I wake up to the sound of a million roosters signifying the break of morning. I almost don’t know what to do with this newfound freedom of plans. Last year, my days were pretty regimented with the goal of walking household to household surveying and needing enough to make the research study relevant. With hours of prep and needing a minimum number of participants, researchers are always consumed. I meet my translator, Sarah, who is a Kenyan and moved to Shirati with her husband and baby a few years ago. I miss Pilli and Enock, my two young translators from last year whom Mel and I formed friendships with. I decide that the first thing I want to do is to take a stroll around the Yakina subvillage, an area I find myself remembering where my friends are in unmarked huts than I realize.
I say “hode (hodey)” in Swahili which means “Hello, can I come in?” as I approach the small round clay hut with a straw patched roof and Welcome scribed with white paint in the corrugated metal door that does not ever fully shut. A very skinny old lady hobbles out and is delighted to see me and Sarah. I love her big smile and whatever she says in Luo, the tribal language of the region. Sarah translates that she says welcome back my friend and that she is so happy to see me. Teresa does not know her age, she suspects she is in her nineties. She is a widow and had one child in her life, a son. Her son died four years ago leaving behind a grandson named Babu. Babu’s mother abandoned the family (not entirely sure when), leaving Babu an orphan inherited by Teresa. I stumbled upon Babu last year as a bubbly kindergarten boy at Zappe Kindergarten when a few of us went to play with the kids. I later in the same day went surveying and met Teresa and was surprised to find the kindergarten boy return back home. He changed out of his neatly pressed required school uniform into rags. His single t-shirt and pants had so many gaping holes that his entire buttock region was exposed. Babu said he was hungry and Teresa said she tried to beg around on Monday, the prime market day, but the only thing she received was a tomato. Heartbroken by the experience, Melody and I sought out short and longer term solutions. We immediately went to the market and filled our bag with vegetables, fried fish and nuts and brought them to Teresa and Babu. We discussed plans on sponsoring Babu and it was suggested to us that maybe if Babu lived with a relative, they could provide more stability and keep up with the energetic 5 year old. So with a monthly sponsorship we wire to the SHED foundation, Babu gets to live with his stepmother sharing a bed, regular food and school supplies.
I had not heard much about Babu from SHED after I left Shirati except that he was doing well. Teresa wanted to take us to see Babu. With her cane and persistent tiny steps, we walked about 1/8th of a mile to Cecelia’s house. During the walk, I ask Teresa about her life. She said that she is still hungry and relies on people to generously give her food to sustain herself. She tries to garden but her age prevents her from partaking in rigorous activity. I asked her how many meals does she eat a day and she responded two meals or sometimes none. I then wonder if there was any sort of business she could or would want to do but she replied that she is unable to work and most jobs in the village require being part of the big Monday market and walking far. I also asked if Babu visited her and he did. I wondered if she was lonely and she said yes. For a chunk of the walk, I was left thinking about what Room for Compassion could do for her. Here was a strong old woman that until last year was raising her grandson but left with the unfortunate circumstance of not having a safety net like others her age to have secure food and shelter. I originally liked the idea of having an elderly persons group to foster unity among the population and maybe have purpose by having the group be responsible for something in the micro-society. I’m not sure of how many are in the elderly population and I didn’t factor in the fact that many were handicapped and even walking was a task. Maybe we can sponsor some elderly people that lost their safety net.
We reach Babu’s house and see all the kids gather around. Babu walks in the front door with a red t-shirt and shorts on. He sees me and is shy. Cecelia beckons him to come over and shake my hand, wince at a hug and sit down near me. I am ecstatic to see Babu and he has grown a little bit. He is apparently at Mkoma primary school but still in kindergarten. I suppose he is a little behind since it would be his second time in kindergarten but am not sure how the system works. We converse in the living room. I see Babu’s bed, the one that Mel and I picked up and transported last year to Cecelia’s house two days before leaving Shirati. We then proceed to take photos and I show Babu how to use my point and shoot camera and press the button to capture pictures. Then I introduce the video option and everyone is wildly giggling and fascinated at videos. I teach Babu how to press the shutter to start and stop the video and tell him to walk around and talk. Cecelia and Sarah and coax him to talk about himself and he wanders around his house to the nearby animals with a huge smile on his face. I let him video and replay his cinematography for about a half hour. We all sit back in the living room and I briefly tell everyone about RFC. Cecelia suggests that maybe if I can help her start a business, that she can include and help out Teresa. I tell her I will look more into the idea of her transporting grains to the market but that we currently have no funding for that department.
