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