so if you're interested it is available.

We left her home, again being promised we would meet up in a bit.

We drove to a farm where we chose a pig to buy to give to a grandmother to help her get started in the project.



They loaded the squealing critter into a feed sack and strapped it onto the back of a motorbike and we headed to a third grandmothers little "farm."





Delivering the pig, the grandmothers, who had all united to cook us a traditional lunch and share more stories, fearlessly grabbed the piggy and posed for some pictures. So many smiles...



Then we proceeded to make lunch. The ladies showed us how they make their salad of pure greens, and cook it down to mix it with their Ugali.



Finally, after hearing about it for so long, we got to try the dish.



I can't say it was earth shattering - corn flour and water, but with the greens it wasn't bad. Eating it every day my whole life though...that would push it. I'm so thankful I had a choice.



While we ate, more stories were shared, and laughs, and thanks.



I felt so humbled and blessed by these ladies, and by their thanks, and farewell blessing song, I know they were as well.



On the way home, we got my beloved sugar cane!



The kids asked 20 shilling per stick, and their faces were priceless whe I handed them 200 - a mere 2.00. Nothing to me, everything to them...



Our last night in Kenya we finally went out dancing with our security gaurd friend Nick.



So, clubbing in Narobi is...different. Something that can't be explained beside saying its very African, and fantastic. Strange outfits, lots of prostitutes, and fantastic mysic in terrible remixes. Halfway through they interupted the dancing for a show by an incredibly happy dance crew. They weren't that great, but amazing to watch simply for their energy.



The last day in Kenya before our red eye flights was spent exploring Nairobi and driving through the national park viewing animals.



In the city we visited a Masaai market, the traditional market with vendors selling everything under the sun, grabbing you and begging you for a sale, and bartering for the best price.



If you stop for even a second and act interested, good luck getting away without buying something. The plus side of this is they often lower prices up to 80%. They also make deals in bartering - one guy wanted to trade for my hairbands to gice to school girls. I ddn't really want anything but gave him all I had anyway.



We also went up the tallest building in the city, where a school was touring. One girl asked for a selfie with us...and that was it. Every one of the 110 girls wanted one ALONE with us. No sharing here...my smile hurt. Aha. I felt like a celebrity and decided I never want to be one.



The park was a great way to end the trip, but seeing animals is not as easy as it sounds because the park is hundreds of kilometers of wilderness.



But we got lucky and saw some cool critters, including a rino, and even a lion hunting a gazelle...she missed, but it was fantastic anyway.



Oh Kenya. Too short of time and way more wonderful than anyone knows.



I'll be back soon, this time with a one way ticket to travel the right way.

Meeting Safari

This blog was hard for me to write. Not because of what I said, but because of what I couldn't. Words could never describe the experience, and I debated for weeks whether it was worth writing at all, then wrote and erased and rewrote. I could never convey the emotion, the love, the gratitude, the sacrifice, or the joy that was felt throughout the day. But I knew that if I didn't do my best, even what I could explain would be forgotten.



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For the last four years, I'd been praying for this day, and finally, it was here. I woke up more excited than I'd been in weeks, maybe months. We met our hosts at our hostel and got in their car for the journey to the village where my precious child calls home.



On the way, we stopped and bought food for the family as gifts. If I had any idea the pure simplicity of what the village had, I would have insisted on buying more food and toys and games and treats for every child in the village, but I had no idea.





An accident on the way forced us off the beaten track.



A semi had flipped and was completely blocking the road, so we were directed on a detour, through fields and dusty trails.



We drove slowly over the bumpy terrain, past baobab trees...



...beautifully clothed locals, and hardworking men in the fields. Detour worth it.



After an hour or so we turned off the paved road again and our driver said, "We are getting close." We drove the nice silver car away from all civilization as we know. The road was a narrow trail, probably worn down by feet rather than vehicles. Around us, the temperature and humidity rose and vegetation was scarce. The ground was covered by red dust and sand and dried up plants. The houses turned to tiny shacks. The trail wove in and out and around the shelters and scattered trees. Every so often a larger building or structure appeared: schools.



