From Despair to Here

When I was 9 I went William Gray Junior School, I watched cartoons on the TV, played Nintendo (oh yes), played football in the park with my friends & probably picked my nose too often. I think that’s how it’s meant to be on the whole?

How was your life at 9?

What if as a girl by the age of 9 your mum had died, your dad died and your step mum dumped you in the middle of the city to fend for yourself after accusing you of being a witch so that you knew you could never go home again? What if when trying to survive on the street you had been attacked by a group of men in the worst way possible? What then?

How about at 15?

What if you were living on the streets, 7 months pregnant eating only when circumstances are fortunate were fortunate to you.  Maybe you were very ill as well, potential Malaria? And of course you haven’t been able to see a doctor because there is no free healthcare. Maybe the reason you left home 18 months ago was because your single mum was a prostitute running a brothel out of your small home.

There are times when what you hear is almost too much. There are times you can be overwhelmed by the catalogue of catastrophes that have befallen a young persons’ life. You can be so incredulous at the inhumanity or despondent in the darkness that rational thought is beyond you.

But there are times you can say thank you Lord that someone is here for this child. Both of these children are now living & being loved in our short term girl’s home along with 8 other girls.  A place they can stay for as long as they need.

The stories above are all too common. There was a numbing inevitability the first time I was told one of these stories, because I knew it was coming. It happens all over the world & I knew it happened here. But still. But still.

There is little value in debating the whys. How can you find a coherent argument that will help?

And no, with respect, this is not an invitation to send me your thoughts on why it happens, I do have an understanding & I am sure that God will show me what I need to see to understand more. Thank you.

My friends who work with children in another developing world city with immense poverty once said that they had come to understand that if they stopped to consider what was happening to people living in the vast slums of the city, really consider it, the horrors… they would struggle to make it through each day.

When I spend time with these girls if I consider what has happened to them, really consider it… I would probably crumble into a heap of tears on the floor or just want to hug them until everything was better. Therefore without forgetting or neglecting what has gone before I purely choose to see them as they are now, on face value.

That is the tragedy of all of this, that I have introduced two smart, funny, nutty, crazy, amazing kids by all that is bad in their past. I did it so easily & genuinely have only realised that now.

I really didn’t know what I was going to say when I started writing this blog, I just knew that I needed to write it. I guess I wanted you to know a little more about the mission of Kimbilio & for you to be praying for (or just thinking of) these girls. But now it is evident. We must see these girls for the wonderful people they are & will grow into & they must know that is who they are. But that is easy for us to say.

I learnt over the years that there is immense power in telling someone something that is obvious to everyone who really knows them, but so difficult to hear – ‘You are a good person.’

But it’s hard.

It’s hard to see yourself as a good person if you have suffered the vicious actions of others who tell you it’s happening to you as your deserved punishment.

It’s hard to see yourself as a good person as you lie under whatever shelter you can find to make your bed for the night wondering why this has happened to you.

It’s hard to see yourself as a good person when you find yourself once more searching for an escape, some respite at the bottom of the bottle of glue you are inhaling.

It’s hard to see yourself as a good person when you have to do bad things just to survive on the street. When you have to sell your body just to survive.

And then you bring yourself, in rotten, filthy clothes, tired & almost defeated from another night on the street to come to a day centre in hope more than expectation of something, something that will make a change.

This is the story for the girls before they come to the short term ‘transit’ house.

(This is also the story for the girls who we simply cannot place in the house. Theirs is a story I will tell you another time.)

 

There is much I would like us to be able to do with them, but we are a small charity & resources are not as easily accessible here as in the West even if money were no object. I am trying to share what I know, link with those who understand more & bring in what we can.

But for now we simply love these girls. We give them a place of security & safety in a genuinely lovely home with full time carers where they are fed & clothed & given a safe, warm bed each evening. We show them acceptance for who they are now not who we want them to be. And we show them they are significant, that they matter by teaching them French & Maths as well as teaching them to sew (a very valuable business skill here) and by giving them one-to-one care & attention.

All the time our reintegration team are working with the family of the child to bring restoration.

Our girls transit house

But let me end with this.

Each time I go to the girls’ transit house I get swamped as the children come running at me shouting “Monsieur Ian! Monsieur Ian!” (although it kinda sounds more like ‘Missy Ian! Missy Ian!’). We then joke around with my limited Swahili & their limited English! And why all the excitement? Cause they know we are going to play games! They each act out the actions of their favourite games as we get over the language barrier!

And then we just hang out & play games, pull silly faces & laugh, a lot!

Right there, right then, that’s who they are.