to see, to smell, to touch

I still have a couple malaria pills to take. My skin is still peeling from the sunburn on my neck. I’ve discovered a couple of ringworm spots on my arm, and I have hundreds and hundreds of pictures to sort through… The evidence is all here. I really was in Kenya for 17 days. And yet it feels as though it were a dream. How can it be that I’ve already gone and come back?

Every time I share stories of my time there, I’m surprised by what comes out. The new things that surface from my memory seem to have no particular rhyme or reason for their appearance. Although each new question seems to draw out a side of the story that only moments before, were buried deep within.

Personal experience far outweighs a good read. I realize that there is nothing that I could write, or photo that I could share, that would bring someone to fully grasp what happened in those 17 days. I can’t recreate the sound of the crying donkey or the thousands of bird calls in the early morning, I can’t emit the smells of burning charcoal and cedars through the internet, or send sensors that fashion the feel of the children’s hands in my own.

But I feel the need to tell and to share.

I hope that by writing this out, I can somehow make sense of it all in my head and in my heart. That I can somehow find balance amidst the wrestlings in my head. I was just in a place where water, 3 meals a day, and education a privilege for the élite. I return to a comfortable home: resources seemingly endless. I find myself finding delight (with a hint of guilt) in the simplest of things: a warm shower, a ‘normal’ toilet, a good cup of coffee…the freedom to go wherever I want without fear or feeling like everyone is staring at me with a dollar sign hanging over my head.

More than anything I return with a greater sense of gratitude for what I do have. And yet, there’s something in me that also feels like I have it all wrong. There was something in the people I encountered that goes far deeper than the pleasures of a warm shower. There is a greater joy to be had than the amenities we’ve created for ourselves as Westerners.

I spent two days interviewing the orphans to evaluate their current needs and progress of the 2-year-old Safehouse. I was humbled by the children’s responses. They were more than thankful for the opportunity to live at the Safehouse. “I eat well. I sleep well. I have the opportunity to go to school. I’m learning about God.” When asked if they would want anything to be different: their main requests were to have a water well, and a bigger house so that more children from the community could come to live their too!

The irony of the orphanage is that it is a privilege to live there. They do not have our same standards of living and yet they are being given so much in comparison to what they would live with were they to stay with their relatives. Many of the children’s relatives are too poor to pay for school fees or school uniforms. They can barely afford food for their own family and need their children to help by working the farm or other means to earning a living.

Nationwide, about 2% of children under 15 have lost both parents, and 12% of children in Kenya have lost at least one parent. Orphanhood as a result of HIV/AIDS has increased to 37%. And yet, I mention these statistics realizing that they don’t allow you to really know the children affected by these realities. It takes meeting them face to face, knowing their name, hearing their voice, making them laugh, noticing the quirks in their personalities…

I hope I can at least share some of this with you in the coming days, weeks, months as I reflect back.

The least I can do is share their story with you.

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