In July 2010, knowing very little about Jitegemee, outside of a general notion of what it was and that it was being led by someone I look up to and respect, I endeavored to help raise funds to build a new education center for kids in a town far far away, with a name that I could barely pronounce. That July, with the help of many of you and some very generous matching donors, we raised over $60,000 for the new school, putting us more than a quarter of the way toward our ultimate $200,000 goal. A couple months later, still never having been to visit the actual program, talk with the kids, or meet the staff, I was asked to join the board of the organization. Honored to receive this invitation, I immediately accepted. At that point, the next big item on my life agenda became to make the journey to Machakos to visit the program in person. This past August, almost a year after being asked to join the board, I was able to make the trip.

Before boarding the bus in DC to make it to JFK airport I purchased a small notebook to capture my thoughts as I traveled. The very first line in the notebook, written as I was about to land at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport reads, “7 minutes from landing, still no idea what to expect…”

With that frame of mind, I passed through customs and met up with Farah, a familiar face in uncertain surroundings. She escorted me to a car driven by Captain Amos (Amos, by the way, is the best there is – if you ever make the trip to Kenya, I have his contact information), and we were off to Machakos—marking the beginning of the experience of a lifetime.

Jitegemee students and me having fun with the camera.

Over the next ten days, I would be shuttled between five different cities, experiencing everything from sitting in on community planning meetings for the new education center and meeting the architect Musau Kimeu; to sleeping in a bunk bed underneath a mosquito net at a primary boarding school after an 8-hour cross-country bus trip. In the course of my travels, I had the opportunity to talk politics and the future of the country; witness firsthand the excitement around the Kenyans for Kenya fundraising campaign; float along Lake Naivasha next to very large hippos; taste traditional Kamba food; and visit the slums where some of our students grew up.

When I made my first journal entry on August 5th, I had no way of knowing the truly profound impact this trip would have on me. However, by the time I left Kenya on August 13th, I was absolutely humbled by the dedication of the Jitegemee staff, and the spirit, intelligence, and gratitude of the Jitegemee students. On my fourth day in Machakos, I spent time with Valentine, Peter, Grace, and Christine, the first two are students in our formal schooling program, and the latter two are students in our vocational training program. As we walked through the city, visiting their apprenticeships, and exchanging stories and questions about life in our respective worlds I came away impressed with the students’ recognition and appreciation of the opportunity they were being given. At one point, as we walked past two street kids, one with a glue bottle literally stuffed in his nose, one of the girls whispered to me, “That used to be us.”

Our students are excelling in school and in the workplace. They’re focused on taking full advantage of the opportunities given them through Jitegemee, and are working even harder at creating additional opportunities for themselves.

A year into my board experience, I get it now, much more clearly than I ever did before. I see the connection between the money raised here and the impact it has on the lives of children a world away. I get the opportunities that $10 affords, and I feel extremely blessed to be in a position to help make a difference in another’s life. As we enter this holiday season, if you haven’t taken the opportunity to contribute to the great work that is going on at Jitegemee, I would implore you to consider it. We are still fundraising to meet the goal of our 2012 operating budget. It is only through your generosity that we can continue to literally change lives!

Asante Sana (Many Thanks),

Clarence Wardell III

P.S. For more updates throughout the year please follow us on Twitter (@jitegemeeinc), or “like” us on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/JitegemeeInc)!

In March 2010, I had the privilege of spending two weeks at Jitegemee, working with students and staff as part of a consulting team from Columbia University’s School of International and Public Affairs. We were working with the vocational training program, learning about the trades Jitegemee students were training in, the economy in Machakos, and other potential employment opportunities for graduates.

We got to meet Jonathan, who had recently completed the vocational training program. He worked with an electrician during his attachment phase, and stayed on at the same business after graduation. He was shy at first when speaking with us, looking down more at his soda bottle than at us; I can only imagine how it felt to have these three American strangers suddenly peppering him with questions. 

But Jonathan was polite and patient and eventually wanted to show us where he worked. He walked us through Machakos to the electrician’s shop where he told us more about his work. We asked him what type of electrical equipment he could fix.

“Everything,” he said, without hesitation. “I can fix everything.”

