Judy

  About 2 years ago, my mom chose to sponsor a child through Compassion International, and she chose a little girl in Nairobi, Kenya. Since I came to Kenya last May, she has been hoping that I could arrange to visit her sponsored child, Judy. I'm traveling through Nairobi on my way to Iraq, so I flew here early to visit Judy.

I only know a few basic things about Judy – she likes pink, she has two brothers and two sisters, she wants to be a doctor when she grows up. Beyond that, I really didn't know very much about this little girl or her family.

When I landed in Nairobi I was met by my Compassion host and translator, Emily, who introduced me to our taxi driver, Sumpton. It was morning rush hour, so some of our drive was pretty slow. It took a little over an hour to get through town to the slum where Judy lives. Finally, we parked in front of the church building that hosts the Compassion project. I walked along a freshly dug drainage ditch to get to the back of the building, to a small office where Judy was waiting with the project staff members. After introductions, we all sat around the table and prayed together, then looked through a notebook of photos and letters Judy and my mom have exchanged, and her school and medical files.

 Judy sat very quietly, blushing and looking away often, speaking only when spoken to. I gave her the pink backpack my mom had filled with school supplies, stickers, and a Bible. She happily emptied it onto the table and showed off her new things!

 After that, we walked to her home, which is only a few blocks from the Compassion project. We ducked through a small gate in a scrap wood/piece metal fence, and down a narrow corridor until we reached the door of Judy's house.

 I was quietly but warmly greeted by her mom and her older sister, who welcomed us in. I sat on one of the 2 beds arranged in an L shape along the walls. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness in the small room. Judy's mom Lucy welcomed me, thanking me for coming, telling me how much she appreciated Judy being sponsored by my mom and pointing out the mattress I was sitting on was a gift from Compassion. She told me that when her sister died years ago, she took in her three children and raised them as her own. They are all grown and moved out of the house. Now she continues to struggle taking care of her own five children. She showed me the necklaces she makes out of paper beads, and ceremoniously gave me two – one for me, one for mom.

Then she talked about the small business she started in the market a few months ago and her voice changed. She said that her oldest son, age 20, had just died in December. He was in Secondary school and had been doing well. Her eyes teared and she stopped talking. Emily continued, explaining to me that he died of Sickle Cell Disease, and that both of Judy's remaining brothers also have Sickle Cell. Their healthcare costs and the costs of the funeral used up all of the mother's funds, and she lost her market business. Lucy reached across the bed to a plastic bag and pulled out a framed 8x10 photo of her son and passed it to me. I'm not sure when the picture was taken, but the boy in the photo didn't look 20 years old, he looked like a young teen. He stared straight into the camera, unsmiling, with sad eyes and he was clearly sick. I looked up from the photo to the tear filled eyes of his mother and oldest sister, and my own eyes welled. Little Judy sat beside me, staring at the floor. I couldn't think of a single thing to say. Emily gracefully broke the silence, encouraging them about God's provision and His ability to change circumstances. Lucy dried her eyes and asked for me and my family to pray for them, especially for the two brothers to be healed. I promised them I would. Then I gave them the family gifts I had brought (flour, rice, soap, sugar, etc).

 

Judy's mom and sister stayed behind and I walked slowly back through the slum to the compassion project with Judy. When we reached the project again, I showed her how to work my camera and let her go take pictures. She pivoted in a circle next to me, pausing now and then to carefully click the button. Emily came to me and said the visit was finished, unless there was somewhere else I wanted to go. She left again to talk to the center staff and I turned to Judy, who wordlessly handed me back my camera. I put one arm around her.

“Judy, do you want to walk around somewhere? Is there anywhere else you want to go?” She hesitated for a few seconds, then surprised me when she nodded and whispered, “Yes.” 

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

 “Mamba Village.”

 I had never heard of it and wasn't sure if I heard her well. “Where?” 

“Mamba Village,” she repeated. I asked Emily if she knew where it was and if it was far. She said that it wasn't far but we would have to drive there instead of walk. “Is it ok?” I asked. “If it's ok with you,” she said. I turned to Judy, “All right, let's go.”

We piled into the taxi, the project teacher sitting up front with the driver, and me, Judy and Emily in the back. Judy sat between us and folded her hands in her lap. “Have you been to Mamba Village before?” I asked. She shook her head. Emily asked her something in Swahili and when Judy answered, Emily looked to me and translated. “Some of the kids from the project went there in December, but Judy missed because of her brother's funderal.” I nodded and smiled, and managed to say something else to Judy, but inside I was completely overwhelmed. I've gotten to do some pretty cool things in my life, but this really blew my mind. If you heard of a 10 year old girl, living in a slum in Africa, who had missed out on a year-end party because she was burying her brother, you would want to jump on a plane, fly to Africa and throw her a party. And here I was, sitting next to this girl, because my mom asked me 8 months ago if I would go and see her. And somehow, this shy little girl had the guts to ask me to take her to Mamba Village, minutes before our visit was supposed to end. Here I was, handed the role of hero.

We drove about 25 minutes to Mamba Village, and as we pulled in, I felt Judy's excitement growing. You couldn't tell much, as she leaned slightly forward to look out the car windows as we parked, hands still folded in her lap. I held out my hand to her as we got out of the car and she slipped hers in mine.

We had what nearly every child in Kenya wants to eat when they get taken out: kuku and chips (chicken and fries). 

Afterward, we toured the crocodile enclosures (75 crocodiles? Seriously!) and the still shy Judy eagerly took my camera and snapped pictures, even giggling when I agreed to hold the baby crocodile first (except for the head) and shaking her head as the guide explained that crocodile eggs are all white, like milk, and taste like chicken eggs mixed with fish . Yummy. 

He asked me if I wanted to hold "even the head?" I said no!

Judy was smart - just hold the tail! No teeth there. =)

She went on the Merry-Go-Swing ride and got scared enough to yell out for the operator to stop, but regained her cool composure by the time the ride stopped and softly insisted that she had fun when we all asked her afterward if she was ok or felt sick.

 She got her face and hand painted, and by then it was after 3pm and time for us to leave. She walked next to me all the way to the car, and we took a few more pictures along the way.

As we drove back toward Judy's home, she sat just as quietly as she did before. But this time, she had scooted over to sit pressed against me, and every time I looked down at her she smiled. We were about halfway back when the taxi driver looked at us in the rear view mirror and said, “You know, she will never forget this day.”

Neither will I.