Trip to Africa

January 29, 2007

After weeks of preparing, we were finally on our way to the airport. I have been suffering from two colds since Thanksgiving, but as if by providence, the past few days I have finally felt very good. I was worried about taking such a long flight feeling so miserable, but it’s all in the past. My luggage is all overweight, stuffed with gifts for the children, workers, and materials for meetings. In all, I have to pay $200 for the extra, while all of my personal belongings are just in my carry-on! I have carefully selected my clothing for the leaving, intending to bring home only what is on my back the last day.

Esther and I meet up as planned and bid goodbye to our husbands. Bubby has come with his father, and I am so glad. Larry looks so worried and sad, but is trying to be positive. I have my first twinge of doubt as I walk away, watching him watch me until I am out of sight.

We meet Steve for the first time, after walking up and down looking at the waiting passengers several times. He finally recognizes us, two old ladies obviously searching. We greet, and soon it is time to board. A sudden snow has made it necessary to de-ice the plane, my first experience with nature’s impact on departure. I can say I was very nervous as we waited over an hour past our time but relaxed when we became airborne.

The early hours of the flight passed in easy conversation. Our seats were not together, so I sat next to a young girl who was on her third deployment to Iraq. She had made an emergency trip home for a funeral, and was very afraid to return. She feared each successive trip decreased her odds of survival. We talked about the war, and she assured me it was futile. She was upset with our government, and just wanted to come home. It turned out that she had joined the reserves as a way to go to college, coming from a poor, black family. My heart ached for her.

After a time, I changed seats with Esther to become acquainted with Steve. He is a very interesting person, having worked as a public school teacher for 35 years, and an administrator for an American Indian school for a few years after “retirement”.  Steve has traveled the world over, and our conversation makes the hours go by quickly. Finally around 1 am, we decided to try to rest. Minutes later, the lights all came on and there is a page calling any medical persons on the plane to section 19. A man right across the isle from me hurried forward, my first indication that he was not the construction worker that I had decided in my mental analysis of fellow passengers. I later found out he was also on his way back to Iraq, a doctor who had joined the reserves as a student to pay school fees. He was also on his third deploy, and leaving two small children behind.

January 30...

We arrived in Amsterdam behind schedule, and had to literally run to make our connecting flight. I never realized how big an Airport can be when you only have a few minutes, and not having any signs in English didn’t help. When we got to our gate, they were already boarding. Unfortunately we were to find out later that our most important luggage did not make the transition. I decided that I like the KLM crew much better than the attendants on Northwest. They are so friendly and cheerful, and even though we are “grounded” to our seats because of turbulence, the flight goes by quickly. I have not slept at all, mostly due to excitement. I spent a lot of time watching the monitor as we pass over Northern Africa, drawing nearer to Kenya. It seems they are giving us food all of the time, most of it tasting like the container it is served in.

At long last we land in Nairobi, Kenya. The airport is quite beautiful, with windows and doors open to the night air, warm and moist. It seems impossible that I have simply boarded a plane 18 hours ago in winter, and have arrived to such heat. After standing in line for our checked baggage, we find our most important pieces did not make it with us. As we join many others who suffered the same fate, we chat with a young couple waiting in line who have mountains of packing crates and bags. They are missing several pieces, and my curiosity at their belongings forces me to ask them the purpose of their trip. They have lived in the northern desert area for 14 years, and though they look barely past their teens, they have three children with the oldest being in high school. They told us they have returned home only 3 times in all of those years. Their children consider Africa to be home. They will be staying only until the oldest boy completes high school, then will return to live in America until all children finish college. She reminds me of Sairy, soft spoken and confident. I love this family and feel sad that I will never met them again. I worry that they are going to be in a very dangerous area, but they have no fear. I think of her mother, the grandmother to her children, and feel ashamed that I worry with my grandchildren just miles away.

