She was wearing a dirty little blue dress the first time I noticed her and took her picture. She was looking at the mzungus from a distance. There were lots of little ones who seemed to be wandering around without the mothers, but she was the littlest. She must be somewhere between two and three years old.
That was the only time I saw her wearing anything close to decent. The rest of the time she wore a tattered pink t-shirt and sagging panties. She was always dirty with mucus streaming from her nose. Her head was shaved close. She didn’t run towards me with the others and beg for attention. She didn’t giggle or run and play or sing. Usually she didn’t even look at me.
One day I pulled an airline towelette out of my pack and wiped her dirty face and snotty nose. She sat apathetically with her eyes averted, like a little fawn trying to avoid detection. The next night all I had to clean her face was the same dirty towelette, but it did the job. She looked better with a clean face, but still she didn’t look at me, or even hint at a smile.
There was another little girl that caught my attention. Four or five years old, she was always dressed in a colorful dress in the Kenyan style, always neat and clean with short cropped hair, sparkling eyes and a mischievous smile. She was quick to scoot close when I sat on the ground and put her little hand in mine. She was never far away.
When I discovered the two were sisters, I was shocked. Was the little one an orphan, taken in by the other mother but not really loved? Or was she just not a favorite?
One evening there was a brisk cool wind blowing. Most everyone was wearing jackets or long sleeves. I watched this little girl sitting on the ground in the front in her tattered and dirty pink t-shirt leaning on what must have been her brother. The sound of her rasping cough wrenched my heart. She leaned heavily on him and her face crinkled up with misery. She looked so very tired and sick. He ignored her.
In the market the next day I picked out a simple warm little jumper. I planned to slip it on the child during the meeting after it got dark. If I did it during daylight, all the children would be asking me for clothes. “Who is that little girl?” I asked Lamach, a retired teacher and deep love of children.
He asked someone and then said, “Her name is AnnDes.”
That evening, rather than trying to pinch Andes’ cheek or shake her hand or get her to smile, I just picked her right up from her place on the ground and carried her to where I was sitting. She went totally mute again, staring away like she was in another world, and almost limp. I held her close for warmth and she leaned her tired little head on my breast. In a moment she was sleeping soundly and obliviously.
Before I had a chance to put the little jumper on, a woman came to take her. I slipped the jumper into the woman’s arms with the child. Then she was gone and my lap was empty.
I asked Lamach to find out what he could about the girl. The next afternoon was Sabbath, and while everyone was mingling and the children were crowding around for attention, I saw Andes off to the side. She was naked and as dirty and as sad as ever. I called to her and waved, but there was no response. Leaving the other children, I walked over and picked her up. I was surprised how light she was. She still didn’t look at me.
Later Lamach told me he had talked with the mother. He said she was so happy for the clothes. But he indicated that Andes had been treated roughly and made to keep quiet and out of sight when visitors were present. He said she had been locked in the house alone when her mother was away. When I mentioned the difference between her and her sister, he said it is common here in Kenya for parents to have favorites and treat one child badly.
I suppose I will leave some money with Lamach to see that her needs are met, though doing so may encourage the mother’s jealousy or lack or responsibility. But who will love her? Who will cuddle her and touch her cheek and tell her she is beautiful? Maybe there is someone here who can do that for her. Maybe I can find someone....
One day I pulled an airline towelette out of my pack and wiped her dirty face and snotty nose. She sat apathetically with her eyes averted, like a little fawn trying to avoid detection. The next night all I had to clean her face was the same dirty towelette, but it did the job. She looked better with a clean face, but still she didn’t look at me, or even hint at a smile.
There was another little girl that caught my attention. Four or five years old, she was always dressed in a colorful dress in the Kenyan style, always neat and clean with short cropped hair, sparkling eyes and a mischievous smile. She was quick to scoot close when I sat on the ground and put her little hand in mine. She was never far away.
When I discovered the two were sisters, I was shocked. Was the little one an orphan, taken in by the other mother but not really loved? Or was she just not a favorite?
One evening there was a brisk cool wind blowing. Most everyone was wearing jackets or long sleeves. I watched this little girl sitting on the ground in the front in her tattered and dirty pink t-shirt leaning on what must have been her brother. The sound of her rasping cough wrenched my heart. She leaned heavily on him and her face crinkled up with misery. She looked so very tired and sick. He ignored her.
In the market the next day I picked out a simple warm little jumper. I planned to slip it on the child during the meeting after it got dark. If I did it during daylight, all the children would be asking me for clothes. “Who is that little girl?” I asked Lamach, a retired teacher and deep love of children.
He asked someone and then said, “Her name is AnnDes.”
That evening, rather than trying to pinch Andes’ cheek or shake her hand or get her to smile, I just picked her right up from her place on the ground and carried her to where I was sitting. She went totally mute again, staring away like she was in another world, and almost limp. I held her close for warmth and she leaned her tired little head on my breast. In a moment she was sleeping soundly and obliviously.
Before I had a chance to put the little jumper on, a woman came to take her. I slipped the jumper into the woman’s arms with the child. Then she was gone and my lap was empty.
I asked Lamach to find out what he could about the girl. The next afternoon was Sabbath, and while everyone was mingling and the children were crowding around for attention, I saw Andes off to the side. She was naked and as dirty and as sad as ever. I called to her and waved, but there was no response. Leaving the other children, I walked over and picked her up. I was surprised how light she was. She still didn’t look at me.
Later Lamach told me he had talked with the mother. He said she was so happy for the clothes. But he indicated that Andes had been treated roughly and made to keep quiet and out of sight when visitors were present. He said she had been locked in the house alone when her mother was away. When I mentioned the difference between her and her sister, he said it is common here in Kenya for parents to have favorites and treat one child badly.
I suppose I will leave some money with Lamach to see that her needs are met, though doing so may encourage the mother’s jealousy or lack or responsibility. But who will love her? Who will cuddle her and touch her cheek and tell her she is beautiful? Maybe there is someone here who can do that for her. Maybe I can find someone....