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It has taken a week or so at home to start re-visiting and unfolding the experience I had in both Kenya and South Africa. Because I didn't have internet in South Africa, I was not able to do any blog entries. In short, what I experienced there was a loving, warm family, who despite the common racial divide that is still very present in South Africa, was able to accept me as not only a visitor, but a new addition to their large, beautiful family.
Everyday that I'm home I think about the red clay sidewalks that have been abruptly replaced by snow covered pavement, and miss the brick colored dust that coated my toes for 4 weeks. Everyday that I'm home, I smell something that reminds me of the subtle, sweet scent of the new born babies at Hope House. While I was in Nairobi, I forgot how small my world at home is. How comfortable the brick shops of downtown Amherst and the florescent halls of my high school are. How easy life feels when you're among people you've known and loved for years.
I really feel like the home I left a month ago is so different than the home I returned to a few days ago. Home has not changed... I have. It hasn't changed physically, but to me, things look different, they feel different. I feel lucky that in such a short time, my reality has been altered, due to the things I saw, due to the things I encountered.
What a beautiful journey it's been and how happy I am to have been able to share with you bits and pieces of my travels!

Saying Goodbye

It’s strange having to say goodbye to a place, the things that have been familiar with for some time, which will now become foreign once again. The walk from our home to work every morning, the red dust paths which ran parallel to the bustling streets, the matatu drivers on the corner, the guard at the entrance of Hope House, the Australian couple we saw walking passed Hope House on days we were running late, the smells, the sounds. Yet what make places, I’ve found, are the people who you associate those places with. There were so many goodbyes today, and too many people I think I’ll never see again.
After taking the kids to a park in the morning, and feeding them lunch, it was time for a nap and it was my job to get them washed and tucked in. It was the hardest task I’ve been given yet at Hope House. Tucking them in meant saying goodbye to them all, for when they woke, I would be gone. They asked me where I was going, and as I thought about a way to explain to them that there is a world beyond their small neighborhood, I began to cry. I told them it was because I would miss them, which was of course the truth. Yet what I think I was really crying about was their futures. Hope House has showed me that there are wonderful places for young, abandoned kids to grow up, yet what happens beyond Hope House is what makes me nervous. My dear Wyclef is three and a half and will be going to a new home when he turns four. He will be moved to a new place, where his enormous heart and unbelievable intellect will stun all those around him, in the same way they’ve stunned me. Yet will he be nurtured there? Will he have the chance to pursue his dreams, whatever they may be? As I lay between Wyclef’s and Timo’s bed, watching them smile, laugh and fall asleep for the last time, I realized that they have become a part of me that I will always be present. Wyclef’s sharp giggle will always bring about a smile wherever I am. What I hope is not that they remember me, but they remember how much I loved them, how much everyone at Hope House loved them, and I know that this genuine love can last forever.