The filing out of papers concerning lost luggage over, we then stand in line for a visa. Finally we make it to customs, hours later than anticipated. We can see our Pastors and their wives waiting patiently for us through the doors. When the customs agent asks what is in our baggage, Esther confesses that we have Morangi cuttings. Knowing we are on a mission trip, he waves us through saying “I can’t hear you”.

After greetings, an extra vehicle is negotiated, and we begin the ride back to Nairobi and the Sagamat Hotel. Even though it is very late, there are people walking everywhere, as if it is the middle of the day. It is midnight by the time we reach our rooms.

January 31

Although exhausted, there was no sleep for Esther or me. The room across from us is occupied by people who are clearly involved in some sort of activity that requires the coming and going of different participants. They slam the door and curse. We hear them knocking and worry that they might break into our room. In addition, the city never sleeps. There are people out all night, laughing and playing music. Cars and trucks fill the streets 24 hours a day, honking with drivers pounding on the sides of the vehicles and slamming on brakes. Finally at 7, Esther and I get up to take a cold shower. The shower head is just in the corner of the bathroom, with the water spraying everywhere in the room before running down a small drain in the corner.

I have that nausea that comes with not sleeping but we head up to the 9^th floor to meet the others for breakfast. An easy hour flows in laughter and conversation with Moses, Edith, Maurice and their American guests. Everywhere we go, we are a subject of curious stares. Breakfast is the same for the mornings we are there. An egg, fried hard, scrambled or boiled, white bread, jam, and steaming pots of hot chocolate. It comes as a pot of hot water with cocoa powder in it, a side of steaming milk, and raw sugar. I ordered coffee expecting a cup of good Kenyan, but got the same pot of hot water with instant Nescafe mixed in. Ugh! Bananas and mango juice are also served. This meal is included in the price of the room, which averages out to about $20 per night.

After breakfast, we head to the email bureau, an exercise in futility. The rooms are very small and hot, and the electricity cycles off every few minutes. I try to get a message off to my family, and after several attempts a few lines get through. I have a new appreciation of how difficult it is for our Pastors to communicate with us. I vow to myself to be more patient with them in the future. This task accomplished, we are off for the day. We walked to the city market, an area of small kiosk-type shops to buy souvenirs for our families. In the daylight, Nairobi is even more impressive. The streets are a sea of humanity, with literally thousands of people on foot. They are beautiful, and I am struck by the style they exhibit. The men rush around in suits or crisp shirts with dress pants, and the women look so professional. Many have cell phones, and I marvel at their ability to carry on conversation while weaving through the crowd. At one intersection, there are people lined up for a whole block trying to cross a street. Edith leads Esther and I by the hand as we cross, and I am thankful for her guidance. Cars have the right-of-way in Nairobi, and you must move quickly. I never did get used to looking “right” first, as in America the cars approach from the left when you step off the curb. We weaved between cars that were still moving and every street crossed was a victory.

The city market was very entertaining. You must view what is in every shop or it is an insult to the owner. The items are mostly hand-crafted, and the price negotiable. We were told by our hosts NOT to buy anything until they arrived at a fair price. Edith is a master at getting the best price. Esther and I would select what we wanted, then turn it over to her. Although I was worried that we might be taking advantage of the shop keepers, they all seemed to enjoy this game and seemed pleased as we finally arrived at the bottom line. I bought a purse for Edith that started at 1,200 shillings and ended at 300!

The market reinforced my vow not to eat meat on this trip. The butchery section was hard to take. The meat and fish just lay out in the sun, with flies crawling all over it. The smell is terrible and I could feel my nausea almost getting the best of me.

After shopping, we walked to the Post Office, which housed a restaurant on the top floor. We had a meal of greens, beans and rice, and mango juice.

