A Day in Meru

As I was driving my daughter to daycare this morning, something about it (whether it was the road itself, or maybe trees, or the sunrise, or whatever) gave me this overwhelming feeling of being back in Meru. For those who are actually interested in my blog and read it from time to time but still don’t know – I recently returned from a mission trip to Meru, Kenya (that’s East Africa, just South of the “Horn”). Amidst all the political riots and ethnic cleansing, we were called over there to build a chicken house and hatchery for the Kaaga Methodist Church in Meru. It really was an amazing trip (side note: I plan on typing up my daily journal entries from the trip and posting them on the blog to let everyone see everything that happened to us while over there – they’ll have to be done in segments - so, be on the look-out for those in the coming weeks).

Anyway, this morning’s drive reminded me of one particular day in Meru where we visited the Kaaga School for the Deaf. I don’t know if it was the particular circumstances some of these children or if it was the fact that, as a father, I have been changed. I mean, first and foremost, I was already in awe of simply being in Africa. The scenery in and of itself was just unbelievable – not to mention completely different from what I had anticipated. Going into it, I thought the environment would be like that of Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls - grass huts and desert, with everyone walking around in loincloths. It was not at all like that! There was a lot of poverty – don’t get me wrong – and it was grossly stricken with HIV/AIDS…..but for the most part, Kenya has one of the most stable economies and governments on the whole continent of Africa…..at least until this last election, which saw a ton of bloodshed and almost killed our mission – but God is much, much bigger than political turmoil. But, back to the environment – Meru is located just East of the Congo. So, when I say vibrant and rich with soil and fruit trees, mountains, rain and green, green, green…..it is plush……I’m saying it was night and day different from what I expected Africa to look like - it is absolutely beautiful!

But this particular school was, like I said, a school for the deaf. Now, the schools in Meru go everyday for like three months and then they have a month off, go for three months, and so on. The deaf school, however, was shut-in for the three months the children were there. So, at school, these children thrive – they can communicate with each other and their teachers…most don’t want to go home when school is out. It makes sense why they wouldn’t…….I mean, when they go home – they can’t communicate with their parents or anyone. Their parents can’t understand them and just sort of leave them out of everything and try to just put up with them for the time they are home. And so they are just starved for affection. It was said by the Head Mistress that, the parents of these deaf children are so uneducated about the hearing impaired that they honestly believe if they can hit their child hard enough in the head, they will get their hearing back. So, not only do children have hearing impairments, a lot of them have physical impairments, as well.

Now, walking into the school already knowing that fact just seemed to make the experience that much more powerful. These children were so vibrant and full of life – they loved us and wanted to touch us….they were so awesome. The kids bum-rushed us as soon as we entered and one child specifically, Nicklaz, would not let go of me. He pushed the other kids away from me when they tried to get close to me. He was my special friend and not a day goes by when I don’t pray for him and think of him.

But, this morning for some reason, I was just reminded of that experience and the fact that I was completely broken-hearted for those children. I remember, as we left, I told one of the ladies we were with to tell the children that “In America, we hug to say “I love you.’” And I knelt down and was immediately trampled by children who wanted hugs. I hugged as many as I could and as we were leaving, every child was giving us the sign language symbol for “I love you.” I just broke down – and I’m not a crier. But, I bawled like a little thirteen year-old girl who just got dumped by her first boyfriend. It was brutal.

Why I was struck by that memory (and whatever sparked it this morning), I don’t know. I just know how affected I was that particular day. I don’t know those children like I know my son and daughter – I don’t even know their names (except Nicklaz). But, I know I wanted to play with them like I play with Eli until we all puked and passed out from exhaustion.

I guess the key take-away from that day in Meru (and I remember writing this in my journal) was the fact that I never wanted a day to go by where Eli and Addy didn’t fully know how much they were loved by their daddy. I wanted them to know, without doubt, EVERYDAY that they are my entire life and that I love both of them so much. I wanted to come home and roll around in the back yard with Eli and smother him with kisses and hugs. I wanted to hold Addy in my arms and fall asleep in the recliner with her and kiss her little heart-shaped baby lips. It’s amazing how much we take for granted – or at least, how much I took for granted. I had to go to Africa to understand the needs of my own children – that, in and of itself – is heart-breaking for me.


Be blessed,
-Moad!