Today we are scheduled to go to the BOMA Rescue Mission for children living off the dump. Its something I have been waiting for— which tells you a bit about me. I’ve been eyeing this trash city behind the shacks lining the street for some time now. You can catch glimpses of it every now and then— it seemingly goes on forever. These kids live near it, on it , in it. They are more destitute than the kids attending Holy Cross/ St James because most of them don’t go to school. They can’t afford to… more on that in it minute.
Our Guide Paul tells us sternly (which for him is a novelty) that when the bus stops we must stick together. No dawdling. No wandering about. We are to haul our butts quickly up a steep hill and disappear from view into the BOMA rescue. The neighborhood is not welcoming and is “rough” he says. I nod. Yes, I will be hauling it--- as several people give us the eye on our way in.
Once we stop our bus and park, we get off in record time and I think I actually —for once— did not take any pictures on our climb up to the mission. We scurried in and the metal gate doors shut behind us. Inside are about 30 kids sitting on bleachers, waiting for us. They are a sight— dirty, no shoes or mismatched ones, clothes torn, and hanging off them. The kids stare at us— we are all lost for speech. None of the kids come running toward us— which is what we experienced nearly everywhere else. These kids are uber reserved, shy.
But that dissipates within nano seconds when the soccer balls come out. I could barely take any pictures, these little kids became speed-of-light blurs. They grab at our cameras, they do acrobatics, they laugh and play until we called time out. They exhaust us, and we love it. I was never so moved in my life as I was talking to some of these children. They are all tough exterior because of their neighborhood, and soft chewy insides— because they’re still kids.
We hand out new clothes and new shoes and they all instantly vanish into rooms to change… girls and boys can suddenly be told apart. Remember, they all wear very short hair, torn tee shorts and pants and a lot of dirt. Suddenly the girls are in adorable dresses and the boys in slacks and shirts. WOW— they are good looking and they feel it. Grins from ears to ears. We all hug and take pictures and share final goodbyes.
Here is the heartbreaking part. I found out that even though school is free in Kenya until grade 9… they still charge for meals and administration costs and uniforms. So that comes out to about 60.00 dollars per school year. Sounds super cheap— to you and me. These kids however are usually bread-winners, and/or orphans, poorest of the poor. Their families (if they have them) make about 30.00 dollars a month—and that is for food and rent. They cannot spare 60.00 to send their kids to the “free" schools. And their kids go trash diving for money, grabbing anything that can be used or recycled… so the parents are loathe to give them up to schools. Its truly a lose-lose situation. And while BOMA offers some place for these kids to BE during the day with sports activities and such, they have no funding for classrooms or teachers. SO… they are in dire shape and need aid. That is where my heart is— today and the rest of my journey.
Kathryn Haydn
