Since arriving in Africa, I have found that the most memorable experience have been unplanned. I knew when I got here that there would be a two week period when the girls would be away from Daraja. I had planned on volunteering at a clinic or hospital while they were gone. Medicine is my passion, so it seemed the logical place to go. It was not until I crossed paths with the “pants less boy” that I realized what it was I really needed to do here. I saw him standing at the Daraja rock. He was wearing a dirty sweater and no pants. That night I dreamt about children covered in bugs, I saw them every time I closed my eyes. I could not stop thinking about this child, so dirty, seemingly helpless. But to my surprise he screamed, “How are you” as we drove by.
I decided maybe I should try to volunteer at an orphanage. Someone mentioned that there was one only minutes from Daraja, so we made the calls and set up a time to meet. As Jenni and I walked up to the compound, we could see children running around. There were twenty-six children, between the ages of three and twenty-two. The orphanage is run by a man known as Pastor John. He and his wife take care of all the children, six who are his own. I was so impressed by his selflessness; I knew this was where I would want to spend my time.
The next morning I woke up early and tried to prepare myself. I was nervous to go alone, but I tried to remind myself that this was not about me. As I walked alone to Mara Moja Orphanage, I felt as if I was about to go on a first date. What if they didn’t like me? What if they didn’t want my help? My silly fears were squashed the moment I arrived. The children came to greet me, and immediately put me to work. First I helped to wash the breakfast dishes. The cooking is done completely with fire, and most of the pots were black with soot. I scrubbed as hard as I could but it still took hours. Then they told me to hop up on a donkey so we could go fetch water from the river. I thought they were joking, but they were not. So I hopped up on that donkey and got on my way. I was shocked that these children were going to drink water directly from the river, but they insisted that their bodies had adapted.
The most memorable moment came when a three year old girl was examining my hands. She looks so confused, and I asked someone to tell me what she was saying in Swahili. She said “why are your hands so clean and I am so dirty”. My heart sank down to my stomach, but at that moment another little girl bent down to grab some dirt. She proceeded to take the dirt and rub it all over my legs. She took a step back to admire her work, and a huge smile spread across her face.
I had originally planned on staying for two to three hours, but eight hours later I found myself rolling chapatti. I kept thinking that I could leave whenever I wanted. I could go back to my clean drinking water and warm bed, but these children had to stay. Everyday they worked this hard, so I told myself to suck it up. It is clear to me that my heart is no longer my own. I have given it to Africa, and I would never take it back.
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