 

He spoke with such confidence, and I know that it was largely thanks to Jitegemee that he felt so self-assured. The educational opportunities afforded to bright young men and women like Jonathan wouldn’t have been available if it weren’t for Jitegemee’s dedicated staff and mission.

We also spent a day with the young students that Jitegemee was sponsoring at primary schools throughout Machakos. They taught us Kenyan games and songs, and had so much energy that by the end of the afternoon, I felt exhausted but exhilarated.

I was embarrassed as I realized that I had always taken being able to attend school for granted. But with Jitegemee’s help, the new students would be able to secure their educational future.

The trip itself was something I talked about for months afterward, and I still think about it often. I describe the work that Jitegemee does, and the amazing students and teachers, and feel incredibly lucky that I had the opportunity to meet them.

-Kiri

I have been a board member for nearly ten years, but the chance to travel to Kenya to spend some time with the staff and students of our program is still a rare treat for me.

This July, I spent an exhilarating week with them.

I met our newest teachers for the first time and found them as dedicated as I had been told. I spoke at length with each member of the staff, and saw in greater depth what our vocational students are learning and how our lunch program is impacting the lives of students. I also saw the lovely piece of land that will be our future home. All of us at Jitegemee – students, teachers and American volunteers – are greatly looking forward to having a building better suited to the program’s needs, and much more space.

The staff, the students and the community are hoping that our new center will include this city’s first public library. To help with our efforts to plan, I visited libraries across Kenya with our staff, and talked to several librarians about how to create a library that can serve Machakos well and meet our students’ growing and diverse needs. Our teachers have begun thinking broadly about how to make it a true community institution, with input and donations from business leaders and ordinary people in Machakos.

After each visit, I come home humbled by the extraordinary work our staff manages to do on limited resources. Do you know that Jitegemee has a retention rate near 100%? Anyone who works with such vulnerable children will find that amazing.

This great success comes from the fact that our staff takes the time to know each child well, to understand the family situation and the challenges the child has faced in school, and to help each child develop confidence that he or she can become a contributing member of society.

On my first classroom visit, the children were eager to recite in unison the poem they had written about themselves:

REFORMED

They laughed at us
When we roamed the streets
They scorned us
When we overturned the dustbins
They spat at us
When we passed near them with tattered clothes
And stinking bodies
They sneered at us
When we lay on the streets
In the cold nights
And heavy rains
They stared at us
When we sniffed glue
They never took notice
When we begged for food
But today
We design their clothes
We build their mansions
We dress their hair
We drive and repair their cars
We fix their appliances
We make their furniture
They no longer despise us
For we no longer stink
We no longer beg
We no longer sniff
We no longer starve
Our donors have seen us
We are reformed and refined.

We are deeply grateful for this support. For those of you who have not donated this year, we hope you will consider writing us a check to help us keep this program going. While we have been delighted by the success of our fundraising efforts for our future building, it has meant that we have to stretch more than usual to raise what we need to pay our teachers, buy food for our lunch program, and pay for school supplies and other program costs. Please help us meet our operating expenses for 2011, as generously as you have helped us in the past.

Thank you all for your support for this work!

Cordially,
Helena Halperin
Board Chair

“NYAMA!” everybody else responded. Looking around the yard of Jitegemee’s rented house, I was shocked to realize that every single student had contributed to the thunderous echo.  Nyama means “meat” in Swahili and is the refrain in a Kenyan children’s game, signaling that the leader was about to announce the name of an animal.  About one hundred kids, from 5 to 21, stood in front of me, and I could not find one who did not seem genuinely excited about jumping every time the animal’s meat was edible.   As my visit to Kenya continued, I became increasingly impressed by these Jitegemee students. No game seemed too boring for them. No joke seemed too bland. No kid was too ‘uncool’ to talk to. No challenge was too tough to overcome.

I had come with my parents to visit Jitegemee and to participate in a workshop that involved architects, students, guardians and teachers in planning a new school building to be constructed on an acre of land that Jitegemee, a program for street children in Machakos Kenya, had just purchased.