The best part of the day was about to begin. Pastor Moses had made arrangements for us to visit with the refugees. We did not know they had been waiting for us most of the afternoon. As we drove out of Nairobi and through the slums, I was overwhelmed by the sights and sounds. The soil is red clay, and it cakes everything. These people live in the most dire of circumstances. The streets are lined with small shacks, often no larger than a phone booth, as they try to sell whatever they can in order to put food in their dinner pot. Often the women have several small children with them, who are left to their own resources until the mother closes her shop. They are the bright spot in this amazing mix of sights and smells. Their bright school uniforms are a contradiction to the misery around them. As I see them carrying their books, I have to wonder if education will even help them. But they love school, and surely it is the only way they will ever get out of these horrible living conditions. I wonder how many will make it?

I feel guilty as our car moves slowly through the ever-present throngs of walkers. The children become so excited when they see us, waving and giggling as they shout “How are you?’..when we answer “We are fine, how are you?”, they become so excited and keep repeating the question until we are out of sight. It makes me sad to think that just because I am white, I am considered something special. Spoiled is what I am, and they are the special ones. I wish to embrace each of them. I am finding out that being a Musungu (white person), can make you both loved and hated in Africa.

We stopped at a grocery store to buy food to take to the refugees we were about to visit. Pastor Moses has done a remarkable work with these folks, and everywhere we go in this area, he is recognized and loved. As he walks through the aisles collecting items, I sneak back outside to indulge my passion, the children. They stand far away as I pull out my camera. One little girl does not back away, and I ask her if I can snap her photo. She is very serious as I take her picture, but when I show it to her, a broad smile crosses her face. I have made a friend. Soon, dozens of children are lined up wanting a chance to have a picture. They soon figure out that they can see their image (I am sure for the first time), and we are having a party! They gingerly touch my arms, expecting me to feel different. I tell them I am the same, just a different color. The mothers come forth to see their child’s photos, and smile with pleasure. Many gave me their addresses with a request to send them a copy. I am sad when it is time to leave them behind, and watch out the back window of the car as they stand waving until they are out of sight.

As we continue down the road to the camp, the poverty becomes even worse. We pulled into the gate leading to Pastor Sangora’s home, and find a couple of dozen of folks gathered at the Glory Adventist Church, which is the size of a garage. They have been waiting for hours for our arrival. There is prayer, and then singing, the likes of which I have never heard. All people in Africa must have musical talent. I am struck by the joy that survives in this place. These are folks without a country, thousands all clustered in an area of refugees from the Congo, Rwanda, the Sudan, and other surrounding areas. Their dream is to return home, but it is out of touch. Pastor Sangora needs $1,000 to take his wife and five children back to the Congo, and if he is able, it is likely that much of what they have left behind is now gone, including beloved family members. I think again of how I become distressed at the simple inconveniences in American life, and I am deeply ashamed.

They mix “Quencher”, sort of a Gatorade type drink, with water in a large plastic tub, likely used for bathing the children. I am thinking about how I can avoid drinking as I am worried about getting sick. As they pass out cups, Moses tells them that we have eaten, and they accept this much to my relief. The children are especially hungry as they have waited so long, and they eat slices of plain white bread with their drink. While this is going on, Moses and Pastor Songora are packing bags for each family to take home with rice, maize, and other staples. My heart swells with love for Moses and Prisca as I know they are using their meager stipend to help these people survive.

After the singing, we walked down the red clay road to visit some of the homes. All along the way, children are shouting at us with the usual greeting. One small boy is selling “ground nuts”, like our peanuts, to try to make a few shillings. They are 2 shillings per bag. I gave him 100 shillings and took 4 small bags. WE are a curiosity as mothers come out to look at us. They are too timid to speak, but when we shout greetings at them, they smile and wave. As in Nairobi, there are hundreds of folks walking on this road, often balancing huge loads of fruit, firewood, and other items on their heads. The mothers have babies on their backs, and often several toddlers in tow. I am ashamed I used to think I have  worked hard.

