“Obama! Obama!” The chorus of small children yell this as they run to me wrapping themselves around my legs and begging to be picked up. I grab a few of the lightest ones and toss them into the air and spin them around. This is a frequent occurrence considering every time I walk to or from my house I’m bombarded by the neighborhood kids. Really, I just passed you 10 minutes ago you don’t need to attack me again!
There is never a dull moment thanks to the kids in the neighborhood. Living in the hospital staff compound I’m surrounded by about 50 children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews, of my coworkers. These kids are fascinated by the muzungs living next to them. The first few weeks of living here I felt like an animal at the zoo. Children would stand at our windows and gawk all day long. They’d pound on the door chanting, “Muzungu, give me sweets!” No! Parents warned us never to give the kids food or else they would always come back asking for more.
My house has become a play room. Our toys consist of a Where’s Waldo book, and a few bouncy balls. But most of all the kids are interested in just watching me do everyday things. They watch me brush my teeth, comb my hair, do my dishes, sweep the floor. Sometimes they assist in helping hand wash my clothes. Freddy, it really isn’t necessary for you to be washing my underwear! But everything is more interesting when a white person does it.
You never know what “toys” the kids are going to bring a long with them. Zedi once brought in his little truck with a dead bird in the back of it. Allen comes in holding a rusty saw blade. Samuel is chewing on some pills- go figure his dad is a doctor. Olga is trying to scare me with a goat skull (probably the remnants of a recent slaughter). Baby usually comes over without shorts or underwear and likes to sit on our furniture. You can’t turn your back on them or else they’re scouring our food bin looking for a snack , or they’re running away with our belongings. Hey, come back here with my hairbrush! I’ll be walking home from work and I see a 1 ½ year old dragging my running shoes across the compound. One afternoon I watched a group of preschoolers chase cows away by throwing rocks at their behinds. Cheap entertainment! Who needs a swing set and sidewalk chalk when you have cows and rocks!?
Not all of the children enjoy us. Some of the tiny ones are afraid of the big white monsters living near them. One little guy, Bradley, screams and bolts home if I am within 20 yards of him. The older kids know how afraid he is and they’ve made a game out of it. They carry him to our front step (unbeknown to him that it is my house) knock, and leave him stranded. So when we answer the door he’s alone, face-to-face with the white girls. The horror-stricken boy bolts home at lightening speed. The first few months were tough for Bradley but he’s finally get use to me.
It’s great having the kids around. I’ve improved my Swahili learning phrases like “Don’t touch that.” “Take off your shoes.” “Go home, return tomorrow!” They are overall well behaved, cute kids. I’d compare it to having 50 nieces and nephews, they are fun to play with but when you get tired of them you can send them back home to mom and dad!
There is never a dull moment thanks to the kids in the neighborhood. Living in the hospital staff compound I’m surrounded by about 50 children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews, of my coworkers. These kids are fascinated by the muzungs living next to them. The first few weeks of living here I felt like an animal at the zoo. Children would stand at our windows and gawk all day long. They’d pound on the door chanting, “Muzungu, give me sweets!” No! Parents warned us never to give the kids food or else they would always come back asking for more.
My house has become a play room. Our toys consist of a Where’s Waldo book, and a few bouncy balls. But most of all the kids are interested in just watching me do everyday things. They watch me brush my teeth, comb my hair, do my dishes, sweep the floor. Sometimes they assist in helping hand wash my clothes. Freddy, it really isn’t necessary for you to be washing my underwear! But everything is more interesting when a white person does it.
You never know what “toys” the kids are going to bring a long with them. Zedi once brought in his little truck with a dead bird in the back of it. Allen comes in holding a rusty saw blade. Samuel is chewing on some pills- go figure his dad is a doctor. Olga is trying to scare me with a goat skull (probably the remnants of a recent slaughter). Baby usually comes over without shorts or underwear and likes to sit on our furniture. You can’t turn your back on them or else they’re scouring our food bin looking for a snack , or they’re running away with our belongings. Hey, come back here with my hairbrush! I’ll be walking home from work and I see a 1 ½ year old dragging my running shoes across the compound. One afternoon I watched a group of preschoolers chase cows away by throwing rocks at their behinds. Cheap entertainment! Who needs a swing set and sidewalk chalk when you have cows and rocks!?
Not all of the children enjoy us. Some of the tiny ones are afraid of the big white monsters living near them. One little guy, Bradley, screams and bolts home if I am within 20 yards of him. The older kids know how afraid he is and they’ve made a game out of it. They carry him to our front step (unbeknown to him that it is my house) knock, and leave him stranded. So when we answer the door he’s alone, face-to-face with the white girls. The horror-stricken boy bolts home at lightening speed. The first few months were tough for Bradley but he’s finally get use to me.
It’s great having the kids around. I’ve improved my Swahili learning phrases like “Don’t touch that.” “Take off your shoes.” “Go home, return tomorrow!” They are overall well behaved, cute kids. I’d compare it to having 50 nieces and nephews, they are fun to play with but when you get tired of them you can send them back home to mom and dad!
3 comments:
Lauren? Hi, my name is Christy. I just discovered your blog on a rare occasion to use the internet. Your experiences sound eerily familiar to mine, I ALSO live in Karungu perhaps I've seen you around? There are SOOO many white people around here, yours is probably just another face in the crowd!Ha! Someday (like when we're back in America) I'm going to read your whole blog, I think it'll be highly entertaining. Anyhow, that's it, seeyou at 12:30 for the amazing githeri I am making.
In your website you tell people to quote a value of $ 3 on any packages sent to you to help reduce the custom charges to yourself. Do you know that you are participating in tax fraud against the Kenya government by denying revenue collection?
No wonder the children are running around barefoot because the “Wazungu” are promoting tax fraud thereby denying government of the republic of Kenya revenue.
I hope this omission by yourself is removed immediately.
Jay, are you serious? You're going to get on her case for this? First of all she is VOLUNTEERING a year of her life to go to the otherside of the world to help at a hospital. I think the care she is providing is more valuable than any tax revenue. Secondly, there are other reasons to put a low value. Customs officials in some parts of the world aren't the most ethical, things have a tendency to go "missing." It's not like people are sending her a big screen TV for her shack. Do you really think that the revenue from the box of granola bars or tube of toothpaste that someone sends her is going to change the world. She is a volunteer without a lot of money, layoff her.
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