I spent my first few days in Kenya in this workshop, working together with a planning committee of 25 students and adults led by two incredible members of Architects for Humanity. The entire committee travelled to Nairobi to learn how to keep a building naturally cool by shading it from the sun, how to collect rainwater from a roof, and other forms of sustainable, efficient architecture.  At the University of Nairobi, we got a lecture from one of Kenya’s most prominent environmentally-sustainable designers.  In a small town north of Nairobi, we visited a school with a beautiful library large enough for the community to learn and study in, a far cry from Jitegemee’s small library in a cramped teacher’s office.

Although no one on our planning committee had ever designed a school before and many had no more than an 8th  grade education, they soaked up the information. They understood our budget limitations and the importance of prioritizing. When we were introduced to the intricacies of solar panels at a well-known company in Nairobi, not a single committee member believed the product was worth the high prices. Even the fourteen- year-olds understood the value of money and the concept of trade-offs.

The lessons learned will extend well beyond Jitegemee’s new home. When an architect explained that the orientation of a building can have an enormous effect on the temperature within it, the guardians immediately began talking about the orientation of their own houses. They could scarcely wait to return to Machakos and spread the news of what they had learned.

Enthusiasm and a sense of responsibility were traits that everyone in Jitegemee shared.  I was fortunate enough to accompany about 130 Jitegemee students and staff to Amboseli National Park on its annual field trip. We slept in bunk beds at a dusty primary school. Our visit to the park the next day was marred by the same severe drought that had created food and water shortages in Machakos.   At Amboseli, the lack of water had destroyed much of the vegetation, leaving the wild animals without food. We were all silent as we passed zebra carcasses in the dust.  Still, the circumstances did not keep the students from enjoying the trip. Many were excited simply to be on a bus for the first time and to journey far beyond the edge of their town. Others took full advantage of the environmental lesson in front of them. Muli Kieti, a recent high school graduate who is now doing an unpaid journalism internship at a state-run news wire, spent the entire time in the park jotting down notes for an article he planned to write.

Muli is about my age, and he already knows that he is passionate about journalism. In fact, it seemed that all the Jitegemee students my age had already established their goals for the future. Most of the vocational students introduced themselves with both their name and their trade. Two girls my age informed me numerous times, through their giggles, that it was not acceptable for me to be in college and not know what I want to be when I grow up. They had a point. While I spent my freshman year dabbling in subjects like linguistics that I had no intention in pursuing as a career, these vocational students had already started their own businesses and were earning money to support their little sisters and brothers.

These kids had grown up on the streets and most were still often forced to skip meals, yet in the bus to Amboseli they offered me half of the snack that the teacher had just given them.  On our overnight trip, despite having gone to bed very late, despite the lack of warm water and the inescapable dust, the Jitegemee students woke up before the sun rose to wash themselves and polish their shoes.

The students refused to accept the identity of “street kid.” They presented themselves as respectable, young individuals with bright prospects. As equals, we compared music tastes. As equals, we taught each other games. As equals, we shared details about our lives.

As I watched the group play Nyama again, however, the truth dawned on me: We were not quite equal. I would get bored of jumping every time somebody shouted “cow”. I would never choose to wake up at 5 a.m. to polish my shoes.  I could never relate to each new Jitegemee student and give them the comfort of knowing they were not alone in what they have been through.  In truth, each Jitegemee student was superior to me in mental strength, compassion, and self-awareness.  They were fortunate to find Jitegemee, and I was fortunate to experience, however briefly, the family that they have become.

By Jenya Kahn-Lang

This January I travelled with Emma San Segundo Riesco from New York City to Machakos, Kenya. Emma and I had been working on our Masters in International Affairs and fervently studying everything about development and Kenya we thought might help us on this trip. Our first day in Machakos, teacher Elizabeth Nzivo brought us around town, where we met with seamstresses, carpenters, and mechanics who told us their everyday problems, talked about paying for their siblings’ school, and spoke confidently about what they had gained from Jitegemee in terms of courage and friends. Our job was to take these stories and somehow reconcile them with our Columbia “book knowledge” to conduct an impact assessment of Jitegemee’s Vocational Training Program.