The first compound we enter is a series of rooms about 12 x 12, each one an apartment. Chickens, goats and even a small puppy romp about the muddy courtyard. The communal latrines are at one end, to be shared by all. As we enter our first apartment, there is barely enough room for the 8 of us to squeeze in. I cannot imagine that a whole family lives in this space. It is dark and smoky, from the cooking fire. The young woman who is the mother of this home is beautiful, with toddlers peeking out from every dark corner. She is so happy just to have us visit her, and it breaks my heart to think of her difficult life. I get the feeling that she would never complain about anything, so complete is her joy. After a few short minutes, we move on to visit others. Each apartment is the same, and so are it’s occupants. So happy to see us, and so proud of the little they have. I notice that they take their shoes off and leave them outside the doors, in an effort to keep their floors free of the red mud.

When we got back to Songora’s, I noticed a grandmother sitting outside peeling potatoes. I was told she was the caregiver for about a dozen grandchildren who’s parents were dead. One of the girls was on crutches. When I pulled out my camera, all of the children hid. I approached the grandmother and asked if I might take her photo. She was very angry and told me if I wanted to help her, I could give her some money to feed her brood, not snap useless pictures. I asked Maurice to give her 1,000 shillings, and we became friends. I was able to visit with her and take photos of her children. Although she tried to remain gruff, she couldn’t help but smile when I showed her the pictures. I promised to send her copies of them.

The trip back was fairly silent, as we all thought about what we had experienced on this day. We ventured up to the 9^th floor and had a supper of ugali and greens, planning our departure for the following day to journey to Glory Children's Center Orphanage.

February 1

Since our luggage had not arrived yet, we were beginning to get very nervous. A promised call from a man at the Airport who seemed to be in charge never came, and our calls to him went unanswered. We did not want to leave Nairobi without this important baggage. In addition, Pastor Moses vehicle was having serious mechanical problems. It was decided during breakfast that we would rent a car and go to the airport while Moses had the car worked on.

As usual with African time, we ran later on everything we attempted to do. We were able to retrieve our luggage after a frustrating search, but the car was not finished until late in the day. Esther and I were willing to travel the distance to Glory Children's Center Orphanage after nightfall, but the Pastors were worried. Just the previous Saturday, two white women had been shot in the head while traveling the same road that we were to use. They said moving at night was even more dangerous, as people posing as police would often close the roads and divert a car into a deserted road, robbing the occupants. With us being Musungu, we were even more likely to be targeted. After much discussion, we decided to wait until very early the next morning to leave, planning to exit Nairobi before rush hour. We went with Moses to a small restaurant nearby and had our first plate of chips, really like American french-fries but made from Irish potatoes. This seems to be a staple of restaurant fare. They are very tasty, and served with a side of cabbage and greens., for about $1. We return to our rooms early to prepare for a 5 a.m. departure. Edith and Maurice arrange for a truck to take all of the additional luggage’s, with plans to travel ahead of us.

February 2

Esther and I are up and showered by 5 a.m. As usual, we are destined to wait. Finally Esther calls Moses room, who is up and waiting as well. Soon, we are all downstairs, and on the road by 6, just an hour later than planned. We bid Edith and Maurice a goodbye, with plans to meet them at HFCC in just under a week.

It is still dark, but the traffic in both people and cars is tremendous. It is a great relief to leave Nairobi and finally be heading towards what we came to see, our children! I feel euphoric as we enter the countryside. After about 30 miles, we notice a bumpier ride that usual, and Moses announces calmly that we have a flat tire. We pull over to the side of the road, and soon a young man joins us to assist. The tire is replaced and half-hour later, we are on our way again.

Little could have prepared me for the beauty of the rolling hills and mountains as we got further from Nairobi. Esther and I both leaned to the right as we sped down the mountains, thinking we might hurdle over the side at any moment. The curves and lack of guard rails made for quite an adventure. I prayed that God would not bring us this far and then toss us over the side of a mountain! Moses just laughed at our nervousness.

After we finally reached the flatlands, we were in Masai country. The sight of these tall men herding their cattle, sheep and goats was like watch a nature film. Splashes of red dotted the countryside, marking them even when they were far away. Their huts are simple round mud structures, with thatched roofs. They are often enclosed in a fence of hedge row made of cacti. It was a treat to look across the plains and see these clusters of homes, often three or more in the same compound. I expect that the multiple homes housed wives of the men, who often have plural marriages.

