Today two of us stayed back after our team left the school for the day. We had a chance to be with the kids as school ended and they were sent home. We also rode the bus from the school to the orphanage with them. It was the highlight of my week, getting to be with all of them a little bit longer today. There are several kids who I’ve become pretty close to at this point.

Irene: A very shy girl who sometimes seems like she just can’t wait to tell you something, but it never comes out. She’s the definition of radiant. I love seeing her smile and interact with the other kids. On the first day, she danced and sang with some of the older kids during the welcome ceremony. Later I told her I thought she was a great dancer and her dress was pretty. I cannot describe how exactly, but her reaction was the most humble and genuine acceptance of a compliment I’ve ever seen.

Sanya: A third or fourth-grader who speaks English very well. He’s a very genuine kid. Helen told me the story of Sanya and his siblings tonight at dinner. Not that long ago, Richard and Helen watched a motorcycle screech to a halt at an intersection. It was moments away from hitting a baby that was crossing the road all by himself. Helen jumped out of the car and picked up the child. Immediately a young, four or five year old girl explained to her that the baby was her brother. The girl told Helen that their mom and dad “had been put in boxes in the ground” but she didn’t know why. While they “waited to be able to see them again” their seven year old brother, Sanya, was taking care of them. At the moment, Sanya was in the city looking for food. All three kids were living in the slum together. The baby had a severe ear infection and it was draining down the side of his face. Helen and Richard immediately took the children to the doctor for their first check-up and by that night they were residents of the Seeds Children’s Home. It’s remarkable how many stories there are like this. Kids having to put their entire childhood on hold to take care of their siblings. And just like that, Sanya was living at the orphanage and allowed to be a seven year old boy again. I really love this kid. And as it ends up, his little brother, Oliver, is arguably the most adorable baby in the universe.

Amos: A trouble-maker. He can be a terror. The anger is just behind his eyes most of our afternoons. He pick-pocketed my watch right off my wrist on the first day. Without hesitation, the kids offered up a suspect: “Amos. Amos has it.” I cornered him later and—as sternly as I am capable of—demanded he give it back to me. Then immediately felt guilty and got down on one knee: “If you promise to give this watch back to me at the end of each day, I’ll let you wear it starting every morning.” I gave it back to him for the remainder of the day, reminding him to come find me to give it back before we left. He didn’t. I had to find him first again. He forked it over with no problem and some excuse that I can’t even remember anymore. This morning he quickly came and found me so he could wear the watch again. Sure enough, he came and found me at the end of the day and gave it right back. If he is able to keep this up, I think I’ll let him keep it at the end of the week.

I played soccer with a handful of the older boys while we waited for the bus driver to arrive at the school. There were no teachers to be found for what seemed like hours. Just me, Tom and 302 kids running like madmen after this a basketball. It was an awkward site I’m sure. Eventually I just stood and put my arm around Ezekiel. The kids swarmed me. Laughing and jumping all over me: "Pick me up,” “Lift me up so I can dunk a basketball,” “Let me wear your glasses,” “How tall are you,” “Why don’t you have any muscles,” “Why don’t you come your hair?” Ezekiel leaned forward, snatched up the cutest little girl, and handed her to me. “This is my sister, Cynthia.” What!? I had no clue he had a sister. He never mentioned her. Moments later, Ezekiel snagged a little boy out of the crowd. “Francis, this is my friend Nate.” “Nate, this is my brother Francis.” So here we are—Ezekiel, Francis and Cynthia. I feel so lucky to have my arms wrapped around these kids right now. Then the gates at the front of the school opened. I could see the slum across the dirt road. It was time for the kids to wander home. From babies to sixth-graders, they all wandered out the front gates and back into Kipsongo alone. Ezekiel turned to me and said the worst thing I could’ve imagined: “You’ll need to put Cynthia down so she and Francis can leave.” And just like that I watched a young boy walk an even younger baby girl right out the front gates. All alone. Apparently, for whatever reason, Ezekiel has been adopted by the orphanage but his siblings haven’t. Where do they live? Who takes care of them? Are they in danger? After all I’ve learned already, my mind is racing with questions for Ezekiel. His face is perfectly cold. I can’t even tell if he’s watching them leave. The gates closed back up and we were left in the schoolyard with the remaining 80 or so kids who will take the bus to the orphanage.

