Mama Margaret told me about a dream last time I was in Kenya, it was to start an orphanage. In 2007, Kenya experienced post election violence that displaced 600,000 and killed 1,100. The majority of those killed and displaced were of the Kikuyu tribe, one of the 30+ tribes in Kenya and where Margaret and Simon trace their heritage. After the violence, thousands of Kikuyus ended up in the rift valley in an Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) refugee camp. When I was here in 2009, part of our ministry was to pass out food in the IDP as well as preach on the weekends in the outdoor church, held under a tree. There were many orphans in the IDP camp, kids who had lost their families in the displacements or who had watched them be killed, simply because they were of a certain people group. Margaret found many of these kids in the camp and prayed to one day have a proper home for them to live and be cared for.
I walked in to the answering of these prayers a few nights ago. It’s called Crying Children of Africa Home, it opened it’s door to 17 fantastic kids in January. They greeted me at the door with huge hugs and smiles, though there was an underlying sadness in them. One of the older boys asked Margaret how long I was staying, she told him one and he interrupted with “One year?”, the disappointment was obvious when she said, “No, one night." I met one of the volunteers from America when we arrived, she was headed out the door for a few nights rest in Kijabe. She is 23, same as me, and has been one of the three house parents since the beginning of the orphanage. She and two others, all 23 and from the States, had been parents to the kids since their arrival. They made sure they were fed, went to school, did their homework, chores and lead them towards the Lord daily. The other girl who had been working at the home had left that morning to go back to school in the States, the Lord is leading her to become a surgeon. The kids, were distraught at her leaving. One little girl burst into tears in Margaret’s lap, she was loosing one of her "Auntys". Margaret later told me that this little girl had watched her parents be shot and killed, right in front of her little eyes. One little boy, James, attached himself to me immediately. He climbed up into my lap and didn’t leave till it was dinner. They guessed him to be 6, but since he had been an orphan since a toddler, no one really had any real idea.
That night, in an effort to distract from the sadness of having neither one of their normal Auntys at home, I set my laptop up for the kids to watch How to Train Your Dragon. It was quite hillarious, watching these kids scream when the dragons would blow fire. I wasn’t with American kids, that was for sure. At no time, did I have less than 2 kids on my lap. One little one, cried on and off during the whole movie, she knew one of her Auntys, one of her mother figures, was not going to be coming back, at least not for a very long time.
Most of the girls fell asleep during the movie so I carried them into bed, gave them a kiss and turned the lights out. I went into the boys room for prayers, but was rocked by what I was hearing. One of the boys, probably about 10 years old, was praying from his bed when I came it. The emotion in his voice was clear, and heartbreaking. There are few things in the world that move me like hearing boys, of any age, cry. Girls cry, let’s just be honest. But little boys, especially african boys, don’t really cry all that much. He was hurting, and I was feeling his hurt. All I could think of, was how unfair this all was. I don’t blame the Aunty for going back to America, at all. I don’t know if I could be one of three young adults to care for and be the mother for 17 kids. She and the other two impress me so much. But now, these kids who had just become attached to her as their mother figure, were in bed facing the reality that they had just lost her. I could feel their cry for security, for true belonging. For home and a real Mom and a real Dad. It is so unfair! Theses little kids, didn’t do anything wrong, at all. They had their parent’s ripped from them and now were blessed to be living in a home, but still had to face the pain of being an orphan. The tears flowed.
After that little guy prayed one of the longest and most painful prayers I have ever heard, I closed in prayer for the room. All I could ask for was the Comforter to come and comfort, do what He does best. I turned to leave when all of the boys starting yelling, “Aunty Alyssa, kisses!!” I turned around, smiled, and went to give all the boys a kiss on the cheek before turning the lights out.
I had a hard time sleeping. I was insanely thankful to God for the piece of land that God gave Simon and Margaret, to build a beautiful home and that God had supplied workers in this home. I prayed that he would send another to replace the one who had just left. In the middle of my genuine thanks and praise, I was still so sad. I want each of those awesome kids to have a real Mom and a real Dad, who never has to leave, never has to go “home”, never has to say goodbye. I don’t know what God has in store for me in the future, but I know in some way, I will be a forever Mom to some precious kid who deserves one so bad.
If anyone would like to get involved in helping Crying Children, I would ask you to check out cryingchildrenofafrica.org. Of the many ministrys I have have served in around the world, this one is one of the ones that I would stand behind the most, asking for your prayers and support. The home still does not have a well, water is carted in daily by donkeys. They need to raise several thousand dollars to build this well. If you would like to donate or feel led to visit the home to serve, short or long term, please visit the website and contact them!