Every night when we returned to our hotel room, Emma and I typed pages of notes into our computers, looking for key words and phrases, trends in students’ answers, and recording our observations of the town and people. The next day we would go out again, this time meeting with parents to ask them what they hoped their children would gain from Jitegemee, or how they had seen their son or daughter change during the program. I won’t say our book knowledge became irrelevant on the ground— it didn’t. But what did happen was a slow realization that to assess the Jitegemee program we needed to use criteria that the Jitegemee staff, parents, students and mentors deemed valuable. To impose our personal, or Columbia’s, academic criteria, would not do justice to the hopes, desires and values of Jitegemee’s students.

Upon our return to New York and with the help of our other two team members, Greg Nichols and JeongMin Cha, we used the information we’d gathered to come up with indicators for success as defined by the Jitegemee community. They are:

1. Satisfying social relationships
2. Ability to live life based on good values
3. Ability to live a healthy life, for my age
4. Ability to financially support myself
5. Ability to engage in leisure activities
6. Satisfaction with achievements in the workplace
7. Ability to find meaningful work
8. Feeling of physical safety
9. Ability to feel spiritually fulfilled
10. Suitability of vocational training
11. Extent training met expectations
12. Ability to freely associate with the community
13. Feeling of confidence
14. Level of excitement about learning

With surveys, interviews and other activities based on these indicators ready, Min and Greg returned to Machakos in March to gather data. They talked to many people and even were convinced to buy a suit and dress respectively from a particularly good Jitegemee saleswoman!

After analyzing their extensive quantitative and qualitative data, our team found that Jitegemee has had a huge positive effect on almost every indicator. The greatest positive effects were seen through Jitegemee students and graduates’ success in the following areas: communication, education, spirituality, good behavior, safety from police, confidence, stress level, and desire to work. The rehabilitation class is having a large impact on students’ social abilities and behavior, and students are benefiting from greater income and professional ability. 82% of students who were interviewed were employed. 62% of vocational graduates reported being the primary breadwinners in their home, while none of the students who were just starting the program reported being the breadwinner. Students were also much more confident after the rehabilitation program— one student said that “In Jitegemee, I learned about myself and that I am a good person.”

I remember Emma and me thinking after the January trip—”How are we going to help this organization improve? It’s already amazing!” While our data analysis corroborated this initial observation, it did reveal some areas in which Jitegemee can expand or improve its impact.

First, we found that boys are typically earning lower profits than girls. Second, Jitegemee students had experienced a huge decrease in their contact with police, but were still in some danger at home and/or in their communities. Third, we found that Jitegemee students and mentors with higher educational levels were more successful both in the rehabilitation program and in their careers. Lastly, because mentors themselves worked on a commission basis and had varying levels of training themselves, some students were less prepared for their trade than others.

Based on these findings, my team made several recommendations to Jitegemee to improve its program and expand its impact. We would like to profusely thank Mike, Elizabeth, Mwelu, Alex and all the students, graduates, and mentors for their hospitality and for making this analysis possible. This is a fantastic organization and we are excited to see it continue its great work in Machakos.

 By Kerstin Ahlgren

But I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to connect Jitegemee to the Web. We arrived in Machakos and were greeted by students and teachers who were enthusiastic about computers and the Internet, but had little formal training. Jitegemee’s center was packed with donated computers, but only about four or five worked well enough to run basic programs that the kids could use. Some kids had taken years of computer classes in high schools that had no Internet access. Although a few Internet cafes can be found amid the faded storefronts in Machakos, they are a luxury for wealthier people. Few, if any, Jitegemee students had ever been online.

To get connected to the Internet, we set off for Nairobi, Kenya’s capital, to the office of Safaricom— Kenya’s main cell phone company. Safaricom had a modem that we could take to Machakos that would bring the Internet to Jitegemee’s computers through the cell phone signal.

We brought the modem to Machakos and I had to make several adjustments to get the modem to work. Safaricom had made the installation so easy that most chimps could handle it. It turns out, though, that Safaricom at least expects those chimps to be using newish computers with up-to-date software. By contrast, most computers at Jitegemee were donated hand-me-downs that run Windows 2000.

