Reflections

Well, I have been back from my trip to Kenya for a little over 2 months now. I meant to write a blog post about my reverse culture shock when I got back, but between the jet lag and getting back into regular life, I just didn’t have the drive to do it.

I’m going to be straight with you. This message is a request for donations to Daylight Center and School, mixed in with some key reflections on my trip. If you don’t have time or want to spend the time reading this, then please simply make a tax-deductible donation to Daylight. A one-time gift of $100 will go really far right now for Daylight’s development, but any amount, no matter how small, is appreciated.

If you are already a Daylight donor, then thank you! Please enjoy some of the stories about how your donations are impacting the children and communities of rural Kenya. Please also share these stories with your friends and family who may be interested in supporting Daylight.

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It was week 6 of my 7-week trip in Kenya, and I was getting discouraged. I had the rare privilege of speaking with respected leaders in some of the most marginalized and hardest-to-reach places in rural Kenya. After many conversations, I had trouble accepting Daylight’s mission. These rural communities need help to come out to them, and I couldn't understand why Daylight decided to locate in an area that already had primary schools.

When I asked the rural, nomadic leaders how the Kenya government was working in their communities, they would ask “What government?” or say “I’ve heard of this thing called government, but have not seen it.”

They explained the issues of draught, hunger, and disease in their communities. I asked them whom they held responsible for fixing these issues. They responded by pointing to me, and asking me where the missionaries went (the British colonizers who left when Kenya became independent 50 years ago).

These people live in desert-like conditions and “subsistence farm” by raising cattle, goats, and camels. A person eats, on average, once per day. That meal consists of about 1 cup of milk taken from their livestock. Animal meat is only consumed for special occasions, such as during my visits.

In fact, during my visit in Alale, I was presented with the community’s fattest goat. And as the guest of honor, it was my duty to slaughter the goat, which meant slitting the goat’s throat. Fortunately, I’m not vegetarian, but I have never had to slaughter my food before eating it. I only wish my knife hadn’t been so dull!

There are a number of reasons why the nomads do not eat meat more often. Here are a few:

1. There is no monetary currency in these rural areas. How much livestock a person has is the only thing that identifies his wealth. 
2. They are concerned that if they eat meat more often, they would consume more than what could be reproduced. 
1. Lack in medicine means animal diseases can suddenly and greatly reduce the size of a person’s livestock. 
2. Cattle rustling (which is the raiding and stealing of livestock back and forth between neighboring tribes) can also suddenly diminish the size of a person’s livestock. 
3. They value and rely upon other resources the living animals provide, such as milk. 

Cattle rustling, mentioned in 2b above, is the sole cause for insecurity in the rural areas of Kenya. Some members of each tribe are “cattle rustlers,” meaning they carry semi-automatic rifles and wear faux-army fatigues to “protect” their community’s livestock when it is grazing. The reality is that these cattle rustlers do not only protect, they might also raid a neighboring tribe’s community for its livestock if due to draught, disease, or even a raid upon itself, its own livestock is depleted.

These rural communities take hours to drive to get to from Kapenguria, where Daylight Center and School is located. One community I visited was Ombolion, a 5-hour drive; and Alale was an 8-hour drive. Baringo was about a 6-hour drive, and I stopped there on my initial trip from Nairobi to Kapenguria.

In Baringo, I met a mother whose 3- or 4-year-old son has deformed feet. She had to carry him down from the hills into the valley where they would water their goats. She explained that it is hard for him to walk on the rocky terrain. Michael Kimpur, my driver and translator, and the director of Daylight Center and School, told her that her son was a good candidate to attend the school. She smiled and said that it would be an answer to prayer for her son to attend school.

Michael explained to me that because the boy is disabled, he would not survive in the rough conditions of the nomadic lifestyle. The mother was unusually willing to send her son to school. Because without much contact with the outside world, or having educated community members, these nomads are unwilling to give up the life they know (no matter how harsh) for these “fairy tales” about school. But in situations where a child is disabled and cannot physically help care for the livestock, the community does not have anything to lose by sending the disabled child to school.

Daylight’s vision is for these children to return to the uneducated areas they came from to help explain that there is another way of life, one that does not include cattle rustling, and that, in fact, there are many other ways to make a living.

But this process is oh so sloooow! We met this boy during week 1 of my trip. At the time I left Kenya, Michael was still in the process of confirming approval with the local government so that he could take custody of the boy from Baringo. And he is just 1 boy. And there is need for enlightenment in these rural communities now!