The next family I am eager to visit is Junior and Mama Junior. Junior is a boy with a mental disability, his mom claims that he contracted meningitis or another disease when he was a toddler that caused his disability. The 10 year old boy truly touched me last year and I felt that inaction about his life, which consisted of being locked up in a prison-like setting was an unbearable thought. It broke my heart to know on the inside that without any help or intervention, Junior would spend the next 10 years of his life in the same fashion. Outcasted by society, he never left his house or go to school. The lack of resources for the disabled is unfortunate. As I approach Junior’s house, Sarah tells me that they are relatives of hers and starts to describe their all-to familiar history where the dad passed away leaving the mom with 3 boys. I notice the house looks different, the fallen down brick wall that used to be filled with thorns as protection was gone. A few brick layers were laid in the missing wall and now there is only half the wall that is bare. Sarah tells me that the family has moved to Shirati’s center of town.
At 4pm, I run excitedly to the soccer field to reunite with all of the girls. When I arrive on time, there are about 15 girls there. The language barrier prevents me from understanding what they are saying to me except that they are referring to me as mzungu every other word. I already see a transformation in the girls. They all started out wearing their long skirts to practice as is customary for women to wear, even during sports to all wearing pants or shorts. Funny enough, a few of them are wearing boxers. They don’t really have a supply of women’s shorts in the community, especially not tiny fitted ones for forth and fifth grade girls. Niko, one of the coaches arrives from his butcher shop job, and is able to speak English to me. He told me that the girls doubted I would come back. He said they started with 51 back when I was last here and a few dropped out without knowing the reason, he said some thought they would never get shoes they were promised while others said their parents felt that their daughter shouldn’t play soccer and should instead do household duties. I tell the girls that I am so happy to see them and that I always said I would return.
Niko brings my familiar red Adidas duffle but with only 2 soccer balls. Out of the 6 soccer balls Melody and I bought (they were not cheap), 4 of them broke and the only two remaining are the Adidas ones we purchased from Nairobi after we left Shirati. Thank goodness we had sent them back with Pili and Enock or else there would be no balls and potentially no girls soccer team. Niko takes attendance, which he has done at every single practice since we left. Today there are 21 girls. We then run onto the field that was once reserved for only secondary school boys. School is out but the girls and boys soccer teams still continue. The secondary school boys have practice but agree to let the girls and coaches use half of the field. Just before this, the secondary school boys were talking to me right before Niko arrived. I told them I was here to watch the girls play soccer and they all laughed. I said the girls had a coach and they played football to which the boys inquired who the coach was and probably didn’t believe me until Niko arrived.
I am so impressed by the team and the two coaches. Niko has a whistle and uses it to run drills. The girls do sprints, squats, jumping jacks, Indian runs etc. They pass the ball back and forth to the coaches. I was so impressed that Niko knew all of the girls’ name which he also pointed out to me. I stood next to Niko and Alex and would join in on the exercises facing the girls in between taking photos and videos. The 21 girls divide into 3 different teams and scrimmage each other. I am even more impressed that the girls have gotten so good at soccer. Less than a year ago, no female in Shirati knew how to kick a soccer ball or refrain from using their hands. Now, a lot of these girls juggled much better than I could as well as confidently kicking, passing and challenging each other. I loved seeing the friendships between teammates as well as the smiles and laughter. Since the scrimmaging teams don’t have uniforms, Niko tells me they remove their shirts. I was at first horrified, but then saw that he meant the team that lost the coin toss had to pull one sleeve down to show their shoulder and mark that they were a team. I run back and grab a soccer ball that I etched an RFC logo into the night before and change into my cleats and shorts so I can join in. I decide to bring the shoes and rest of the gear at another practice so that I can carry and organize distribution to make sure every girl gets shoes. After 2 hours of playing and practicing, I head back to dinner. I was thrilled to see the other mzungus living in the same hostel coming out and watching the boys and mingling with the girls and then a few of the guys joined the boys secondary team. At the end of practice, I have the girls huddle in and say “One, two, three wasichana!” Wasichana means girls. I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams that the soccer team Melody and I haphazardly threw together in a matter of days would continue and produce such solidarity and joy in the girls’ and coaches’ faces.
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