Busing It Through Botswana

Yes, I'm back to alliteration.  So sue me.  If anyone else has any suggestions for post title writing challenges, feel free to send them along.  Otherwise you are going to have to continue to suffer through my same first letter leanings.  Har har.

Now back to Zimbabwe where I was last seen trying to catch some zzzzz amidst a loud musical ruckus.  I probably got about three or four hours of sleep that night before I had to get up to catch my ride to Botswana.  I met the safari van at the entrance to the lodge where I was staying and joined an older couple who were on their way to a full-day safari at Chobe National Park.  As we took off, our guide/driver told us that we would be driving through a game reserve on the way to the border  and might encounter some wildlife along the way.  He said that when they had been driving through recently, they had come across several lions (or maybe they were leopards) crossing the road right in front of the car.  We ended up having no such luck, though we did spot a buffalo hiding out amongst some trees and a group of giraffes eating leaves off in the distance.  The older couple seemed a bit more excited than I was as it was their first wildlife encounter in Africa, whereas I had seen both buffalo and giraffes up close in Tanzania and thus wasn't nearly as impressed.

After about two hours, we crossed over the border from Zimbabwe to Botswana without much incident and then changed vehicles upon arriving on the other side.  We drove only a short distance further into the town of Kasane before pulling over to the side of the road upon catching sight of a small bus that was also stopped on the shoulder facing in the opposite direction. Apparently this was the bus that was going to take me to the city of Francistown where I could catch another bus to the capital of Gaborone.  I was able to sit in the middle seat up front, which turned out to be a blessing as they sure did cram the passengers into the back of the bus.  Sitting in the front seat, I had a great view of the scenery and local wildlife passing by before us.  At one point, an elephant family, including a few small calves, crossed the road right in front of us, though I didn't react quick enough to take out my phone for a photo.  It was my first "wild" elephant sighting in Africa, however, so it was still pretty exciting even though I don't have photographic proof.

It took about seven hours to get to Francistown and along the way we had to endure several rounds of feet sterilization as well as stops for gas and food.  At one gas station, I was thankfully able to get cash out of the ATM so I could pay for my bus fare in Bostwanan Pula.  Along the route we passed a number of cyclists as well as support vans for the annual Tour d'Afrique bicycle race.  At the rest stop where we all ate lunch, I asked one of the riders where they had started and where they all were ending.  He told me he had started in Nairobi and was riding to Cape Town, but that there were other cyclists who had started all the way up in Cairo back in January (it was mid-April by this point.)  I thought I was accomplishing something by going overland (via bus and train) from Nairobi to Cape Town, but this guy was doing the same route completely by bicycle!  I suddenly felt very lazy.  The only solice I could take was knowing that in the end I beat them to the finish.

After a few more hours, we arrived in Francistown and as I disembarked from the bus, a tout quickly ushered me over to a bus heading to Gaborone.  I had to wait another 15 minutes or so for the bus to take off during which time a steady stream of vendors came on board trying to sell various food and drink products to the already seated passengers (a phenomenon with which I was quite familiar after my previous African bus adventures.)  We finally left a little after 3:00pm and more than six hours later, once it was already dark out, we arrived in the city of Gaborone.  I knew there was a backpackers hostel about 10 kilometers outside of town, but for once I hadn't booked ahead so I had no idea if there was any availability.

When I got off the bus, I connected with the first cab driver who spoke decent English and told him that I wanted to go to an inexpensive lodge or hostel.  The first place he brought me turned out to be booked and after picking up another passenger (who had a problem with his own reservation there) we drove to another place that was also at full occupancy.  The other passenger had stayed at a sort of boarding house/lodge previously so he directed the driver to head there to check if there were rooms.  It turned out they had availability so we decided to stay there even though it cost the equivalent of $35 a night for pretty bare bone's accommodations.  I didn't have much other choice at that point so I pretty much had to go along with it.  Of course, the driver claimed I owed him more than we had agreed upon since he had "gone the extra distance" helping me to find a place to stay.  I finally had to pay him what he was asking and when he didn't have enough change, he told me he would reimburse me the following day when he came to pick me up in the morning.  I thought he was a cheat so I never ended up calling him back the next day, which meant I was out a bit of money.  At least I didn't have to deal with him again!

