Pockets of Change | Quotes from Justin Keitch on Vimeo.

Pockets of Change | Numbers from Justin Keitch on Vimeo.

Considering that stringing words into captivating sentences that turn into stories is the reason that I am even in this place, this concerns me.

What I find myself stumped in writing about is a story of two teachers working in the middle of nowhere in a place called Seje. It’s a small community in Kenya, little more than an array of huts about five kilometres from a village that at least has a few corner stores.

The only way to find the school in which they work is to follow a long thin ribbon of red dirt that someone had the sense of humour to call a road. It bumps and winds and has potholes so big I was concerned we would be abandoning the car and walking with our field partner Edgar to find it.

We arrived safely, to a dusty patch of land with two buildings. Inside the mud walls of the first room, children sing a welcome to their rare visitors from outside the community. Bright sunlight streamed into the windows, providing the only light. Unlike most Kenyan schools, only some of the kids here wear uniforms, and they are tattered and threadbare.

The circumstances these students find themselves in are awful. It is a hot and dusty place. Most of the children are orphans, living wherever they can find a sympathetic hand or with old grandparents in need of assistance themselves.

The Seje school, with somewhere between 90 and 160 students depending on the day, can hardly be described as a school. While it has some of the building blocks of a school – desks and a chalkboard notably – there is little else to distinguish these two mud buildings as a place of learning.

For starters, only one of the buildings is even a school building. The other is the local church, converted into a makeshift classroom on weekdays.

Inside there are very few books. In fact, the grade three class has no books for their level. The grade 2-3 teacher only has one master book for grade 3, and that book is on loan from another school.

While the story of the children is sad, it was listening to the teachers share that really broke my heart. Lillian and Peter teach kindergarten to grade 4, alternating classrooms for different subjects.

Lillian is from Seje, and has three of her own children. Peter bikes to work each day from a community called Siaya, more than 15 kilometres away.

The two teachers work very hard, sacrificing more than you could imagine to give these kids a chance at a future. Seje school is not registered and therefore gets no assistance from the government. And there are no churches or communities supporting this school, which means that Lillian and Peter are volunteers. They get absolutely no money for teaching.

Yet every day, Monday to Friday, they come and teach. Why, I ask, do they not go and work somewhere and make a living? Lillian answers because if they do not teach these kids, no one will. And they can’t give up on them or there will be no future for the kids of Seje.

There was hope for this village once. A church signed on to help. A feeding program was started for the school kids. Money was sent for salaries, for school supplies, for medicine. A water tank was installed so when it rained there would be water.

But as things sometimes go, it didn’t work out and the church stopped supporting the school. The feeding program ended, the money stopped coming. The water tank sits as a cruel reminder, taunting the teachers as there is no rain and hasn’t been for a long time.

I ask Lillian where she gets her water for drinking.

“There is none,” she replies. “I just go thirsty.”

She shares with me that with no money, she cannot even feed her children and herself save for the kindness of others. And the parents and guardians in this community are no better off than she is. She is sometimes so weak, she can barely stand in front of the classroom and teach.

I carry two or three extra pens with me at all times in case one runs out while I’m interviewing. As I sat on a worn chair under the shade of a small tree interviewing Peter and Lillian, they mentioned in passing that they do not even have pens to write with and grade the students’ work. Not that it matters much of the time, most of the children have no exercise book. Guardians do not even have money for thin, cheap exercise books. They cost mere pennies but even that is too much money.

I gathered all the pens I could find and gave them to the teachers. Such a small gesture, so ridiculous in its miniscule nature, meant so much to them. Can you imagine doing your job without something as simple as a pen?

The pathetic state of the school continues. Since the school is not registered, it gets no assistance from the government in any way. The school needs major construction in order for the government to register it. Yet the government won’t supply the funding for construction because the school is not registered as official. It’s one of those chicken and egg things. And there is no hope of the community banding together for funding. There is no work in Seje, no rain for the farmers, and no hope of the citizens in this community to ever get out of their own poverty enough to help others.

The supply room has empty bottles of medicine, left over from the days of sponsorship by the church. If children are injured at school, there is literally nothing Peter and Lillian can do for them. No antiseptics, no cleansers, not even a bandaid. Oh, and there’s giant biting ants, I discovered by setting up my pinky toe for bait.