But finally, the moment of truth came. We brought up the browser, entered a pass code, and an old computer on the outskirts of Machakos connected Farah, myself, and two eager students to the Web. There it was. We typed in the name of a member of parliament from Machakos—Kyalo Kilonzo. The kids had been arguing the night before about whether he had a law degree. Seconds later, we had his whole biography in front of us. “I was right. He is a lawyer!” shouted the winner of the bet.

I spent much of the rest of the afternoon with Charles Wambua Kieti, an orphan and former street child who just graduated high school with a passion for computers. He had taken many classes but his school barely had electricity, let alone an Internet connection. Although it took a little time for him to get used to it, he took to the Web with enthusiasm.

As he waits for admission to a college, Charles makes decent money in Machakos by formatting resumes and business cards in MSWord—a business I would never have thought of because computer literacy is so high where I’m from that most people can handle that task themselves. But more than anything, he aspires to be a computer programmer and to learn to write code, a skill that would earn him a secure and extremely well-paying job.

The afternoon that we set up the Internet, I sat with Charles at the computer. He soaked up the HTML I taught him like a sponge. Who knows? With a little training Charles might find himself teaching his peers and juniors all about computers while he picks up more scripting skills. In my experience with computers, it hasn’t been people who go to school for computer science who necessarily do the best. Rather, it’s enthusiastic tinkerers. Now, with the Internet at Jitegemee, Charles has the opportunity to tinker. He also might be given real responsibility as Jitegemee’s network administrator, since I taught him how to restart the modem should it ever get turned off.

But all this opportunity has a good chance of going fallow without the right context. Connection to the Internet by itself isn’t all that magical. To make the most of it, you need a basic comfort with computers, an understanding of how the Web works, up-todate software, and probably a little handholding. Many of Jitegemee’s kids are not yet familiar enough with computers to get the most value out of the Internet.

Anticipating this, Farah took us to talk with Roseirene Wangui at Nairobits, an organization in Nairobi that has been teaching children from Nairobi’s slums about computers since 2000. Their most advanced courses teach students to design, code and maintain dynamic Web sites, and a very high percentage then get good jobs with firms in the city. Nairobits could help Jitegemee with the next step: building a curriculum, getting enough computers, and purchasing necessary software. Nairobits has expressed an interest in consulting on these steps, and if the price is right, I think they’ll make a good resource.

By Daniel Harrison

When Farah first told me that Jitegemee served street children in Kenya, I didn’t know what to expect. My first thoughts were of the destitute children that you often see on television commercials.  However, the Jitegemee students all were clean, confidant and seemingly well adjusted. They came to the Jitegemee center for lunch in their crisp, colorful school uniforms.  They all came from dire circumstances and many had hard life stories, but they were not hopeless.  Street children? These were normal kids.  Sure, they were poor, but they displayed a resiliency and hopefulness that the future would be better.  I really didn’t understand why they were called “street kids.”

I spent a few weeks in Machakos working with Farah, Program Director Mike Kimeu and teachers Alex Mutiso and Elizabeth Nzivo.

The Kenyan staff works tirelessly to ensure that Jitegemee’s students are prepared for elementary or secondary school, or are learning a trade in the vocational program. As a self- employed real estate entrepreneur in Washington, D.C., I was drawn to the vocational program and wanted to help the students start viable businesses.  I spent several days traveling around Machakos interviewing vocational students and the local artisans who were teaching them various trades.

On my very last day in Machakos, as we were walking to the bus depot to leave, two boys approached Mike and Alex. They were dirty with uncombed hair and tattered clothes. Their eyes had a hazy redness from their sniffing of glue – the cheap drug of choice for street children. They stood in shoes with holes, begging money from shoppers exiting a nearby store. Alex and Mike spoke to the boys with an easy, casualness as I looked on. These were the first street kids that I saw during my trip to Machakos.  “Those are street kids?” I asked Farah.  “All of our kids were like that?”

During the visit, I saw the results of Jitegemee’s work and heard the thankful reaction of the Machakos community.  The program has grown tremendously over the years.  In 2004, Jitegemee served 47 children.  Now, the program provides a comprehensive support system for roughly 130 kids.  That is 130 children in Machakos who are no longer on the streets. Simply put, Jitegemee has dramatically improved the lives of street children and the entire community of Machakos.  One dressmaker who was training one of our vocational students told me, “there used to be so many [street kids] around town…now with the Jitegemee, there are very few.”  I knew then that I had to work with Jitegemee to help continue its mission of providing educational opportunities to the street children of Machakos.

