Seeing through a glass darkly

The more time I spend in Kenya the more aware I am of how little I really know. I may have a pretty good understanding of some “facts” and I may be getting a deeper understanding of some issues, but as a mzungu (a term with varied definitions...the one I prefer is “traveler”) I am aware that I will never completely understand this complex culture or the individual lives within it. I have to be content with “seeing through a glass darkly.”

While visiting a few months ago, I met Susana, an elderly grandmother living in a small mud home with an ill daughter-in-law and several grandchildren. I was told all Susana’s own children are "gone.” I was touched by the way Susana’s calm and dignified demeanor conveyed such strength in the midst of so much hardship and many losses. The grandchildren clearly recognized Susana’s central role in the household, hovering near her for protection and care. In fact, I was so affected by Susana’s presence, I came home and wrote a short piece about her so she would be cemented in my memory. In many ways, to me she represented the all-too-ordinary story of elderly women in Kenya who are caring for their orphaned grandchildren. I concluded my story by speculating about what would happen to all of those grandchildren if Susana should die while they are still young.

On May 23, Susana’s daughter-in-law found her lying peacefully on the dirt floor of the home they shared, her long life over just hours before an event to commemorate the anniversary of her husband’s death some years before. The “what if?” upon which I had speculated only a few months before was a reality.

A few days ago, when I learned of Susana’s death and was invited to the funeral, I was saddened in measure disproportionate to the depth of my relationship with this elderly woman. We only met once, exchanging greetings and a few pleasantries before our limited ability to speak the other’s language cut the conversation short. Most of what I learned about Susana and her circumstances I learned from the friends and community members who accompanied me to her home. However, in taking her picture and writing her story Susana had become real to me as a woman living with grace, seemingly against all odds. Coming from my privileged position as a white westerner, it seemed clear to me that there was something I needed to learn from this woman.

I went to Susana’s vigil – an all-night event preceding the funeral, in which her body lay in state in her home, with community and church friends filling the surrounding space with prayers, songs, and their witness to a God who loves them in the midst of grief and loss. The following day I attended Susana’s funeral and burial, an occasion that included hours of extemporaneous eulogizing about the many roles Susana played in her rural community. Even without understanding most of what was said, it was clear to me that, like most of us, Susana had a multi-dimensional life which intersected and affected the lives of many, many friends, neighbors and family.

In the course of the funeral, I learned some things that gave depth to my earlier understanding of Susana and her family. I learned that the daughter-in-law actually is a granddaughter-in-law, the grandchildren are great-grandchildren, and, thankfully, there is a daughter who survives and can be a resource to Susana’s other survivors. I also found out that, while Susana’s family has been affected deeply by AIDS, some of the family members who are “gone” are in prison, taken from the family not as victims of a disease but as consequence for personal choices. I learned that the great-grandchildren, who appeared so innocent in my camera lens, often are neighborhood troublemakers. Certainly, the simple little essay I wrote a few months ago does not begin to do justice to who this woman really was and what she meant to her family and community.

It is so tempting to paint flat pictures of the people with whom we work in Chulaimbo: “orphan,” “guardian,” “teacher,” “congregational leader,” etc. How much more difficult, yet how much more rewarding, it is for us to begin to understand all of the complexities of the Kenyan people and their culture.

A visitor's reflections

Rev. Teri Thomas, senior pastor of Northminster Presbyterian Church in Indianapolis, and her husband Jack Wineman just have spent a few days here visiting Umoja Project schools, students and guardian groups. For the last two years, Northminster has supported our school lunch program through their participation in the Indianapolis Hunger Initiative (www.interfaithhungerinitiative.org). Below are Teri's observations of the Project, as published in today's Indianapolis Star.

Making a difference in young Kenyans' lives
Rev. Teri Thomas
Posted: June 5, 2010

In front of us sit 144 elementary school children, almost half of the total student body. Their uniforms are slightly dirty and tattered; only about half have shoes of any kind. They are smiling and attentive and curious about the "mazungu" (white people) sitting before them. They also are orphans.

We are visiting Chulaimbo Primary School near Kisumu, Kenya. As part of my sabbatical journey, I wanted to see the school lunch program funded through the Indianapolis Hunger Initiative in partnership with the Umoja Project. What we are seeing is incredible, shocking and challenging.

These orphans have lost one or both parents to AIDS. Some live with grandparents or other relatives. Many live in child-headed households. Most of them will eat only one meal a day, and it will be a plate of corn and beans provided by the Indianapolis congregations that make up the hunger initiative. When school is out, they do not eat.

This year, the hunger initiative will provide 526,500 meals to children in 15 schools surrounding Kisumu. That will feed 2,700 children at a cost of $0.087 per meal. For only $17 a year, a child will be fed, encouraged to stay in school and have a healthier future. But the issues go far deeper than food.

