Orphans in Sori

I found myself at Karen Zwickert’s Children’s Home, an orphanage pristinely located on the banks of Lake Victoria. A lovely community of staff and a small group of children welcomed me. There were about 15 children living at the home that was built to house 160.  The beauty of the land, friendliness and dedication of the staff and the warmth of the children impressed me.I spent hours discussing the current business model for the home with Bob Okeyo, the director of the home.  He was a local teacher who Karen Zwickert had picked to be the manager of the orphanage. She was inspired to build the home after seeing the conditions in which the local orphans were living.  They were pressed into a small room of a nearby hospital, several children to each tiny twin-sized bed.As I understand it, Karen raised the capital for the project through the non-profit organization based in Oregon called African Band Aid and she sold her own house in order to generate money to build the Sori orphanage.  She saw her dream realized. The orphanage at one time housed 150 children, however, dependent upon donations from America for basic operational costs, when donations from African Band Aid were greatly reduced due to the economic crisis, the project lost steam and the operation began shrinking.  The staff stayed on in hopes of finding new funding sources. Many children left for the summer months. Food began to run low and Bob was left with full responsibility for the operation of the home. I have great respect for Karen Zwickert for following her vision through to completion and feel dismayed that a stronger business model was not established sooner.  African Band Aid did exactly what the name suggests, put a temporary band-aid on the wound in Sori. There are more and more children orphaned everyday due to the AIDS epidemic- the cause of the wound is still present and can be seen throughout Kenya and, no doubt, the rest of Africa. I was moved by the story and knew I must act to help the situation. I spent 5 days brainstorming solutions and was delighted to discover that Bob had already started the work that we were discussing.  His plans included a micro business of growing and selling watermelons to sustain the orphanage financially, a secondary school to educate the children beyond the “free” primary education (similar to K-8th grade), and a community outreach center to provide education and resources to the wider community. As I dug deeper I was shocked to discover how little money was spent building the orphanage, the purchase price of the land and the operating costs.  Two acres of land had already been purchased for the school and there was another piece of land that had been negotiated which was closer to the water, bigger and which only cost approximately $2000 US for 2 acres.  The whole orphanage was built with around $160,000 US including kitchen, dorms, dining room and offices.  Plans for the school were around the same.  Operational costs for a full staff, food, school, and health care for the orphanage came to around $4000 US per month. Bob, Leah and I drafted a list of priorities. Emergency care was the first need- money for food and salaries to keep the operation afloat. The watermelon business next, the sustaining of the orphanage with its own year-round food production for the kids and staff, and then the building of the school. My work continues to rewardme with moments that hang colorfully on the wall of time. One boy named Amaziah* again confirmed the reason I am doing the work that I am. One night after the sun went down and darkness filled in the gaps, I had my first visit with the children.  They sang beautiful songs for me by the oil lamps’ light, as there is no electricity at the orphanage. Amaziah was the youngest and very angry.  His face was dark and fresh, there was a playful bird behind his anger and I was interested to see if he would let it fly. He didn’t speak English and refused to even look up when I was asking all the children about their lives. The children stood in a tidy chorus line singing songs that bounced off the walls of the empty dining room.  Amaziah sat in a chair apart from the others closed up and looking down at the ground.  I couldn’t help but stare at him, I could see who he really was hiding behind the anger.  When he looked up and noticed that I was seeing him he would look away.  Finally, by the 5th glance his face broke and he quickly moved his hand to cover his creeping smile.  He struggled to keep it hidden from me for the next 15 seconds as our eyes connected.  Then I left for the evening. The next day Amazaih was again on the periphery of the group.  I pulled out “Otto Dotto”** (one of Global Peace Train’s toys) and the other “peripheral beings”(stuffed animals and dolls). He lit up when I handed him the toy.  He carried it around in awe and I could see his happiness again bubbling up. His smile was bright and shining and he finally stepped off the periphery and into the moment where all the other children delighted in play. The last time I saw Amazaih he stood alone in a doorway watching as our car pulled out, no smile, only a look of longing on his face.  I waved as my heart spilled out across the red dirt road.

Journey to Sori

I have spent the last 5 days at The Karen Zwickert Children’s Home in Sori Kenya. The road leading here was dusty, without road signs. The dust billowed behind us in a giant cloud as we attempted to outrun it in an old beat up teal colored Toyota car. The road was in bad shape, as are most roads I’ve been on in Kenya. Our driver swerved back and forth trying to avoid the potholes. I could hear the grinding of the rocks on the undercarriage as we swerved down the rural road. Lehlia’s stomach finally reacted and we pulled over for her to throw up repeatedly. We passed through small towns consisting of rundown buildings, scooters, goats, chickens, cows and children in clothes that were caked with dirt and hanging in threads from their bodies. I couldn’t help but wonder why they were wearing the rags at all.Groups of people were sitting outside cooking on tiny coal fires, washing clothes in small tubs or walking to and from the outdoor market to fetch water or gather wood. I was surprised by the number of people sitting around. Many of them were groups of men. Groups of children around age 7, some as young as age 4, held babies who sat in the dirt without adult supervision. How different the world is here!People in Kenya appeared to have much less to do than we do in America, and yet everything here is more challenging. Doing the laundry takes all afternoon scrubbing clothes in plastic tubs. Despite the time spent it seems to be more effective. When Lehlia taught me how to do the wash the clothes appeared much cleaner from the hand scrubbing than back home. We save time in America by putting our clothes in a machine but then we have to add strong chemicals like bleach to make them come as clean as we would like. Faster, but at what cost? Technology is helping us speed up and cover more distance in less time but has it made us happier? Even the poorest children in Kenya seem to have a joy that is often not apparent in the children in the West. Materialism and the ongoing desire for “more” preoccupies even their young minds. It seems every car or van Leah and I enter breaks down. Sure enough the car we hired for the afternoon began to sputter and die. This was the third such vehicle we had hired in the last couple of days. The driver struggled up and down the small hills as we anticipated the final breakdown of the car. As we sputtered through another town I realized we must be close to our final destination when we took a turn off the main road and headed towards lake Victoria, the biggest freshwater lake in the world. It is a simple blue that stretches out like an ocean. Two men were following the car as we came to a stop for the guard to open the gate to the Children’s home. The car seemed to have one last breath as it struggled to roll past the gate and onto the lawn of our home for the next couple of days. We just barely made it, door to door. As I got out of the car I was stunned by the view. The property was lakeside and just 100 steps away was a stunning black sand beach with a group of naked men and boys bathing. They covered themselves head to toe in white suds and then went diving into the lake for a refreshing rinse. My head was swimming with thoughts. ” How freeing to be naked. How wonderful to bathe in the lake. What kind of soap are they using? That can’t be good for the lake and fish. Do they know that? Would biodegradable soap be less harmful?” My adventures with Leah and her family had lead me to the door of Global Peace Train’s mission. “We develop resources for those in need and have fun doing so”. I was then ready to prep the camera and record the story happening there in hopes of unravelling a system that could help the orphanage overcome dependence on outside donations from America to survive. ~Aja~