This year, Jitegemee celebrated 10 years of serving the street children of Machakos.  Several students in elementary school are at the top of their classes and are expected to be admitted to some of the top secondary schools in Machakos.  Additionally, our first group of secondary school students graduated this year, and we must find ways to help these students navigate their way into colleges, universities or jobs.

In 2004, Jitegemee began a vocational training program for some of its older students, ages 14 to 22, who were too old to return to formal schools. The vocational program provides training and a year-long apprenticeship that often results in gainful employment for kids who were previously considered to be a nuisance.  Twenty-five youths began their vocational training in 2004, and another twenty-five have started each year thereafter.

With proper training, the young men and women of Jitegemee will be able to find stable employment or start their own businesses.  About 68 percent of those who have completed apprenticeships are earning money through their trades which allows them to help their families. The goal is to make the kids completely self-sustaining.

Jitegemee has been able reach more children each year because of the generous support of our wonderful donors. One of the reasons that I was compelled to support Jitegemee—and to join its board this year – is that the organization does so much with so little.  In 2006, Jitegemee provided its extensive services for 130 young people for less than $50,000. This includes staff salaries, rent, school tuition, uniforms, apprenticeship fees, medical services, free lunch and more.  Since Jitegemee is overseen by a small volunteer board in the U.S., the program’s overhead is low, with less than $1500 of the annual budget staying in the U.S. to pay for postage, printing, and other administrative needs.

Most Jitegemee board members have visited the program in Kenya, and Jitegemee’s founder, Farah Stockman, travels there every year, but we always do so at our own expense.

I hope that you will join me in supporting Jitegemee. For me, Jitegemee offers a rare opportunity to support a program where I know that my entire gift is being used to save more than 130 real kids from lives of addiction and sure poverty. The children of Jitegemee are amazing survivors who, while still poor, are making great strides to improve their futures. I hope that you will help ensure their continued growth by contributing to Jitegemee.

By Keanne Henry

This May, I got the chance. My niece Farah Stockman founded Jitegemee, and for the program’s 10th anniversary, she invited me and 19 other family members and friends to visit Kenya. The journey was more rewarding than I could have imagined.

We flew from Atlanta to Amsterdam, where we converged with cousins, sisters, nephews and family friends for the 8-hour flight to Nairobi. Most of us had never been to Africa before. Some of us had never left the United States.

From the moment our plane touched down in Nairobi, we were met by a whirlwind of colors and sounds. We visited the Masaai market—a vast, teeming place of exchange. Then we went to the Go Down, a community of artists in Nairobi’s industrial area where we saw sculptors, painters and dancers. We also met Jitegemee’s children and teachers there for the first time. They had made the hour’s journey on a school bus from the rural town of Machakos for a day of art activities. I was so impressed with the children, who painted and acted out short dramas based on their interpretations of the art around them. They seemed to hang on to every bit of instruction, their bodies often leaning forward so as not to miss a single word.

Two days later, we set off in Star Travel vans for the town of Machakos, where Jitegemee’s new school was waiting for us. The children welcomed us with clapping, singing and dancing! I was overwhelmed. Inside the school building, the youth in vocational training assembled and we shared greetings and information about our lives in America. The children stood to tell us their names and the trades they were learning. Their faces shone with enthusiasm as they vied for our attention. They filled my heart. These youth had not been as fortunate as many other children, yet they were eager to share all their best with us. I felt so welcome. Later in the day, we set off for town to see the shops where the students trained in dressmaking, hairdressing, knitting, cabinet making, furniture making and mechanics.

But I had grown tired and began to lag behind the group. Immediately, a tall slender girl slowed her pace and looked back at me. “You are tired” she said. “I will help you.” She linked her arm with mine and entwined our fingers as we trudged up the little hill leading from the school. Suddenly I no longer felt tired. This is how I met Cecelia, a student dressmaker. Moments like that defined this trip for me.