We were especially thrilled to see a huge herd of Giraffe grazing near the road, as well as Zebras and Gazelles. It seemed unreal to be able to view such critters outside the zoo. Pastor Moses was surprised that we did not have these animals in America.

We stopped at a small village to get the tire repaired. I found in Kenya that one can pull off the side of the road and someone will be there who is a mechanic. We walked around trying to find a diet coke (not found in Kenya, even at the airport), and were inundated with Masai who were selling all sorts of items. One young girl caught my heart as she sat making beaded items. She was dressed in a jacket and stocking cap, and I was sweating in my cotton skirt and t-shirt. She was so approachable and funny. We had a good visit with her as she spoke English quite well. Esther and I bought “honeymoon” purses from her as well as some jewelry. We ate lunch in a small “café”. I ordered a cup of coffee and got my usual hot water and instant, even though Kenyan coffee was advertised on the wall. We were a little nervous about eating in this place, but there was no harm done.

Soon we were on our way again, and after a short latrine stop at a Masai Women’s group shop (Steve was in heaven browsing the wood carvings), we continued on to Glory Children's Center Orphanage.

At Glory Children's Center Orphanage the orphans were all waiting at the fence for us. They were jumping up and down and shouting, "welcome sisters". They had rehearsed a program for us and it was so sweet. Many of them are so much smaller than I thought.

They were very curious about us, wanting to touch our skin. They would sneak up and just gently touch, then start to giggle. Finally I broke the ice by picking one of the orphans up and kissing her. Soon, they all wanted me to hold them. Whenever I sat down, there would be thirty or forty orphans squeezing in for a hug and to touch. All broke loose when finally one of them touched my hair. They practically rubbed it off my head. They even crawled under my chair to touch my legs. They are the most beautiful children you have ever seen, and Moses and Prisca are wonderful. After we had spent a few hours with them, we went to Prisca and Moses’ house. They live in a fenced in compound with a guard at the gate. We stayed in a small apartment in the complex that the landlord donated for us.  We had nets over our beds. The latrines were some distance away, and I kept thinking about snakes at night. On the second night, I saw a dead cat laying in front of the latrine. I looked at him closely and noticed big fang marks in his neck. From that night on, I used a plastic bag in my room and dumped it the next day.

We had orphans at the gates constantly crying to be let in. I really understand Brian's weakness now. (Over 90 extra orphans were let in when Brian visited from the US last summer.)  Some of these orphans are as small as Brayden. The older ones carry much sadness, and they are the ones who grieve me the most. These orphans are so smart, speaking several languages, and you know they have no future. I don't understand.

It is in the 90's here, but not humid. I wish you were here with me. Everything I see, I want my family’s eyes to experience.

We are very spoiled at Prisca’s house. Her sister Jane is a beautiful woman, and has AIDS, a parting gift from her husband. Her little son Steve also has it. She is cooking all of our food, and is never without a smile. Prisca and Moses are caring for her older children to make sure they get an education. She and Steve live near the property we have purchased for the new orphanage, so it will be good for her to have her sister near as she becomes less able. Our meals are great. We have had so many new foods, and I find all of them delicious, except for Ugali.  They roll it up in balls and scoop their other food with it. I have tried to move it around on my plate so it looks like I have eaten some of it, but I don’t think they are fooled. I love the bananas cooked with tomatoes and onions. Sounds gross, but it’s great. The food is highly spiced. We have cabbage every meal, but it is never the same. The rice may have curry, cloves or other spices I am not able to identify. One night, we had an Avocado salad with cucumbers, tomatoes, onion, etc., dressed with mashed avocados. I could have eaten the whole thing.

