Nikita

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket of your selfishness. But in that casket-safe, dark, motionless, airless-it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."

-C.S. Lewis

I had a few fears when I first came here. Some reasonable--contracting an illness, being mugged, getting lost--some not so reasonable--being mauled by a hippopotamus, having to battle Somali pirates in the Indian Ocean, my plane crashing in the Maasai Mara and needing to cannibalize my fellow passengers in order to survive. The one potentially terrifying occurrence that never crossed my mind, and probably the most far fetched given my indifference toward children, was morphing into a 31 year old male Sally Struthers. So when Jill wanted to visit an abandoned baby that she had cared for last year, my concern for rationale and emotional restraint was aimed at the more compassionate member of this duo. Being the ever practical boyfriend that I am and knowing Jill as well as I do I formed, what I felt was, a reasonable checklist of caution: 1. Jill's seemingly happy and non-emotional demeanor, check. 2. Jill's lack of Kleenex for crying when we leave, check. 3. An evening appointment to keep us from staying all day, check. 4. Jill's hand bag being too small to fit a two and a half year old child into, check. 5. Emotionally distant boyfriend to serve as voice of reason......I thought that was the most emphatic check, I thought wrong.

Nikita walked into the front room of her cottage bearing the body language of a child who had spent her first 30 months of existence in survival mode. I have never seen the eyes of a two and a half year old so coldly analytical, I have never seen a child whose movements were so cautiously calculated, whose face was so stoically perceptive. One by one she stared both of us squarely in the face and piece by piece she broke our hearts. "Do you know her name?" the caretaker asked. "Mazungu (Swahili for white person)," Nikita quietly responded. After fully satisfying her suspicions and looking to her care taker for approval, Nikita sat cautiously on the couch keeping an eye on Jill, who was nearest her.

Throughout the visit the toddler was able to manage us--through the occasional smirk or smile--while also managing herself--using the potty, washing for dinner, feeding herself, and clearing her own dishes. She seemed a bit puzzled at first; I seriously doubt that the girl had spent much time playing with adults, let alone "Mazungu" adults, but she eventually warmed up to Jill. Despite her toleration of our intrusion, I sensed a void in Nikita; an emotional distance that I have never witnessed in a child. It was not intentional on her part, I hardly think she was aware of it. Perhaps it was the lack of a true maternal connection, maybe it was a necessity of adapting to the chaos that was a 7-child cottage; whatever it was this perfectly healthy, beautiful child was missing something emotionally. I scarcely recognized my own reaction, it was just uncharacteristic of me. I wanted to pick her up and hold her, I wanted to read her books and give her chocolate and soda, I wanted to give her more toys than a child knew what to do with; all of the things that we (Americans) do to overindulge our children and show them what we think is love. It was probably a typical reaction to the type of situation that I typically choose to ignore, or not think about, or look away from, or turn the channel from. But when you are staring the situation in the face, when that situation is an abandoned child sitting on your lap wondering why you now all of the sudden care......it's eye opening.

Nikita finally warmed up to us, she eventually smiled more freely. At one point before lunch she got down off of the couch, quickly and happily spun in a circle and then quickly sat back down. I doubt that she will remember us the next time we visit her; the Mazungu who came to visit her and was overcome with emotion at a situation that, to her, is just life. But I know I won't forget her, I won't forget how amazingly resilient she seemed and I won't forget the level of self disappointment that I felt for intentionally keeping myself in the dark.

Observations:

1. My last week in Kenya was apparently rotten onion week. A Kenyan celebration that involves putting overly ripe onions in and on EVERYTHING. Thanks Poa Place for my delicious chicken bone and onion panini.

2. Soccer games can end in ties? "WHAT IS THE POINT OF PLAYING," I was yelling at the Kenyans in the local Eldoret night club where we watched the English Premier League game.

3. I never would have dreamt that I would have missed cooking for myself so much. I just went crazy at the store and bought a ton of meat. Tonight's meal: roasted pork shoulder in my own homemade bbq sauce with corn and homemade potato chips......hello American meal.