Update from Kisumu, with George Washington

Two days ago my daughter and I met seven street boys in front of the local market in Kisumu, Kenya who all appeared to be about ten years old. The tallest one told me his name was George Washington and I promptly told him my name was Barack Obama which gave them all a big laugh. We spoke with them a few moments and invited them to the church we are working with that sadly to say is probably the only church in town which would allow street children to attend their services. (We are working hard to educate churches to change that.) As we were leaving a woman driving by shouted, “Don’t talk with them, they will steal from you!” to which George Washington yelled back, “No we won’t!”  I am not sure why this woman felt it necessary to further humiliate these boys who are orphaned and alone on the streets, begging for food and rummaging through the dump to survive. Sometimes the voices of an uncaring and heartless society drown out the voices that I am sure these children once heard when their parents were alive that said, “I love you, you are special”. But I am sure it had been a very long time since they heard that message. That’s not the message people like to give to street children as if their life on the streets as beggars is somehow their fault.  We said our goodbyes for the evening and Erica and I rejoined our team at the market who were unaware of our meeting with our new friends. As we passed the boys later in our van with the rest of the team they were completely baffled when as we drove by the boys yelled to me “Good bye, Obama” to which I yelled back “Good bye, George Washington.”

On Monday the boys joined us for our program at the little church that is doing big things with street children. It wasn’t long before one of the street boys named Philip was playing the piano in ways that amazed us all. We decided to open our program with Philip at the piano and George Washington and the Young Presidents (as we now affectionately call them!) presenting to us two songs, completely unrehearsed. I have been to a lot of churches and a lot of concerts, but I have never heard music so sweet in all my life. Hidden treasures. Who knew?  And yet I am convinced if you scraped away the dirt and grime of all street children you would find hidden treasures. I wished that the woman in the passing car could have heard the angelic voices of the children she was so determined to put down. I wished that everyone who had ever abused and ignored these boys could have let theirs hearts be softened by seeing the purity and innocence in these boys hearts that was released through their music.

I would like to say the story ended nicely, but that only happens in fairy tales. When we looked for the boys later that evening to encourage them to go to the program in town that had agreed to provide them help. we found Philip the pianist alone. He had a rock in his hand and tears were streaming down his face. But not nearly as many as were streaming down our faces as he told us how he tried to stand up for the smallest boy in their group and was picked up by his ears, his clothes torn, and he was beaten by a large man who somehow also felt it was his duty to humiliate street children. The rock in Philip’s hand was his only defense. I am sad to say that when I first saw him I thought it was a bottle of glue. Instead it was the only thing in his life able to protect him. No mother, no father, no Good Samaritan, only a large rock. No child should have to live like that. No civilized society should tolerate it. Until Then exists to change that. Please do your part to help us show the world the hidden treasures that lies in every street kid.

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