The Great Rift Valley

We woke up early this morning, so that we could get out off to an early start on our “tourist” day (Sundays are always our tourist days). I had no idea where we were going, just that wherever it was, there were flamingos, hippos and giraffes. As we were just reaching the outskirts of Nairobi we stopped at a gas station to fill up before we left the city. As we sitting in the car, my host mom screams and points! There was a man walking a camel past the gas station. We rushed out of the car and ran up to them, seeing if we could ‘hitch a ride’. The man was very nice, and he let Noxy and I ride all around the sidewalk. It was hysterical, and both Noxy and I couldn’t stop laughing the entire ride! It was so fun and so unexpected to see a camel at the side of a city street!
The first stretch of the trip was one of the most beautiful car rides I’ve ever taken. About 40 minutes outside of Nairobi, we stopped at a look out spot for the Great Rift Valley. It was absolutely beautiful, and quite nerve racking driving along the thin mountain roads which lead down into the valley. On the side of the mountain road, Simon stopped so we could see an little Italian church, that had been built in 1942 by Italian P.O.Ws. It seemed somewhat out of place, but my host mom later told us that Kenya and Italy have a strong, longstanding relationship. Anyways, when we walked up to the little church, many people were crowded inside, singing and worshipping, which was lovely to hear.
After another 40 minutes or so we arrived in Naviasha, a beautiful town know their National Park and the Naviasha lake, which Simon claims is the deepest lake in Africa. We parked our car at a very well to do hotel/outdoor restaurant, where many government ministers were spending Sunday brunch with their families, and had a quick drink before heading out to the lake. The lake was beautiful, and to get there, we had to walk about a mile and a half through lush pastures and grasslands. At the lake, we were greeted by a man, Nomvuyo had met the first time she came to visit the place and who assured us all that he was a safe boat driver and “made sure not to get too close to the hippos”. We all started laughing, but what we realized shortly after was that his comment was not a joke.
As we became farther from the main shore, we began seeing hippos everywhere! They are absolutely massive animals, who despite my prior belief, are much less cute and much more frightening looking than I once believed. Yet there were no fatal incidents, and soon we landed across the lake, to the 2,000,000 acres of National Wildlife Reserves. When we got off the boat we were greeted by a very small, jolly young man, who told us he would give us a tour of the park. As we walked into the grasslands, we quickly noticed that there was a large herd of wildebeests, grazing just a few hundred meters away from us. At first it was very surprising and bit scary just walking through these animals land with no fences, no nothing protecting us from them, but soon we became aware that despite their size, strength or speed they were actually the ones afraid of us.
As we continued walking through the large field, we spotted a huge, beautiful giraffe who was feeding on a tall tree. We walked over to it, and we were able to get very close. It was quite friendly, and I think was flattered by the amount of attention we were giving it. He even began posing with us, standing tall, allowing us to get pictures standing in front of him. As our walk continued we saw a huge herd of zebras and impalas grazing together, as well as a group of baby giraffe and a family of dainty gazelles.
After we finished our walk we hopped back on the boat to return to main the main shore. On our walk to get to the lake, Noxy and I had noticed some local men with motorcycles who were transporting people from the hotels or the road to the lake. We both though it would be fun, and so suggested it as we got off the boat. My host mother, Simon and Tumi weren’t up for riding themselves, but they encouraged us to take the motorcycles back to the restaurant where our car was parked. It was quite an experience, especially having never ridden on a motorcycle before. The second I got on the back of the motorcycle, the young man turned it on and sped off, giving me no time to think twice. The road through the grasslands was very smooth (and very speedy), but soon we got onto the dirt path the led to the main road. It was literally like any other walking path, through the woods, over roots, around pedestrians, except we were travelling by motorcycle. I felt a bit bad, because people walking had to dodge out of the way to let us through, but all in all it was a fabulous experience!
After we left Navaisha, we drove about an hour more, deeper into the Great Rift Valley to the Nocuro, which has a huge, famous National flamingo park. When we arrived here, my host mom told us she’d wait for us at the restaurant outside of the park, because she’d already been. So Simon, Tumi, Noxy and I went up to the gate to pay, and we found that they were charging about 8 dollars (700 shillings) for Kenya residents and 60 dollars (5,000 shillings) for non-residents to get into the park! Since we’ve been to many parks and sites, we’ve learned that Kenya charges much more money for non-residents than for residents, but we’d never seen such a huge price difference. Noxy had Nomvuyo’s Kenya ID and Simon said that Tumi was his daughter, but they wouldn’t budge for me. It was terribly frustrating and seemed really wrong and not hospitable to me, so I told them, out of frustration, that I didn’t want to go in if they were going to charge me that ridiculous price. So, here I am, with my host mom, sitting at the outdoor café, both of our computers out and enjoying the company of the friendly, wild monkeys that crawl around near our table. It was a fabulous day and a “first time” for many things!

Wedding

Today I went to Simon's cousin's wedding! The reception was just outside of Nairobi, in the back yard of someone's home, where many tents, flower arrangements and catering tables were set up. What was different about this wedding, from any other I'd been to before was the large number of children sitting in the guest seats and running around the yard. They were not nieces or nephews, cousins or grandchildren, they were homeless or very impoverished kids who looked for weddings every Saturday, so that they could have at least one good meal that week.
After we were seated at the reception, I began realizing that all the children were making their way towards where we sat. They huddled behind our seats, giggling and staring, while we were served lunch. Once I had put my plate down, which was still filled with food that I was too full to eat, Mary took my plate and slipped it to the kids, a trend I began noticing many people there were doing. It was then that I felt like crying, but due to the joy the wedding ceremonies were providing I was able to hold my tears in.
After the children had eaten they continued to lurk behind our seats, until a few worked up the courage to come sit in the chairs in front of us. The three girls, maybe 5 years old, just sat in front of us, chairs facing towards me and stared. Every time I smiled at one of them, they'd giggle uncontrollably and practically began shaking with excitement. As the reception went on, more kids worked up the courage to come sit by me, some stared, too shy to say anything to.... a white person. One ten year old boy, too nervous to talk to me, asked Noxy, who sat right beside me, if I was British. Noxy laughed and told him I was, thinking it was the easiest thing to say, though it was not entirely true. Then he proceeded to ask her if I was friends with Ronaldo, the world famous soccer player. We both laughed, and this time I responded with a truthful "No." The moment I had replied, all the kids around me started giggling with excitement and the boy looked shocked and thrilled that I had actually spoken to him. This silliness went on for awhile; children reaching to touch my light skin or catch my long enough for me to smile at them or say "hello". One girl said the word "Angel" to her friend as she stared at me and it broke my heart to hear.
It was as if they didn't understand that we were both humans, that there was nothing different between them and me besides the color of our skin and the texture of our hair. Many of them, I was later told, had probably never spoken, or maybe even seen a white person. At first I found it cute, how in awe of me they were, yet as it progressed I began realizing that they really saw me as better than them, maybe even better than anyone else at the wedding. I wanted to explain to them all that their skin is just as beautiful as mine, that my skin color does not say anything about who I am. I am not an angel, I am no less or more than they are. Yet I don't think they'd understand that, yet I hope, I hope with all my heart, that someday they will.