The school buildings around us were built in 1972, and some have been officially condemned. They are still in use because there are no other options. The government requires one toilet hole for every 25 students. In this school of 400, there are only four usable holes. The school desperately needs a new water tank (or better yet, a well) so students don't have to drink from the contaminated stream and risk cholera. That would cost $300 it does not have.

Umoja provides kerosene so children can study at home after dark. It provides food assistance for the child-headed households, school uniforms and an occasional blanket. If students do well enough on national exams at the end of eighth grade, Umoja will pay $325 per year for secondary school tuition and expenses. Negotiations are just beginning with Comtiah College to provide post-secondary education and job training.

Indianapolis Hunger Initiative, Umoja and Heifer International have been working together to develop income-generating projects for the schools so some of these other needs can be met and so the lunch program can be self-supporting. The partnership of faithful folks in Indianapolis and Kenya working together is making a difference in the lives of these children, their teachers and guardians, the communities and these mazungu, who simply watch and pray and learn and hope.

God willing... Be strong

When I leave someone's company here, my tendency is to say something about how I look forward to seeing them again. Without fail, the response I get is "God willing." For some, that response speaks to their belief that God controls all the minutiae of life and has a specific plan for our lives. For all, however, it is a recognition that life is precarious and illness, accidents or death can interrupt one's plans at any time. Kenyans tend to have fewer illusions than I do about being in control of life.

Therefore, when Project Director Joseph Okuya had a serious car accident a couple of days ago, requiring an emergency response from family and friends, I was not surprised to hear a lot of conversation about God's will. No one got caught up in trying to sort of the theological implications of such a conviction; again, it was simply a recognition that much of life is beyond our individual control and cannot be accounted for in human terms.

From the moment we got the first distress call from Joseph, a second refrain emerged: "Be strong." Over and over again, as word of the accident spread, people reassured one another with the words "We must be strong." Strong for Joseph, strong for his wife and family, strong for the other people involved in the accident, strong for one another. There was very little acknowledgment of our fears, our worries, our distress. Simply, be strong.

Both of these phrases have been so striking for me. In this place where there is daily evidence that one is not in control of life, the only response is to support one another to have as much inner strength as one can possibly muster.

Although a little worse for the wear right now, Joseph should make a complete recovery from the accident. Although his injuries are much more serious, the driver of the other vehicle also should recuperate eventually. And, as I prepare to leave for home in a couple of days, I tell people I am looking forward to seeing them again. God willing.

Please don't forget us...

Just when I think I have seen the worst of Kenyan roads, I travel another one that makes all others pale by comparison. In the same way, just when I think I have seen the worst living situations in our service area, I visit a new place which is even more desperate. Such was my experience today visiting Nametsa Primary School.

To get to Nametsa, one traverses steep, narrow roads that look like dry creek beds and crosses several streams, most with bridges but a couple without. 5-6 kilometers from the school, one abandons the car and sets out on foot "to the backside of the mountain" as I was told. At this point the real fun begins, as one climbs narrow, rocky footpaths (all in the equatorial sun no less). The children who trek to school each day usually do it barefoot; I, at least, had on fairly sturdy shoes. The women often take this route with bags of maize or other foodstuff on their heads; I did not have to maintain such erect posture. The men carry in all supplies for building or farm supplies on their backs; I had my hands free.

All I could think about while I made the trip was how did the people in this remote area access health care? When I asked my question of the Head Teacher, he told me that most choose not to try. Even if an ill or injured person manages the rough terrain, most do not have the few shillings required for a clinic visit. In fact, a 7th grade boy died last week because the family did not have the 15 shillings for his medication (approximately 20 cents).

In spite of an energetic principal, the people at Nametsa seem to be without hope inasmuch as they are without many visible resources. Since this was my first visit, it is difficult for me to sort out the causes of the bleak atmosphere: at some point, did the people give up trying to create a better life for themselves, or do they continue to try but are thwarted at every turn? Probably some combination of the two. In any case, the people of Nametsa are tired, sick and hungry.

I walked the school grounds, talking to guardians, teachers and students. I heard three things over and over: first, please understand how difficult life is in on this remote side of the mountain; second, please tell the people in Indiana how appreciative everyone is of the school lunch program; and finally, please don't forget us. The first two requests don't bother me -- I will try to understand and I will do all I can to convey the people's thanks. However, that last request haunted me all the way back to the car. What would it be like to live in such isolation and poverty? I think the fear of being forgotten would be very real.

Grace and Winnie

Today was a great time visiting a wonderful friend, Grace Atero. Grace and I met in 2007 when the Project just had gotten underway and we had enrolled only 7 secondary school students (we are over 100 now). One of those 7 students was at Ogada Secondary School, where Grace served as the visionary and dynamic Principal. We quickly became friends, and I have visited with Grace every trip since. She is one of the Umoja Project's strongest local advocates, with a shared understanding of service and partnership. Sadly, in January Grace was involuntarily transferred to Mawego Girls School, quite a distance from Chulaimbo. The transition has not been easy for her, so it was important for Joseph and me to take the day to go visit her in her new surroundings.

