The Rose That Grew From Concrete

Did u hear about the rose that grew from a crack

in the concrete

Proving Nature’s Laws wrong it learned 2 walk

without having feet

Funny it seems but by keeping its dreams

 it learned to breathe fresh air

Long live the rose that grew from concrete
                when no one else even cared!
                                “The Rose That Grew From Concrete”  -- Tupac Shakur

**What would my blog be without some sort of Tupac reference?**

The Faraja Children’s home where I work was started by Martha Moraa Bosire (Mama Moraa) while she was living in Kibera slum. Kibera is the second biggest slum in Africa, housing over 1.3 million people (only smaller than Sowetto Slum in South Africa) and is one of the more dangerous places you could place yourself on the face of the earth (more to come on Kibera, I took a visit a few days ago, but we will get to that later). Moraa was born and raised in rural Kenya. She was well educated, graduating from teaching school and got a job as a teacher in the Kenyan countryside. Her husband was killed while she was living in the country and she was forced off of her land during a time of political turmoil. She lost her job and was forced to move to Nairobi to look for work.

When she arrived she lived with her family in Kibera until she was able to afford a place of her own in the slum (land costs about 35,000 Ksh or $450 per room in Kibera… not that I’m testing the market…). Moraa had two (biological) sons living with her in Kibera, who unexpectedly, brought home two friends from school whose parents had passed away. After providing shelter for those two local orphans, children began arriving at the doorstep of her 10 x 10 foot aluminum sheet house… and out of the kindness of her heart, she accepted them with open arms.

In 2007 political and tribal violence broke out all over Kenya, but concentrated itself in the narrow passages of Kibera. Thousands of families were forced to flee, sometimes leaving their children behind, and many more thousands of parents were killed leaving orphans alone to fend for themselves in harsh reality of the slum. Soon the number of children under mama Moraa’s supervision swelled to 34 as the number of orphans in Kibera ballooned. She was forced to move out of the slum, partially because she couldn’t fit in the crowded “house” anymore and partially because the violence that was tearing the country apart threatened her family’s safety.

She was somehow able to find accommodations for her and her children, after 4 displacements, just outside Ngong where the Faraja children’s home currently exists in the broken down and tiny house that houses all 35 members of the tightest knit family I have ever seen, heard of, or read about. If you read my first round of posts, then you already know Kepha. He is the youngest person at Faraja at around one and a half (he was left at the doorstep of the children’s home in Ngong so he has no birth certificate and has an estimated birthdate). The oldest member of the family is Dama, who is 17 years old. She takes on the responsibility of second in command behind mama Moraa. Mama Moraa (referred to as mommy by all 34 children) works 24 hours a day, just to keep the orphanage afloat, and besides a handful of volunteers (I am currently the only one that she has), she has sole responsibility for all of her children. She is the mother, housekeeper, administrator, social worker, after school tutor, cook, maid and every other position imaginable at the orphanage. My responsibilities at the orphanage entail helping mama Moraa with EVERYTHING! A typical day starts by washing the dishes (by hand, using a bar of soap and an old ripped up sock or glove as a washcloth, scrubbing the cups and plates etc. and rinsing them off in a bucket. Once they have the suds off them ((the water gets GROSS)) you use a second bucket to rinse it clean and then leave it out to dry). This process takes a long time, as you can imagine, and is followed by feeding the chickens (yes I said feeding chickens, it is so scary and I hate it, I think about the movie “birds” every time I step into the coop) cooking whatever food they have available and sweeping the dirt and rock front yard (…you try to figure out when a dirt floor is clean).

The national food of Kenya is Ugali, a cornmeal and flour dish that is cooked over an open flame until it hardens (it is gross unless it is mixed with meat or beans) and every Kenyan you talk to tells you that it gives you power. I now know the truth. Cooking ugali is what gives you power, not eating it. You sit over an open flame in 90+ degree heat and stir this pot that gets heavier and heavier as the ugali hardens. By the time it is cooked you are lifting and stirring what feels like 150 pounds—it’s a full body workout! I apologize, my mind wanders, but just know that when I get back to the states I will cook this stuff for whoever wants it… I’m the American Iron Chief of Ugali.

