Faraja' Farewell

I've been preparing for my departure all weekend, but nothing could have prepared me for my last day at Faraja. I arrived at the children's home at 5:45ish on Sunday night to sleep over at Faraja one last time. Soon as I walked in the door Kepha ran up to me with a bigger than average smile on his face. "Wewe!" he screamed as he wrapped his tiny arms around my legs. I knew instantly that this goodbye was going to suck. We took a couple group photos while it was still light out and then spent a while snapping silly pictures of the kids and sorting lentils. It was so strange to me that even on my last day here I was meeting kids that I had somehow failed to talk to in six weeks. Kids who spoke perfect English at that, go figure. For dinner Moraa made me the same meal I ever ate at Faraja, and it's still my favorite of all Kenyan meals ; eggs fried up with cabbage, tomato, and onion paired with ugali. After dinner the kids turned on some music and started dancing and singing. One of my favorite things about these kids is their voices. I can't understand a thing they're saying but I love listening to them pour their little hearts into their songs. After a while I remembere that it was Easter and I had brought a bag of my FAVORITE easter candy from home, I took it out and shared the whole bag with them and they seemed to really enjoy it. I gave Moraa the photo album I had made from the pictures taken at the monkey park, and she seemed grateful. For someone who can't afford three meals a day, photographs aren't a big concern. If you know me, you know how important I think it is to have tangible records of moments passed, and I was happy I was able to help her (and the kids) remember that day. In return she showed me bits of a magazine she had saved from years ago. It was two articles, written one year apart, about Faraja. "This is the beginning," she told me. The first article was titled "The Orphans Who Came to Stay" and told of Faraja's first months and how she came to acquire the first children of Faraja. The second article, "From the Camps with Despair," told of Moraa's hardships living in Kibera, and the challenges they faced after the 07-08 post-election violence. I felt blessed to read the clippings, I've seen Faraja, I've writen about Moraa, but being able to view it through someone else eyes was humbling as well.

At one point Moraa made the kids all come sit down in the living room and put the music video they had been listening to on the TV for me to see. She told me she wanted me to know what the song was about. They music came on and the kids all started to sing, and as they did Moraa translated bits and pieces of the song. The song was about saying no to being beaten down, refusing to give up in the face of adversary, and continuing to push forward. "This song talks about Faraja better than we could," she told me. [[At this point I was already choking back tears]] When the song ended a thoughtful calm passed through even the smallest children. We sat for a while in quiet before Moraa spoke. She did the one thing I had been hoping she wouldn't; starteda goodbye speech. She thanked me for my help, for all the money we were able to raise, she said I was in the first ever group that has decided to stay the night at Faraja and she's never seen the kids open up like they have around me (& the rest of my faraja companions). She asked the kids who wanted me to leave tomorrow and they all just started at me. Next she asked who wanted me to stick around and continue being at Faraja... all the kids raised their hands, and Mildred came to sit next to me and hold my hand. She continued to talk, and bring me even closer to tears before she opened the floor up for the kids to speak. The silence that greeted me was welcome, I didn't want to have to hear these kids say goodbye.. Until Obadia shyly raises his hand. Of course the punk spoke in swahili so I couldn't understand, but Moraa's translation instantly brought tears to my eyes again. 'Thank you for staying with us, and for taking a chance to know us,' he said, among much more. After a month of assuming the kids would never know my name, or show me their real selves this was the best thank you I could receive. Ester raised her hand and said "Thank you for the chocolate [sort of an inside joke I suppose] and please give my greetings to your mum, and pop, and your sisters and your brothers and take care of them too." "Come back soon," she said. Ester is a girl who can't be a day over 10, she's got an attitude and will tell you exactly what she thinks, also another girl I didn't get to know until this week; consider her greetings delivered. Owambo, one of the older boys, told me thank you for everything, and said to me "help your friends be our friends." I'm sure I heard "thank you" a couple dozen times, and by the end I couldn't speak. Holding back a river of tears I was able to choke out the words "karibu sana" which made the kids erupt in laughter at my still broken swahili. Even writing this I am brought to tears. These kids have shown me more than I ever thought possible. Thirty five, often bratty, always adorable, Kenyan orphans taught me more than any amount of schooling ever could. I will miss them more than I can possibly imagine, and I hope to see them again soon.

Emmanuel Kinayia

One more good bye I would like to touch on, is my goodbye to Emanuel. Who is Emanuel you might ask? He is the man who owns the cafe across the street. We have all frequented the cafe in our time in Ngong, not least of all because the man who owns it is one of the most genuinely nice people I've ever met. Ever time we step foot in the cafe we're treated like royalty. .. which to be honest is not all that uncommon in Kenya. The cool thing about Emanuel is that he treats everyone who steps in his cafe like this. I've never seen him frown, and he also has a nice word to say. The first time Ben showed us the cafe he told me "Whatever you want just tell me, I'll make it for you.. I can even make a spanish omelet!" We've eaten here plenty of times since then and I've never requested anything fancy (no need for special food when you can get the best pilau in town for 120 bob). A few days ago I went to take his picture so that I could always remember his smile face and warm welcomes, and when I did he look at me baffled. "You're leaving already?" I explained that I was, regrettably, leaving quite soon. He told me that before I go I had to come by one last time so he could cook me a spanish omelet (what was it with this guy and his omelets?!). I said I would and went about my business. I didn't think much more about it until today, I saw him in the street while I was making a juice run and he asked when I was coming by for my food. "I'll be there in one hour," I assured him and continued inside. Now, again, if you know me... I'm awfully socially awkward. Emanuel was a nice guy, but the thought of having to sit alone (or worse with him and talk) was nearly painful. An hour later I walked across the street and waited while he cooked, when my spanish omelet was all done he placed it in front of me and took a seat across from me and waited patiently for me to try it. Soon as I had my first bite I understood why he kept talking about omelets. "This is wonderful," I told him; and I meant it. He smiled, a real smile, the smile of a person has just done something they love and for Emanuel that thing is give people great food. He poured me a cup of chai and the conversation flowed naturally. He informed me that he'd hoped to take me to his home land (Maasai land) to show me his family. "Next time you're in Kenya I'll show you my home, you can sleep in a manyatta on a bed of cowhide, and we'll teach you traditional Maasai dress for women." Slightly addled but fully honoured at this invitation I agreed that I'd have to come back soon as possible. We talked lots of food, and he gave me some tips on preparing the dishes I've learned to cook while here. We shared stories on our respective countries, both always shocked and amazed how the other could act so nonchalant about what we were saying. He told me about his business and also introduced me to his wife (one of the waitresses there that I've been seeing every time I visit). She was wonderfully kind and told me I was welcome back any time I pleased. In short, it was a beautiful meal.