Hope in Kakuma

Our paths never cross and yet there is a longing for her.

When we are quiet she returns.

She leaves just as quickly as she returns.

She is hope.

Insignificant, she thinks.

She moves in and out of worlds.

She leaves without a trace, she thinks.

She creates one beautiful disaster after another disaster.

Despair waits to pounce.

To destroy.

To reclaim.

To feed the loss.

The pain.

The longing to belong.

Unsettled. Disturbed.

Despair wants to stay.

Hope is the grip of a child’s hand that refuses to let go.

She wants to witness.

To love.

To belong.

To be.

Hope is here.

Hope is in Kakuma.

Hope is everywhere.

If we are quiet, we can hear her breathing.

I think I am boarding on a plane to Nairobi. I say “I think” because my ticket says Somalia but I think that is just the carrier? Right? Although with my track record of flying, I could be going to Somalia. Good grief.

When I wrote my dissertation proposal, I had really had no idea what the hell I would be doing, perhaps, I still don’t, if I was truly honest with myself. I do know that I did a pre/post survey with 31 people. 14 people were trained in the intervention and their post-hope scores shot up. Four individuals stayed with me to implement the intervention. We served over 150 participants and worked with all different ages from primary school to vocational school to community groups.

One participant remarked, we created a space that was missing in Kakuma. A space in which that people can have meaningful conversations. Perhaps, we did.

The four participants are going to take the project on their own. They no longer need me, which is what I wanted, but it does make me very sad. My hope is that I will return in June to write up the book chapter along with the participants and check on the project.

I will be trying to replicate my project at Kenyatta University. I say, “I will try” because all the public university professors have been on strike for the last 2 months. There are no students on the campus. Oh well. It doesn’t stop me. This week, I will partner with 15 Kenyatta University students. Next week, my hope is that we will be able to do a couple workshops in Eastleigh. This neighborhood is predominantly inhabited by immigrants and refugees.

If the planets align, after that I also hope to travel to Mabaan, South Sudan for 2 weeks. This excursion was not planned but I have been invited to go. I have little hope that the professor strike will be resolved so instead of being idle (which is not possible for Staci) I will go on an entirely different adventure.

But first, I need to return to Nairobi (not Somalia) and go to a conference in Kampala, Uganda.

Kakuma is an intolerable environment and yet I have met the most remarkable people that have potential, expertise, motivation, and value. I am indebted to every person I have had the opportunity to meet. I urge all of us to say to our governments, we want these remarkable people as neighbors, citizens, and community members. They are the hope that all of our countries need.

As for me, I am not sure you want me as a neighbor. But, a couple of people have said they want me to build a home in Kakuma. As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I am far too accident-prone, weak, and adverse to heat, mozies, and scorpions to be of value to the community.

Yesterday, I spent my last Sunday at the Somalia afterschool program. This time the community was invited and we had 20ish people in this home. While we were doing the workshop, there was one child who looked 12-14 years old but developmental 6-7 years old. She grabbed at a woman in the group and another participant said that she was not well. I asked the young child sit with me. She was in front of me, as I (for some reason) instinctively patted her leg. She calmed down. She leaned into me, as I continued to gently pat her leg. She sat with me for 15 minutes. She was heavy and radiated heat as she leaned into me. She stared at me. Her yellow hijab and my exposed black hair touched.

I am telling this story because metaphorically, this little girl is me in Kakuma. Kakuma is the one that is holding me close. Patting my leg and reminding me, I belong and I am here for a reason. As I lean into the Kakuma community, they refuse to let go of me, no matter how many times I screw up. I am grateful for it.