Kenya, reason for hope

Reporting from Nairobi, Kenya — Rose is 17 months old. She weighs 15 pounds and looks the size of an American 5-month-old. She cannot sit up, walk or speak. She has the toothpick limbs and saucer eyes of the malnourished and the dull skin of dehydration.

In another corner is Caroline, a waifish 9-year-old who sleeps in a crib. She is a whispering, otherworldly child, pretty and fragile. Her parents are dead, and she is severely malnourished. I have just given her a teddy bear and accessories from a bag of toys we brought from the U.S. When I gave her the bear, she looked at me in disbelief. This, I realize, is probably the first time she has had a toy all her own. Now she sits in her crib slowly undressing and dressing the bear, over and over again.

Then there’s Benedict, a 2-year-old boy dressed in pink. He cannot walk by himself or talk, although he’s trying. A child his age should be running after a ball, but Benedict struggles to stay upright.

I look at my 11-year-old daughter, Indigo, and wonder whether this is just all too much for her. But she smiles back at me, happily playing with Claudia. Claudia is 18 months old. She arrived three weeks ago weighing 13 pounds, the size of the average American 2-month-old. Now she is 26 pounds, still not talking or walking, but a beautiful, happy child.

These children have HIV/AIDS and are orphans, or their parents are simply too poor to feed them sufficiently. But they are fortunate. Rose, who was staring death in the face, now has a feeding tube and a nurse to watch her 24 hours a day. Unlike 12% of Kenya’s children under age 5, she will live.

We are in the “respite wing” at Nyumbani, a home for abandoned, HIV-infected children located in a leafy suburb of Nairobi. After eight glorious days on safari, we are spending the next two days helping out in Nyumbani and New Life — both homes for HIV-positive babies, then visiting the Harambee Community Center in the Mukuru slum.

Before we left the U.S., Indigo collected school supplies, clothing and soccer balls. People gave generously, and we had brought four extra bags with us. And now, at Nyumbani, I am wishing that we had many more bags so the boys would not have to wear pink and every one of the 110 children would get their own toy. Later, Indigo, my wise child, chided me. “Wearing pink is the least of their problems, Mama, and we did our best.”

via: travelvista