Ending

We were in the air for 6 hours before I couldn't remember if we'd actually spent the week in Kenya. Surely we hadn't just held sick babies and hiked through various villages looking at water wells. The warm water in the faucet was what triggered it, as we hadn't washed our hands with warm water since leaving the states. Was it really only a week? Natalie and I couldn't recall. The memories will haunt us for a lifetime.

If you haven't yet, please read some of my previous posts from our time in Kenya with Until Then. We came to specifically work on the water project, but it's impossible to come here and focus on just one aspect of poverty. Our week was really spent between children's homes, villages, meetings, hospitals, slums, water collections, community development projects, eating, sleeping and exhaustion. This has been one of the craziest weeks of my life! Thank you for following the journey with me on here as I process the angst and heart aches. 

We're sitting in the Amsterdam Schipol airport, waiting in the cool lounge area with bamboo flooring and soft music playing in the background. The only reminder of Kenya is the red dirt set in my shoes and pants, as well as the various giving stations UNICEF has set up, displaying photos of precious African children in a mud hut... where we were just yesterday. Though this trip has ended, I hope to come back again soon. I know God has a has a plan for me just as he does all of the street kids in the world. Though the trip ends, the work continues. We will advocate for

street kids forever.

Ever hopeful,

Dalene

This is Africa

Baby Mark fell with the knife in his hand as we were speaking with the elders about helping the most destitute children. Josephine exchanged the fourteen month old his knife for a stick, patting his infected exposed bottom as he walked through the trash with bare feet. We sat in the hot sun as goats fought and children ran half naked through the slum yelling "Wazungu! Wazungu!", meaning white people. It's not common for wazungu to come here to Kipsongo, the slum outside of Kitale. Phil has spent more time here than anyone I know, and it's because of his good-hearted legacy I was able to bring Natalie and Kim today. Most wazungu come here to take photos and share with their friends the perils of poverty they "experienced" while walking through Kipsongo; more of a touristy thing to check off a list like fighting a lion or sky diving.

There are a few street girls Kim has befriended so we asked the elders if we could learn where they come from and if Kim's organization can pay for their school fees. There is a systematic process to everything in Africa, and permission must be granted for white people to be involved with the people from the slum, or as the people who live there refer to it the community. It's the same for our water project with Until Then, we had to ask permission from the village chief and elders if we could provide clean water for their people. Thankfully they said yes.

Today was our last day in Kitale. We were with our friends for two hours in Kipsongo as they proudly showed us their mud huts and trash homes as our hearts broke over the angst and diseases of the people.

I've been to slums in a few countries, but Kipsongo should be the standard for what qualifies:
-no running water
-no electricity
-no sewage
-no designated area for human waste
-no health standard

As we said our goodbyes we pased the favorite butcherey. A woman swatted the flies from her face as more fought for a space on the chicken gizzard and intestine of some other animal. The butchery was a wood table proped against a neighboring mud hut. Tasty.

Josephine wished us blessings and promised she will pray for us everyday as she nursed baby Mark. She hadn't eaten in four days so Mark cried after a few minutes of dry milk and her middle son Issac collapsed to the ground from the jiggers and worms infecting his feet and legs. Josephine is a product of poverty but carries more hope than I can imagine. I pray her and her children survive another night in the slum, but they have nothing to eat when they wake.

Until every child has a hope and a future...

Ever hopeful,
Dalene

Another great day in Kenya

There was no road but it didn't matter, Kim pushed through the bush as children stared at their first encounter with a vehicle and probably white people. Men were pushing up a makeshift power line as we slowly passed by, I thought it would block the path we just made or fall on top of us but it didn't. I see it every where here; everyone can charge their cell phone but no one has water.

I first came to Kenya in 2007 on a "mission trip" to work with orphans. I quickly fell in love with street kids (and my future husband) and knew my heart would forever be captivated by this enchanting place. Kim and I joked that we never thought I would have a project in a remote village, but there we were, driving to collect data and samples from the wells we've built here in the last year.