Laquita has joined us and will be traveling with us. She has been a great help with the orphan’s sores, fevers, etc. With so many orphans crammed into such a small area, there is much potential for injury and disease. The first morning we arrived at the Orphanage, a small boy fell and punctured his head with a nail. It was deep and bled profusely. Of course, we are afraid to touch without gloves. We ended up sending him with Prisca to the hospital, where he received stitches and a tetanus shot. Several other orphans had “owies” that we attended to before we started the interviewing process. We are constantly interrupted by giggling orphans at the doors and windows who can’t wait for their turn with the Musungus.

February 3

It is the Sabbath at Glory Center. Church is mostly singing, with children being invited forward to bring their requested song on a piece of paper. Prisca very carefully makes sure each request in honored, even though it is obvious that Moses in anxious to move on. The service lasts for several hours, during which time the seats next to Esther, Steve and I are constantly in demand. We hold as many children as we can. It is so hot and close in the room that I fear I might faint, but their love sustains me.

The day passes by quickly, with most of the free time spent playing with the orphans and becoming acquainted with them. I just love them, and marvel at their happiness and loving nature. This orphanage is way too small for the number of orphans. The cooks try to prepare the meals on just one fire. It is easier on the weekend when only the orphans of Glory Children's Center Orphanage are present. On school days, it is nearly impossible. They are feeding over 100 extra children each day for lunch who attend class at our school. The cooks are always happy and cheerful. They start their days before sunup and finish late at night. Most of the time we don’t even have a stipend for them. They walk or ride bicycles the distance from their homes to Glory Children's Center Orphanage. They are working on love for the orphans and little else. The same can be said of all of the other volunteers. The night watchman needs a bicycle so badly. He walks so many kilometers to and from his home to this non-paying position. We tried to figure out how we could surprise him with one, but we did not feel we could spend that much money (about $100), so early in the trip, not knowing what needs we would find further down the road.

The teachers are a marvel. Most have graduated from Teacher’s college, and are the sole supporters of their families. They walk or bicycle to work each morning, and as with the others, rarely get paid. Those with children bring them along to attend classes and eat with the other children.

I was struck by how professional they are. They dress beautifully, and stand apart from the other staff simply by their mannerisms and appearance. There is tremendous pride in how one presents in Kenya that is amazing.

One of the teacher’s girls was terrified of me. I felt so bad... every time I would even walk by this little toddler she would collapse into hysteria. No matter how hard I tried to avoid her, I seemed to be running into her several times a day. Even a stuffed animal did not help. I was her first Musungu, and if she has her way, her last.

February 4

We arrived early and began to interview. This was fun and very satisfying. We enjoyed spending time with each child, talking with them and learning a bit about the individual personalities.

As before, we ran into some sickness. One orphan in particular (Lydia), has been having fainting spells. We have tried to explain to Moses and Prisca that it is not necessary to take a orphan to the hospital for every complaint. When I reviewed their receipts, there was a stack of nearly 100 from clinics for orphans visits.

We are of the belief that the orphans are not getting enough drinking water. Lydia drank 5 large cups of water and was soon feeling better. We decided to purchase 3 smaller water tanks to be placed around the orphanage with faucets so the orphans can have water whenever they need it. We became convinced that part of their hunger is actually thirst. (The small children eat an amount of food that I could never equal.)

We also spoke to Prisca and Moses about the tummy aches, headaches, and other complaints of some of the orphans. We believe that much of this is emotional, from a child who needs some special attention. When one considers the baggage of these little ones, it is easy to see how they might manifest physical symptoms when all they need is a hug or special time.

Later in the afternoon, we walked up to Rose’s tailoring shop to see some of the items she had made. She does all of the school uniforms, and also makes and sells clothing to the community. The proceeds go to pay her rent and also back to the orphans. I ordered a dress from her, and she was so tickled. We also saw a demonstration of the knitting machine.

Several of the older orphans have accompanied me and I treat them to fried cakes... sort of like a donut without the hole. It sure doesn’t take much to make them happy.

February 5

The interviewing is completed, classrooms visited, and teachers met. Gifts are passed out to the staff. Moses and Prisca were given money to buy two bundles of clothing, which we distributed to the children after sorting. The kids are thrilled with their new things and the small toys we were able to pass out.

