Day Six - A Pile of Crap

Today we spent the day in a part of town, known to the people of Nakuru as London. We would call it the city dump. Why, do you ask, did we spend the day in the landfill? Because we went to visit the village of poor families and orphans that live there in it.

Today was probably the hardest day we've faced here. As Douglas and I and crew climbed our way to the top of the pile of garbage, we had to focus on not gagging as not to embarrass the villagers that were so welcoming to us in their homes. The stench was almost unbearable. As we climbed we were surrounded by villagers - men, women, children just old enough to walk, as they sifted through the waste to find scraps they could sell or use for their families. Many children walked through the mountains of trash and broken glass with no shoes and only the clothes that they had managed to pull out of the rubbish.

We walked from home to home, welcomed by the families that lived there, to hear what life is like for them and what needs they are facing. We left in each house we visited a bucket of essentials that were put together back at the house. We found a few families that we were able to share the story of God's love for them with. For a couple of those families, we were able to pray with them to accept that love. It was very difficult for me though to find a way to talk about a good God in the midst of such a perverse environment. No one - no one should be forced to live like that - certainly not innocent people...children.

In the short time that we spent here in Nakuru, hands down, the hardest moment of the trip ransacked me today. As we were leaving one of the homes, an a old women who only talked about how good God is to her, eventually broke down in tears and shared in Kswahili that one of her grandchildren that she cares for had been badly burned. When we asked if we could see the child she led us to the small bedroom where we found a child, laying face down, with a burn spanning across the entire lower back. The burn was so bad, there was no skin left on the child, it had burned all the way to the bone. When we asked what had happened, she said it was an accident, but also that her family was feuding...? We gave her money to immediately take her child to the hospital and get it treated. If we hadn't gotten there today, that child would have continued to suffer and potentially not survive. It was hard to see, but when I realized that this young boy was the age of my Conner, I - lost - it.

So much emotion filled us as we walked through the streets, we weren't able to speak to each other.

There were some bittersweet moments during our time there. I was surrounded by children hungry for love and attention as we walked. They loved getting they're picture taken and seeing it on the camera. It almost cause a riot. As I walked, I at all times had two, three, or four children hanging onto me - holding my hand, squeezing my leg. They had obviously not seen too many "Mazungu" (pasty white guys) before. They would laugh and laugh as they rubbed the hair on my arms or felt my stubbly beard.

They erupted when I lifted up my shirt to show them the hair on my chest - they laughed and shouted. I was petted every time I bent down. They all wanted to be held, and though they were filthy dirty - they were completely irresistible.

It was a despicably disgusting place, and at the same time, filled with so much beauty. I couldn't get it to fit in my mind.

-Chris