BigStuf Camps did the video. It was made for the 2009 BigStuf interns.The footage is from their trip to Kenya with us and 410 Bridge, the ministry Paul Omondi works for.

The vocals were taken from a recording of kids in a child development center in the Kibera slum (Nairobi, Kenya). The soloist is a girl named Esther.

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As a child, I held onto my dream despite the glaring poverty that threatened to kill it. I dreamed I would be some sort of a great leader when I grew up. My parents always reminded me that it would be important to work hard in school and trust in God in order for my dreams to come true.

Childhood memories are still fresh in my mind. I grew up in a neighborhood of 10′ x 10′ shelters made out of sticks, mud walls and iron sheet roofs.

My father volunteered as a church planter in the slums while my mother made and sold African attire known as ‘Kitenge’ in a small market nearby.

I watched one of my sisters die at age 3. I was only about 4 years old then.

Many children die before the age of 5 in my community. Perhaps that explains why most parents have many children — they have to take chances because they aren’t sure which ones will make it.

I am one of five siblings that survived. My eldest sister is 32 years old and I am the second oldest. I have a younger sister who is 25 and a brother who is 24. My youngest sister is 19.

Infrastructure is a great challenge in my community. There are no nearby hospitals or schools, so we remained isolated from the rest of the world.

Without medical coverage, a hospital visit in the neighboring town reaps hefty hospital bills. It is particularly hard for parents who cannot find employment.

As a result, many parents avoid taking their children to hospital for fear of being detained in hospital if they can’t afford the fees.

Only in serious cases is anyone taken to hospital and, even then, transportation is a challenge. Some of them never make it in time and die on their way.

Bitter herbs are common for most illnesses, and as a kid I dreaded saying I was sick because it was hard to stomach the bitter herbs going down my throat.

Sanitation was and still remains a great challenge in Kibera.

Residents answer the call of nature in buckets in the comfort of their small houses and pack the waste in plastic bags, which they throw out of their windows at night. This practice led to the rise of a new term — “the flying toilets of Kibera.” Curfew hours begin at 8 p.m. in Kibera, and puu-puu begins flying through the windows.

My father believed that the reason he was living in abject poverty is because he never had the privilege of completing his high school education. He resolved to give his children good educations if he could.

My family eventually moved from Kibera to Dandora, about half an hour east of the city of Nairobi.

Dandora is known for being the largest dumping site in Kenya, where crime and all sorts of evil reigns. Dad relocated the family to Dandora because the government was setting up public schools there and he wanted us to be in a neighborhood with public schools.

When we moved to Dandora, I started schooling immediately. My dad, together with five other families, founded Dandora Baptist Church.

Compassion came to my new neighborhood and started a partnership with our church, enrolling children in the child sponsorship program.

The idea of child sponsorship was a new phenomenon in my neighborhood. When the church came asking to enroll the children in the program, many parents were hesitant for a number of reasons; some thought that the church was taking advantage, trying to woo members because the church had only five families as part of its congregation.

The was also a rumor going around that the church wanted to enroll the children in devil worshiping, and this rumor saw many parents becoming skeptical even though their children were eligible for the program.

I had heard the rumor at school, and I pretended that I was not associated with the church. I still remember going home and my parents telling me that they had chosen me to be enrolled in the program since Compassion only took one child per family.

Of course you can tell I was not going to receive the news with joy. I thought my parents had decided to give me away. How unfortunate! What had I done to receive such treatment?

Then came the day of enrollment. Compassion Kenya staff had all the children lined up as their parents watched from the church pews. The registration ages were 4 to 10 years old.

There was no way to tell the ages of most kids since they had no birth certificates. This is common since some kids aren’t born in hospitals, but at home with the help of non-certified midwives.

The only way to tell the age was to have all the children line up and look at their stature. I knew I was 11 years for sure. I wanted to say that I was over age, but the look on my parents face spelled disaster if I was to divulge that.

As the Compassion staff inspected the queue, I hoped that they would pull me out. They pulled quite a number of those who looked old, but my little emaciated body denied me the chance of being pulled out of line.

I almost shouted my real age when the Compassion staff passed me. The numbers of children who passed the “age verification test” was 80, far less than the expected number, so Compassion staff decided to extend grace and enroll ages 4 to 12 years.

That was the moment I knew I was now completely netted. I could see my mother smiling broadly after the pronouncement. She had her fingers crossed all this time, and finally the kids who were enrolled into the program numbered maybe 114.

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Since then my Creator and Saviour has been helping me to weed out values that are contrary to those of the Kingdom and walking with me towards the dreams He’s planted in my heart. It’s been a step-by-step process of learning to be faithful with what He entrusts me with.

Of course, going against the patterns of this world isn’t easy, but the fruit of obedience is liberating! I wouldn’t want to live any other way. Life’s exhilarating when you’re dancing with a God of the supernatural.