Kepha remains with me every day because he is too young to go to school! He has a new obsession. Sunscreen. I bring it every day because the African sun is about ten feet off the ground, and he caught me spraying myself with it one day. He put his hand out (he had never seen sunscreen before… weird, he really needs it) and I sprayed some on his hand. He flinched so hard, but I showed him how to rub it in and he started giggling uncontrollably. Now whenever I put some on he comes running over and uses the spray to shower himself and rolls on the ground laughing. Again, I’m wandering….

My least favorite job is going through the beans and choosing the good ones vs. the bad ones. Kefa helps me and we listen to the radio, so its bearable, but you have to go through close to 15 million beans a day (divide by a little more than pi this time) and throw the ones with bugs in them out so the kids don’t eat some nasty African bug. It’s necessary because the food they get is almost exclusively donated, so they can’t be picky, but it still needs to be safe to eat. I guarantee that I am now in the top ten of people of all time who graduated from Deerfield High School in the field of picking bug infested beans and separating them from the good ones… Then the kids come home and the fun begins! I get to play with them. Playing with the kids is amazing! They are so entertained by anything and they are always having a good time playing with each other.

Besides the day to day activities and fun, the orphanage is a mess. The house and children are living in dire circumstances and it is impossible to overstate their need for help. Despite the best efforts of Moraa, and the tireless work of her children in the upkeep of the house, the orphanage, meant to provide shelter for the abandoned, love for children who have lived through hate and in some circumstances, life in the face of death, is desperate. Moraa never intended to create this safe haven for some of the world’s most in-need children, and therefore never had a business plan or a means to make money. It is so in need that it has flown under the radar of all charities and has no funds. Now, seven years after she took in her first two orphans, facing eviction from the small, run down house with no shelter to turn to, with no funds for food; everyday a constant struggle to nourish her 34 children, let alone herself, I find myself in Ngong, attempting to do all I can not only to help the orphanage, but to give Moraa a much deserved break. She needs a minute to breathe, to kick her feet up and maybe, probably not, but maybe… sleep. The orphanage is in rough shape because they have no money to bring people in, and one woman who needs to take care of everything. She cannot tend to administration and upkeep when she has to cook for 35 people, take one kid to the doctor (over 30 minutes away), wash the dishes, worry about all of her kids getting to school. All of this is difficult enough and add the fact that she can’t afford the matatu ride into town (50 cents) so she has to walk back and forth which burns 45 minutes in transit alone. She doesn’t even have time to apply for help from outside sources, so the situation continues to get worse. The need is real and the stakes are incredibly high. These children have come from less than nothing, no love, no food, no refuge and have created something incredibly beautiful.

The Faraja Children’s Home is a rose that grew from concrete. The orphanage is an impossible accomplishment, overcoming obstacles to become a true marvel, and a testament to what is possible from the power of kindness, determination and love. No one in the world cared about these children after they lost their parents, slipping through the cracks of humanity, but the orphanage has blossomed (not without struggle, BELIEVE ME) into something beautiful. This is only my third week at the orphanage and I have learned more from this place about dedication and hardship, how unfair this world truly is and how so much positivity can fight its way to the surface even amidst the lack of basic necessities. I have watched a grown woman cry because her 34 children have gone hungry for days with no means to get food in the near future. I have been on hand and knee scrubbing dishes in water that would make me dry-heave before this experience. But in the same day or even sometimes the same hour or minute, I have also seen a one and a half year laugh the most pure and joyful laugh you can imagine. I have watched silently as a group of children… CHILDREN, who haven’t seen food in God knows how long, serve their adopted brothers and sisters before they take their first helping. It is a powerful place, I assure you that-- and this rose growing from concrete, inhaling the polluted Nairobi air did not come about without the same struggle that keeps it alive. It is difficult to find words with enough strength to carry the weight of the burden that this place endures. I promised I wouldn’t get too depressing on you (I may have lied in some of the posts…) but I hope that you see the good and the bad. Because that is what Kenya is, the happiest place in the world with some of the saddest circumstances.

** just as a side note, if you want to donate ANYTHING to the Faraja Children’s Home it would be incredible! Whether it’s $5, old clothes, ANYYYTHING (a million dollars would be acceptable too) it would go farther than you could possibly imagine and you would be 100% certain it was going to a good cause and would be making a difference. I refuse to turn this blog into one of those commercials with sad music and pictures of kids with flies on their faces and I honestly don’t expect any response to this extra note but I just wanted to throw it out there. There is ZERO pressure, I promise.**