DAY 6: Ghost of Kibera, part two

I went back to Kibera today. 
Since I didn’t die last time, I was more confident. The hiking in was exactly the same except that I spent more time looking at people than my feet. I felt more sure-footed and relational today. I said “hello” to far more people and actually talked to a few. I learned why the land is so rough and rocky. Over the years, the people in Kibera harvested all of the clay top soil for construction of mud-housing. So they’ve dug down to the rocks underneath. That’s the low part. The piles of trash and icky; that’s the high part.

We stopped by the first school and the kids destroyed me again. But our goal today was to go to the other school. Thirty minutes deeper in, we hiked past the trash river and came to an open clearing. Children were standing in the courtyard chanting, “How are you?” (Every time I type that I hear their high voices. I wonder if that will last forever?) The school. Their playground overlooks the trash river. As gross as the view was, at least it was an open space.

The children mobbed me like the previous school, but they were more gentle. One girl, Anne, grabbed my left hand. She would not let go. She would not share. So, I asked her to give me a tour of the school. Anne is about 11, and speaks nominal English. Let me describe what she showed me. Imagine a rectangle house made of mud with a rusty 8’ corrugated metal roof. The door opens to a center hallway with three rooms on the right and four on the left. The entire structure slopes to the back and pours into an open closet kitchen at the very back. The first room is the director’s office. Anne pulls me to the next room. (after all what child wants to show off the principal’s office?) She leads me into her classroom, which is the size of my bathroom at home. Dark, no windows. Mud walls. Three “desks” for nine children. No books. No paper. No pens or pencils. Nothing. Mud walls and bench “desks.” I sank inside.

She showed me the other classes. Same same.

I asked Protoss about the discrepancy between the schools and he said this one has many orphans (40 of the 80 kids) and has no funds. Sinking. Anne still hasn’t let go of my hand mind you. Eventually, she has to return to class. I taught a Bible story in the tiny classrooms to wide eyes. The teachers informed us that the children wanted to perform for us.
CONFESSION: I hate school programs. I know I’m a bad guy, but I do. They are a whipping. Anyone who says otherwise is a sentimentalist. I dislike them because they are contrived. Some adult scripts the kids, dresses the kids, and (in musicals) sings for the kids. This was not a “school program.”

The adults had nothing to do with it. In fact, they were surprised.

Anne comes out leading a troop and sang songs which they made the spot with one little girl playing a drum (a bucket). They danced. Anne would sing a line. Then the group would repeat. Anne would sing, they would repeat. They did three songs. The teachers stood behind us and translated with surprised voices. (Everything was in Swahili)

Then a few of the kids recited poems. One or two, I KNOW were made up on the spot. The translations were painful.

“HIV where are you? HIV where are you?
You killed my mother and my father.
HIV where are you?”

The next poem recounted the cruelty of her stepmother, but pleading to be able to stay in the house.

These are fifth graders. 

Yeah. I know. I know.

 

Lunch: 
I helped serve the beans and maize (mongo-sized corn). We passed out all of the dishes, but there are more children to feed, so we wait for some to finish and reuse the plates. Sometimes they washed. Sometimes they didn’t. (I think these kids must have the immune system of Kryptonians.) We get all of the children fed and I look in on them…they are eating so happily. Licking their fingers like it was chocolate ice cream. (They don’t have any spoons) I look down to see brown hands and eyes serving me a standard portion of food. 

Crap. 

I have not washed my hands and I’ve been touched by at least one hundred children today. Some were obviously sick (double barrel green snot streams). All were dirty. And this is Kibera dirt. The dish might be was reused and was washed 5 minutes ago in bacteria infested water from a pan on the ground. I look up and see all of the children are looking at me.

Form a scoop with your first three fingers and push it into your mouth with the thumb. That’s how I did it. I couldn’t bring myself to lick my fingers. I’m eating on a bacteria dish used by a former diner, and my hands are caked in bio-hazard. Now, I’m a weird guy. I’ll admit it. But I’m not a germophobe.

Until today.

I finished the entire bowl out of respect, not hunger. I was done at 1/4 portion. I haven’t been that full since the pizza buffet before I left. Those kids can put it away. After lunch, it was time to go. I went out and played in the courtyard for few minutes with the kids. I drew in the dirt with a rock. The children acted like they had never seen that before and laughed like hyennas. An unseen hand rang a bell inside and the children filed inside.

I held Anne’s hand and said words she didn’t understand. I acted like I was fine and we followed the railroad tracks out.

No dinner for me tonight, thanks.

Goodnight Anne Undunge.