My Shaun...

where to begin...I have felt the need to start slowly sharing the experiences I had in africa. As I ended my trip in Kenya, I thought my body would burst with the new experiences, new feelings, new life that was in me. But instead, as the plane landed in Salt Lake City. my heart wrapped itself around the moments, smells, feelings and protected them with all its power. Things that I was so eager to share before became sacred...and I didn't know whom to share them with or how. A couple days ago, I looked up at my far wall in my new room. It is the largest one. For a reason. its a picture of Shaun. My Shaun.

my first day in the slums was quite the experience. as a group we had been prepared by Ranger and Jodi of the extreme poverty. But I could not have expected the sights that were before me. its one thing to watch a quick blurp on the TV of helping children in Africa...your quickest response would be, "Oh that is so sad." but this...this was very different. I was there. I could smell the garbage, sewage, smoke...I watched children climb over hills of garbage, Women in clean, worn dresses carry their bundle of a child across busy, ill-kept roads. My camera sat in my hand for the first hour of our drive. This wasn't a show. Not a "cool sight". This was their life, and I wanted to protect them, respect them.

we drove up to the school site. Children filled the streets. as we climbed out, strong, brown hands grabbed at our arms, hands and legs. Just a touch, some were lucky and latched on for dear life. The smell of sweat and dirt filled the air. we all tried to shuffle our way across the site with children in our tow. Halfway through the day, as work became more smooth, a volunteer mentioned to me, "Who is that little boy, who has not taken his eyes off of you?" "Who?" I asked. I had not noticed. "The one with the green jacket." I searched the sea of gorgeous children and sure enough found my litte boy. His eyes held more. There was a pull in those eyes, I had not experienced often. When I would look back, hold his gaze, a small smile would creep into those eyes and touch his mouth...and we would look, smile, connect for a full minute. Then I would look away...it melted my heart.

as the day ended on our first day, I sat on a broken wall in the middle of the site. Children crawled all around me. my little boy sat on the wall right next to me. His small smooth hand found my left hand and held tight. As children playfully tried to take away my hand, his face would crumble in a pout and he would shout somthing in Swahili. I turned to an older student and asked him, "What is he saying?" the boy smiled and said, "He is saying, "My White Friend...Mine." i laughed at the tactics and smiled down at him. Again, instead of giving a huge smile...his eyes held me. slowly he looked down at my left hand...