Still....Peace....Quiet

Wednesday, September 14, 2011 Today we visited the Muthare Slum, and a small school within called St. Philips. We had been fairly warned that the conditions we would see would be deplorable, as this slum is known as one of the worst in Africa. With nearly 650,000 impoverished residents, to say this place is crowded is an understatement. To visitors, all senses are offended, the nose and eyes the most. The sights the eyes see should be one that no one must see everyday. The nose was tortured by the fumes of rotting trash, burning fires, and raw sewage. Merely leaning against a wall or door frame filled one with germs and the tiny rooms were overheated by the many bodies and lack of ventilation. Just opening the mouth infiltrated the tongue with offensive flavors. Yet, in this terrible place there so many contradictions: beautiful voices in the mist of ugliness; clean laundry in the mist of filth; blooming flowers in barren land; forgotten children in a place no one who enters ever forgets; fresh vegetables in stale land; hope when hopeless; happy faces in the saddest of circumstances; simple needs with the most complex of solutions; joy in the mist of sorrow; utter happiness in the saddest of times; and gratitude when there's seemingly nothing worth giving thanks. On our visit to St. philips School, we were welcomed by the children, headmaster and committee members. Children stood, greeted us, shared their dreams for the future, prayed for us and sang the most beautiful songs. The school choir came in second last year in the national choir competition and that's no small feat. The physical conditions of the classes were simply terrible. Of all the schools we have visited, these ere by far the smallest with the most bodies. The metal roof overhangs are so low that I could have easily hit my forehead and one had to duck to enter all the classes. Floors are red dirt and sheet metal makes up the walls. Some classes have gaping holes in the walls, and one child stuck a hand through for us to give home five. There is no electricity, light comes from the door and, in a few places, small windows. Like all other homes and schools, the porridge is prepared on an open fire stove. The nursery class, which houses three and four year olds seemed the smallest, about 8x10. The door wouldn't open all the way and visitors could only peek their head around the door. There were between 20 and 30 babies with the most gracious and energetic teacher. All classes look the same: tallest children in the back rows, with a thin desk, then another row of children. The rows are so close together it's as if the children got in and the next row was pushed as tight as possible against them. There were no isles and to get in and out the children crawled over the desks. The potty is the 'stream' of sewage that runs down all the alleys. Once the 6, 7, and 8th graders broke into song of 'Beautiful Morn', there was not one dry eye in the cramped, hot room. The sadness floated away and the hope and dreams took over. The solo of my favorite song, Simple Gifts, was beautiful. Imagine 50 of the poorest children in the world singing in perfect harmony, "zippity do da, zippity day, I've got a feeling everything's going my way". Our choir director declared that some of the songs were high school level five songs. Following the slums, we visited a factory where refugee women are employed to sew items and sell in their gift shop. There's a cafe and after you place your order, you get a tour of the factory. The women dye and batik the fabric, cut, sew, then sell the items. I loved it! Our group bought $5500 worth of what we are calling 'retail mission'. it's called amni ya ju and the have a retail store in DC.