Three Words That Changed My Life...

“For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in.”

Psalm 27:10

“I will not leave you as orphans. I will come unto you.”

John 14:18

   

There stood Njeri, peeking from a conspicuous crevice in the crumbling security gate, peering at me as if she had been expecting my arrival. I could see a little eye and a smile and this little person moving anxiously about as I walked closer to the entryway. When I arrived at the gate, I stood tensely trying to gather my bearings and to act like I didn’t notice that this security gate lacked the most essential ingredient, security. This children’s home was situated in one of the most dangerous and deteriorating areas in the city. I stared at the discolored sign over my head trying to make out the words, “Ch-ist Cha-e-.” I assumed it once read, Christ Chapel.

After a few minutes of manipulating the makeshift lock, which consisted of a dead bolt made from a piece of brittle tree branch hoisted to the tin door, a teenaged girl cautiously opened it. Little did I know, the children on the other side of this gate would change my life, forever. I kneeled to maneuver my way through the door. Upon entering, I immediately looked for that little person who I saw staring at me; I could see her in my peripheral fleet across the flat, kicking up dust as she was trying hide behind the nearby building. 

I was then escorted around this humble structure, which housed some 64 children; to my dismay, there were many more bodies than there was room to shelter them. I walked around, gingerly, paying close attention to the lowly circumstances with which these children had to live. I tried to act as if I wasn’t out of my element, but clearly I was. My spirit, emotions, and my body, all were pulling at me playing their own game of tug-a-war. I noticed some were in class, while others were washing clothes by hand trying to teach the less experienced how to properly scrub to get their garments cleaned. There were some children, alone, off in a corner staring into another world, slightly dejected. The little babies, though, they seemed unaffected and unaware of their circumstances - they ran about and played and laughed, some kicking a soccer ball skillfully made out of trash and strings to bound it together. They were happy.

I held my camera to my side very hesitantly because I did not want to appear too anxious to take photos of the children - I was not there to exploit how they were living. These were heart-wrenching circumstances, yet each child was beyond grateful for what little they had (In a later blog I will give more details and photos about the Christ Chapel Orphanage).

After some time, I stood outside directly in the center of this shelter watching the children go about their usual day. I tried wheedling together the few Swahili words that I did know in order to have a conversation with them to gain their trust so they would begin play with me.

While I was busy interacting with the children, becoming more popular with them, I failed to notice that the little person, Njeri, who had kept her eyes on me as I was walking toward the orphanage, had drawn closer to me. She was practically holding my leg. “Aha, here she is! No sudden moves! You don’t want to run her off,” I told myself." 

I slowly bowed my head to look at her and when she looked up at me our eyes clasped. She clutched the lower part of my calf and said, “Na Je Mimi.” When I heard these words, I gasped, and immediately my stomach began to churn. “What is she saying to me, Na Je Mimi?” I wondered. Nobody was around to translate for me but I instinctively knew in my bones that whatever she was saying to me, although I wanted to know, I probably wasn’t prepared to handle it. “Was she calling me her father? Was she telling me she loved me in another language?” I quickly interrogated myself. Whatever she was saying I was certain it had come directly from the seat of her heart. I was scanning through the rolodex in my mind trying to recall these three words but to no avail. All the while, she was still looking at me, and I at her. My eyes welled with tears but I couldn’t explain why. I reached to my camera and thought only to take a picture of her, which made her smile, ultimately breaking our spell. 

She continued, however, holding on to my leg as if she was trying to protect me from everybody else and to keep me from leaving. But when the camera flashed, although it broke our spell, it captured the attention of every child within the orphanage. When they saw Njeri’s photo being taken they all began to run directly for me.

I, then, heard a symphony of voices pealing, “Na Mimi! Na Mimi!” Children from everywhere flooded me with these sincere and innocent smiles. They were laughing, joking, and playing, but most of all, pleading with me take a picture of and with them. “Na Mimi, Na Mimi,” they all shouted. While some were reaching for my camera, others had already begun striking poses - desperately wanting me to capture them in this digital time-space and to bottle this moment.

“Na Mimi! Na Mimi!” all these little voices clanged together.

All the while, Njeri clenched my calf harder, seemingly with all her might, hoping not to lose her place in this increasingly long line of children who were now beckoning for my attention. Then, it happened again, she looked up at me and I looked down at her; we caught eye contact, and for that single moment I was deaf to everyone and to everything. I was raptured in the moment. Motionless. I felt her broken spirit reaching out trying to commune with mine. Her lips slightly parted and although I could not hear her, I comprehended what she was saying, “Na Je Mimi, her lips outlined. I didn’t know what to do - I was so helpless. In my gut, I knew she was doing more than signaling for a snapshot like the rest of the children, what was taking place had tendrils far deeper than what I could probably ever imagine.

Then my friend whispered to me, they are saying, “what about me?”

“Na Je Mimi,” is Swahili for “what about me?”

My heart paused.

“What about me?” is what they all they were shouting. Most with laughter and smiles, others with austere looks upon their faces, that is, until I put the camera to my eye to take a photo of them – that made them all happy. A sad face turned into a beautiful smile once as I would focus on them and take a single photo to capture them.

So I began walking around the entire orphanage looking for children that appeared to be disconnected and sad, then I would signal to them with my camera, asking them if I could take a picture, and immediately they would burst into a glow. They would jump up and smile and strike a pose! It seemed as if they just desired for somebody to focus and to pay attention to them – the words, “Na Mimi?” continued to play in the back of my head, breaking my heart into a million pieces as the recording continued to play through the speaker of my ears.

Abandoned. Forgotten. Dumped on the corners. Locked and left in barren rooms for dead, yet, these children still have the audacity and the capacity to smile.

But what about Njeri, the one who had watched me from the security gate upon my entering this facility? The one who looked me directly in my eyes and asked me the sincerest of all questions, “what about me?” The one who is proudly holding my hand escorting me around the orphanage as I take photos of other children. 

Amid the mild raucous, I could only think of her and this question she presented to me.

Could she be replaying the vivid memories of how her and her two sisters were forgotten and abandoned by her parents, left in a small room for over a week without food or any water to drink and no means to use the restroom? Was she asking me if I would forsake her like those who were supposed to love her tenderly?

Could she be asking me if I knew her real name, age, birthdate, or family history?

She is now about three years old and the questions pervading and occupying her mind are not whether she could have the latest toy, video game, or baby doll to play with, but whether it is possible for her to ever be loved and esteemed and to ever have an identity.

“What about Me?” Njeri asks. Will you forget about me? Will you love me?

Njeri, beautiful baby girl, you are so precious to me. The time I have spent with you has changed my life forever. I would never forget about you – I can’t forget about you. I am connected with you - forever. 

How befitting is the Bible passage written by King David,  “For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in and hold me close.”

All these children, abandoned for whatever reason, yet they are still smiling and pressing forward just simply asking not to be forgotten. I sit with them as they worship in their sanctuary. One of the most beautiful scenes my eyes and ears have ever had the opportunity to witness are these orphans worshipping and singing praises to our God. The trust and the genuineness of their faith in God despite their circumstances is riveting. I come to help them but they don't realize how much they have helped me. 

Na Je Mimi...


And this is but a snapshot of what my eyes have witnessed...

Sometimes, in the middle of a busy room, I would catch her fall into a trance as if she was replaying some horrifying memory that only she can display. She would grow very quiet – her entire disposition would change. I would try to flash my camera but even the camera could not make her smile. I really hate to see her tormented like this. Eventually, she would snap out of it.