Hooligans

The ByGrace Home is populated by kids from decidedly rough circumstances. My previous estimate was indeed outdated. There are 34 kids officially living at the facility, and many more come for schooling during the day. Most are orphans, and those who are not are from abusive homes or single-parent situations. So it's no surprise that many of them are violent. Adorable, to be sure, but violent. Most of the time, the violence is just play-fighting, but many of them are coming into that notorious age that sees their strength rise before their understanding of how their strength is rising. A year ago, a child may have been able to punch me at full force with no consequences, but now, that same child does not understand that his full-force punch can do damage.

Roughhousing is one of my favorite activities. I'm quite careful with the little ones, and haven't injured a child yet. Children, however, have injured me. Last night I was fulfilling my duties as jungle gym for an hour or so, while also participating in a vigorous pillow fight (decorative throw pillows are not as soft as bed pillows...). Of course, it wasn't too long before one child was leaning against my leg when another slid into my foot, thus rolling my ankle under once again. It was another battle won by the ankle. Moments later, it had swollen distinctively, and Stephen brought me a pack of frozen milk to set on it for a while. It was much more rheumatic this morning than it has been for several days, but surprisingly, as the day progressed, it limbered up quite nicely, and I was even able to juggle a soccer ball a bit when soccer time came.

There is a gang of youngsters who are never seen without their tires. There are usually three of them, sometimes four, and they roll their tires everywhere like auto mechanics in training. The oldest is maybe six, and I'd be surprised if the youngest was much older than four, considering that his tire comes up to his shoulders. They scamper about behind their giant rubber donuts, terrorizing the neighborhood, as any self-respecting gang should. I'll call them Riff, Diesel, and Action. (The fourth, Tony, I'm sure is seeing some lucky young lady somewhere, and hasn't been able to find as much time for his buddies lately.) Every once in a while they will all simultaneously stop, stack their tires, and gather around, looking suspiciously this way and that, apparently engaged in a war council. Then, with great purpose, they'll upend their tires and trundle away in a row, obviously headed for a rumble somewhere on the dodgy side of town.

At lunch today, this little piggy went to market, but not as before, in Bungoma. Several of us piled into the ByGrace matatu headed to town to change money, use the internet cafe, and visit the supermarket. We had taken a late lunch, so by the time we got to the place where we were to change money, it was already after two. Next stop was the supermarket, where I was delighted to discover very small shopping carts. I immediately took one, reveling in the knowledge that standing next to this cart, I must appear enormous (not a notion I'm often able to entertain). I'm sure the management must have thought me a crazy nuisance as I scampered around with my tiny cart taking pictures of all kinds of strange things. But I rewarded them for their patience by purchasing goods from their establishment. I walked out with two bottles of water, a Coke and a Fanta, banana flavored dark chocolate, some cereal bars, and a carton of hazelnut-flavor Pokers, which I purchased primarily because of the name, but partially because I love cream-filled wafers (which, as context would suggest, is what they are).

During soccer time, several of the boys took it upon themselves to kick each other repeatedly. Hardly a moment went by that one child couldn't be found kicking another in the leg or in the behind. One of the smaller ones decided it was his duty to perform the ritual on me. This would be one of those children small enough to remember what it was like to kick someone without causing severe injury, but big enough to have grown out of that stage without knowing it. His kicks gradually increased in fortitude and force, until the sixth or seventh kick that was quite noticeable. It didn't help that he was wearing those heavy black school boots. Finally, he landed one square on my shin bone, exactly where I had jammed a wheelbarrow support rod the day before. It was all I could do not to react. I know I kept a straight face however, because I grinned down at him as if I had taken the best he had to offer and felt nothing, at which point he ceased his attack, defeated. In my triumph, I grabbed him by the legs and slung him over my shoulder to cart him off to one of the activity groups where he should have been in the first place.

Perhaps one of the most encouraging ministries going on at ByGrace is counseling. It's something the kids obviously need badly, considering their backgrounds, but it's not something we ever think to provide for them amidst all of our evangelizing, constructing, and VBSing. Stephen and Rosemary are very insightful into the real needs of the children, and so they've invited two students from Azusa who are doing psychological evaluations, and a counsellor from Biola who is following up with therapy sessions for the kids based upon their individual needs. I can't speak to the progress they're making, having only been here for a few days, not being invited into the closed sessions, but it's clear that Stephen and Rosemary are wholly devoted to the health of these children. They're as wild about these hooligans as the hooligans are wild, and their contagious zest for the Lord is so strong that I can't imagine a child in this environment not catching the frenzy.