We have convinced Moses to keep the gate locked in an effort to control the number of homeless orphans who enter and camp out in the courtyard each day.

Late in the afternoon, the cook realized we had worked all day with no lunch. He brought us a big tray of fried bananas, along with a dipping sauce made of cooked tomatoes, peppers, onions and great spices. They reminded me of the great big French fries at Cedar Point, and I ate five of them! It seems I am always thirsty, and empty my two quart canteen before the day is half over. This evening we have a very painful task. 16 of the orphans let in by Brian and then asked to leave (30 were asked to leave from the nearly 100 he admitted), have been standing at the gate since yesterday morning. Most are teenagers, although a couple are smaller. It is more than Moses can bear, and he asked Esther and me to talk with them and explain why they cannot come in. They file silently into his little office, with expectant looks on their faces. They stand quietly as we look at them, trying to find words for what we have to say. Finally in tears, Moses asks Esther and I to come into Prisca’s small office and shuts the door behind us. We all three cry together, and pray for strength.

As we try to explain to the orphans why we cannot accept them, we cry again. They simply stare at us, as their hope slips away. They are given a mattress in the courtyard for the night, breakfast the next morning, and then head out for God only knows where. We have promised them that when the new orphanage is completed, we will give them first chance to join. I wonder if they will still be alive. (There simply is not room for them until the new orphanage is built, not to mention the shortage of funds.)

We head back to the refuge of Moses Nyamora's home, all very tired.

February 6

This is our last day at Glory Children's Center Orphanage. Esther and I must go to the email bureau in Kisii, and plans are made to travel on from there to the new property, meet with the building consultant, and interview the secondary students. I was able to give mom a quick call to let her know I was safe and sound. Her joy at hearing my voice brought tears to my eyes.

The journey through the back roads to our new site gave us an opportunity to see where Prisca and Moses were raised. This is their homeland area, and every few yards we were greeted by one of their relatives. It felt good to know our orphans are going to be surrounded by extended family. The homes along this road were much nicer than what I had seen so far during my stay. Most were stone with widows and blue tin roofs, surrounded by hedges and rolling fields of crops, especially tea. Coffee and banana trees were in abundance, and the sharp edge of poverty was not so apparent. When we finally reached the gate of Prisca’s house (built 7 years ago when Pastor had a church in Nairobi, and never yet lived in by the Nyamora’s), we were let in by the watchman. The older children were waiting for us, and once again we received many hugs and kisses.

The home is located on Moses' land and sandwiched between the parcels we recently purchased. It is a good focal point for our new orphanage, separating the areas on which the new dormitories are going to be built on. The foundation for the girl’s dorm is already dug, and two wells are in place. It is like heaven compared to the squalid area that is currently home to Glory Children's Center Orphanage.

After a tour of the home, a viewing of bath and bathroom facilities, and meeting the matron, we are led through the house into a spacious living room. Stuffed furniture lined the walls, and we are joined by all of the secondary students. Esther and I talk about the reasons for them sitting out the school year, (lack of funds) and all of them are gracious and understanding. I have brought them both scrabble and boggle games, and explain how they are played. We then interview each of them, after which they are given paper to write to their sponsors. They are beautiful, full of questions and enthusiasm about the coming construction.

They love living in this house, and have planted and tended flowers in the yard around the house, as well as a large garden on the adjoining property. It makes me somewhat sad to think that all of these kids have lived in Prisca’s home, and she has not even spent a night there. She knows soon her patience will pay off. After tearful good-byes, we return to Moses and Prisca’s current apartment home, to have our final dinner as a family and prepare for our trip to Hope for Children Center Orphanage. Jane and Divinah have washed all of our dirty laundry. I am sad to leave Jane and my little Rhoda, who has looked after Esther and I since our arrival. I gave Jane my favorite shirt and skirt, and Rhoda a small bag of chocolates and a bar of Bath and Body soap. I wonder if Jane will still be alive when I return again.

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