Kissin' Kenya

When I left Tumaini Hope on Saturday morning, I hitched a ride with some of the older kids and a driver from the center who were going to get more water since the supply at the orphanage had run out earlier.  They brought me to the nearest village where I had to board a matutu to another town before changing to a different minibus en route to Karen, an upper-middle-class suburb outside of Nairobi.  The boys asked a man who was riding with his little girl on the first matutu to show me where to get on the second one I needed.  Sure enough, when we got to the transfer point, the man graciously helped me get where I needed to go even though he actually wasn't getting on himself.  When we arrived in Karen, however, I was completely lost as to where to go.  A motorbike taxi driver pulled up as I was trying to call the hostel where I was staying and they gave him directions on how to get there.  I'm glad they did because it would have been quite the hike to walk all that way.  However, the entire time I was on the bike I was afraid I was going to topple off the end due to the weight of the backpack I was wearing.  Luckily I made it to the Bush House and Camp in one piece with all my belongings fully intact.

Once I got inside the gated compound, I realized that compared to my first hostel in Nairobi, this place was a lovely retreat.  There was an open living room and a solarium used as a dining room that was surrounded by some beautiful gardens.  That afternoon I didn't do much of anything besides go to a nearby shopping center to pick up some things I needed with a Swedish guest who was also staying at the hostel.  He had been working in Ethiopia on research for a masters thesis so it was really interesting to hear about his experiences with the local tribes.  There weren't many other people staying at the house that night aside from the Swedish guy, a middle-aged Australian woman and an older Kenyan couple so it was pretty peaceful, especially since it was so far outside the center of town.

The following day, I took a cab and went to the Giraffe Centre in the nearby town of Langatta.  The center was established to protect the endangered Rothschild giraffe, which is only found in the grasslands of East Africa.  The seven or eight giraffes in this particular center were housed in a very extensive enclosure along with a number of warthogs.  There was an education center with an elevated feeding center that allowed visitors to get up on eye level with the giraffes and not only give them pellets to eat, but also give them a kiss on the mouth.  In order to "kiss" a giraffe, one must put a pellet between one's teeth and then have the giraffe lick it out with its tongue.  Let me tell you from experience after feeding giraffes via both hand and mouth--they have very long, slobbery tongues.  It was pretty much as gross as it looks, but I guess it's worth it just to say I've done it.  After hanging with the giraffes for a while, I took a short nature walk with one of the guides from the center to check out the local foliage before heading back to the hostel.

Bright and early the following morning (and without the benefit of electricity which was out at the hostel), I took a cab into Nairobi and boarded a bus to the city of Arusha, Tanzania.  It's about a five-hour drive, including a stop to cross the border.  While we were still in Kenya, an immigration officer boarded the bus to spot check all our passports.  When he first got on, he couldn't find the page with my visa and then after he handed it to me, I awkwardly couldn't either.  I finally found it and after he asked me a few questions about why I was in Kenya, he finally seemed somewhat satisfied that I wasn't some dangerous terrorist and disembarked from the bus so we could continue on.  One of the Kenyan passengers later made a comment that he thought they guy was about to pull me off the bus and interrogate me, which made me glad that I wasn't the only one who thought the officer needlessly gave me a hard time.  Then when we got to the border crossing, I discovered that as an American citizen, I needed to pay $100 for a visa instead of the $50 I had planned for.  I only had a bit over $50 in American dollars so I had to pay the other 50 in euros.  Unfortunately, euros are worth more than dollars so I actually overpaid by about $13.  In retrospect, I probably should have accepted the offer of a Canadian couple on my bus to do a currency trade of euros for dollars, but instead I panicked and just handed the guy the euro bill.  At least he accepted the money so I didn't get shipped back to Kenya.

Aside from these little glitches, the bus trip went relatively smoothly.  I really enjoyed watching the scenery as we drove by the mountains, scrubland and small Masai villages while in my head I sang "Nants ingonyama bagithi baba... Sithi uhhmm ingonyam" (the opening of The Circle of Life) feeling like I was experiencing something straight out of The Lion King (without all the lions.)  When we arrived in the outskirts of Arusha, I disembarked from the minibus (apparently a stop or two too early) and upon realizing I had no idea where I was, called Deo, who is the director of the center where I was volunteering.  Luckily my SIM card from Kenya still worked in Tanzania or I would have been screwed since I had no local currency.  Deo seemed rather concerned that I was in the wrong place, but he told me to wait right where I was and not to talk to anyone.  In the end I was perfectly fine and he arrived a few minutes later in a car driven by John, in whose home he had arranged for me to stay.  We stopped first at the center and then after finagling a bit on the price, drove to John's place where I decided I could spend a little more money than usual to stay for the week.  It turned out I actually had the house to myself because John and his family actually live next door and just rent the other house out to visitors.  Once again it was nice to be able to just relax in my own space and not have to worry about sharing with anyone else for a little while.

