Buckets of Compassion (the visual post)

Buckets of Compassion

My two-year old is going through an “I want” phase with his language acquisition. He doesn’t always mean it in a selfish way yet hearing the phrase makes me cringe each time I hear it spoken by him. We’re trying to teach him a more polite way of asking for something, as well as sharing, but in his self-absorbed excitement he misses the point that it’s not always about him. Simply put, he’s got the wrong focus. Christmas is coming and for some it’s the season of “I want.” One of the opportunities, or responsibilities, we have with our two boys is to assist them with knowing the difference between wants and needs. It is our prayer that they grow up not only knowing the difference but actually going out and being a difference.

One of the community service ministries that West Nairobi School does each year is a Christmas bucket drive. It is one of their attempts at compassion with dignity rather than charity. Starting at the beginning of the school year WNS students reach out to a school in a nearby slum. Throughout the semester, students volunteer and participate with various service projects and engage with students from the school. Then as Christmas approaches WNS does their bucket drive collecting food to share with each family at the school. For a mere 1,800 Kenyan Shillings (roughly 20 US Dollars) the school will purchase the following:

2 kilos of white sugar

2 kilos of white rice

2 kilos of flour

1 kilo of dry beans

1 kilo of table salt

1 kilo of ndengu/green grams

1 packet of tea leaves

1 tub of cooking oil

Or if you would like to purchase the items yourself that is also an option. Not knowing what or how to find ndengu we have opted for giving money. After the items are collected WNS delivers the Christmas buckets and gives it to each family. In this way WNS is able to “share a meal” (or actually, many meals) with each family.

WNS reaches out to multiple schools and groups every year but the buckets are assigned to a different school each year, so they have a chance to bless all the schools they have interacted with over time. The school has been doing this type of service for at least six years and this year WNS is hoping to deliver over 300 buckets to a school in Kwangware.

Kawangware is one of the fastest growing and poorest slums in Nairobi, Kenya with a population of somewhere between 300,000 and 800,000. The majority of its residents are trying to survive on less than $1 per day, caught in what the United Nations calls “extreme poverty.” The slum is characterized by an almost complete lack of clean water and sanitation, rampant crime, and high unemployment. The spread of HIV/AIDS in Kawangware is believed to be between 30-45 percent. Many children are abandoned due to the atrocities this disease possesses. As a result, some children are forced to live in the streets of the slum, never receiving proper hygiene and care. International Childcare Ministries is one of the organizations that works to alleviate the difficulty of children and is also who WNS has partnered with for their Christmas Bucket ministry.

What is fascinating, in a rather disturbing way, is just how close Nairobi’s slums and affluent districts are to each other. Cohabitation is an understatement. So yesterday when I saw two children coming up to cars stopped in traffic asking for food it didn’t strike me as odd. What did shock me was seeing the driver in front of me eating what looked like a sandwich or burger of some sort and drinking bottled water while two children stood outside his door peering in his window asking for food. The man looked directly at the children at one point and then continued to eat his food. As my wife would say, “That’s just rude.”

My point is not to debate the social or moral politics of whether or not to give to beggars, but would it have been too much for the man to at least lower the food out of sight until the children had passed? Or at least give them a little dignity? Perhaps he was so focused on eating the food himself that he couldn’t see the hunger or thirst in front of him? As with Benjamin in his “I want” frame of mind, it seemed to me at least that the focus was all wrong.

WNS is not going to end poverty in Kwangware with their Christmas bucket service, but the teachers and community service staff are working towards teaching students about the right kind of focus. The focus on putting others ahead of yourself, of lasting joy in giving rather than receiving, and that to love your neighbour means more than giving a little money once a year. Compassion shouldn’t merely be a ministry of holiday spirit but rather one done in year-round Christian spirit.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in:” Matthew 25:35

St. John’s Ward

Lying in the hospital bed looking around at all of the blood and carnage on the ceiling and walls I wonder what’s next for me. Ominous netting hangs above my bed ready to fall and encase me with a mere tug. I keep telling myself that the sawing noise I am hearing is only motorcycles buzzing on a nearby road. Using this same logic the crying I hear must be birds. But I have my doubts.

I arrived yesterday afternoon amid gasps and struggles for breath. Not much to tell really. In speaking to my wife the doctor summed it up well when he said, “He’s having an asthma attack but is not responding to the medicine.” I don’t know why that needed to be said in front of me. A pep-talk would have been nice or even a flat-out lie would have helped me at that stage of my labored attempts at hanging onto life. Would it have been too difficult to say “You’re doing great, just hang in there.” I mean really, is this the time for blunt honesty? In hindsight I suppose it was good to know what was going on. In fact it might have been the only time that I knew precisely what was happening. Not long after being admitted to the High Dependency Unit I began to find it slightly easier to breathe. Amid the down pour outside, frequent power outages, mosquitoes and nurses extracting blood from me, and a handful of other patients in far worse conditions than myself, I knew I would be cared for and not left alone.

Now almost 24 hours later I have been moved to St. John’s Ward and left without a fraction of knowledge. The nurses were friendly enough when my wheelchair squeeked in, giving me the “everything is fine” vibe, but that was hours ago. I am now completely alone. After yesterday’s announcement to my wife I haven’t seen any resemblance of a doctor. I know that Nairobi Hospital is the best place for me right now but as my eyes continue to dart back to the desolation around me, and the authorities remain absent, my skepticism increases. Knowing full well that appearances can be deceiving I hold my apprehension in check and wait.

Waiting is nearly impossible when you can’t take your eyes off the death on the walls. Shadows crawl across the room amid the buzzing, screaming and other unknown noises. Anxiety creeps into the throat. I continue to wait. — Food arrives, an orderly is surprised to find me waiting, orderly leaves, I continue waiting. — Maybe the doctors forgot about me. Was the doctor’s name Godot? I wait.

Suddenly a bump in the hallway causes me to nearly jump out of bed. Something with a squeaky wheel goes by slowing as it passes my door. The door opens and then closes again but no one enters. Waiting… Waiting… I bolt upright again as a scratching noise comes from somewhere in the room. A fluttering noise assaults my ears from the window. Ahhhh! They’re coming in!

All rationalization is gone. Is this real? What kind of place is this? I’m in no kind of shape for a fight. My veins are purplish from constant injections while my hands are reminiscent of an addict. Regardless, I am sure they are entering from the window and I will not go gentle into the good night. Dragging my IV out of bed I stagger towards the window ready for battle. Swinging and smacking at the intruders I stand my ground. Clasping my free hand around a body I squeeze with all my strength. Letting go I lash out against the next one until my hand is dark with death and termite bodies lie around me. Copying my predecessors I wipe my hand  on the wall. Exhausted I stagger back to bed and continue waiting.

***

Note to the reader:

Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated…however, the events portrayed above are entirely true. Thank you for your prayers.