Even the flagpole which once helped to distinguish the school as something legitimate has been eaten by termites. The flag now sits folded inside a cupboard, next to the room where older local boys sleep at night with a spear to protect what little material goods the school has from thieves.

I could go on. But you get the picture. It’s sad. Really sad. And unlike most of my blog posts where there’s a happy little ending, this one has none. We left the school having had no means to help them ourselves save for a couple pens. And as I sit on a comfy bed having just eaten a deliciously filling dinner, I think of Peter and Lillian probably going to bed hungry tonight. I think of Peter biking the long and extremely difficult road to school. I think of Lillian hearing her children moan from the hunger pangs. I think of the random school child who surely will hurt herself playing in the dirt and the teachers having nothing to give her for the pain. I think of the cruel joke played on the school, with a large water tank sitting in the middle and not a drop of water in sight. And I think of how much just a little money would help these people, or one church to step up and commit to helping.

I’m sorry there’s no happy ending yet to this story. But that’s life. I leave you with one thing Peter said to us during our interview. He said there’s a verse in Proverbs that reads if a man wants to eat, he must work. Then he laughed at the irony when he said he and Lillian work very hard, yet they do not eat. That’s not right, is it?

Do you know that girl? The one over there washing her clothes in a pale yellow bucket? What about that boy, the one playing with sticks in the dust beside the road? Do you know the man in the crisp white shirt, holding a briefcase and sitting on the back of a bicycle taxi? Now there is a young boy in front of us, stealing sugarcane off the back of a loaded truck, and another begging for money on the streets. Do you know them?

No?

Neither do I.

I know nothing about these people, save the brief impressions as we drive through the dusty streets of Kenya.

We spent time with Kenyans during our time in this country. As I have listened to the stories of the few we met, I have heard tales of sorrow and strength. And I want to write their stories down and share them with as many people as I can.

But there are countless more who I will never know, never hear about and consequently never share their stories in my world. No one I know will ever know their plight and in turn have the opportunity to help them.

But what I do know is that God knows them. He knows their language, the size of their birthmark, what they last ate. He knows their hopes, their obstacles, their future and their past.

That is of comfort to me. The more we have travelled, the bigger my world has become. Too big. It can be overwhelming when I think about all the great need in this world. Everywhere we go, people are starving, people are living in the pits of poverty with no ladder out.

What I’ve loved about our task is that we get to hear the stories of how ladders are being built to help people out. When I see the masses in the markets, outside our car as we race by, peering out of houses and loaded in taxi vans, it can seem like nothing can be accomplished, no strategies can help. But to meet individuals like Pastor Michael, a small church pastor learning farming techniques to help feed his family and make as bit of an income, I know change is possible. It is in the individual lives where we see God’s hand at work. And individual lives affect families that affect communities which in turn can affect nations.

So do you know that girl? Maybe not. But by helping those we do know, someone who knows that girl may one day be able to help her too.Do you

Wilfreda’s weathered face reveals an old woman who has suffered hardship. To look at her arms, you can trace the bones within. Her clothes are tattered and threadbare.

Wilfreda lives in a small mud hut with a thatched roof. She and her aged husband have no means of making money. We visited Wilfreda at her home because she had been blessed with a male and a female goat through a project facilitated by Hungry for Life and our good friend Edgar.

We saw the goats first, as our visit was unannounced and Wilfreda was not home. As we talked to our guide Pastor Michael about the project, Wilfreda came running up the dirt path to greet us.

She happily shook our hands and told us through Pastor Michael’s translation what a joy it was to meet us and how excited she was about the upcoming birth of her goat. She talked of the blessing these goats will be when she can start to sell the offspring at the market to make a bit of money.

We had a little chat and headed on our way as we had much to see and a long ways to walk on this particular day. And I thought that was the end of my story about Wilfreda. But then we went to Pastor Michael’s church on Sunday.

The mud walled and tin roofed church was full of mostly widows and orphans. Some had probably not had anything to eat for breakfast; three meals a day is unheard of in Boro.

