Upendo Ministries

July 14th, 2025

Last night, I wasn’t feeling well, so I skipped evening reflections and went to bed early. I slept for a while and woke up around 11:45 p.m., drawn outside by the soft glow of the bonfire. There were only three people there—Sarah, Max, and Eli—and we ended up talking for a long time. The conversations were deep, heartfelt, and the kind you remember.

This morning, we left at 7 a.m. for the chekechea (kindergarten) and primary school. Once we arrived, our group split up. Garvin and Emma stayed with us at the school, while the rest went with Chikoti, our main translator, to Kyela district for business meetings.

Our plan at the school was to introduce the classroom and outdoor games we had prepared before the trip. Sarah, Max, and I were paired together, but Max wasn’t feeling well, so it ended up being just Sarah and me. We started with classes 2 and 3—Sarah taught counting bears to class 2, while I used the English–Kiswahili matching cards I had made with class 3. After that, I led some math equations, and we had so much fun. Once we wrapped up the educational games, we introduced Simoni Anasema (Simon Says)—and even the headmaster, Baraka, jumped in to play.

I have to stop here and say that Baraka is one of the most selfless people I have ever met. His love for God and his care for the children’s wellbeing is so obvious—it’s inspiring to watch him lead with such genuine compassion.

After the kids went for breakfast, Sarah and I moved to the baby class and class 1. At first, it was a little overwhelming—the kids surrounded us, each bringing their chairs right up to us—but Baraka stepped in and helped get everyone situated. I worked on math with the class 1 students, counting on our fingers and adding objects. Their excitement when they understood something was priceless.

We all went outside to play together, and that’s when I noticed a little girl crying because she had fallen. I bent down, hugged her, and asked in Kiswahili if she wanted to play or sit with me. She nodded, so I held her in my lap. I rocked her gently, scratching her back and head, and eventually she fell asleep. The teachers began calling me “Mama Christina” and even asked if I wanted to take her back to America with me.

She woke up just in time for lunch—ugali and beans. It was my only time having ugali on this trip, and it was so good. I sat on the ground, eating with my hands alongside the children, and it brought me straight back to my days at Huruma Dolor in Kenya.

After lunch, Christina climbed back into my arms by the playground and snuggled against me. As she slept, I felt tears welling up. I prayed over her—her life, her future, her heart. When she woke up, I stood her on her feet so she could play. But just a couple minutes later, the teachers came to me saying my daughter was crying. I went to her, and we played on the slide—though she refused to go down unless I went with her.

When the group who had gone to Kyela returned, Christina tapped me and pointed toward the bus. Her eyes filled with tears, and mine did too. I knelt down, wrapped her in a hug, and cried with her. Leaving these beautiful children was so hard.

When we got back to the resort, the caterers were already setting up for the beach party. Brayden, Sarah, Max, Eli, and Madeleine joined me at a picnic table, and at one point, people thought Brayden had a pet mouse… iykyk.

When the farmers arrived, we handed out gifts, shared chocolate tastings, and ate together on the sand. As night fell and the farmers left, we all lay on the beach, watching the stars and the Milky Way stretch across the sky.

It was one of those rare, full days that hold everything—laughter, tears, connection, and beauty. My heart is so full, and I am deeply thankful for the community I get to come home with.

-Vanessa