I Love You Like Fried Fish

It's not that easy, all this walking around pretending to have it together. It's not easy being comfortable. What is easy? That's a question I don't know the answer to anymore. I came to Nairobi on Sunday to work with street kids, and in those few days, they've undone me. Things I once held as important, correct, comforting are gone and only a figment of imagination in the life of a street child.

I've been staying at the drop-in-center in Eastleigh with the team. The first day there was "mom/kid" day, where all the street moms bring their kids, who are employed with some crafts and games of sorts while the moms play games and have a small lesson. Afterwards they have lunch together. Lunch usually consists of spiced rice with some fat chuncks.While the moms were playing games and singing, I saw a little girl on the floor crying. I went over to her and picked her up, only then realizing that she'd peed in her pants and her clothes were soaked in urine. Trying to ignore the smell,I took the lesso she was sitting on and put it underneath her while I held her. Her mom came over and gave her a little mini-toothpaste box, which she played with incessantly while I held her.After a little while I went into the pack patio area where different stations were set up for the little kids. They had puzzles, etcha-sketches, plato, etc. and were having the time of their lives. Supposedly they normally run around like little devils, but they were unusually calm this day. Soon enough I heard the all too familiar cry of "mazungu!" and I feel a hard slap on my rear.. I turn around to see a mischevious little girl, hair wild, with a huge grin.. She reached out to slap me again, so I went over before she was able to reach me and tickled her and all the others at her table. I spent the rest of their time going between tables and admiring all their work and puzzles, etc. ... They are starving for attention...

After lunch I crashed for a little bit, and then woke up to find two street girls washing their clothes outside. When I asked if I could help, one girl Carolyn, only laughed at me, but eventually said yes. When I tried washing them, she erupted in more laughter, unable to contain her amusement from my inability to handwash properly. She turned to Fatuma and told her something in Swahili. Fatuma turned to me and said, "She says you do not know how to wash. ..But at least you are trying." I spent maybe an hour with them washing their clothes, their babies' clothes, rinsing, laughing.. Baba, Fatuma's little boy, started crying, and so she picks him up and starts nursing him right then and there. I've seen it a lot here, but I'm still not use to the freedom in NOT covering up. Soon enough he starts up again, and this time she pulls his pants off and takes a rag and wipes his bottom. (I was secretly praying that she would wash that one before she gave it to me to wash the second time.) Lily, Carolyn's daughter, was over in the corner playing with the wall (kind of entertaining to watch) when she started crying.. I went over to pick her up and suddenly felt a wet spot on my jeans. Oh yes. It's what you think.

We went to bed pretty early that night and woke up a little early as well. Tuesdays are the guy days where boys come, have games and a lesson and lunch. At the same time that they started, I went with Anthony and Ann to town (Nairobi) to look for pregnant street girls. We walked around for a while before finding any street people at all. They'd been chased away that morning by the police, so they wouldn't be back till night. We finally came across a family, maybe 6 or 7 people, all drugged up on the side of the way. The mom was semi force feeding her kid ugali and vegetables, while one of the family members was passed out beside her. He had flies crawling all over his face, in and out of his mouth. He never stirred. Ann and Tony started speaking to them, which I assume was about finding the pregnant girls. They pointed us to a nearby alley. Ann and Tony debated whether or not to go, probably because I was with them, but we went. As we walked down the alley, I almost stepped in what I can only assume to be human feces, and actually did somewhat step in the sewage. (Note: Always wear closed-toed shoes when walking through alley ways to look for street children.) There were a bunch of guys playing cards of some sort, and a mother lying on a piece of plastic with her baby beside her. They started talking again and told us that there were pregnant street girls around, but that they'd been chased away that morning and that we could only find them at night. The team has never gone out at night because its too dangerous, so I know they'd especially not go out since I'm with them. I'm not sure yet what's going to happen with that.

Later that afternoon, we went around Eastleigh to the different bases (places where different groups of street kids gather) to ask them to bring the pregnant girls to us. So many of them were as high as could possibly be. I could smell the glue on their breaths. Some of them were playing some sort of gambling game with shells. While there, one boy came up to me and said "I love you like fried fish!" I assume that's a good compliment, only because they probably never get to eat fried fish, and when they do, it's a huge treat. And as I was ever so kindly walking away from him, he yelled out that he would treat me good.. I'm sure he would. Another boy came up to me and told me, "Oh.. when I see you I recognize Mary, mother of Jesus. " Let me tell you, these street boys sure know how to use their pick up lines! :)

(I will explain later about the personal challenges that have gone along with this. I've been on for a while now and cannot connect to the blog site or to email, so this is my temporary posting. I hope to update often with stories of the kids I encounter and the challenges they bring.)