Time for Tumaini

On Monday morning, I left the center in Ruiru to head back to Nairobi where I was supposed to meet up with one of my other contacts, Alice, who was going to bring me to my next volunteer site.  One of the women who works at the Ruiru center was also heading to town so she offered to go with me in a mini-bus (or "matatu" in Swahili.)  We walked together to the main road, me with all my bags and climbed into the first ride that came by.  I wasn't very organized so I had a bunch of different things in my hands and as I was trying to shove my way inside, my water bottle came loose and rolled across the road.  There were a lot of cars coming so instead of trying to run out to get it, I decided to consider it a casualty and leave it where it was. The aim of the matatu "conductors" is to shove as many people into the vehicle as quickly as possible so I don't think he would have had much tolerance for waiting.  With all my bags piled on top of me and people crammed in next to me, the 40-minute drive back to Nairobi was not the most comfortable journey ever, but luckily I made it will all my belongings (aside from the water) intact.

When we arrived at a random street on the outskirts of the city, the matatu dropped us off and I got into a cab to head to the shopping center where I was supposed to meet Alice.  On the way there, I determined that this was where the ex-pats and wealthier Kenyans lived, which was confirmed once I arrived at the mall with its (relatively) chic stores and upscale cafes.  While I was waiting for Alice to arrive, I went inside where I bought some school supplies to bring to the orphanage and then picked up a smoothie for good measure.  When Alice got there I went outside to meet her and her middle school-aged niece, Lulu, who was on her spring vacation from school.  Lulu is actually the daughter of Eunice who runs the Tumaini Hope Center where I was headed as a volunteer for the week.  At the time, Eunice was in the U.S. working on raising more funds for the orphanage so Lulu was staying in Nairobi with her guardian so she could continue going to school.  She was born in America, but moved back to Kenya when she was still pretty young.  However, she attends an American international school so her accent sounds completely American.  Lulu's father also lives in Virginia so she goes back often to visit.  Her aunt, Alice, meanwhile, is a native Kenyan who lives in New Jersey and works for the U.N.   She was back in Nairobi while I was there to oversee the groundbreaking of a new apartment building she's constructing.

Alice had promised Lulu that she would take her out for lunch so I was invited along on the way to the center.  We went to a delicious Ethiopian restaurant where we shared a spicy chicken dish and a vegetable dish along with the traditional spongy injera flatbread.  I had only ever tried Ethiopian food in New York City so it was fun to have a more authentic experience in the country right next door to where it actually originates from (though not actually in Ethiopia, itself.)

After lunch, we drove to the children's home, which is located on a hilltop overlooking fields and farmland just outside of the city.  The beautiful new complex, which features a main building that houses the Noah's Ark Rescue Center for the younger kids and two separate houses for the older boys and girls, was built just a few years ago and offers an amazing view of the countryside.  When I arrived it was a stark contrast to the very basic facilities they had to make do with in Ruiru.  The younger kids were just returning from school as we pulled up so as we got out of the car, three-year-old Amos, came running up to Lulu, who had lived at the center for a while with her mother.  He was a bit shy around me at first, but he was definitely excited to get attention from his favorite "big sister."

I got a brief tour of the main building and then got back into the car to drive to the cottage where I was staying at a discounted rate for the week.  It was a really cool private round hut that looked like something you would see at a safari lodge in the bush.  It was basically just a bedroom with a bathroom attached, but it was certainly more "luxurious" than the shared budget accommodations where I am more accustomed to sleeping.

I dropped off my things and then road the short distance back to the main complex.  Alice and Lulu said goodbye so I was left for the rest of the afternoon with the young one to six-year-old Noah's Ark kids and their many attentive "aunties."  In contrast with the older kids I was working with in Ruiru, here I was assigned to the to toddler and early elementary set.  There was an amazing ratio of about one auntie to every six or seven kids who shared a room and were literally each other's sibling.  Even still it was immediately evident that these children craved attention and that unlike their all-business aunties, I got to be the fun big sister who gave them pony rides on my knees and played hand clapping games with them.  I came to learn quickly that though all these demands on my attention where incredibly touching, they were also extremely exhausting.  When you have half a dozen three, four and five-year-olds climbing all over you and calling out "Jenny-fa" all at the same time it can get very tiring.  The first night, I didn't even make it past their dinnertime before I called it a night and went back to my cabin to eat my own dinner once it was delivered.

