This morning as we were driving to Huruma, my friend Sarah (who cannot pronounce the H in Houston) spent the time yelling out the window "I love you friend" in Swahili. She also did it on the way out, which our new friend Kim thought was the funniest thing ever.
Have you ever walked with 3 toddlers in your possession? I had one in each and and another one grabbing the inside of my pants. It was, perhaps, the hardest part of walking today.
I haven't cried at Huruma since our first day there, when I was caught of guard. I'm still sadden and angry that the sisters are keeping a girl separated from the toddlers because she can't communicate and that Collins, one of the handicapped children isn't allowed in regular class (or class at all). There are injustices in every corner. And for me, a fighter of injustice, it's hard to sit there and not do anything. So, I choose to love, to be love for these kids and I dance with Collins and walk at least 3 toddlers to school every day.
A little bit of me doesn't know what to say, in all honesty. I want to describe the overwhelming smell that is in the handicap room that leaves me gagging when I first walk in. I want to describe the 20 toddlers that maul me every morning. I want to show you and have you understand the smell and sights of Humura and what it's like being a minority for the first time in my life. So, now that I'm a little out of words, I'll hope you forgive me for not sharing more...it's not that I don't want to, but I just can't find the words to share right now.
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