May 2nd, 2010
5:11 PM (Nairobi)
10:11 AM (Toronto)
You might get sick of hearing me say this, but Kenyan driving should be in the next Jackass movie. At one point, I saw two goats cross the road. Instead of stopping, cars zoomed by on either side. Seriously, do you need a licence here?
5:34 PM
Our driver took a right into a gated yard. In front of us were three buildings. One looked like a church, another was a school, and by elimination, the final building must be the orphanage. As the van ascended up the rocky road, about 20 kids started running towards the vehicle, all smiling and waving their hands. The van stopped and the kids opened the door. Every single one of them wanted to shake my hand and give me a hug. This is probably what Zac Efron feels like.
Sort of like this... kinda
Alex and I got out of the van and the kids took my luggage. I kind of felt bad watching one kid about the size of Tickle-Me-Elmo try and carry my 80 pound luggage bag. I tried to help out, but he smiled and told me in Swahili/English that I’ve been doing too much work to carry the bag. I guess sitting down and waiting on a plane is sort of like work.
The Orphanage was actually a nice complex. Certainly, I was a victim of media when it comes to depicting Africa. What I expected was to be surrounded by desert terrain, with no sense of a modern world anywhere. How wrong I was.
The kids brought us to the left section of the building; the volunteer wing. The same kid who was heaving my luggage opened the door to the building and my jaw opened with surprise. Not only was it big enough to rival any hotel room in Canada, but our apartment had a kitchen, a family room, 2 bedrooms, a separate room for a shower, and a bathroom with a toilet. The family room even had a flat screen television and four comfy couches. I was baffled by how wrong my expectations were.
I gave Elmo an appreciation high five and started unpacking my clothes in the room. Which, by the way I was sharing with Alex because there were two beds. I didn’t mind though. Alex was really quiet, but not one of those creepy “I think he may be a serial killer” quiet. He just kept to himself, which I’d rather have than someone who didn’t know when to shut up.
5:50 PM
As I finished unpacking the last of my clothes, there was a knock on the door. An elderly woman with a bright purple dress and a big waist opened the door. She told Alex and I that we were most welcome here in a Swahili accent. She introduced herself as Winnie, and asked if we were hungry. She could tell by my rapid reply that I was. She pointed to the living room table, which had two containers, culinary, and two glasses of water. I walked over and lifted the lid on one of the containers to find white rice mixed with carrots. The other had a stir fry of veggies and steak. Needless to say, it was fantastic. I think I’m going to like it here.
6:52 PM
I finished unpacking most of my luggage under my bed. The room I’m situated in is about what you would find in a typical college dorm. Space is certainly a commodity, one that Alex and I don’t have much of. We did, however, make a system so we can manoeuvre in and out of the bedroom without having to hop over bags and clothes. I laid out a blanket under my bed and organized all my clothes, folded neatly of course, under my bed. Alex, on the other hand, was smart and brought coat hangers and hung all of his clothes on little hooks that were luckily on his side. Once we were happy with our organization, we decided to explore the complex.
Our plan did not last long. The moment Alex and I walked out of our apartment, kids surrounded us. One taller boy, who I imagine is the leader of the group, introduced himself as John. He was almost as tall as I am, and towered over all the other children. I shook his hand firmly and introduced myself. He then went through the names of the 25 other children. I can barely remember what I ate for break feast this morning, let alone remember the names of all these kids. Fortunately, most of the names were biblical and western friendly. One boy with dirt on his nose grabbed my hand and introduced himself as Kevin. I suddenly realized it was the same kid who brought all my luggage in my apartment. I think I’ll remember that.
7:20 PM
We spent the majority of the evening walking around the outside of the building with the children. The kids seem to have a lot to play with. Including a somewhat muddy field, dusty toys from the 90’s (I saw some old school power rangers toys), and a playground so dangerous, it would make the average Canadian mother shriek in horror. I’m talking about a swing with its seat tied together by fraying twine, a horizontal round-a-bout that is just resting on soft soil and occasionally falls if you put too much weight on one side and a slide with a few broken pieces of glass at the bottom. I’m not exaggerating here.
Dangerous is an overstatement
Moments entering the park, about 13 kids demanded that I push them on the deathtrap they call a ‘swingu’. I walked over with them practically hanging off my arms and agreed to give each individual 10 seconds of pushing. A little girl with braided hair hoped on the chain and smiled at me as I started to push. Within seconds, the kids started arguing over where they were in line. The first causality was Kevin, when another boy with snot hanging off his nose shoved him into the direct path of the trajectory of the girl I was pushing. Kevin got a flying swing-kick into the stomach and fell down like a sack of potatoes. I stopped the swing and expected to hear my first case of African child cry, but was shocked to find Kevin getting up and walking over to the swing line… without tears. African children are sure tougher than any you would find in Canada. I guess playing in parks with glass does that to you.
7:21 PM
Before I could discipline Snotty Nose, all the kids started screaming and running towards the gate. I looked up and saw another Muzungu (“white man”) walking up the rocky road. Although it was hard to see what he looked like because the kids were surrounding him as if he was a magnet, I’m sure he was around my age. Kevin, with even more dirt now on his nose, told me that he was Kent, a volunteer who has been at the Orphanage for the past four months. Jesus, this guy must be a big brother to these kids. He walked up to where Alex and I were standing and shook our hands. “Usually they [the kids] aren’t this excited to see me, but I haven’t been here for a week”, Kent said. He was from New Zealand and loved rugby. From the few conversations we had, he seemed hilarious. He looked at Snotty Nose and yelled, “Simon! How many times do I have to tell you to use tissues, it looks like someone threw a green chunky custard at your nose.”
9:24 PM
The kids all went to bed. Alex, Kent, and I sat down in the family room and talked about pretty much everything. From his stories, he seemed to have lived everywhere. When he was 6, he moved from New Zealand to Japan. Then after 4 years, he moved to Thailand, and finally moved back to New Zealand. I asked him if he was fluent in all those languages, and he causally remarked, “nah, I forgot”. In fact, he said he wanted to forget learning Japanese because when he lived there from grades 6 to 9, he was bullied because he was the only white kid in his class. Imagine the plot from The Karate Kid, but minus all the Kung Fu, and that’s pretty much Kent’s Jr. High years. He definitely has a A-style personality.
10:00 PM
Tiredness overwhelmed my consciousness. I barely had the energy to pop my malaria pill.
