Just Another Day, Part 2

My early morning reflection this Wednesday was very unremarkable. I couldn’t settle or focus on anything, other than the fact that it has now been two weeks since I returned to Kenya. My thoughts about the day ahead were similarly uninspired, as my schedule looked empty in terms of engagements and meetings. However, a walk through our maternity unit and a brief chat with three mothers holding their newborn babies from the night before lifted my spirits.

I was still smiling when I reached my office, only to find a worn-out-looking young mother holding onto a bundle of rags, undoubtedly a baby. The situation seemed too big for me to handle alone, so I quickly walked her to the social worker’s office.

On my return, a female staff member entered. She had previously shared her story with me a few weeks ago, and the updates she brought were very sad and disappointing. Our shared tears seemed to reflect the plight of so many African women, who often draw the short straw in marriage and lose out.

As she left, I hoped the day would improve, and for a few minutes, it did. A university student, a former pupil of Ruben Primary School, came in to give me her latest updates. She had always excelled in both primary and secondary school, earning a government scholarship to a top university in Nairobi. I had been sponsoring her upkeep and boarding fees for five years, so it was a delightful half-hour listening to her. She will graduate in December and asked if I would be one of the two guests allowed at her graduation, alongside her mother. She already has a job at the largest bank in Kenya and excitedly told me about her recent tour of remote branches and the reports she had prepared for headquarters.

As she left, I felt the day was looking up, but it was a false dawn. A great friend from Arusha, Tanzania, called with a horror story: his wife was in the hospital for surgery, his two university-age children were at home because he couldn’t pay their fees, and all his money had gone toward hospital bills. To make matters worse, he was now bedridden with diabetes and had no money for treatment. He plans to sell his farm, but that will take time. Desperate, he said, “Br. Frank, I need money.” I had to tell him the Centre is flat broke and we can’t even complete the payment of salaries for August, but before I could finish, he interrupted, “But Br. Frank, I’m only asking for the equivalent of ten dollars for the medicine to settle my diabetes.” He gave me his MPESA (mobile money) details. I found the coins.

At that moment, a philanthropist, Pankaj, arrived to oversee the setup for a four-day Eye Clinic he was funding. Setting up the hall with a few youth was a mundane but welcome relief, though the respite was short-lived. One of our staff pulled me aside to tell me how, on his way to work yesterday, his car wouldn’t start. When he opened the bonnet, he discovered his engine was missing—everything gone. After staring at the gaping hole, he spent hours chasing the police to investigate. I know how far that will get him in retrieving his engine!

More surprises followed. The deputy head teacher came to tell me about a 15-year-old Grade 8 girl who had given birth. Her mother had also just had a baby two weeks ago and could no longer do her casual work to put food on the table. So now, there was a grandmother, a mother, five kids, and one grandchild. “Can we help the family? And how can we ensure the girl sits for her exams in two months?” the teacher asked. As she left, I muttered, “You couldn’t make this stuff up if you tried.”

Br. Frank & Alice with the GIZ trophy upside down.. it says it all.

After her departure, Carla, our German Development (GIZ) networking officer, arrived with Alice, our urban gardener. Alice and I had traveled to Berlin in December last year to attend a three-day workshop, and since then, several gardening innovations have taken place. Ruben Centre was even recognized as the winner of the GIZ International Innovation Fund Award. In May, we attended the GIZ Gala evening, where our accomplishments were celebrated, and we received a trophy alongside the announcement of a €10,000 prize. This funding was intended to support the expansion of urban gardens in both the slums and refugee camps in northern Kenya. Over the past few months, Ruben Centre has been training dozens of women and established three women’s self-help gardens in Mukuru, in preparation for the broader rollout of the project.

However, today we received unexpected news that GIZ is unable to authorize the direct transfer of funds to Ruben Centre. GIZ in Germany cited that, due to Carla’s involvement with Civil Peace Service (CPS), CPS cannot be used as a channel for the funds, creating an unforeseen challenge.

A long time ago, in the 6th century, Pope Gregory I (the Great) articulated the seven deadly sins. Last week, I wrote about how one of them is still very much alive in Mukuru Slums, Kenya. Yes, greed was on full display when the Islamic Relief Fund arranged to help flood-affected poor people by distributing charity, food, and household items. The whole event erupted into chaos when these needy and desperate slum dwellers were denied their hopes for relief by greedy, half-baked local political figures.

Greed, defined as the excessive desire for wealth and earthly possessions, is as old as time. Traditionally, it was said to be punishable by suffering in the eternal fires of hell. Last week’s disgraceful behavior demonstrated how alive and well it remains. In the case of one of last week’s alleged food grabbers, the village chief of Mukuru Diamond area, it could be said that the fires of hell descended upon him prematurely.

As evening gave way to night at the Ruben Centre police station, the sound of gunfire filled the air, much to the alarm of local residents. It seems my “highly favored OCS” (mentioned in Part 1) has been removed from office, a young man is dead, and a village chief has lost everything he owned.

Apparently, some youth peacefully approached the Diamond area chief near his house, seeking some of the treasure he had made off with at Friday’s Islamic Relief event. The chief alerted the police from our station, and when they arrived, the chief singled out a 15-year-old boy, calling him a thief. When the boy casually dismissed the chief’s accusations and walked away, he was gunned down—two bullets, killed instantly.

Enraged, the other youth stormed towards the police, who fled on foot. The youth then turned on the chief, overturned his car, set it on fire, and torched his house, shop, and hair salon business. The chief fled into the night. In the spirit of “what goes around comes around,” this was the very car I had an issue with on that relief-giving day when I let down the front tire.

Later, a larger group of police returned, demanding the body of the slain boy, but his friends refused to hand it over, insisting that the media be brought in to cover the events so the truth could be told, and justice served.

The long day ended with the news that my good OCS has been promoted to Nairobi Central Station. Reflecting on this day, the image of a bungee rope comes to mind. I can still vividly picture the ups and downs of the rope from that day at Victoria Falls some years ago. I recall a favorite quote often used by my father: “You wouldn’t be dead for quids,” which he’d say when he survived life’s challenges.

Yes, this morning’s Bible quote from Corinthians is alive and well: “The world, life or death, the present and the future — all belong to God.” And with that, I pray, “Bring on another day, for these marginalized and beautiful people.”

By Br. Frank O’Shea OAM
Edits Gregory Barake