children of glue (a beautiful sunrise?)
25 May 2006
4:30 AM: Our group of ninteen just woke up to go meet a man named Bonafice. This morning, we feed the street kids. Bonafice has been doing this for about six years with little or no support—trustinig only that what he does is what You would do. Quite a large leap, wouldn't you say?
None of us know what to expect. All we have heard are stories about these kids and their glue. We had no idea what was coming.
5:00 AM: George has driven our group to downtown Nairobi. Actually, we are in a neighborhood right next to downtown, sitting at a closed, dark gas station. All of a sudden, a man appears—as if from the shadows—and knocks on George's window. George and Bonafice exchange some words in Swahili, and Bonafice enters the bus saying, "We go!" A man of action.
5:30 AM: Our feerless driver, guided by Bonafice, stops the bus on a random, dark street in downtown Nairobi. Bonafice exits, the street kids group together on a near-by wall, and go to sit with them all.
As I walked up to the group of kids, I hear one of them say in slirred English, "Me no sniff glue," as he pushes his bottle of glue down the top of his battered coat. (This glue costs 5 shillings, which is about 1/14th of a dollar). Did that just happen? Or is 5:00 AM getting to me?
We, the Americans that is, sit across from the street kids as Bonafice tells each of us to introduce ourselves. After the introductions, Bonafice tells the the kids to stand and stretch before he preaches to them. The kid who claimed so adamantly that "he no sniff glue," stands up and takes his first big morning breath. You know, that breath that you take after you have slept comfortably in your own bed. The one that reminds you: Yes! I am alive and well. Ready to approach a new day. This was the boy's breath, except for one, infinitely great difference. He took this breath with his mouth around the glue bottle he thought he had secretly hidden in his coat. 5:00 AM is not getting to me. What I see is real.
His first breath! Glue! What do you even do with that? This breath is supposed to remind the breather of his or her existence, of another day, and of health. Instead, this breath for the young boy is all a part of his escapism. What occurs in someone's life to pursue this type of escapism? How much pain is required for this to happen?
OH GOD, WHERE ARE YOU NOW! WHY? WHAT? One of my friend's sitting with us on the street is humbled, confused, angry, overwhelmed, and reverant. She says to herself, "God you made everything beautiful didn't you? How then do i look at a 10 year old huffing glue, and 50 more like him, and see beauty? I see destruction, poverty, broken spirits, and hopeless eyes. I also see redemption and grace....Teach me to see the shoeless, red-eyed, high, incoherent child with a bottle of glue in his hand, escaping from reality, as you see them: a child of You, one in the same." Beautiful words, Steph. Beautiful.
6:00 AM: Bonafice has finished giving a little sermon. He and Ben went and got food for the kids: 5 slices of bread and a carton of milk. Our group helps distribute the food and drinks. As I hand out one of the last milk cartons, I take a step away from the group and begin to think. How can this be? I do not understand the darkness that occurs on these streets with the kids. As I think these thoughts, I instinctively look up to the sky.
Perhaps God drew me to the sky in order to say, "Here I am."
As my eyes went up the sky scrappers of downtown Nairobi and approached the light coming from the sky, the oranges, reds, and purples of a beautiful sunrise seized me. How can such beauty be happening above and such ugliness be happening below. Destruction and redemption. Hopelessness and grace. Can you picture the paradox? Beauty above. Ugliness below. Light above. Darkness below. This paradox reminds me of the ultimate paradox: when the infinite became the finite, when the course of all of life was changed...
6:30 AM: Our group is back on the bus. George is driving us away. The kids are waving goodbye. I don't want to forget...I don't want to forget...I don't want to forget...
these kids are the lost of the lost
the forgotten of the forgotten
before, only two cared: the kenyan man and You upstairs
now, at least twenty of us cry out for justice, for something to be done
all in the name of the one who has and always will care.
peace
4:30 AM: Our group of ninteen just woke up to go meet a man named Bonafice. This morning, we feed the street kids. Bonafice has been doing this for about six years with little or no support—trustinig only that what he does is what You would do. Quite a large leap, wouldn't you say?
None of us know what to expect. All we have heard are stories about these kids and their glue. We had no idea what was coming.
5:00 AM: George has driven our group to downtown Nairobi. Actually, we are in a neighborhood right next to downtown, sitting at a closed, dark gas station. All of a sudden, a man appears—as if from the shadows—and knocks on George's window. George and Bonafice exchange some words in Swahili, and Bonafice enters the bus saying, "We go!" A man of action.
5:30 AM: Our feerless driver, guided by Bonafice, stops the bus on a random, dark street in downtown Nairobi. Bonafice exits, the street kids group together on a near-by wall, and go to sit with them all.
As I walked up to the group of kids, I hear one of them say in slirred English, "Me no sniff glue," as he pushes his bottle of glue down the top of his battered coat. (This glue costs 5 shillings, which is about 1/14th of a dollar). Did that just happen? Or is 5:00 AM getting to me?
We, the Americans that is, sit across from the street kids as Bonafice tells each of us to introduce ourselves. After the introductions, Bonafice tells the the kids to stand and stretch before he preaches to them. The kid who claimed so adamantly that "he no sniff glue," stands up and takes his first big morning breath. You know, that breath that you take after you have slept comfortably in your own bed. The one that reminds you: Yes! I am alive and well. Ready to approach a new day. This was the boy's breath, except for one, infinitely great difference. He took this breath with his mouth around the glue bottle he thought he had secretly hidden in his coat. 5:00 AM is not getting to me. What I see is real.
His first breath! Glue! What do you even do with that? This breath is supposed to remind the breather of his or her existence, of another day, and of health. Instead, this breath for the young boy is all a part of his escapism. What occurs in someone's life to pursue this type of escapism? How much pain is required for this to happen?
OH GOD, WHERE ARE YOU NOW! WHY? WHAT? One of my friend's sitting with us on the street is humbled, confused, angry, overwhelmed, and reverant. She says to herself, "God you made everything beautiful didn't you? How then do i look at a 10 year old huffing glue, and 50 more like him, and see beauty? I see destruction, poverty, broken spirits, and hopeless eyes. I also see redemption and grace....Teach me to see the shoeless, red-eyed, high, incoherent child with a bottle of glue in his hand, escaping from reality, as you see them: a child of You, one in the same." Beautiful words, Steph. Beautiful.
6:00 AM: Bonafice has finished giving a little sermon. He and Ben went and got food for the kids: 5 slices of bread and a carton of milk. Our group helps distribute the food and drinks. As I hand out one of the last milk cartons, I take a step away from the group and begin to think. How can this be? I do not understand the darkness that occurs on these streets with the kids. As I think these thoughts, I instinctively look up to the sky.
Perhaps God drew me to the sky in order to say, "Here I am."
As my eyes went up the sky scrappers of downtown Nairobi and approached the light coming from the sky, the oranges, reds, and purples of a beautiful sunrise seized me. How can such beauty be happening above and such ugliness be happening below. Destruction and redemption. Hopelessness and grace. Can you picture the paradox? Beauty above. Ugliness below. Light above. Darkness below. This paradox reminds me of the ultimate paradox: when the infinite became the finite, when the course of all of life was changed...
6:30 AM: Our group is back on the bus. George is driving us away. The kids are waving goodbye. I don't want to forget...I don't want to forget...I don't want to forget...
these kids are the lost of the lost
the forgotten of the forgotten
before, only two cared: the kenyan man and You upstairs
now, at least twenty of us cry out for justice, for something to be done
all in the name of the one who has and always will care.
peace
Comments
i don't want to forget...