*The little girls running around in the picture were the homeless ones who sat next to me.

Walking Alone

This morning was my first day walking alone in Nairobi. Last night my host mom suggested I take a day off a work to finish up some school related things, so that I could “breath easy” the rest of the trip. So when I woke up this morning with Noxy, I was prepared to eat breakfast with her, and once she went to work I would start in on my work. After breakfast, Noxy asked Mary (our housekeeper) if she could walk with Noxy to work. Mary seemed very busy and didn’t seem that keen on the idea, so I offered to walk with Noxy to work and then walk home. Noxy said she’d like that, and when we got to the street work was on, I just said “goodbye” and headed back home.
It is funny how the smallest acts of independence can feel so… exciting. As I was walking the 15 minutes alone, I felt so strong. I didn’t know why, and I told myself I was being silly, but no matter what I said to myself, I couldn’t help the exhilaration from bubbling up inside of me! Of course, I got many interesting looks and even some giggles, at the sight of a young, white girl walking down the street, by herself, with a particularly peppy bounce to her step.
Though walking down the street alone seems like an everyday thing for most people, here in Nairobi, it was a big step for me. It made me realize how different the life I’m living here is from the life in Amherst. And sometimes, the little things help us to realize these tremendous differences.

Feelings at Hope House

Work has been tough the past couple days. I've found myself easily annoyed by the kids and intolerant of little, insignificant things that they do. I am trying so hard to be patient, but find myself so caught up in screaming kids and dirty diapers, that I forget to focus on loving them to my full potential. I wish that I would never be angry with them, because I truly do adore every one of them. I wish that I could find a way to take little breaks throughout the day, in order to regain strength, but I can't. I feel so privileged that I am getting the opportunity to be with these children and yet sometimes I forget just how lucky I am when I feel stretched paper thin by them. How, I wonder, can I find a balance? How can I mentally step back from the children when they're frustrating me so that I can remember, despite their imperfections, that I love them?
Yesterday I walked into the older baby's (6 months- 1 year) bedroom and found that the 9 month old twins, Enoch and Esther, were not in their cribs. I asked where they were and was told that they had been adopted yesterday evening after we had left work. I felt sad and ecstatic at the same time. I had met the couple that was looking at them a week or so ago and they were really amazing people. Yet I realized that I will most likely never see Enoch again, a baby who I fed almost everyday since I've been here, and who's boisterous laugh has brought me to tears. His 4 baby teeth will never chew on my apron again, and when he's tired, he'll be leaning on someone else's chest for comfort.
There is a range of emotions that hit me at various points throughout the work day. The feelings of frustration are always outweighed by the feelings of joy. The feelings of sadness that these kids were "unwanted" are outweighed by the feelings of excitement, that though their biological parents have given these kids up, other wonderful, loving people are working everyday to fill the gap that is caused by abandonment.

Girl

I knew there'd be children like her. Children I’d want with all my heart to give money to, to give food to, to tell them that it wasn’t there fault that they’d be abandoned. Yet this knowledge didn’t make her voice any easier to hear, it didn’t make my guilt, my sadness any less. She walked up to our car, once she saw that I wasn’t from Kenya. Her skin was dark and scars that looked like burns covered her face. She had a baby on her back, wrapped in a raggedy blanket, the baby’s cheekbones were prominent and she looked too thin for anyone her age. The girl called me “Madame”, she tugged on my shirt, and touched my soft, light skin. She asked me for money to feed the baby with and I began wondering if it was her own child. She looked no older than 13, though her frail figure could’ve been why I thought she was so young. She pleaded in a soft voice, “just some coins, Madame, just a few shillings”. I had just taken out 10,000 shillings from a nearby ATM, an amount she had probably never seen, an amount that could feed her and the aby for months. My stomach began to hurt as her sunken in eyes starred into my own, searching for sympathy. I wanted to run away, give her my 10,000 shillings and run away. I wanted to trust that if I gave her money, she really would spend it on food for the baby and herself. I wanted her to know how much her words cut into me, and that my silence wasn’t because I didn’t care, but it was because I cared too much.
I got back into the car, to get out small change for her, but she would not stop staring. She pressed her face up against the window, tapping on it. I quickly got back out and gave her all the coins I had, amounting to about 90 shillings, but it wasn’t enough. Then I realized nothing would’ve been enough. She doesn’t have a family, she doesn’t have a home and she never had a childhood. My money could buy her a meal but it couldn’t buy her all the things she really needed, it couldn’t buy her happiness, I learned money can’t do that long ago. And as I pressed my cupped hand against hers, I felt helpless. She scared me, she hurt me, her stare has been in my head for the past day, and yet I’m the supposedly “powerful” one. I’m the one that eats three good meals a day, the one that has a supportive family, the one that has flown across the world, and yet I did close to nothing for her, and she did so much to me.