Reflection

I don't have anything profound to share this evening, just a few reflections. I have really been blessed by my time at the hospital. It is just such a joy to be in the presence of mothers and their newborn babies. I was reminded that sometimes bringing new life into the world comes with added responsibility as I met a newborn baby with Down Syndrome in the nursery. Unlike in the United States, most people do not have the luxury of prenatal testing, so the diagnosis came as a surprise to the mother. Still a beautiful baby and I can only hope that it receives the resources it needs as it progresses through life. Another baby is fighting a high fever, while another lies in the incubator. But I am just so inspired by the mothers' and the strength they display.

I was talking to a lady who is a security guard at the hospital. I was asking about her children and who watches them during the day. She smiled and said very matter-of-factly, "Oh they look after themselves." I could not contain my shock as I said..."But they are only 4 and 6, right?" "Yeah, the 6-year-old takes care of the 4-year-old." I was just silent for a bit, as I tried to wrap my mind around this logic. I had so many questions...who feeds them? How do they get a hold of you if they need someone? What is one of them gets hurt? Do they feel abandoned? Are they scared? Yet I immediately scolded myself for my harsh judgment of her parenting. As a single mother, what other choice does she have? In her mind, the salary from working 7 days a week is worth more in terms of providing for her children than any other alternative. And sadly, her situation is one of the better ones in that she has a stable job with a steady income. As I rode in the van today, I just kept thinking how I do not understand how people survive here. I mean, I understand, a least on a basic level, how people arrive at their socioeconomic statuses in America. Even for those without a job or a home, there are some resources which are accessible...whether it be friends and family, a shelter, a welfare check, a soup kitchen... But as I was sitting in the car, I look out and in maybe a 300 foot stretch of road, I saw 5 different women selling charcoal. And I just couldn't help but wonder how they survive. Even if a lot of people need charcoal...even if they sell to maybe 5 customers a day, how in the world do they make enough to support themselves, much less their families? Yet they do. Somehow they do.

And it just brings me to tears thinking about how the choices people here have to make are so much harder than the ones I have to make. They have to choose between food and clothes...while I choose my major in school or which souvenirs I want to take home. They choose between buying medication and sending their children to school. I choose between what type of nursing I want to do or what kind of sandwich I want for lunch. I have to keep some sort of perspective though. As much as I want to understand, there is still a trench between us...I am white. I am American. I am "rich" by their standards. I have choices. And I cannot pretend I do know what their lives really are like. Just saying I like Kenya or I want to live here really means nothing. I can only hope my actions speak forth more than my words. That when I ask them a question, I wait long enough to hear the answer. And that love bridges all.