Umoja Project Assistant Judith Winnie Amollo was with us for the day. Although a generation apart, Grace and Winnie actually have quite a bit in common -- both are passionate about finding ways to support and mentor girls to become full participants in their communities.

As a secondary school student, Winnie received tuition support from the Umoja Project her last two years, completing her final exams last November. In January she began a one-year contract as Project Assistant, a position offered to one of our graduates each year. Winnie is an inordinately bright young woman who succeeded in school against high odds. During her senior year alone, Winnie's sister died of complications from AIDS and her mother's illness has stopped responding to medications. Winnie has had to assume primary responsibility for her family, while also completing her schooling and beginning her first job. Nonetheless, she already is making a significant contribution to Umoja's work in the community.

Today, at Grace's school, Winnie had the opportunity to speak with several of the students. She eloquently told the girls about the difficulties she encountered in her own education and urged them to persevere just as she has had to persevere. She offered herself as a role model to these younger students, reminding them that if she could make it so could they. She talked with them about the importance of girls completing their education, setting high goals for themselves, and becoming strong members of their communities.

It really was quite an inspirational talk and I was moved to tears. We envision the Umoja Project having the potential to transform lives and women like Grace do everything they can to make that possible. Today, watching Winnie interact with the Mawego girls was an opportunity to see the impact that transformation can have long-term: as students like Winnie are given the support necessary to complete their education and fulfill their potential, they begin "paying back" by serving as inspirational role models for the students who follow.

Listening

The last couple of days have been a time simply to listen. First, I visited 5 secondary schools to listen to the Head Teachers talk about the problems girls encounter trying to complete their secondary education. Most schools start their lessons by 6:15 in the morning and don't dismiss until 12 hours later. The long hours, compounded by the long distances walked from home to school, mean that girls are walking in the dark, risking their safety every day. I listened, while the school administrators expressed their concern for these young girls and their hope that Umoja will find a away to allow more of the girls to enroll in boarding schools, although it is a much more expensive option than day school.

Then, a meeting with 9 young people who have their secondary school certificates but have not been able to continue school or find regular employment. I listened, while these young adults told me their individual stories, hoping that together we would hear common issues and discern possible solutions.

Finally, a meeting with the Head Teachers of the 15 primary schools with which Umoja Project partners. I listened as they talked about their struggles to balance all of the competing needs they must confront daily. Listened to their frustrations about working with very limited resources. Listened to their ideas about how the schools could work together more effectively.

Often, when folks from home talk about coming to see the Project, they want to come and DO something. It's a natural enough impulse, given the deep needs so many people have here. However, the last few days have shown me once again that most of the answers are already here; often, what is needed most is a listening ear, a few questions or small suggestions, and a commitment to help find necessary resources. Listening may not satisfy a need to solve problems immediately, but it does seem to be the basis for strong partnerships.

Erokamano

My command of the Dhluo language is limited to a few essential words, including "erokamano" which means "thank you." I love listening to people's prayers because I hear "erokamano" said so frequently I feel I actually understand almost all of the prayer.

Yesterday was no different as I went on home visits with some of the Hope Women's Group to deliver our greetings and a small supply of food to 8 elderly grandmothers. Except in the case of one grandma who was too ill to speak, all of the elderly women wanted to offer us a prayer before we departed. Erokamano... Erokamano... Erokamano.

For the most part, these grandmothers have nothing, making their prayers of gratitude all the more poignant. Almost all are too frail to work for others and some were too sick to work their own gardens. In every case but one, several orphaned grandchildren live with them. Just to give you an idea, here are a few of the notes I took along the way:

Susana, 80 years old. Lives with 5 grandchildren and ill daughter-in-law. One granddaughter profoundly disabled. School-aged children attend Marera Primary and receive school lunch and other support through Umoja.

Serefina, 67 years old. Lives with 4 total orphans (both parents deceased). Works when she can for food. Has one surviving daughter-in-law, who has no home so sleeps at Serefina's house. Children attend Marera Primary and receive school lunch.

Helida, 78 years old. Lives with 4 total orphans. Co-wife lives on compound with 5 total orphans. Home is dilapidated and wet when it rains. Children all home sick. When well, they attend Marera Primary and receive school lunch and other support through Umoja.

Pauline, 80 years old. Found her sitting in the sun by her garden, unable to move. Couldn't speak much other than to say she hadn't eaten in a long time. Desperately ate a cracker handed to her. Lives with one grandchild who attends Marera Primary. Child gets school lunch but goes to school hungry each day.

Rosebella, 76 years old. Stays with 9 grandchildren. No source of income. One child attended Marera Primary, but had been sent home from school because couldn't pay fees associated with testing.

Hearing story after story was exhausting, but what a great opportunity for me to better understand family issues which affect the children we serve. And how humbling it was to hear these stories of poverty and loss, and then stand with the grandmothers and lift up prayers of thanksgiving. Erokamano.