Ezekiel and I sat in the shade with maybe 20 or so other boys and girls. They asked me to tell them stories. Ezekiel said, “Tell us stories about anything. About your life. About America.” I had a knot in my stomach. I didn’t want them to know anything about all the beautiful things I have in my life. I told stories about growing up and enjoying all the seasons. Then they started asking questions. “Do you own a tv?” “You do!? How many?” “What kind of car do you have?” “Do you live in a mansion?” “How big is your house?"…and then again, “Why don’t you comb your hair?” They loved petting my hair and my arms. Loved it. One little boy kept telling them I was like a monkey. Then immediately he was corrected by a little girl, “No, he’s a hyena cause he’s always laughing.” Out of nowhere, I felt an intense burn on the top of my left hand. Ezekiel had pulled a flat stone out of the sun and held it against my hand with the sleeve of his sweater. I laughed at first thinking, “Alright, alright, funny joke, dude.” But he wouldn’t let me out from under it. “Ezekiel! What are you doing? That hurts, man. Why did you do that?” His answer: “You aren’t the first group of people who have come here to help. Maybe when you go home, you’ll see your hand and it will help you remember us.” Speechless. And in pain.

Finally we got on the bus. Ezekiel showed me where he sits and I sat down next to him. I watched the kids get on and, for the first time, put two and two together about which kids were residents of the orphanage. Brian, Irene, Amos, everyone’s favorite toddler: Button…but I didn’t see quite a few others. Jocie, Jackson, Topas, Lynn—my heart was breaking with every face I couldn’t find.

Ezekiel started telling me about his life. His mother died. His dad had two more kids (Cynthia and Francis) with another woman. They are being raised by his uncle but he didn’t say why. I’m assuming his father had also passed away. I asked if his uncle has made a safe place for them. No answer. I asked if his uncle was a good man. He hesitated. “Their situation is very difficult and I don’t want you to have to know about it.” I gave him a hug and stopped with the questions.

“Do you think you could find someone to sponsor Francis?”
Not really thinking about where this could lead I said, "Why not Francis and Cynthia both?”
"No one will want to sponsor both. Too difficult.”
“I’ll try my best to find someone that can sponsor Francis.”
“Do you have Angry Birds on your phone?”

What the. And just like that, our conversation was over and this little tike was flinging birds like he owned the place. I showed Ezekiel the voice recorder app on the phone and told him I had been making recordings of the kids playing and singing and sounds from the city. I asked him if he wanted to record something. He laughed and pushed it away. Out of nowhere, Amos barks at me from the seat behind us, “I’ll record something!” Why not. No idea what he recorded but it took forever and ended with some Swahili rap lyrics. That should be interesting.

Then Ezekiel put his head on my shoulder. “Nate? Can you sponsor Francis?” Tears are building behind my eyes and it’s all I can do to stop them. I have no clue what it takes to sponsor a kid. Can I afford it? Does it even matter? I ended up saying something like, “I hope you know how bad I want to. I promise I’ll figure out a way.” With a stone cold face he sat straight up again and changed the subject. We didn’t talk about his family the rest of the trip to the orphanage.

We were reunited with the rest of the team once we arrived at the orphanage. Ezekiel and I were joined at the hip. He showed me his room. It’s in a small building next to the orphanage that apparently houses a couple dozen of the older boys. It’s essentially one long room piled high with bunk beds. I helped him polish his shoes. He sat next to me for all the activites we did with the team that night. Every now and then he’d look up at me and give me the most incredible smile. I felt like he was screaming, “I love you, don’t leave me.”

Tonight, Richard and Helen came to dinner where we were all staying. I made it a point to sit next to Helen and ask her about Ezekiel. She explained a little more about his story. She said she thinks there’s something wrong with him. His sadness. His siblings are all he thinks about. Sometimes he locks himself in the bathroom at the orphanage and cries for them. Sometimes she’ll find him down near the river at the orphanage just crying. He doesn’t tell her why. He says he’s trying to meditate. They’ve heard from his teachers that on days Cynthia and Francis don’t show up for school, he sneaks off the school grounds and looks for them in the slum. Double-checking on their living conditions.

I will find a way to rescue Francis and Cynthia.