These people only do what they know, which is raise cows, goats, and camels. Some understand they need clinics and schools, but they have no way of creating these things themselves. Yet, they do what they can.

One village I came upon near Kechaliba dug an 8- to 10-foot hole in the ground: the beginnings of an outhouse. The government promised that they will send someone with cement to complete the outhouse, as well as a school structure. This community outside of Kechaliba finished digging this outhouse over 6 months before my visit. They were still waiting for the government to send someone to finish construction.

Sadly, even if construction were to be completed on the schoolhouse outside Kechaliba, it is not likely the school would have even one teacher, government-issued or otherwise, due to the tragic living conditions in these rural areas.

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It was week 6 of my 7-week trip in Kenya, and I was on my way to a government-hosted peace meeting between the Pokot and Turkana tribes. A government official hitched a ride in Michael’s truck with us. As we passed over the “border” between Pokot and Turkana, the officer, who spoke some English, explained to me that he had just heard of a cattle-rustling incident along this border area. The Turkana slaughtered a Pokot cattle rustler, a boy, during the raid. At this point in the trip, I had become desensitized by the facts of cattle rustling; so many are wounded or die in the process. I didn’t think anything special of this incident; it might as well have happened in Iran or Egypt…or Antarctica.

But on the way back from the peace meeting, we were flagged down by a group of young women near a “rest stop,” a place to buy warm soda and cell phone minutes.

A man approached and began speaking with Michael, jovially. The women gathered on my side of the truck, the passenger side. An older woman began speaking with the government official sitting behind me. At first, she seemed to be complaining about something. He was a government official after all, so I assumed she was pressing him for better and fair corn distribution in order to subside their hunger.

As the conversation continued though, she became more distraught. The government official leaned forward and said, “Rachel, this woman. This woman is the mother of the boy who was slaughtered in that valley we passed.” The woman then turned to me and began explaining her distress to me too. Even though there was a language barrier that separated us, I did not need to know the words she was saying to understand her.

She began to weep, and then wail. And then she stumbled away into a nearby field where she collapsed.

All I could think about was how this woman’s son had been violently slaughtered. Slaughtered. Not unlike how I had slaughtered a goat earlier that week. Not only had the Turkana killed her son, but they most likely took all of the livestock the boy was caring for as well. The woman lost her son, and her wealth.

I dug in my jacket pocket for 1000 Kenyan Shillings, about $12 (which would be about the same as me giving you $50 USD). Then I opened my car door and slowly walked out to the spot in the field where the woman was lying in a fetal position, still wailing.

Pole, Mama. Pole. I said, which simply means, “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m sorry.” (Every woman in Pokot, regardless of whether they have children, is referred to as Mother.) I held her hand and placed the KShs 1000 bill in it. Then I just sat and wept with her.

Michael later told me that the woman was saying she only had one son left, and was so bitter with grief that she wanted to commit suicide. Michael encouraged the group of women to take care of her and help her through this difficult time.

As we continued on our journey back to Kapenguria, I had an epiphany about Daylight. Daylight can not go out into these rural areas and start schools there, because it isn’t safe. Just as I saw in Kechaliba, it is not likely teachers from the urban areas will be willing to go and brave the conditions of the rural areas. Before schools and aid organizations can reach out to the rural areas, the issue of insecurity must first be resolved. And Daylight is doing just that, in the safety of Kapenguria.

Although it is a slow process, Daylight, with financial support, is going out to these rural areas and bringing children to Daylight. Because these children grew up in these rural areas and have loved ones still living there, they are more likely (than urban teachers) to return to the rural areas in order to pay-it-forward and educate their communities on other ways to make a living and change the devastating effects of cattle rustling. These children will bring peace to their communities, because Daylight enrolls children from all tribes. These children come to Daylight and create friendships with children from other tribes. When the children return to their tribes, these friendships influence peaceful communities.

Please make a donation now to Daylight and its strategic, grassroots process for bringing peace and education to the overlooked and marginalized areas of Kenya. Visit Daylight’s donation page to learn how to make a tax-deductible donation.

If you are interested in becoming a regular donor, know that it costs about $40 each month for a child to attend Daylight. That cost includes room and board, clothing, healthcare, school supplies, and tuition. Otherwise, a one-time-gift of $100 would go really far to continue Daylight’s development, but all donations, no matter how small are so appreciated.

Thank you so much for listening to my stories and reflections from my trip. Please contact me or post a comment to this blog if you have questions or would like to know more about my trip.