In 2001, during my first visit to Africa, I was in charge of a group of 16 college students from the Semester at Sea program (www.semesteratsea.com). We were on a service mission doing volunteer work at Nyumbani. At that time, all of the children were not on antiretroviral drugs. We could not bear the fact that some of these children--externally healthy--would not see their next birthday.
The following is printed with the permission of Raja Farah, a very special SAS student. It relates a very important experience at Nyumbani.
Orphanage Journal entry by Raja Farah
Have you ever really looked into a child’s eyes? Have you ever wondered what goes on in their little mind? Have you ever wondered why a child’s smile will almost automatically bring a smile to your own face? Have you ever picked up a child, and felt the life flowing through it? Have you ever seen yourself in a child?
Let me tell you about Bridget. I met her in Nyumbani, an orphanage for kids with HIV or AIDS. Bridget was born with AIDS and has been in the orphanage for about two years, and no one is sure how old she is, but she looks about four years old. Her grasp of the English language is minimal, but it is enough to be able to communicate with me through words and sign language, though we didn’t talk much. We just looked at each other. She was wearing a little pink dress, and had the little amount of hair she has tied up in a little bow at the top of her head. I did use “little” three times in the last sentence, but that is because it is the only way she can be described. I spent about five hours with her, and in those five hours, I learned to believe in God all over again.
When I picked her up for the first time, I felt strange. The life that I was holding in my hands was so delicate, not only because she was a child, but because she was a dying child. I could almost feel the virus eating her on the inside. Tears immediately gathered at the corner of my eyes, and I had to put her down to control myself. But when I did, she grabbed my hand and led me to the playground so I would play with her. All she wanted to do was sit on my lap, and have me bounce her up and down. And as I was holding her close to my heart, I once again became teary. I put her down again, but then I looked into her face: she was smiling, and I suddenly realized that she had been smiling since she saw me. She had such an amazing sparkle in her eyes, and it helped me realize that she was stronger than the virus growing in her body.
That same night, as I was getting ready to sleep in my Kenyan family’s house, I stepped outside. It was very dark, and the sky was as clear as I had ever seen. It was truly spectacular. I really think I could see every single star up there. I sat there staring up, and in every star I could see Bridget and the sparkle in her eyes. And for the first time in over 5 years, I thought to myself, “There must be a God!” And I had no doubt about it. There was a God and He or She lived through Bridget.
I saw Bridget again this morning, and as she ran towards me as soon as I got to Nyumbani, I smiled. She had helped me find joy, life, myself and God, simply by smiling. It was undoubtedly the most touching experience of my life, and it has marked me in many ways. I even find myself praying every night again, something that I haven’t done in over six years. All thanks to a little girl who will probably be dead by the time I have a child of my own, who gave me her hand and a smile, and managed to capture me in ways I never thought any one ever could.
