These stark white tiles feel dead and impersonal compared to the dusty, rocky red earth of Etora. Sitting here on the floor waiting until we can check in feels surreal. I am almost sure that the blue van is going to drive by and pick us up to take us to the orphanage and drop us off to work and play with the kids. But we are already miles away from them. We’ve flown over Lake Victoria and seen giraffes out the window. We have transitioned out of the rural communities and into bustling Nairobi, the scenery is changing but my mind refuses to accept it. Soon we’ll be in the desert of Doha sprinting through the airport to try and catch our next flight with only an hour long connection. And then one last 14 hour flight and we’ll be landing in Philadelphia and it will be Fall. Writing it out doesn’t even make it feel real. My body is processing this transition for me since my mind refuses to accept it. I feel dizzy and have no appetite. The lump in my throat is growing and I feel short of breath. How are we supposed to go back and leave these kids? Reverse culture shock is something we have both done before and it’s hard, really hard. On top of that we are leaving a family and a full life here. It’s taking an incredible amount of willpower to not just miss our flight and go back.
We couldn’t feel more grateful to Samson and his family, to the entire Etora church community, to everyone that helped us get over here way back in August; Charity Works, Kay Alden, the HCIC board, and so many more.
The last days were beautiful. Samson and Jackline had a party for us on Sunday with the whole congregation. They bought cake which said “Have a happy life” and soda and bread and shared it all among the kids and the community. They had us cut the cake together like it was our wedding, which had us in fits of laughter, in turn making Samson and the whole congregation crack up. We sat up at the front of the church at the high table with the ministers. Samson spoke to his congregation in Swahili, as usual he had everyone listening intently, and often breaking into laughter. But this time he was talking about us. Dorothy translated a little of what he said for us and his words were incredibly touching. He wasn’t sharing them in English so we could understand all nice things he was saying about us, he was telling them in Swahili because he just genuinely wanted to share with the congregation how he felt. We continue to be amazed by his kindness and compassion without any need for recognition. The party ended with most of the community members coming up to take photos with us and shaking our hands, thanking us for our work.
The next day was the day we threw a goodbye party for the kids. It was in the church lit by a single kerosene lamp after the sun had set. We wanted to thank them for welcoming us so warmly into their home and school, and who doesn’t love an excuse to have a celebration. Our plan was to give them all the gifts we made them and serve Chapati and meat because it is expensive and they rarely have it. So Kira and I, two vegetarians, decided it was worth it and bought a goat. We met him early on in the day when he was still running around in the backyard, and again, several hours later when he was being poured out of a ladle on to the children’s plates. The meal was complete with over 250 chapati that we helped spend the day making. It was the most wonderful evening. Being able to give back to these kids who have shared and given us so much love felt so right. Some of the kids gave speeches, thanking us and asking us to return. We in turn told them something that we realized weeks ago. We will be back, we don’t know when, but it will happen. And we gave them each a gift. Since they enjoyed learning to draw so much, and several of their lessons were how to draw faces, I drew a portrait of each of them. And they admired the handmade friendship bracelets we both wore on our ankles, so Kira made them each a bracelet with their favorite colors. Watching them pass around flashlights and gather pouring over their gifts touched our hearts in a way that we can not describe. The mutual appreciation and love almost entirely drowned out the looming fact that we were leaving. Just when it was starting to feel difficult to handle, Jackline, Samson, and Dorothy surprised us with another cake that said “Madams Calline and Kira”. They wrapped Kenyan flags around our shoulders Maasai style and once again we cut the cake together, earning a round of applause from the kids when we fed each other the first bite. And then there was dancing. Man oh man, do the Kenyans know how to dance. Dancing should be so much more of a regular occurrence, it is so much fun and such a joyful celebration of life. The Kenyan music gets into your bones, you can’t help but get up and dance. Every single kid, even the more introverted ones were up dancing and smiling so hard their faces looked like they would burst.
We had the party the day before we had to leave so that the High School students would be able to attend. So our final day with the kids was just a regular day playing out in the compound after they finished classes. It felt right. It was our last game of frisbee, the last chance to teach them yoga poses, our last time to lend our phones out to aspiring photographers for hilarious pictures and videos. But we got so caught up in the moment that none of that registered. It wasn’t until we were walking down the driveway towards the most brilliant sunset and climbing onto the back of a motorbike that it hit us. No more playing in the dirt with these kids for hours every day. Back to a life that feels more foreign then the one we’ve made for ourselves here. More adjusting and transitioning. The bigger life becomes, the more experiences you live, and the more people you grow to love makes change harder and time and distance make less sense. Humans instinctively resist change, it’s terrifying and painful. But it is what makes life dynamic and beautiful, forcing us to grow and discover. Lots of the best things in life evolve when we are miles outside our comfort zones. So even though going back home is hard, this change is creating space and perspective for new opportunities both outwardly and inwardly.
There’s a part of me that can’t wait to be invisible on the streets, and be able to enjoy the outdoors without half the neighborhood staring and thinking it’s the best entertainment they’ve had all week. But instead of living these experiences openly and daily we will be carrying them inside and that is going to be a challenge. Our hearts have been broken open and expanded to fit so much love for these people and this life. The entire experience is etched into our bodies and minds.
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and experiences with us through your blog. What gifts you have received from this experience - gifts that you will always have in your heart.
Thank you so much for your wonderful blogs. Fifty years ago I went to South Africa and taught in a white church school. The Zulus seemed such wonderful people but there was mainly interaction as master servent. What a gift you have been given. And yes I too felt dizzy as I left. But yes Africa has become part of my life. Hope we cross paths and GOD BLESS YOU and you re-entry