Pastor Michael’s flock is a very poor one. While they cannot bring much to offer, what they do bring is joy. Wilfreda and the others arrived at the church with huge smiles, dressed in their Sunday best.

They came to worship, and it was a sweet sound. Out of the congregation, one lone woman would begin to sing praise to God. The rest would repeat after her, moving and clapping their worship to Christ. As one song ended, another woman would begin a new song, and so it went for song after song.

It was beautiful. There was such a presence of God in this place, and the humble surroundings made it all the more evident that God seeks after our hearts alone. I watched as Wilfreda sang out to her Saviour, giving Him her praise. I am sure God smiled down on his followers in the Boro church that day.

The Hillside team’s pastor, Durwin, gave the message, and then it came time for the offering. A large basket was placed on a table at the front, and quickly after people began to drop in their offerings. As a team, we had decided to each give about 100 shillings each, a lot for these people but under $2 for us. I was standing right by the basket, and as I watched, Wilfreda and most of the others in the church came forward. They dropped in change – 5, 10, maybe 20 shillings at the most – releasing their grip and dropping their meagre offerings into the hand woven basket with a clink.

As I watched, I began to weep. I couldn’t help it.

We gave so little. These people gave a tenth of what we did, yet they gave so much more.What we gave was nothing in comparison to what they gave. How can I describe the sacrifice these people gave, their precious offering?

It was so real to me, after seeing Wilfreda in her home and witnessing the poverty she came from. To see her and others that come from similar living situations give their offerings to Christ was humbling. No sacrifice I have made for God’s glory comes close to the 10 shillings Wilfreda gave that day.

Aside from general pictures of kids at Noah’s Ark, we had a few specific children we wanted captured as their stories really stood out to me. Annabel was one of those kids. So, like all the other children Justin had to track down and shoot, we asked an auntie which one was Annabel while playing in the yard. Once pointed out, Justin started following her as she played on the swings and in the grass.

There was just something about this sweet little child that grabbed at our hearts. For me, I think it was her initial story that got my attention. She was born in October, 2006. In July of 2008, she was found abandoned in a garbage container. This beautiful child had been thrown out with the trash. A woman found her and told police she would take care of the child. Just three months later, she too decided she didn’t want Annabel anymore and left her with the police.

It was hard to imagine this child would be abandoned by not one but two different families. Noah’s Ark staff knew it would take time for her to trust again given her obvious fear of abandonment.

From looking at Justin’s photos, it’s obvious she captured his heart as well. He took photo after photo of this sweet child, who see-sawed from smiles to serious. And when she was serious, Justin would call to her and take her hand and hold her to get her sweet smile to come back.

Saturday evening during Pita’s birthday party, Justin held onto Annabel almost the whole time. She would leap from his arms to the edge of the couch to ‘attack’ me then to quickly hide. Then when I held her in my arms, she would hide from Justin’s face by turning quickly away. It made our evening.

We knew we wouldn’t have much time with Annabel on Sunday. Before she headed to bed Saturday evening, we prayed for her. We prayed that she would grow up to be a strong Christian woman, grounded in her faith. We prayed that she would be protected from the evil one and trust her Heavenly Father, who never abandons His children.

It was a powerful moment for us, to realize we held a child in our arms that was left for dead in a garbage can and was now a growing, beautiful three-year old girl full of life and so much love.

I thought to myself as we walked back to our room that last night at Noah’s Ark that this little girl could grow up to be the change that Uganda needs. Maybe she will lead her people by a faithful example. Maybe she will become a doctor who will help mothers to not die during childbirth. Maybe she will simply grow up, and that alone will be an example to parents who want to abandon their kids. The point is, she has those options now thanks to our Heavenly Father who is using Noah’s Ark as a tool to save kids like Annabel.

We arrived in Uganda on Wednesday, Oct. 7. Our friend Kimi who lives in Jinja picked us up from the airport and drove us to Noah’s Ark Children’s Home in Mukono, just a couple hours from the airport. We got a chance to catch up with her as we watched the beautiful Ugandan landscape pass by. It looked just as Africa should look from all the images I’ve seen over the years. Mud huts, lush grasses, palm trees and lots of people walking, riding bikes, and piling into taxi vans.