"The people fetch water here until 10 o'clock at night, and the line is too long to wait," Barnabas reported as I took notes on depth and consumption. Barnabas is our project foreman, and he's brilliant. I wanted to know how far from this site our next well would be, so we walked one kilometer to the next nearest water source; a hole in the ground where water sometimes flows but the cows get in the way. It was the perfect spot. If people already come to this location for water, they'll use the water we provide. One well in one village isn't going to make a worthwhile difference.

The sunscreen was losing against the hot African sun as we visited the 5th well, so Natalie waited with Kim as I walked with Barnabas and Franco to get the sample. Along the way the three of us spoke of cultural differences in my country and theirs, them in shock as I reported similar social problems of street kids, prostitution (commercial sex) and domestic violence. They realized America is not a fantasy land of perfection as I heard their testimony of community strength. Ever heard the saying "it takes a village to raise a child?" Well I was in a village, and there were children everywhere. Some of their parents were dead but they stayed with their people, the village elders and chief insuring the grandparents or aunties could raise more children than they birthed.


Another great day in Kenya. I would say, in honor of Hendri Coetzee, that today was a contender for the best day ever. I'm doing something good in the world which brings me joy.

Ever hopeful,
Dalene

For Street Kids

There were two body washes in the shower. I lathered up over and over between them, hoping it would wash away the angst from the day. The soapy water pooled at my feet as I stared at the cracks in the tiles, trying to numb out the images burned in my eyes.

The mornings here are calm, as you read in my last post. The days wear on your soul as the hours get later in to the night, and then the buzzing of mosquitoes keep you awake to remind you where you are. This is Africa. I left Natalie with a friend at the front of the hospital, Dan and Ron had already warned us the peril that awaited inside the gates. It was up to me now to advocate for John's future. Sammy led me past the two security checkpoints on the way to Ward 6 where John was lying in his own filth. The guards at each gate hassled Sammy for carrying a box of latex gloves and the precious medicine needed to heal meningitis. This is a hospital run by the government, the doctors tell families what medicine to buy in town and then drink tea as you insert an IV line into your dying child.

John during the filming of Glue Boys

Phil first met John in 2005 and featured his story on "Glue Boys". He is 14 and sleeps on the streets of Kitale.  He has no shoes and his clothes fall off his emaciated body as we lift him into the vehicle to transport him to a better hospital, Sister Freida's hospital. As I sit with John on his bed, stroking his head to assure him I care, two men in rain boots push a gurney down the dorm style pathway between 20 beds, most piled with two people fighting for every breath. A doctor calls from the other side of the ward "bed 11!", and the men in rain boots load a body, wrap it in a blanket and push it back out the door.

 We went to visit a friend of Sammy's who is waiting for care, and in the bed next to him is a small child, maybe 6, sitting picking at the open wounds on his shins and calfs bubbling with puss. This is the surgical ward now, and there are doctors crowded around a bed with scalpels and gloves, cutting into a man's side as his neighbors sit and watch, eager for their turn to have infection cut out.

I didn't think John would survive the dirt road and bunny ride to Sister Freidas', the 20 minute drive took forever. I held his head as he had no strength, praying there would be no permanent brain damage from this ride. He laid in bed awaiting death at the district hospital, so it was worth the risk transporting him out to Sister Freida's. We waited for a while, the staff wanting a deposit to treat him, a sort of insurance policy that I wasn't dumping a street kid on them. As soon as they gave him fluids and medicine he perked up, asking for a soda and soccer ball. John has a long way to go for recovery, and when he's better he'll be back on the streets, huffing glue and chasing people for fun.

John is a street kid, he is a child of Africa. My life at homes seems like a waste compared to my day today. We must fight for those who have no hope, even if it's so than can live another day.

 Ever hopeful,

 Dalene

Day Three

I watched the sunrise this morning from my bed, glancing through the
window pane and curtain. Through the bamboo and avocado trees rose
this orange blob, glistening and changing form before my eyes. Trash
is burning somewhere, I still smell it filling up the air, but it's a
comforting scent- a constant in an ever changing environment.

Birds are singing a symphony to me this morning, saying "it's already
a beautiful day! Wake up!". The roosters crow and I know the birds are
right, it is going to be a beautiful day. I woke up in Africa, my
favorite continent; Kenya, my favorite country.

