As
we approached Kibera on the main road all we could see past the
massive trash pile was metal rooftops for as far as our eyes would
allow us. As our noses were assaulted with rotting garbage and human
waste, we gingerly took our first steps off the road and into the
trash heap. We had no idea what to expect as we entered this foreign
world, but we were initially told that we would need to hire an armed
guard if we wanted to visit Kiberra and now here we were with 3
members of the church we were working with and a man named Kevin. The
question crossed all of our minds “Why did they tell us we
needed an armed guard, and if we needed it where is it?”, but we
pressed on in the confidence that God would go before us and surround
us with his protection.
As
we passed through the trash heap we began to meet some of the
children that would become so precious to us, and this trash heap
began looking more like a neighborhood instead of a place of pity. We
made our way across the small river of gray mystery water, and into
the maze of houses and shops. Immediately we received stares and
looks of curiosity from the residents, I can only imagine what they
were thinking as 7 white girls passed by their houses. We bent low to
shake the hands of the children that crossed our paths and we were
welcomed by them with the sing song question of “how are you, how
are you, how are you”. For most of these small children it was the
only english words they knew and they wanted to proudly display their
knowledge and be able to communicate with these foreigners.
The
houses either shared a wall with the one next to it or were at least
just inches away, and the “alley-ways” we walked through could
have only been 3 feet across in most parts. It truly was a maze, and
these alley-ways were littered with garbage and waste and who knows
what else. I winced as I watched children run through these same
alley-ways without any shoes. It was hard for my western mind
comprehend and take in all that I was seeing. The disparity between
my childhood and theirs was almost more than I could bare to think
about. I began to think to myself, how did I get so lucky to be born
into a family that not only loves me but was able to care for me and
provide for me more than just my basic needs? I had to continually
remind myself that God is sovereign and his ways and thoughts are
higher than my own, and just rest in that thought.
We
had come to Kibera to visit our new friend Kevin’s organization. He
began an organization to help the women of Kibera make money for
their families. It is essentially a shoe making ministry that teaches
women how to bead and make sandals. The shoes are beautifully done,
and are a stark contrast to the environment in which they are
created. As we browsed the assortment and talked with the women there
I noticed the small gathering of children outside the shop door. I
couldn’t help but be drawn to them.
As
soon as I stepped out the door I was met with that same sing song
question, “how are you?” These children knew english pretty well
and were only happy to have me join their childhood games. Playing
those playground games with them probably ministered to my heart more
than theirs. It helped me reason that these children at least had
some semblance of the childhood I knew, but I knew better. These
children faced the risk of rape, murder and assault just by stepping
outside their house.
In
Kibbera you are considered a miracle if you survive birth, as
evidenced by the gruesome pictures we saw of a baby boy discarded as
a piece of trash in the trash heap just days before we arrived. In
Kibbera the price for stealing is death by fire, in the middle of the
street, in the middle of the day, in front of all your neighbors big
and small. We saw a picture of one such man who was brought to
“justice” only a week before and it broke my heart to see a small
boy standing next to the man watching him writhe and die in agony.
These children are taught survival of the fittest from the time they
can reason, perhaps even before that. I was wrecked to say the least.
I didn’t know how to process all that I had seen and experienced that
day.
As
we walked back to our warm meal, more than we could ever eat, and our
nice beds, and our warm showers with plenty of clean water, and more
clothes than they have ever owned. All we could offer the small
children that followed us back was our food and some love, and as
they left to go back home that night my heart ached for Kiberra. I
wrestled and still do with how I am blessed with so much and am
really no different than them that live in the trash heap. The only
conclusion that I can come up with is that I have no right to
question God’s plan and all I can do is obey and follow the plan and
path that he has for me with thanksgiving and praise in my heart,
never forgetting that everything that I have is not my own it is clay
in the potters hand. If God sees that it is right to entrust me with
all this then who am I to question His fairness, he has given me
much, given you much so that you and I can give much in this life.