Over the next five days or so, I spent my mornings playing with the one and two year olds, helping in the kitchen, doing laundry and washing dishes.  There were three very nice social work students who were interning at the center for a few months so I spent a lot of time working with them during the day.  One morning we even made Chapati bread, though this time I was responsible for rolling out the dough into thin, round circles as opposed to cooking it.  It was kind of nice when it was quiet during the day, though it was obviously great to see the school-aged kids when they came home in the afternoon. Once they were back, I would help them to wash up and do their homework before they had playtime and then dinner.  I was obviously only able to assist with their English lessons and math assignments, but they would still ask me questions about Swahili.  I finally was able to explain to six-year-old George that I didn't speak Swahili so he would have to teach me.  I don't think he quite understood that he couldn't just list off a bunch of words in Swahili, he actually had to tell me what they meant in English.  Clearly those lessons didn't go too far.

Since the older kids, aged seven and up, were at school for longer during the day, I didn't get much chance to work with them, though I did go over one afternoon to say hello.  One of the girls showed me around their house and then brought me over the boys' house to get a tour.  Every so often, a few of the girls would come up to the main house when they got home from school to play with some of the young ones.  On the Friday that I was there a couple of American donors who were friends with Eunice stopped by for a few hours and two of the older girls stayed home from school to visit with them since they had known since they were very young.

Out at the cabins, I wasn't the only Western visitor staying there.  There was also a Dutch couple living in a cottage who were in the process of adopting one of the girls from the center. Apparently strict new adoption rules in Kenya require that adoptive parents stay in the country for six months before the papers are finalized.  This couple was willing to make the sacrifice and I could see how much love and devotion they felt toward little six-year-old Rachel.  I prayed that everything would work because I could see how much it would crush both them and her if something were to go array.  However, one small part of me couldn't help but think of how much change Rachel was in for once she moved away from her homeland and all her "siblings" for the cold, foreign, Dutch-speaking environs of the Netherlands.  There was even a bittersweet moment when Rachel had to say goodbye to her friends after she and her future parents had to move out of the cottage and into an apartment because of procedural requirements.  I know children are resilient, but in the end that center is their home and those aunties and other children are their family so it's definitely going to be an adjustment for her leave.

I moved out the day after Rachel and it was a bittersweet moment for me as well.  Even though I felt myself getting teary, I actually took a bit of comfort in knowing that unlike the kids at Ruiru, these young souls would probably forget about me within a few days.  Even though I wished I could still be there for them, it felt a lot less like abandonment.  With a quick, but sad farewell, I took my newly-gifted Tumaini Hope tee-shirt and rolled off in a truck back toward town where I caught a matatu to the city.

Even though the facilities at Tumaini Hope are nearly brand new and in great condition, there's still a a great need for donations and basic supplies.  For example, there are not enough forks for all the children to use so they often have to eat dinner with their hands.  Also, one day when I asked one of the children to bring me a book for us to read, the only thing she had was her school assignment workbook because there were no books.  On Saturdays, the children have a chance to draw with crayons, but otherwise there is no opportunity for creative activities or arts and crafts because there just aren't enough supplies.  In addition, the children only have a very limited number of toys, educational or otherwise, that they all must share with each other.  The ones they do have are generally old and worn and in some cases not even functioning.  If you would like to help to give these kids the best possible life, I am going to post links for both Tumaini Ministries and the Ruiru Rehabilition Centre on the main links pages where you can find more information.  Thanks for your generosity.  Both homes greatly need your help.

I'm exhausted so I will proofread and post pictures tomorrow.  Sorry in advance for any glaring errors.

Working with Kids in Kenya

I’m sorry I haven’t posted in quite a while.  I’ve been hanging out in South Africa for the past few weeks just relaxing a bit so I guess I’ve been taking a little break from the blog as well.  I will try to get it updated over the next few days or so.

I arrived in Nairobi, Kenya, at the end of March and was planning to volunteer at a children’s home there for about a week or so before heading down to Tanzania.  When I arrived, I took a cab from the airport to my hostel where I checked into a three-bed dormitory room.  The two other girls in the room appeared to be students who were living there long-term as their stuff was all over the place and they had obviously been there for a while already.  One of the girls was somewhat friendly, but the other seemed rather miffed that I had “invaded” her space despite the fact that it was a hostel room and thus subject by nature to transient residents.