The colorful landscape pops more brilliant than I can capture in a
photo or describe. My heart remembers the times before of these greens
and golds and reds of majestic shades were created for me to enjoy.

It's day three, and we have much to do before we leave on day seven.
I'll probably want to change my ticket to stay longer, but that's not
realistic. The desire of my heart is to always stay in this beautiful
country, filled with the riches of creation and fullness of joy.

We met a boy yesterday, Franco, that my dear friend Kimberly had
rescued. Franco is about 5, and in December 2007 his mother was hacked
apart like a coconut, her blood spilled because her attacker was of a
different tribe in the infamous post election violence. Franco was
raised by his ailing grandmother, who soon could no longer meet the
demanding needs of a toddler. Kimberley found Franco yesterday at
NPYT, a street kid ministry outside of town. Franco isn't a street kid
tho, he's an orphan, and his chances for survival among child
soldiers, gang members and sexually abused children was not looking
good. Kimberly and her husband Bud established Mattaw Children's
Village, and that's where Franco will find his forever home.

A street kid is considered the scum of the earth here. We are judged
for working with them,  especially for befriending them. "You can't
trust them, they'll steal from you and take advantage of you," is what
most people here say. But we know that this is exactly the mindset of
why these kids are raised by the streets. They have no one to love
them, and so we love them. We hope for them and pray for them and
laugh with them when we can.

This isn't just another day in Africa, this is the life I was created
to live. I must be a voice for the voiceless, an advocate for the
unwanted. They are part of creation just as much as the rising sun and
blossoming flowers, yet few people stop in awe and say "they are
beautiful, I want to know them."

Ever hopeful,

Dalene.

Water Walk

Natalie has never been to Africa before, so witnessing her experience Kenya for the first time has been fun. She aches for the same things I do, and is compelled to help alleviate the poverty here. It's our second full day, we arrived in Kitale yesterday afternoon to meet my father-in-law Dan and friend/advisory board member Ron Rutruff.  Dr Ron wrote a beautiful book about his experience working with street kids in Seattle called "The Least of These". You should order it.

If you follow us on facebook (or Until Then), then you've seen our updates about John Lorot, our friend who is suffering meningitis in the district hospital here in town. He is responding to treatment, but there are others like him who suffer without hope and have no one to advocate for them. Being back in Kitale reminds me of how many we try to help, but then what is "help"?

At breakfast Dan and Ron shared how they ache for the hundreds of ailing individuals they pass by on their way to visit John's bed, knowing they suffer without care, awaiting death. What do we do? Its been a hard lesson of survival to know that helping the one in front of us is still helping.

 Yesterday we went out to Tulwet, one of the 3 villages we have drilled wells with UntilThen.org and Freewaters. I've been working on this project since it's birth in July 2010, and it has taken a lot of learning and struggles to get where we are now- our first attempt to drill in Dago in December 2010 was unsuccessful, but now it is miraculously pumping water!

I can't explain in words the eagerness to see the wells, and the joy to see children pumping so effortlessly. We walked to three of the 6 wells in Tulwet, I drank water from one of them. Barnabas, our project foreman, picked each drill site based on need, so each well is merely steps away from the previous water collection site... next to a hole in the ground that has water in it. I don't know if you can tell from the photo, but this water looks more like that green tinge of a dirty swimming pool. It has bugs gathering at the surface and bears the faint scent of sewage, clumps of muddy cow dung floating along. That's what they use to drink, as well as bathe in and wash their clothes.

Now they collect water from this well! Barnabas reported that before the wells were here, children frequently died of typhoid, diarrhea and cholera. Cholera is a deadly disease, very contagious and nearly impossible to contain and eradicate. Haiti experienced a cholera outbreak soon after the earthquake in 2010.  Since we've put in these wells, no children have died!


We've been busy since we got here, but its so encouraging to see the work we've been doing is successful and changing lives. Natalie commented that she never realized something as simple as water could change a life. Can you imagine if your children were dying because they didn't have access to clean water? I know I take advantage of turning on my faucet every day.

 More to come, stay tuned! Ever hopeful,

 Dalene