I called the director of Ebenezer at 9:00 to find out if he could see me before 1:00, because we wanted to get to the children on time today, no later than 1:15. He said he would be waiting for me at 11:00, so I texted Tony immediately, so that I would get there on time. He confirmed immediately. Tony has been stretching the clock lately, much to my disliking. I had planned on having a conversation about this today, but he didn't show up as planned. Sick of his excuses, I hitched a ride with Mutinda instead, because I was already late by 15 minutes, and the road off the tarmac to Ebenezer is a disaster.
TIA (time in Africa) can be a curse or a blessing, depending on which side of the fence you sit. Today, it was a huge imposition, and I was cursing Tony as I hopped into the Land Rover. Arriving at Ebenezer, I apologized profusely to the Director, blaming it all on 'my driver'. Sawa sawa, he said. We had chai and discussed his work, Njenga, disabilities, lack of funding, lack of government support, over population, shortage of facilities, abuse and everything pertaining to this home. I met the 6 mentally handicapped children who live at Ebenezer, and watched them interact with Martin and each other...and me. They were delightful - so much so, that I got the distinct sense that this would be a comfortable home for Njenga. As I watched three boys struggling to sort through a large box of crayons, I asked Martin if they were brothers. It didn't seem possible to me, but their facial features were just too similar to ignore. Astoundingly, Martin said yes, these boys were born to a mentally retarded woman. This took me aback. I was suddenly enormously saddened by these boys, and the life they must have had prior to arriving at Ebenezer. Do they see their mother? Is there a father? Do they have extended family? How does this happen? Why does this happen? My questions became a burden.
Martin interacts beautifully with the children. What began as one man's vision 10 years ago has blossomed into a sanctuary of acceptance, healing and hope. As Martin pointed out, there are five acres of land devoted to tending to the needs of abandoned children. There are 104 street kids here, all victims of circumstance and ignorance. He showed me around the property (a more detailed visit than yesterday). There is an infirmary and a library, in addition to the features I described yesterday. The place is immaculate. And, there is room for Njenga.
When Martin discovered I am affiliated with Nagolie, he stiffened a bit, and asked "Agnes?" "Yes", I said, "I know." Intuitively, he asked me how this transition would take place if I decided to enroll Njenga here, and I asked him how he thought I should proceed. Clearly, he didn't want trouble from this woman, as he gave every indication that he knew exactly what she is all about. He suggested I head back to the DCO in Ngong, get a letter from the children's officer to relocate Njenga and take it from there.
I left feeling good about the possibility of moving Ngenga here, yet suddenly incredibly sad about the transition for him. What will he do his first night? How will he cope without his brothers and sisters? Without Sho-Sho? Without his familiar surroundings? Who will comfort him? I felt sick. Literally. Do I have to do this? What will Agnes' role be? Will she throw a wrench into the whole process at the last second? Will she help? Can I ask someone from Martin's staff to familiarize herself with Njenga 3 or 4 days prior to moving him to his new home? Again, I felt sick.
I got back to Whistling Thorns, found Susan, and we walked to Nagolie. Tony and Sho-Sho were sitting outside eating lunch. Tony wanted details, and I gave him none. He pressed me, but I wasn't in the mood to share any of it with him. He can't help, and it suddenly occurred to me he wanted details for all the wrong reasons. In the meantime, Denis texted me because Tony told him that one of the girls was ill and needed medical attention. Off we went to Rongai, to Denis' clinic. I was happy to go, because I wanted Denis' advice. We got to the clinic quickly, only to find that this young woman had a bad case of STD. Now what? I asked him to come to the home next week and perform CBC's on each child. Yes, he agreed. We shouldn't do this every 5 years, we need to do it annually. Now what? We got the prescribed medication and stayed behind to chat about Njenga. Denis, as always, put everything in perspective. In short, we are doing what is necessary and right for this poor child. He will adapt quickly. Yes, it will be tough, yes it will be traumatic for him, but we must move him to a facility where he gets the chance he needs.
I feel hugely burdened this evening. What if this is the wrong place? What if Njenga doesn't adapt? The unthinkable: what if he is abused? He can't speak.
I have to speak with Agnes tomorrow about Njenga, the teenage girl and CBC's. I have no idea how she will react.
Sigh.
We got back to the home, where so much love and happiness abounds. Up, down and sideways is what I was thinking. Despite my inability to process the events of the day, I looked around and found plenty to smile about:
Mturi under his new mosquito net
(or mosquuuiiiito net, as they say)
Once again, these beautiful children continue to teach me more than I can possibly teach them, ever. Despite the emotions I feel over today and the dread I feel about tomorrow, these children provide a constant source of love, joy and hope.
I know I am the luckiest person in the world when I am surrounded by all of them.
Nawapenda wote ~
Simmie and Linet
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