Thanks to modern technology, I met a former sponsored child Paul Omondi through Facebook! Paul shared his testimony with me … It’s more than encouraged me to be all that I can be; it’s given me hope.

Paul completed the Leadership Development Program in Kenya years ago (a program that educates, trains and disciples servant leaders), was recently married (congratulations Paul!), and now works to help his fellow Kenyans escape the cycle of poverty in his role as a Community Development Manager.

But every achievement starts with a heart that dares to dream.

Twenty nine years ago in Kibera, 15 minutes outside of Nairobi, Kenya, a baby boy was born. Kibera is the biggest slum in Kenya. I can’t imagine what would’ve become of me if I was born there.

I’m reminded of the words of Nathanael when Philip told him that he had found ‘the one’ that Moses and the prophets wrote about. He said,

“Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” — John 1:46a (NIV)

Can anything good come out of a slum?

Tune in all next week as Paul tells his story.

- Irene

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Last week, they spoke to me again from a place where you wouldn’t expect to find much of anything at all except despair, doubt, hatred and cynicism.

The place is Kibera, a slum in Nairobi, Kenya. It was this largest of African slums that many Compassion-assisted children witnessed firsthand the worst that human nature has to offer.

Shortly after Kenya’s incumbent President Mwai Kibaki was declared the winner of the presidential election held on December 27, 2007, ethnic violence surged throughout the capital city of Nairobi, affecting some of the poorest areas the most.

The violence lasted through February 2008, leaving as many as 800 to 1,500 dead and another 180,000 to 250,000 displaced. The children witnessed firsthand the murderous rampage that also led to the destruction of their homes, schools and churches.

Shortly after the violence broke out, Barrack Okal, an employee at Compassion who was born in Kenya, visited the children at Legacy Christian Academy in Castle Rock, Colorado.

The children, who were learning about Kenya, were told about the terrible violence in that country and asked to write to the Compassion-assisted children living in Kibera.

On the day Barrack picked up the children’s letters, each child took turns praying for the kids in the child development centers who were affected by the violence.

The day after they prayed, the violence ended.

Last week, I went with Barrack to present to the children of Legacy Christian Academy the letters that the children in Kibera sent back to them.

The letters were moving. The Kenyan children portrayed the violence they saw, but then immediately followed up the horrid descriptions with words of thanks and hope.

For example, one letter said:

Dear friend,

My name is Duncan. I live in Kibera, and it is in Kenya.

In my country Kenya some few months ago, there was violence, and we were not safe because some people were looting. Tribes were fighting against tribes. Some people burnt houses for people and there was no peace all over Kenya.

But thank you for praying for me, and now I’m safe. There are no clashes anywhere in my country. Our desks were burnt and we don’t have desks to sit in class.

From your friend,

Duncan

At the bottom of this letter, the amazing hope and faith these children have in their Savior was illustrated with a picture of a double heart depicting the colors of the Kenyan flag. Inside the image it said, “God loves Kenya.”

In another letter, one of the Kenyan children wanted to encourage Christian brothers and sisters in America that God would always be with them.

Dear friend Jean,

How are you? I hope that you are fine. My name is called Dephny. I’m in class seven, and I am doing well. What about you? I also hope that you are doing well in school.

God will always be with you all the time if you believe in him and obey his commands. I thank God because we were not injured during the past election violence. I will be praying for you every day and I am glad to write to you this letter.

Here I have a memory verse for you: “‘I am the first and the last,’ says the Lord Almighty who is, who was, and who is to come.” Revelation 1:8

Your best friend,

Dephny

These stories and others like these have helped me gain perspective on my life.

First of all, God has richly poured out His blessings on me and my family.

I am fortunate to live in a country that, while not perfect, affords me freedom and opportunity to do things that people in most countries can only dream about.

I can worship God how I please. I can go to grocery stores full of food. The home I live in has a roof and glass windows. My children are free from disease, and if they or someone else in my family get sick, access to quality health care is readily available. My list of blessings go on and on.

Second, I all too often take God’s calling on my life for granted.

I measure my happiness based on my circumstances rather than my calling. These children are happy despite their circumstances. They are happy because they know God and because they are known by God. How else can we become truly fulfilled?

Third, I often put hope and trust in things that get old and fall apart. (I’m referring to inanimate objects as well as our physical bodies.)

For these children in Kenya, everything around them may be falling apart, and yet they are full of hope as they put their trust in the one thing that was the same yesterday as it is today and as it will be tomorrow – their Lord and Savior.

What valuable lessons to learn from the “least of these.”

As the letters were being read to the children of Legacy Christian Academy, I noticed that all the children, even the kindergartners, were glued to their seats attentively listening. They didn’t want to miss a single word of what these amazing children overseas had to say.

Neither did I.

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