The next day was the long-awaited celebration. Everyone seemed bright and shiny as we gathered for breakfast. There was a hush about the school. A giant tent had been erected in the school yard with chairs underneath. In the back, mothers and guardians of Jitegemee children had prepared enormous pots of stew for lunch. The children arrived in colorful new Jitegemee shirts they had been given the day before. We were joined by a group of children from an orphanage near Mount Kenya and nearby visitors from the Christian Children’s Fund. As more children and guests arrived, the hush gave way to an air of excitement and anticipation.

Mike Kimeu, the program director, and Terry Mutuku, the chair of our advisory board, soon took the microphone, introducing the day. Teachers Alex and Elizabeth led the children in poems, songs and dances. Local dancers donned beaded black outfits, pounding drums and singing songs that called each one of us out to dance. I took the microphone with my two sisters and our brother to sing an old gospel song that we used to sing as children in church. We sang one verse in Swahili. The crowd fell silent with listening.

A few days later, a plane lifted us out of Africa, back to all the American cities that we came from, back to our ordinary jobs and ordinary lives. But I had finally made it to Africa, and I knew that I had left behind the spirits of my ancestors who had now traveled, full circle, back home.

By Pearlie Hemdane

We arrived in Machakos to find the program’s small classroom of energetic students on the first floor, nestled amongst other quieter businesses.

A class of 25 vocational students were convened in the classroom, where they were learning about things important to business—communication, business models, honesty, working on goals, being groomed, being on time, etc. The staff has done a good job on this—students who once couldn’t even look anyone in the eye can now stand and talk about things, some even in English. They plan to be mechanics, hairdressers, tailors, welders, etc. and the Jitegemee plan is to help them by finding working mentors and lending basic tools. In exchange for their training, they are expected to help future Jitegemee vocational students.

On our second day, we met the parents at a picnic in St. Mary’s schoolyard. Introductions were done, thanks were given all around, programs were discussed, problems were brought up, and songs were sung to blend it all together. Some of the parents are attending classes and some are making strides in speaking English. It was a great idea to get the parents involved, and an even greater idea to take them camping with the kids so they could help with the heavy task of food service!

On a Wednesday about 100 students, parents, and staff met at headquarters to board two buses for the 4 hour trip to Nakuru. We were going camping to see a million flamingoes and other animals, to sing, run, jump, dance, write essays, and mostly to bond to each other and our common goals. It could have been a tough trip with all the glitches, but there were few complaints. The students were very well behaved. Biting safari ants chased us out of our first campsite and we arrived at the new site when it was getting dark. But, it was a better site, and the parents were good at cooking in the late evening and the older boys were skillful at pitching the tents. Puzzled baboons convened around our camp each morning to study how well our group got along. There are lots of photos and video documenting a good camping trip.

Muli Kieti is one of several students I got to know during the visit. Muli is near the top of his class in a prestigious academic boarding school in Machakos. He is studying physics, math, and chemistry and hopes to be a surgeon someday. I also got to know Agnes Kavita, Muthoki Kiilu, and Muthoki Masive, who are doing well at that school. Muthoki Kiilu has the top rank in the school and wears an orange badge on her blue uniform to show that. Of course, each Jitegemee student has his or her own character, interests, and accomplishments. Many of them are doing well.

We have a great staff in Machakos and are getting good support from parents. Contacts and alliances are being made and we are trying to acquire new quarters. A larger classroom is needed for our classes and to keep all our students together, especially for a mealtime each day. (A hungry kid has trouble concentrating.) We dream of getting a few computers on the Internet as well—I’m sure that students themselves can learn to keep such a facility going. They can help cook too.

I enjoyed the Jitegemee kids more in real life than in the photos and am more confident in the program having seen it in action. I hope to go back in the future to continue to look after our investment in these kids. And, probably Muli will fix my bad knee.

By George Stockman

George Stockman is a professor of computer science at Michigan State University and a generous donor to Jitegemee. He is also Farah’s dad.

When I joined the board of Jitegemee last year, I knew only what founder Farah Stockman had told me about Africa and the street children she had taught there. I spent a lot of time before the trip looking at maps of Kenya and reading about Machakos, the semi-rural town southeast of Nairobi, where Jitegemee runs a scholarship program for homeless and destitute kids. Of course, nothing could have prepared me for the trip I made this summer with four other Jitegemee board members.

