To A Kenyan Clinic

Post-Porridge Smile

I’m beginning to get the distinct impression that I am completely and totally full of it.  When push comes to shove, do I really love well?  When it’s dirty, and loud, and lonely, and overwhelming, do I really make an effort to be gracious, or kind, or patient?  Do I really believe in the power of hope when I watch a shell of a boy stumble and fall as his pants fall off his skeletal frame, too weak to walk any longer without assistance?  Do I still show up for people when all I want to do is hide out?  Do I honestly let go of my cultural bias and white privilege to fully immerse myself into a world where I’m the outsider, the foreigner, the minority?  I hope so.  I want to.  But I’ve never been less sure.

I It took several days and multiple forms of transportation before finally arriving here to the Sister Freda’s Medical Centre in northwestern Kenya.  Originally created to meet the needs of the neediest around, it now includes a hospital, a coed nursing college, a high school for girls, an orphanage, and an educational feeding program for nearly 200 preschoolers from the surrounding slums.  There are a few generously planted acres that feed those of us living here, as well as animals of all shapes and sizes.Though I’m relieved to report the only roommates I’ve had so far have been of the chameleon variety.  Thank you, Jesus.

I was given the tour and a warm welcome, then began scribbling Kiswahili into my trusty notebook.  I’ve learned how to light my lantern during the rolling brownouts, developed an affinity for Kenyan cabbage, and am proud to say I can now fully shower in under a minute.  I no longer have the distinctly foreign luxury of seeing mosquito nets as an exotic novelty, but have come to appreciate their protection, however tangled I find myself each morning.  I am, slowly, adjusting.

More than any professional skill set I thought I’d be using, I spend my days among the children.  In addition to a handful of staff children on the property, there are 9 orphans living here, most of whom arrived as babies.  They average around 9 years old, though very few if any of them know their actual date of birth.  They are demonstrative in their affection, laugh often, and have a voracious appetite for learning; each the embodiment of the kind of person I want to become.  I have a lot to learn.