Nothing seemed to be working at the hostel--the phones, the internet service--so I went across the street to a cafe with wifi access so I could check e-mail and try to connect with my contacts at the places where I was supposed to be volunteering.  When I finished I went back to the hostel where I met a German girl named Hannah who was up in Nairobi for a few days from Tanzania where she was volunteering.  We got some beers at the kiosk next to the hostel, sat outside drinking them and then called it an early night.

I was already back in my room when the unfriendly roommate who was sleeping in the bunk below me returned.  Though I tried to say hello, she didn’t even bother to acknowledge my existence.  I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and when I returned I saw that she had unplugged my cell phone, which I was trying to charge, in order to plug in her own phone (there was only one electric outlet in the room.)  I was rather annoyed that she hadn’t even bothered to ask and as I stalked over to retrieve my phone I accidentally (I promise it was an accident) knocked over hers so that the charger disconnected.  I tried to plug it back in, but couldn’t figure out how to do it so I eventually had to ask her to do it herself.

It was nearly midnight by then and I was still wiped out from my exhausting plane journey and uncomfortable night in the Bahrain airport so I climbed up to my bunk to go to bed.  I didn’t even bother to ask the bitchy girl to turn off the light and instead just put on an eye mask so I could fall asleep--which I was fortunately able to do-- until about 2:30 in the morning.  That’s when I suddenly felt a hand grabbing for something around my back.  I audibly gasped and then heard a female voice quickly say “sorry!” before one girl opened the door to leave and another got back onto the lower bunk.  By that point the light was already out and I was so groggy that I didn’t bother to say anything.  I don’t really know what they were trying to do, but my best guess is that they wanted to find my phone, which I actually had next to me on the bed, though luckily on the other side.  Needless to say I was pretty pissed as I rolled over and went back to sleep.

The next morning I met up with Hannah whom I had made arrangements with to go into the city center.  I was already planning to check out of the hostel that day to head to one of the children’s homes, but the events of the night before confirmed that I needed to get out of there as soon as possible.  I mentioned what had happened to one of the managers at the front desk, but since I had no proof that the girls were actually trying to steal something and I couldn’t even confirm exactly who they were, I’m guessing he probably never even said anything to them.  At least I did my part to let him know in case something like that ever happens again.

After leaving our bags at the front office, Hannah and I took a cab into the center of Nairobi where we walked around the downtown shopping area.  I broke down and bought a cheap local cell phone since I had so many people I needed to get in touch with as well as a pair of sunglasses to replace the pair I had just left behind in Cairo.  We also walked around a traditional African craft market where there were a lot of really nice things that I just didn’t have any room to carry around in my backpack.  By mid-afternoon, we headed back to the hostel where one of my contacts was coming to pick me up and Hannah was supposed to meet up with a friend of a friend as well.

When the first car arrived, we weren’t sure who it was for, but it turned out it to be for me.  It was Matthew, a board member at the first children’s home I was going to visit for a few days where my friend, Nolan, had volunteered in the past.  Nolan had spent a week there with another friend, Kevin, and formed a real connection with a lot of the kids.  At first it didn’t look like it was going to work out for me to go there myself so I made arrangements with another home through one of Nolan’s coworkers.  In the end, the opportunity presented itself to visit so I postponed my arrival at the other center by a few days.  This first center was located in the village of Ruiru, about 30 minutes outside of Nairobi.  It housed mostly older children and teenagers who have generally been rescued from off the streets or homes where their parents are no longer able to care for them.  The facilities were very basic with no real indoor kitchen or running hot water, but I’m sure it was still preferable to where these children were living before.

Upon my arrival, several of the children greeted me at the entrance and I met a few of the staff members who showed me to the room where I was staying and gave me a tour of the complex.  The main building housed the office, rooms for the staff and visitors, a dining room, meeting hall and library where the kids do their homework and study.  Outside was a courtyard and covered kitchen area.  Bordering the yard were the four dorm rooms that house the girls and boys according to age.  Behind the dorms was a small garden and chicken coop where the kids help to grow vegetables and gather eggs.

After the tour, I went back into the main building where I spoke with some of the kids for  a while before being invited into the meeting room where they were blasting the CD player and dancing to the music.  Eventually I got pulled onto the dance floor where I made a complete fool of myself as only a white girl trying to keep up with a bunch of rhythmically-gifted African kids can truly do.  We alternated between them trying to teach me their moves and me teaching them mine, which were quite lame by comparison. In the end, though, I just let loose and had fun because I was clearly the only one who felt in the least bit self conscious. 

