Maxmilla update. Day in Kipsongo.

Driving up to the front of the property stands a small, brick building with a few rooms.  One room houses beaded necklaces that the mamas have crafted, desperately using skills they have learned to bring in money for their family.  Some of these mamas are alcoholics.  Some are prostitutes.  Some have had husbands who have died.  All are very poor.

They are loved.

Walking along the fence, children of all ages greet us, reaching out to shake our hands.  Again, 5 children fighting over one of our fingers is not an exaggeration.  Pantless, shirtless, shoeless, some fully clothed, they hold tight.  Runny noses, scraped knees, smiles.  “What is your name, Mzungu {white person}?” “Give me a sweet.” Giggles. They remind me of my own children.

They are loved.

A middle-aged man sitting on the ground without a mat, a chair, support for his HIV-strickened body.  Feet and ankles swollen in pain.  Begging for mercy-for someone to help take away his burden, he looks at us.  I look away quickly, trying to search my heart for the right thing to do.  Using a translater, I gather up the courage to whisper close to his face to tell him that God loves him and understands the pain he is enduring.  It makes me feel uncomfortable.  But God never said we would be comfortable always, He just promises that we will never be alone and He will always give us what we need in every moment.  We walk away, blinking tears back as I feel so .

He is loved.

We go around a couple of bends, lower into this place, and come upon Sarah, an elderly woman who just months ago was lying neglected surrounded by dozens of people who viewed her as a burden.  She sees me and takes a moment to remember why I may be familiar. Her eyes light up and she asks how Amy is and says she felt that we had forgotten her.  Sarah asks me to greet Amy.  She tells me that TODAY she is being cared for.  She eats a banana that we brought for her and tells us of stories about how God has cared for her needs.  She lives in a small, one room hut.  Her only belongings are the clothes on her back and a mattress.  She is happy.  I am relieved.  Amy, I hope you read this and are JOYFUL.  Sarah is well and is being looked after well.

She is loved.

Familiar voices call my name.  At this time they think my name is “Sarah”.  I didn’t catch on until I paid attention to what they were saying as my arms were being yanked on.  “Lindsay”, I say.  “LEEEEEENSAY”, the kids try to repeat. “Sarah LEEEEENSAY”.  I go with the flow.

I see Maximilla and her sister Tabitha.  They greet me with big smiles and I see immediately that they are quite the chatter boxes.  I pretend to know what they are saying.  Not speaking or understanding Kiswahili is beginning to becoming incovenient.  They take us to their home where we find Selena, their mom.  She is holding another mama’s baby so that baby’s mama can work today.  Selena shows me how the walls in her home are caving in.  There are big holes in the ceiling and I remember this week’s hard, long rains that are unusual for this time of year.  Her home is 6 feet by 9 feet generously.   It houses a bed, a curtain, mosquito net and a few pots and pans.  All of their earthy possessions.  We speak to her about her story, how she desires to support her daughters.

Selena, Maximilla, Tabitha are all loved.

As we walk back to our car, we see children playing in a river of water, swollen by the recent rainfall, sewage, and garbage.

Surely life cannot exist in a place like this.  It does.

I hear this place called Kipsongo slum has been swarmed with missionaries. People who have come in and tried to help.  It’s a place that I feel drawn to love here and make a difference, somehow.  I hope some way I can make a difference here.  Below are some photos of the area that we visited today.  Somewhere there is beauty in these ashes.

 Isaiah 58: 11
“The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scortched land and will strengthen your fram.  You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.”