By Jacqueline Kelly-Wright
I’ve always wanted to go to Africa. I’ve prayed many prayers asking God to help me find a way to visit the mother land. My dad always told me to be careful what you ask God for, because He’s always listening.
God says: “Ask and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” (Matt: 7:7) I suppose in my prayer I wasn’t specific enough about the where, when, what, and how so God decided that for me. He sent me to Kenya.
I didn’t have a clue as to what I was to expect. I knew I was going to be a blessing and receive a blessing. For me, this experience felt as though I stepped into a time machine with 30 individuals and was sent 50 years back in time to a place called Kenya.
As we traveled throughout the next nine days, each day took a section of my heart, mind and soul on a different journey. Each experience allowed me to go back in time and feel as if I was growing up all over again. At the Baptist Children’s Center, I saw myself in children who were full of love and energy. Faces that were bright, willing to reach out to their guest, not because they had to because they were taught to. They were taught the love of Jesus Christ. When they sang, they sang songs from deep in their hearts, loud, long notes of joy with validation. With their hugs they welcomed you as if they wanted to know how long you were staying and when you would return.
We were warned about the smell of the slums of Korogocho. No one could prepare me for the return of the smell I grew up with among one of the largest trash dumps in the capital city of Texas. There was that smell again. Tears swelled up in my eyes but a smile was on my face as I saw children run with our vehicle shouting, “How are you, how are you!” Their faces were filled with joy, laughter and happiness, as if they had no cares. They were simply children. When we reached the Buckner site the gate opened and shut those kids out and we were faced with a totally new group of kids. Each day these children sat in those conditions and learned. Their parents pay $2 per month for them to attend school with only light that God provides and the smell of the local dump where their neighbors, friends, relatives and maybe even parents frequently visit and dig for items that may be of use for their homes.
For them to allow us to wash their feet and share with them the story of how Jesus washed the feet of His disciples was an awesome experience. The anticipation in their face of what might come next as we would go step by step could have generated enough air to blow up a balloon. They would almost burst inside before that second shoe was put on their foot and a big smile would appear on their face. Nothing but appreciation!
The other orphanages were no different. I could have brought at least 10 children home with me. In Busia, Sylvia, Edwin, Loren and Vivian were all attached to me as if I belonged to them. They could have gotten on the bus with me and returned to the states. Deja vu, it must have been. In real life, I have three girls and one boy.
For each location that we visited, my heart was divided and a picture was placed in each section. I was not able to bring these children back with me physically, but I brought each one of them back with me in my heart, soul and mind. Upon my return, it is my charge to share their stories, explain their need, keep them in my prayers and return as soon as I possibly can.
“Go ye therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Amen. (Matt: 28:19-20).