We spent five days and four nights at Noah’s Ark. And while we didn’t have much luck interviewing the kids, we did get a good understanding of how the orphanage runs and how the children are raised within its walls. The kids play lots, eat well, go to school, get in trouble, get hugged and get dirty just like any other kids.

If you were to watch most of these children running and playing and laughing and crying, you might suspect they are just like any other kids. In some ways they are. But we got a chance to read through each of their profiles, each child’s story written up with pictures of the child over the years. The stories spoke of devastating pasts, including abandonment, loss of both parents, cruel treatment, physical and mental abuse and even rape.

To see children who have gone through such trauma and at a glance for them to seem just like any other child is a testament to the love given in Noah’s Ark. Their motto is ‘From Nobody to Somebody’ and fits well when you hear the stories.

A tiny baby girl was born in December, 2005 and was literally thrown away. She was found by small children who took her to the police station. Noah’s Ark took in this unwanted child, who was so cold when she was found the thermometer did not even register a temperature. But now, she is a bubbling three-year old child full of life and happiness. She has a name – Noelle – a personality, and is turning into quite the little lady. She is now somebody, thanks to Noah’s Ark. She is such a joyful child, they have added to her name. The girl who was thrown away is now known as Noelle Joy, and is thriving in this environment of care and compassion.

Each of the 110 stories has similar details to Noelle Joy’s: unwanted by someone, taken in and cared for by Noah’s Ark, and each one is turning into a healthy, active child who is loved deeply by Noah’s Ark founders Piet and Pita and all the caretakers there.

It was an experience I think neither one of us will ever forget, to see so many children who would probably be dead were it not for the dedication of one Dutch couple answering God’s call on their lives.

Here is a newsletter we sent out to supporters. If you did not receive this and would like to be on our mailing list, please contact us through the contact form on the website or email Justin@pocketsofchange.org

Time sure is flying here in the Ukraine. We’ve been here a week already in Nikopol and it’s hard to believe how quickly the time has gone. Justin and I have heard many stories, so many it gets overwhelming. I have filled an entire notebook already in just one week, and we still have another full week here before we leave for Uganda.

We have seen great need here. We have also seen the power of Christ at work in people’s lives. Those that have nothing praise God for giving them breath and life even though they have very little else. Most have had a lifetime of hardship yet their faith is so much stronger than mine.

One thing that has really stood out to me is the ravaging effects of alcohol here; it is rampant. It’s clear Satan has a hold on many Ukrainians through this destructive substance and their families are hurt because of it. We met a woman yesterday who exemplifies this problem. Her name is Luba. Her husband drinks. And she hates it. The sadness in her eyes when she told us that said more than her words. A pool of tears welled up in her eyes as she shared about her husband. Then she told us her son went off to war, and when he came home he had mental problems and started to drink too.

“I can’t express what a suffering it is,” she voiced about her pain.
Yet Luba gets up every day determined to live as Christ would have her live. God reached out to her and saved her and she lives each day with a joy that can only come from Christ, not from her life circumstances.

For Justin, what has stood out has been how similar the Ukraine at first glance looks to Canada. When you’re driving through the streets of Nikopol and out into the countryside, it looks so similar to back home. Visible evidence like signs in another language and alphabet never allow us to pretend for too long, but the trees, the landscape and comforts of the guest home sure make it feel like home.

But, what Justin has observed, is that the more we talk to people and get to know their stories, the more foreign this country has become. What he read in history books in school is now more real than ever. These people we are meeting have lived through communism, they lived through Stalin’s regime and the concentration camps and the starvation and the corruption. It’s no longer just words in a text book; it’s real people with real experiences.

We would like to encourage those that would like to, to drop us a note once in awhile. Justin and I both are feeling out of the loop from life in Canada and sometimes feel like we’re floating in the ocean without a tether to home.

We eagerly await a chance each day to see if the internet is working and check our mail only to find out there are no messages for us. Certainly we don’t need to hear from everyone all the time, but if you are praying for us, or if you have a cool verse to share or something, we would love to get an email.

Justin and I know that we could not do this project without the support from back home. And we know that there are people praying for us as we have been protected, healthy and gathering the stories of life change we came to gather. Thank you for your prayers, for your concern, and for your friendship. We value each one of you and appreciate your support.