Brighten the Day

 Stepping out of my house, I enjoy the crisp morning air before the sun’s heat burns it away. I hear the shouts of laughter, crowing of roosters, and the banging of pots and pans as my fellow Kenyans begin their day, bright and early. 

When I return from my lunch hour, my belly full of rice, beans, and chapati (fried tortillas, yum!) I stop by my house to collect my things before returning to the hospital. I’ll dodge a soccer ball and laugh as the kids living in my row of houses shout my name and come running to me. Their sweet little voices surrounding me, conversing in Swahili, is enough to brighten my day. These precious kids are always in play mode, and I’ll often find their shoes, bags, toys, and sweaters in my yard and on my front porch. When I enter my house, they wait impatiently on my doorstep, banging on my door and calling for me.

A patient smiles and hands me their baby, wanting to take a photo of me holding their little one. I rub their fuzzy, curly hair and grin at the camera. Another patient, laying on their hospital bed, exhausted from their labor, asks for my name and then christens their tiny newborn “Leilani.” In pediatrics, a young little boy takes my camera, his little fingers barely wrapping around the lens as he snaps blurry pictures of me, the laundry on the line, and the grass. At Nyaburi School for the Disabled, we are greeted with enthusiastic singing and clapping, their praise to the Lord compensating for their physical maladies, filling the room with a joyful spirit. This is what fills my cup, what makes the day better. Everything was new and exciting when we first came, but after a few weeks, it settled down. This is when I began focusing on how the little things would brighten my days.

As a student missionary, I am a target of Satan. Because I’m here to do the Lord’s work, there’s a big red X on my back because Satan views me as a threat. A couple weeks ago, I was feeling discouraged and a little homesick. I called my mom and, the wonderful mom she is, I received lots of advice and encouragement from her. One thing she told me stood out- “You need to get more involved with the Kenyans. Go to the girls dorm and spend time with the nursing students! This is how you feel more involved and a part of your mission experience!” 

So I went. Sauntering down the hallway, I took a wild guess and entered the room that had the most amount of shoes outside the door! I guessed correctly, for I found a roomful of my friends from the various medical wards. Soon, we were laughing and talking, comparing our cultures and joking around. I attempted to take one girl’s braided extensions out, much to their amusement, and I giggled at the way they spoke certain English words and their questions about America. 

God spoke to me through my mom, for my spirits were lifted immediately and from then on, I have felt more immersed in Kenya. My adventures with the girls have been a blast- they’ve straightened my hair, had me stay in their room for a night, attempted to teach me how to dance, sung together in the church + classrooms, and even taken me to get cornrows in my hair! We are constantly laughing and joking- they say I’m louder than any other student here, oops! I love them all- each one is so kind, as it should be. 

Sitting in a circle in the classroom, our voices ring throughout the room into the night as we sing praises to God. I joined this School of Medical Sciences choir last minute- In fact, we were to sing the following morning. The moment when our harmony blends perfectly brings a wave of contentment and happiness that I can’t really explain, but I felt a part. My race and country of origin doesn’t matter. I learn the selections and joyfully join them the following morning in church. 

This past week was eventful. We had a new missionary family, complete with three little girls, come from California to work as physical therapists, a team from Canada to commemorate the grand opening of their physiotherapy building in the hospital, and the very talented Chorale and Band from University of Eastern Africa, Baraton. Earlier this week, I heard a crash of a broken window pane and discovered that the boys playing soccer in my yard had broken my window. They sheepishly came to me, confessing their mistake. I forgave them, but let the principal know, and the next day I sat in for a somewhat amusing but somber one- hour conversation with all eight boys in the principal’s office. I felt awful but almost found it funny when the principal solemnly pulls his worn Bible out, flipped to a page that looked like it had been open fearfully often, and reads the verse in Proverbs, “The heart of a child is foolish! But a good spanking will drive it away from him.” And announces that he should cane all of them! Their solemn, fear-stricken faces avoided eye contact with me, and I really worried that I would have to witness their spankings. Thankfully, I think the principal only spanked the worst offender later in the day.

I returned to the Maternity Ward for a day last week, hoping to be able to check off my goal of delivering a baby while I am here in Kenya. Usually, there are so many students that I don’t have a chance. But that morning, I discovered that it was only another nurse and me helping in the delivery room. Early in the day, two laboring mothers were admitted at once. After assessing the patients, the nurse, called Marina, turned to me and said, “Leilani, whether you like it or not, you will be delivering a baby today.” 

That sent a thrill of excitement through me, and I sent a quick prayer to God, asking Him to guide my hands and help me recall what I already knew beforehand. I donned the rain boots, sterile gloves, and protective apron. After a bit of pushing, I saw the baby’s head and knew it was time. Marina instructed me as I supported the perineum, guided the newborn’s head, swept around its neck to check for the umbilical chord, and because the baby was in the compound presentation, I unstuck the baby’s arm and shoulder right after. The baby quickly slipped out after that, and we placed the squalling baby on the exhausted mother’s chest. I was thrilled, and so was the mother. Many events took place that day, but the highlight was that my goal to deliver a happy and healthy baby was finally accomplished, praise the Lord!

I have often had funny cultural misunderstandings here. I was out of bottled drinking water, so I decided to go down to the gate where a group of guys wait to give customers a ride on the boda-bodas (motorbikes). Assuming that it should be a simple task, I chose one over the clamor and instructed him to go to the supermarket, buy two sealed 20 liter jugs of water, and come back. Then, I’d pay him for transport and the water. After repeating myself a couple times, he fires up his motorbike and heads down the road. Twenty minutes later, Logan knocks on my door, standing with the guy I sent to the market. He had gone to the boys dorm instead of mine. To add to the humor of the situation, I am presented with, not a jug of water, not even water, but a small blue bucket with a lid- just like my trash can! I discover that there was apparently a big misunderstanding, so for the next 5 or 10 minutes, I try to explain that I need sealed, bottled water, so I could not just put water in the bucket and drink it from there, as he suggested!! I even brought out my empty jug to show him, and then he finally understood. I felt bad that he had gone all the way to the market without telling me that he didn’t have the money to buy the water in the first place! I finally send him with 700 Kenyan shillings to get two jugs. A bit later, he shows up with the promised water, but only one jug! I realized that I did not give him enough money for two, but I was not about to send the poor man back to the market again. So I thanked him, apologized for the hassle, and went back into my house with the water, giggling about the whole humorous experience. 

My time in Kenya is, unfortunately, drawing to a close, for I have a little over a month left. However, I am extremely thankful of the numerous incredible experiences I have had, and look forward to the way that the Lord will shape and mold me in these last several weeks. 

So this is what I have learned. It doesn’t take something big to make an experience great. It doesn’t take something large to make a difference. It is the little things that count. Little things will add up to big things. Little things are what brighten the day.