Street Kids

Since I've been back, what I've noticed I talk about most of my experience in East Africa is what I saw on the streets. 

Now I know, my experience was a much better one than most people. I didn't get robbed, I was lucky enough to have family to meet up with the entire time, and I had all the advantages of being a tourist along with living there. But I still saw things and had my eyes opened to what problems occur in the third world. 

I don't think people realize how lucky they are to live in the West. And I also don't think telling people from here how lucky they are will change things.

When I was volunteering at the National Library, the driver would take me through one of the bad parts of town. Every morning and every afternoon we would go down the same street. And each day, the sights never ceased to stop amazing me.

I will try my best to describe the scene but I don't know if it will do any justice.

We would turn onto a side street cluttered with shacks and people. Music would be blasting, people would be doing their daily business and then to my right, there was a huge sewer ditch. On the edge of the concrete were kids. All along the side. Just laying there.

They were all high. One of the big problems in Kenya and Tanzania is glue. These kids sniff it to get high and remain addicted.

Every time I passed them the same thought would go through my mind; No one cares. They pass by these kids and act as if it is nothing. Those kids are born on the streets, die on the streets and no one cares or knows.

When I talked to people about it, they viewed it as a nuisance. Like a weed in a flower garden.

No one wants to do anything because it isn't "their problem", the governement doesn't have the means or the money to set up programs for these kids (unlike the United States and most of the Western world).

I learned, from a friend Brian, that there is a way for these kids to get out. But they are brainwashed by a "street father" - basically a pimp who keeps them high and asking for money.  At night the police will do a sweep to try and catch these kids if they have no where to sleep. If these kids are caught they will get sent to an orphanage where they will be disciplined and sent to school. They have a chance to change, but the discipline is what keeps them away.

I see all these news stories about helping our homeless and new programs and I just think to myself, the homeless in the West are lucky. They have options. Lots of options. They can turn their lives around. People here care about them and want to help. 

Things I Haven't Posted

I've always tried to be consistent with my posts through out my travels, but every now and then some details would slip my mind. Or I didn't think they would work with the post that I was drafting at the time, so I would write a little note and forget about it.

Since I have been back home, I have been researching to figure out where to go next. I have a lot of notes about where to go and who to contact and as I was going through them I came across the list of "things I haven't blogged". (Yeah, it was labeled like that).

A lot of these said things on the list are not that important and I won't dwell on them. But there were a few that really stuck out and though it has been a month since I have come home, I want to write about them.

When we finally arrived to Nairobi (the first time), as my father and I were getting a taxi, we noticed these very "American" tourists (two men) who were completely over whelmed by all the locals trying to get their business. At one point they even lost each other. Dad and I laughed to ourselves and got into the taxi.

When we arrived to the hotel where we were meeting my grandfather's friend, five minutes after us came those two very "American" men. They were filling out a form at the hotel and one of the men, a bigger guy, reaches to the question "where are you from?" and proceeds to very loudly state: "TEXAS!"

When my father and I heard that we couldn't help but get excited. My dad asked the man where he was from and it turned out he didn't live that far from us. Just imagine, the chances of meeting some one from where you are.

We were just chatting about what in heavens name we were all doing in Kenya, (I mean think about it. A couple Texans in Kenya? That sounds like a recipe for trouble.) When they heard my story, the bigger man almost swelled with pride. He was so happy to learn of what I was doing.

And much like that other man I had mentioned in my "Art of Making Friends" post - the Welsh man- this Texan really made me realize how amazing people are. He didn't say much but he told me how proud he was that a young Texan like myself was doing a trip like this, and he wished me all the best.

I'm not one for superstitions, but looking back, I think that man really brought me good luck. Every now and then during my travels I would go back to that encounter and just remember that there was another person from Texas who was rooting for me and was proud of what I was doing.

A person I will probably never see again. A person whose name I don't know. A person who reminded me how proud I am to be from Texas. A person who, from the very beginning, gave me motivation to never look back.