Late in the afternoon the kids had a fellowship service in the big meeting room.  They took turns singing hymns and reading out bible verses.  One Swahili song that they all sang together in harmony was so hauntingly beautiful that it nearly made me cry just listening to it.   Watching and interacting with the kids throughout the day made me see how much joy they take in the simple acts of singing and dancing despite their limited circumstances.  While all I could see was the things that were lacking, they were able to find so much happiness in the basic pleasures in life that cost very little money.  I also noticed how the children really treated each other as siblings and the older ones looked out for the younger ones.  They had created a family for themselves in the most difficult of situations.

At dinnertime, after the kids were ordered to turn off the music and pointedly told it was time to eat, I was ushered into the dining room where I was given a huge serving of Ugali bread and beans.  Ugali is basically just flour mixed in a pot with boiling water, but it is so dense that there was no way I could finish my massive portion.  Once I had determined that I couldn’t possibly shove any more of it into my mouth, I sheepishly put part of it back in the pot because I didn’t want to waste the food.  Naturally, this did prompt some strange looks from the group of younger kids who were gathered around as I did it.

The following day was Sunday so the kids were off from school again.  In the morning, I helped to cook traditional Chapati bread over the wood-burning stoves outside.  This basically involved placing thin circles of dough on a heated stone skillet, turning the dough, buttering it, then flipping it over and rotating it some more. I was certainly no expert and nearly burned my hand a few times on the hot skillet, but eventually got the hang of it.

I needed to pick up some more bottled water so after the cooking was done, Manuel, a young Dutch guy who had been volunteering at the center for a few months, brought me to the grocery store across the highway in the village.  Walking to the store I had the opportunity to see how poor the village of Ruiru actually was with its shanty houses, dirt roads and strewn piles of trash.  I suppose it was probably representative of many villages in Kenya, but compared to the relatively more developed city of Nairobi it was clearly lacking in many basic resources.  Along the way, Manuel told me stories about the kids and some of the things they had been through, including how one of the boys had recently been hit by a minibus crossing the road and never been quite the same since.  I had noticed the boy walked with a bit of limp, though he still loved to dance with all the others.  Manuel told me they sometimes made fun of him, which made me rather sad.

Back at the center in the afternoon, the children gathered for another church fellowship, this time led by a student from one of the local divinity schools.  There was more singing, testifying and preaching about important lessons the kids were supposed to glean from the Ten Commandments.  After the service the kids once again had free time so there was more dancing, unicycling and general commotion.  I danced with the kids and chatted with some of the older ones about their plans for the future.  One of the boys told me he was taking acrobatics classes and another named Francis explained that he wanted to go to college in the US to study fashion design.  He said it was Nolan who had encouraged him to pursue that career path and while I listened to his plans and offered him advice, it saddened me to think of the huge obstacles he is going to have to overcome to actually make it a reality.  These kids all have such big dreams, but just by accident of birth, it’s so much harder for them to reach those goals than it would be for the average American teenager.

In the evening, the kids all gathered for the weekly Sunday night debate.  As the visitor I  was tasked with coming up with the topic.  I had a hard time coming up with something suitable, but finally settled on the question of whether it is more important to learn history or science.  It was really interesting to hear what they had to say and see how their Christian beliefs influenced their arguments.  In the end, the “science” side won out, though I personally thought the “history” kids had a more coherent argument.  It was one of the kids who was doing the judging so he might have been just a bit biased.

After the debate we had dinner and then while the kids were doing their chores I tried to go around and say goodbye to some of the kids individually.  I had fully intended to get up to say goodbye to the whole group while they eating breakfast the next morning, figuring I would be awoken by the commotion.  Instead, since they ate at about 5:30am, it was barely a blip on my consciousness and I never made it out of bed.  I instead wrote a note and gave it to Manuel asking him to read it out to them when they got back from school.  I admit I had a bit of a lump in my throat, realizing I wasn’t going to get the chance to say goodbye.  Even though I had only spent a very short time with them, these were really special kids and it was hard knowing that, unlike very young children, they would actually remember me after I left.  The entire time I was there, they couldn’t stop talking about Nolan and Kevin, and how much they missed them  I saw what a big impression those guys had left on all the kids and I honestly felt like I was abandoning them just as they were starting to get to know me.  In some ways, I felt like it might have been better if I hadn’t come at all since I disappeared as quickly as I arrived.  However, it was now time to head to another children’s home where I would see things on the complete opposite end of the spectrum.

Pictures posted soon.  Also of Egypt.  Promise.  They're just not loaded on my computer yet.