I travelled to Kenya with an open mind and an open heart. I didn’t do a lot of research ahead of time. I didn’t read detailed reports on Kenyan politics or stats about poverty and illness. I wanted to be a clean slate for the experience. I wanted Kenya to write her own message on my heart. And this, Kenya did.

      Upon arriving in the airport - exhausted after approximately 30 hours of travelling with the heavy bags laden with medicine, school supplies and clothing - our van turned into the streets of Eldoret. I was in a van with Sandra, Sarah and Laura along with two Kenyan men. One of these men was the driver and the other was Mark, who works with Daniel from Transformed International. We were on our way to Robert’s shop, where Sandy would order crafts to be taken back to Canada, sold for profit and the profits used to help the projects. But, our van took a different route than the others and suddenly, we were jammed in by lorries and surrounded by approximately 100 Kenyan men. They were curious about us. The smell was strong – pungent odours of people cooking on charcoal braziers in the heat, rotting garbage and body odour. It was hot in the van and yet I rolled up my window. The men stared at us. And that was my introduction to Kenya.

      Each experience in Kenya added a layer of depth to my heart that is hard to explain. Everything is different from Canada. Absolutely everything.

      The first thing I noticed was that there are people everywhere – even in the corn fields. They lie on the side of the roads. They sit on the side of the roads – they play, eat and sleep on the side of the roads. They are dirty. They are often sick and/or HIV positive. Many, in particular the children, wanted to touch us. They are hungry for touch and for love as well as for food, clothing and shelter.

      The people are beautiful. They have gorgeous brown eyes, wonderful smiles and beautiful, brown skin. When I looked into their eyes, I saw many feelings. There was often something hollow lingering in the depth of their eyes. Pain, sadness, sorrow, weariness, hunger and illness live there. But the amazing thing is that these feelings are often dominated by hope, faith, joy and love.

      To understand how incredible this is, one must realize that most of the people of Kenya have nothing. They don’t have furniture or blankets or toys – except those made from garbage. They have poor quality water when they do have water and very little food. Most Kenyans are lucky to have one meal a day. Sometimes they don’t even have a shelter. But most importantly, most Kenyans don’t have parents. There are thirty million orphans in Kenya.

      They have often suffered extreme atrocities. Street girls and boys sell their bodies and sniff glue. Some children watched in terror as their parents were massacred with machetes. I spoke and sang with children who had lived through these experiences.

      Tiny infants are abandoned in corn fields, on streets and at the bottom of decrepit out houses into the human waste. I held one of these infants in my arms.

       Teachers in schools teach when they haven’t been paid for months. They are hungry. I met these teachers and encouraged them to teach critical thinking skills to their students. They listened eagerly to the ideas, without any thought of reward for themselves.

      And these Kenyans who have suffered much greet visitors with warmth and love. They share their customs and their meagre rations with a fierce generosity that is both humbling and endearing. And they do this with true grace and joy and love.

      Weeks after the trip I still feel haunted by the hundreds of little black faces with runny noses, weepy eyes and tattered clothes, all of whom wanted to touch my hand and be hugged and held and have their picture taken!

      I will never forget the thousands of thin, bedraggled Kenyans who sit, lie and walk alongside every road, every where.

      I will always cherish the memory of the orphaned teenagers with HIV in the Kibera slum who sang an amazing rendition of the Lord's Prayer. Their example of faith despite incredible odds stirred my deepest heart and tears ran freely down my cheeks as they sang.

      I will remember singing "Jesus Loves Me" for each and every group we met and seeing their eyes light up at the sound of our voices.

      I will remember the stench of the Soweto Slum and the tiny children who have their lessons in 8 x 8 classrooms with dirty floors.

      And I will also remember the beauty of the Maasai plain and the women of the Maasai tribe. I was honoured to have them share their time with me, a Mzunga from Canada.

      I will remember standing at the crest of a hill with the Great Rift Valley spread out before me, dotted with volcanic craters and acacia trees, listening to the wind and wondering at the greatness of it all.

      I can still hear the herd of hundreds of zebra cross the road beside me on their way to the lake in the morning sun and see in my mind the herd of giraffes who gently moved around our vehicle in front, behind, beside and marveling at their gentle nature.

      I thought I was travelling to Kenya with an open heart and an open mind, but I was wrong. My trip to Kenya opened my heart and opened my mind. Yes indeed, Kenya. She has written on my heart. Forever.

     Sally Kidson