Kids in dirty outfits ran out and smiled the biggest whitest smiles against their black skin.  They would run along the car and wave as they yelled, "Mzungus!!" Which means white people.



I scanned the faces looking for Safari, but I knew I wouldn't recognize him from the two photos I'd recieved. All the little faces looked so similar, boys and girls alike had hair shaved to nothing.



But then, we pulled up along a school and there he was, sitting under a tree next to one of his brothers. He was wearing a nice blue button down shirt, slacks, and nice black dress shoes. Everyone else wore ripped, ragged, dirty clothes and broke in sandles or no shoes at all. In my mind I had played over and over the moment I would meet him and our letters would become conversations. Part of me so deeply wanted to run and grab him and hug him and never let him go and make sure all his dreams came true...but he was cautious and unsure. 



We met with the staff of the local compassion project and they called him over. He came silently and shook my hand, mostly looking down, but I couldn't stop smiling. They said that we were the first white people to ever come to the village, and the first they had ever seen apart from the pictures we (sponsors) sent, so the kids weren't sure how to act. Like anyone, some were fascinated and ran over. Others, like Safari, felt safer hiding behind their friends. But slowly he became curious. Marya and I followed the staff to their office where they explained how compassion worked in this village. Safari came along and sat in a chair beside me, and every time I looked at him he was staring at me, a curious smile growing on his lips.



At that moment I noticed how tiny this boy was. 13 years old yet looking to be 7 or 8, he was so tiny. Tiny little wrists and legs thanks to years of malnutrition before compassion stepped in.



As we sat in the office chugging water (it had to be near 100 degrees) they said that thanks to the sponsors the kids have enough money to go to school, have basic life supplies including clothes and a mattress to sleep on, (most sleep on canvas pulled tight by strings to metal poles) medical care, and food.



Every Saturday Compassion opens its doors to the kids - over 200 in this small village alone - to play, eat good food, and learn about Jesus.



This specific program has been running for four years and is partnered with a local church. 



One of the greatest aspects of the sponsorship apart from learning Gods love, is that the children who would otherwise not even be able to attend primary school, are provided with enough money to attend university! Safari told me he dreamed of being a doctor, and at that moment I vowed to do everything in my power to see that happen.

It broke my heart learning how these families often eat only one meal a day - and often not enough to feed the kids and parents, so the parents go without - and I have never once went a day without food.



I have grown up with everything I could ever need and want...and these babies die from lack of food or medical care.



After a bit learning about the project, we went on a little tour. They showed us the basic kitchen where the food is made for the kids, the activity room, and the church that even though isn't yet completed, hosts a service for nearly everyone in the village every week.



Over and over the staff kept saying, "Welcome, welcome, we are so glad you are here! We are so excited you are the first sponsors to visit. We were so excited to hear you were coming. We wish you could stay. Please come back soon..." None of us could stop smiling.



We walked across the playing field to a school, and I felt my heart break again and threaten to drown my eyes. The kids all filed out to see us - around 80 students for one teacher.



The rooms had simple plastic chairs (though not nearly enough for all) and one blackboard. The building itself was thatch, not even cement.





There was a simple, old playground. I couldn't imagine all the kids fighting to play on the one marry go round and two swings.



The kids stood staring so silently, big curious eyes and wide smiles, many with rotting and missing teeth. One four year old reached out her hand slowly waving at each one of the visitors.



After seeing the kids, we were led back to the activity building for some tea. Kenyans by far have the most delicious tea I have ever tasted. It is served in hot milk with sugar. They also introduced us to Mandazi bread, a simple triangle shaped, puffed up, delicious food.



I asked if there was a specific way to eat it and they said no, so like I usually eat bread, I tore a little piece off, dipped it in the tea, and ate it. I continued doing this and someone started laughing - even though everyone else was just taking bites, Safari had started copying me, ripping, dipping, and eating little pieces. Immitation is the sincerest form of flattery and that little boy made my heart soar.



