What gets left behind
So, here is another post from Kenya.
I know most of the time I share celebrations with you,
but today I want to share reality with you.
This is why we send college students out,
this is why it is important for me to keep doing this.
This is why I need your support.
This post is from a participant that is in Kenya right now.
I have been struggling when it comes down to writting this blog, I cannot find the words to share this story that has dug holes in my heart. However my unworthy words will have to make due because this story needs to be shared, needs to be talked about, and needs to be heard.
Children have always had a strong pull on me, so the idea of coming to Kenya and not falling madly in love with all the beautiful kids would have been highly unrealistic. In Mpeketoni, we had children who belonged to the women that cooked in our kitchen coming and going daily. I found myself surrounded by little ones all day long and loved it. Two boys also came and went amoung the crowd, I had no idea who their mother was but assumed she was part of our church. Over time those boys and I developed a mother-son relationship. I fell quickly in love with them, and began seeing them as my own. I started feeding them at breakfast, lunch, and dinner and replacing their ragged, old clothing with new. I found out their mother was our neighbor, and not a Christian woman. Their father is not present and income is low. I was well aware of all that but felt no desire to dig deeper, perhaps I was scared of what else their lives might contain but over all it didn’t matter… they were my boys!
Freddie grabbed my heart at his first spilt drink as I washed him and the floor clean (that happened often). He is four years old and the best big brother, Felix, could ask for. Felix is two years old and loves to color…mostly on himself. The two never were apart, they were one. Every morning I would go get them from across the dirt road where their home was and we would eat breakfast. Every afternoon Fredie and I worked on his ABC’s and colors, while Felix ate snack and often fell asleep. I was starting finding myself worrying about what would happen to them when I left.
One evening while I was sick and laying in my bed with the window open I heard the screams of Freddie and Felix. One of their daily jobs was to take water jugs to the church and fill them up for their mother. Felix had dropped a full jug of water in the direction of the faucet, breaking it. Freddie took the blame but it wasn’t enough. I heard them both being beaten and bruised from my bedroom; I will never forget the sound of their screams. The next morning I went to get them and spent most of the morning bandaging them and cleaning their wounds.
I realized how big the issues ran, and I couldn’t leave them. I decided to figure out more about their mother. I sat down with Bishop and asked questions while he slowly answered them. Freddie and Felix are both from different fathers and live in a one room dirt floor apartment. Often times they get locked into that apartment during the night while their mother goes out and works as a prostitute. Sometimes she comes home really messed up and Freddie or Felix pay for it. She makes only enough to feed them a cup of porridge to share a day, if she choses to feed them at all. They will not get sent to school, and their mother is pregnant again as we speak. I believe I prayed more for my boys that night than ever before.
I question what God is doing when I think about Freddie and Felix. I don’t understand why He lets things go so far or why the innocent pay. It’s a hard concept for me to grasp. Sometimes I even become angry with Him. I know I am in the wrong for doing that but Freddie’s face says it all. Where is the hope for them? Where is their saftey? Comfort? Love? Let alone the food? Shelter? And clean water?
I would take my boys back with me to America in a heart beat, but that is not an option that is possible. Do I give up? Do I just pray? Do I rescue them? What do I do?
Why God?
