Mungiki

Time grows short before I leave again. I try to read the Kenya papers every day. Today they are rife with the reports of the Mungiki. They have terrorized before, these descendants of the Mau Mau. Some read the papers and become afraid and want to warn me off of my trip. No, I shake my head, I shall not be moved. I live in a city where children are gunned down every week. Are we any different here in Boston? These same fearful people who want me to stay don't even notice the body count in our own city. Sometimes I hang my head in shame, since I don't keep count that well either.

Two weeks ago a child named Acia was burned to death in her apartment. She was 14; her 3 year old sister was killed also. One of my clients sent me the news clipping, Acia was her student. Another client who worked in Acia's school commented on this child's death. Evidently Acia was a real rising star at her middle school. She was also a child of poverty, the raw biting kind that comes from urban poverty with drugs and guns and old rickety buildings that burn to the ground because of space heaters. Is she any less a victim of the "Mungiki" than the gangs that roam the streets of Nairobi. She was left by her mother who went for a drug run. Are they not all children of poverty whose stars are extinguished by violence, or negligence or both?

No one is really considered brave if they go into Dorchester. Perhaps they might roll the windows up in the really tough areas, but teachers go into the "hood" every day and try and bring hope to the children. The teachers go into Charlestown and Chelsea, to Roxbury and Mattapan, pushing back against the "Mungiki" who steal the children to the streets. No one thinks they're brave, but I do. They go into the war zone every day and come out a little battered. I am privileged to work with some of these brave hearts who pour themselves into the embittered souls of the children, trying to breathe light and hope into the darkness that resides within them. And sometimes they succeed and for a glimmer of a moment hope is spawned.

For me, I go to Kenya, for others they go around the block. You see, we can either be afraid of the Mungiki or stare them down and grab each child's soul and struggle to keep it alive however we can. So tonight I pray for all the children, the ones up the block, the ones in the streets of Bangkok and Nairobi and the ones silent in the suburbs. I pray that we leave fear behind and stretch out our arms and embrace them all.