Moraa told us that she had to leave down for a clinic to get her recertification from the government to maintain custody over the children. Seeing as this wasn’t exactly optional Me, Portia and Abi volunteered to stay at Faraja for the few days that she had to be gone, in order to make sure that things went smoothly. Why we thought a few mzungu could run an orphanage is still a mystery to me, but we did a pretty good job… if I do say so myself. We headed out to Faraja early so that Moraa could take off after explaining our duties. Hospital visit in the morning, cooking, cleaning, washing etc in the afternoon, have dinner for the kids, make sure that they are all prepared for bed, bed then chores before dawn, get the kids ready and off to school then breakfast and resume daily activities. Simple enough, right?
What ensued was one of the most hectic, fun, crazy, frustrating, hysterical and goofy few days of my life. Nothing went right, but nothing went wrong. We maintained the balance of Faraja Children’s Home and didn’t do any (lasting) damage to the place. The hospital visit went as expected, taking 14 kids to the hospital all with different needs and reasons for going… The hospital is the most inefficient place I have ever encountered and it took over 4 hours to get all the kids in and out get their needed medications, pay for their visit and medication etc. The house didn’t have enough money to pay for the visit and for the medication. In a situation where the children would be forced into a situation of going to a doctor, knowing they were sick but not being able to afford the medication OR skipping the doctor visit all together and being sick without knowing it, the wazungu crew (wa=plural) picked up the tab. Before I make that statement with a self-gratified, smug smile, I should clarify. The hospital visit to the doctor plus medication for all 14 kids cost 1,300 shillings with comes out to around $16. This is the type of poverty I keep harping on. Imagine skipping a trip to the doctor (mind you these are not stomach aches and common colds that the kids are fighting off) because you can’t pool $16 dollars. AND THAT WAS FOR 14 KIDS. We’re talking about just over a dollar per kid. No co-pay, no insurance coverage, just a dollar and change payment for something that in some cases can save a life.
The other wazungu took the kids home after they were getting upset because it was almost 3 and they hadn’t had any food. The chemist told me (after a little over an hour of waiting) that the kids didn’t have to be there to get their medication, after telling me they had to stay otherwise they couldn’t get their meds… twice. Regardless, as I walked the backstreets of Ngong towards Faraja, I couldn’t help but think about the Nairobi, or more specifically Ngong Hospital (supposedly Nairobi Hospital is amazing and people fly in from other countries if they can afford it if they have serious health problems). When I arrived back at Faraja, there was chaos. The kids were off of school and running around like madmen and women. Eunice (not sure if I mentioned her, AMAZING woman ((20 year old)) who works at Faraja and basically ran the house, I don’t know how it will function without her) *** Eunice left soon after this post was written due to lack of payment for her work, I still keep in touch with her regularly and I really reallllly hope that she will find her way back to Faraja eventually*** That was a long side note. Anyways, Eunice, Portia and Abi were going to town cooking some Githeri (if I remember correctly) and rations were passed out to everyone. We all ate like we’d never eaten before and then went to work. Feeding and cleaning the chickens (which I’m no longer terrified of… thank you very much), getting dinner ready, cleaning the house, doing laundry, washing, tutoring for the kids school work… everything. It was a great day and we all really came together in Moraa’s absence. Sometimes I really feel like the kids could run the place itself, that’s how mature they are. But I know that although it feels that way, it is not the case.
That night as we sat in the living room (eating ugali and beans) the volunteers looked around with huge smiles on their faces and the kids, worn out by a long day, were ready for bed. We got them upstairs and played around for a long time until finally they were ready to sleep. The boys sleep in one room with about 8 beat-up and dirty mattresses thrown on the hard floor. Most of the tiny mattresses are the bed for 2 of the boys and a few of the bigger ones have manipulated into getting their own bed. It is the same way with the girls. They drag mattresses across the room, break out blankets (no pillows) and fold them neatly across the top of the mattress. The girls sleep 2 in a bed (some 3) and Kepha sleeps in the girls room with one of the oldest girls. It is horrifying how this arrangement works and is sad how it has gone on for so long that it is normal. But the kids insist that they love it this way. It is more cozy they say. They offer Jack and I to join them and although the social rules in Kenya are way different than at home, our Western minds would not allow us to sleep in a bed with 2 young boys. “I’ll take the couch, thanks!” The house was dark and we had had a long day. It seemed early, felt late and really didn’t matter because we sat up talking in the living room by cellphone light. Every creak and footstep was terrifying, but we all made it through the night (some sleeping less than others) on couches, on the floor and in any space we could find to sleep.
Rooster calls and commotion. I check my phone to see what time it is; 4:57 am. It is still pitch black out but I drag myself out of bed and join the kids in cleaning and getting them all ready for school. Mary (oldest kid) had the foresight to make breakfast the night before, so the cooking was taken care of. We got everyone bathed, dressed, ready and out the door by 7. We came back into the house and decided we needed to pass out before we started taking care of the responsibilities. Even Kepha looked at us and seemed to shake his head as he crawled up the stairs to get back into his bed.
When we woke up for good, we took care of all the responsibilities that are needed to run a children’s home. The girls cooked chapatti and we took care of all the chores and then settled in for a minute. I worked on the grant and the girls and Jack helped me. We played with Kepha and kept at the work until the kids came back for lunch.
Fast forward past all the work, to when the kids got home. We had a blast. I got my hair braided (one piece… that stuff HURTS) and the girls were trying to teach me to braid hair (useless), but it was fun anyway. Portia learned how to make chapatti, on her own, and all of the kids (and mzungu) watched and laughed as she struggled (but in the end was VERY successful, I must say!). We played soccer in the small rocky frontyard and made sure everything was set. We had a fast dinner and then the kids rehearsed their songs for church… amazing. Abi took videos and I’m going to see if I can get them on facebook (Abi, if you read this, can I put it on facebook? Or can you?) Another very successful night at Faraja. I learned more about myself in the few days I spent living in Faraja than most other periods of my life. It was an amazing experience that really solidified our places in the lives of the people at Faraja. No longer were we people who were visiting, we were part of the group. We had broken the barrier, seen the good, the bad and the ugly. We lived the life, we ate the same things, slept in the same house, did the same work. It was amazing (and exhausting) and I have SOOOOOO much respect for what Moraa does, 24/7. As we drifted off to sleep that night, I thought about all the things that I was thankful for in my life. My family, my friends, the opportunities that I have been afforded, the life decisions that I have made to put me in the position I am in, health and happiness. Things that go unnoticed and unrewarded. I was also thankful for the experience that I was having at that moment. Living in an orphanage will humble you, and it showed me how important the little things in life are, because for me this was a great experience, but one that I will inevitably leave behind eventually. For these kids, and 2.4 million kids just like them in Kenya alone, this is reality. With my mind racing, I drifted off to sleep. It had been a long day and I needed the sleep because the following day, we had a special treat planned… and that day is a blog post of its own.
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