Kenya...

I have been asked a lot about my time in Kenya. I often find it difficult to talk about, not because it was a difficult experience, but because once I start it is difficult to stop. I learned so very much from my time and the people there. The cliff notes version is that I have been 5 times, each spending a month or more and staying with the same host family in one of the slums outside Nairobi. A place called Kayole. Most of my time there was spent teaching at an orphanage or helping out in the local medical clinic. I also spent at least some time each trip visiting the Maasai village that took me in and let me stay with them for a week the first time I was there to learn more about their culture and way of life. The photo to the right is from that week in the village. The first day, in fact. It captures one of my favorite and most meaningful memories and that is what I want to share with you.

Before I get to the story of this photo, I should explain a few things. First, this Maasai village was not the tourist tailored version of Maasai life where the tour guides take all the travelers while in Maasai Mara for safari game drives. They live in homes made of sticks, mud and cow dung. There is no power or infrastructure of any kind. They get their water from the river or streams. Most of the children there had never seen a white person before. The mere sight of me made babies cry and children run to hide behind an elder. There was only one person in the village that spoke English due to working as a guard at one of the safari camps, so the majority of communication was in the form of charades when my trusty translator wasn't near. 

The first day I arrived in the village, as I said before, the children ran, somewhat frightened or simply unsure of what they were seeing. Even after reassurance from my trusty translator (an elder in their village), they were still leery. If I approached, they would scatter, being careful not to come too close. This went on the entire day. As I prepared to leave the village to settle in for the  night at the camp where I slept, the little girl in the red plaid dress decided she wanted a closer look. She slowly approached and carefully touched my hand. She then pulled me down to her level and placed her hands on the sides of my face and pulled my face so close to hers our noses nearly touched. She studied me for what felt like an eternity, and I could see her eyes roaming my features. If my face moved away from hers, she would pull it back to her gently but firmly. I was going to stay there with her, eyeball to eyeball, for as long as she needed to figure me out. Apparently. Of course, I obliged. She took her time, moving from face to hair to arms. Some of the other children started coming closer to watch her inspect me. Back to hair. She was especially intrigued with my hair. She took a curl in her hand and pulled it out, let it go. Some of the other children giggled and she giggled, which made me giggle, too. Not long after that, more of the children were discovering the courage to inspect me, too. Many would touch my hair and pull their hand back fast, as if expecting it to bite them. When it proved to be painless, they would start pulling the curls out and watching them bounce back into curls with a mixture of laughter and feigned fear. I later learned from my trusty translator that they thought my hair was made of snakes. They eventually came to understand it wasn't snakes, just different. 

From then on, the children in the village stopped running from me as I approached and began running to me. The courage of one young girl spread to the whole village and built a bridge between two people, and worlds, as different as they could be. She let her curiosity be stronger than her fear and I left that place wanting to be more like her. 

Many of the photos above are from the Maasai village. Others are pieces of my time in Kayole with my host family, at the medical clinic or orphanage where I volunteered. Next time I will share more of Kayole with you.