All of us had saved up our own money to make the journey possible, but none of us were sure of what to expect. Our two hectic weeks in Kenya were an immersion course in the challenges that shape street children’s lives and the institutions that strive to remove those obstacles. We saw doctors who provide health care for poor children, government employees and private administrators who are developing programs to help children like ours, and teachers who believe that street children can attain as much success as any other children in the world. All of these people showed me that we are not alone in trying to change the lives of Kenya’s street children. And, of course, the highlight of it all: we met the kids.

The first morning after our plane landed in Nairobi, the Kenyan teachers who work with our program came to meet us. We made each other’s acquaintance in traditional Kenyan style, taking our time and talking over sweet milk tea. Despite our very different backgrounds, the Kenyans and the Americans grew into one team very quickly. The head teacher, Alex Mutiso, asked deliberate, thoughtful questions about what we hoped to get out of our visit. The other teacher, Sammy Mutiso, joked around and made everyone feel as if we’d known him forever. And Eva Kivuva, who is helping us set up a new vocational workshop, responded to every potential challenge we encountered with entrepreneurial creativity. It was my first moment of unexpected inspiration. They were just as Farah had described, but smarter, more ambitious, and more caring than I ever dared to guess.

After tea, we headed out for the first of many meetings with groups that serve street children in various ways. We visited the clinic of Dr. Thomas Olewe, who oversees a health care program subsidized by missionaries. Dr. Olewe had the quiet, assured manner of someone who knows that good work speaks for itself. We met for an hour, and in that time, we were easily convinced that he could provide an answer to one of our biggest problems: What to do when one of our students falls seriously ill. For about $10 per year, per child, Dr. Olewe’s organization would give our children annual check-ups – the first in their lives – eye care, medicine, basic surgery, and AIDS education.

We looked across the table at each other, relieved and ecstatic. Finally, kids like Mutindi Kimatu, an 8th grader who suffers from mild seizures and frequently blacks out in class, would be able to get help. Last year, we never would have been able to afford Dr. Olewe’s service or the tests that Mutindi needs. But this year, we could make it possible.

The next day, we finally made the one-hour drive to Machakos, and there I made the most inspiring discovery of the trip: I met the kids. Muli Kieti, a lanky 14-year-old boy, met me at our modest guest house to show me around town. We visited the crisply painted compound of Muli’s elementary school – the place that Jitegemee sponsors made it possible for him to attend – and passed by mouthwatering piles of tropical fruit in the town market. As we walked, Muli talked about his hopes for getting into a high school with boarding facilities and his dream of being an engineer. Then he took me to the three-room mud house he shares with a dozen sisters, brothers and cousins. Twice orphaned – his mother and his aunt both passed away – Muli now depends on his 18-year-old sister to care for all the children there.

Muli’s family is as poor as any family I have ever met. They often do not have money to pay the rent. They do not have enough kerosene for Muli and his brothers to have reading light for their homework. And many nights, they go to bed without supper and get up without breakfast. In Muli’s house, I knew that the shiny, ripe fruit we had seen in the market were nearly as exotic to Muli as they had been to me.

Yet, Muli has an immense trust that something will change for the better, and a real joy in the things that are good in his life. During my visit with Muli, I was struck by the realization that I had expected something entirely different. I had steeled myself to meet children beaten down by the reality of a difficult existence, children whose grief made them unable to see that life might be different someday. Instead, Muli and the other children I met in Machakos deepened my understanding of human resilience and hope. Despite their hunger, their need for such basic items as shoes and clothing, and the time that many have spent living on the street, they are still, just like children everywhere, innocent and expectant.

I believe that all people start out with hope like Muli’s, but many lose it, and I know that Jitegemee has nurtured Muli’s hope by opening up possibilities for him. It was intensely gratifying to see first-hand that Jitegemee is working. Our scholarships are not only giving children a future, they’re changing the present for these children. Jitegemee’s scholars know first-hand that hard work can be rewarding and that there are people out there who care enough to make their lives more manageable.

By Michelle Sullivan