We finished the tea and were ushered outside to the bodabodas who were going to take us to Safari's home.



He hopped on one and I got on behind him and we drove off on a narrow trail, dropping us off at the typical home.



I learned that Safari lives with his parents and four brothers, along with a few of his grandparents. His house is made of sticks tied together with vine, and filled in with a sticky clay that dries into a solid wall. Inside are two tiny rooms. One with a mattress provided by compassion, the other with the typical canvas bed. The kitchen was a little hut outside.



When we walked in, Safari grabbed a fresh mango and placed it gently in my hands and said, "for you." He then poured some nuts from a wooden dish into his tiny hands and transfered them to me and Marya. Fresh Cashews. He said they made them - picked them from the tree outside and baked them over the fire. Way better than any nut from a package, but maybe that was the love behind the gift.



Outside, I met Safari's parents and three little brothers.



They were sitting outside in the dirt eating Ugali, the traditional, staple food of Kenya that consists of corn flour and water, along with a few boiled greens.



We had introductions and they thanked me so much for my sponsorship and for coming. There were no words, just a heartfelt thank you over and over. I can't count the times I held back tears during the visit.



We sat around eating cashews and Safari brought me another gift, a fresh coconut. They cracked it open and we shared the white pulp.



Around us, village kids started to gather. The director of the program said the whole village had been talking since they heard, "A sponsors coming! A sponsor is coming!"



I went to say hi, and reached out to shake their hands. A few bravely greeted me; a few giggled and pulled their friends in front of them.



Next, as per African tradition, we exchanged gifts. I presented the family with gifts of food - simple flour and cooking supplies. It seemed like so little, but they were so greatful. It's possible that the family had never recieved that much food at one time. $50 worth - less than a days work for me, but months worth for them.



After that, they had me sit and a few kids ran after a chicken. I asked what they were doing, horrified at the thought of them giving it to me. They have a mere four or five birds. Even at home, I have too many to count. But Safari grabbed the bird and they tied its feet and presented it to me. My hosts said its tradition to exchange gifts, and turning it down wasn't an option. How can bodies that have so little, have hearts that give so much?



I was assured by my hosts that they would make sure the family got another chicken and would tell them its a gift from me. They gave me a rooster, but since I couldn't bring the bird home anyway, they would exchange the bird for a hen to give back and multiply. That made me feel better, but I still wish I could have brought it home and kept it forever.



The kids were still standing, watching us intently, so we knelt down to play with them.



Marya tried to play tic tac toe, but they had never heard of it. So that started a good hour of us teaching them games, and them teaching us the local games.



They definitely had more games than we do - you can tell how they spend their time. Definitely not watching tv.



Too soon, it was time to leave the little village. As we walked away, every child followed us to say goodbye. I felt like a celebrity, or Jesus or something.





We ended back at the compassion center for a delicious lunch, some visiting, and teaching Safari rock paper scissors, and finally, since the other school kids had wandered over and were dancing and peaking through the door, we went outside and played some music. Life goal: dance with African kids. They were much more shy when we were next to them than they had been pesking through the door, but slowly, with the help of me making a fool of myself, they started twisting and moving their feet and getting down. Overflowing joy. I wished I could stay forever.



And then, just like that, it was time to say goodbye. We prayed, hugged, tried not to cry, and we drove away. And there are no more words. So much emotion, so much expectation, over just like that.



But ever goodbye is worth the love felt before it.



Friends, I urge you to please, please consider sponsoring a child. For $38 a month you will CHANGE someones WORLD. $38 is nothing to us - easily earned in a few hours. For them it would take weeks or months to make, and provides them with food, a bed, school, medical care, and a future. Many times we wonder if the families really get the money donated, and Iassure you with compassion they do. I went there, I saw it. I saw the gratitude on their faces. It is poverty we can't even BEGIN to imagine. We have been blessed, how much more beautiful to overflow and bless others. 

Www.compassion.com