We met so many wonderful children. They loved the pencils, paper, candy, toothbrushes and other small gifts we brought.

This was our wonderful fun group that toured the Serengeti!

What an amazing experience standing so close to a large herd of elephants!

Why God Weeps

Written By Cindy Hubler 

Why God weeps for the children of the Masai
My name is not important; there are thousands of young boys just like me in Africa. I am strong and tough and soon I will become a Masai warrior. I am almost fourteen and my time to become a... man is nearing. Since I was a very young boy, I knew that this day would come, and I have tried to be prepared. I am frightened that I will fail this test and bring shame on my family. The men in my village have been taunting me for many days calling me a women and child. They poke me with sticks and spit on me. I lay awake every night listening for the footsteps of the villages elder warriors as they approach my family’s mud hut. They will all come and drag me in the dark of the night to the river. My hands and feet will be bound, and my face painted white. I will be held down and without anything to ease my pain; my flesh will be cut with a sharp knife. The blood will flow from me, and I will be circumcised. This is the ceremony and test to become a Masai warrior. I must endure the excruciating pain for if I cry out or even grimace as the knife tears into my flesh, the ceremony will end. I will have failed, and I will never be accepted as a man in my village. My family will be shamed, and I will be mocked forever. I will never marry and never have children. Should I succeed, I will rinse my mutilated body in the muddy river. I am sure that like most boys, I too will suffer for months and months with infection and fever after my ordeal. But if I survive, I will have the respect of all Masai people in my village. I will also be able to take any unmarried girl or women I chose and have sex with her, even rape her. When I am ready, I will take many wives to give me children. For a Masai, the more wives and children one has, the more they are respected and admired. My wives will obey and care for me. A Masai warrior is powerful.
My name is not important; there are thousands of young girls just like me in Africa. I must be quiet and learn to obey because I will one day grow up to be a Masai woman. I have heard talk and I am frightened by what I hear. Soon I will be ten and my mother said I must be prepared to become a woman. I do not really understand everything that I hear the older girls talk about, but I know it happens down there. My friend’s sister said that the village women will cut me with a knife, and I will scream out in pain. When I asked her why they cut me, she said so I won’t feel pleasure when I am with a man and so I will not want other men when I marry. I am confused and scared. I have heard that there will be a lot of blood and that I may be sick for a very long time maybe even die. My mother said that after … I am forbidden to wear underwear so that I can be easily taken by any Masai warrior. I am scared because any Masai man, no matter his age, can choose to have me or marry me. Even if I am raped, I cannot tell anyone… not even my mother. If I marry, I must take care of all the needs of my husband. I must have many children, or I will be punished by the elders. I do not understand why the Masai girls must only learn to obey and give her life to the Masai man.
The stories of these young children describe the ceremonial act of genital mutilation practiced today by several tribes in Africa most notably, the Masai. Not long ago the government of several countries made it illegal to cut the genitals/clitoris of the young girls. However, it remains legal for the boys to be circumcised by the tribe. I was told all of this in a personal conversation that I had with a Masai that had converted to Christianity, as we traveled through the Serengeti in a rusty old safari truck. He also told me that the tribes feel that the law is only the modern world trying to diminish their culture. Thus, genital mutilation is still being performed in secret on young girls today. This barbaric ritual is done by people with a cell phone in one hand and ancient cultural lifestyle being practiced with the other hand. There seems to have been missed the space in between that would have put some practices outside of the realm of modern civilization. Not that I can find any time in history that these practices would have made sense. This is why God weeps for the children of the Masai.

Masai are the most famous of the tribes in Kenya. They total about 1.3 million, half of who live in Kenya and the other half in northern Tanzania. They are semi-nomadic and have largely kept their traditional lifestyles.

Zanzibar

leopards

water and fire

time to pack our trunks

cat n around

Victoria Falls

What Love Looks Like

Tribal Village Visit

Serengeti

don't mess with mom

LIONS

So the wolf huffed and he puffed and he blew the house down….

We all know the story of the three little pigs and the moral of the story of course was to build a house of brick so you would be protected from the wolf and the dangers of the world. Unfortunately, in the story it doesn’t explain what to do if you only have branches, cow dung, mud and a ragged old cloth to use as a door. As we drove through country after country, I took every opportunity to glimpse inside the mud houses only to see dirt floors, a small wood table and a maybe a wood bed covered by a dirty old blanket. Bent and tattered metal cooking pots and pans lay piled neatly near the fire on the dirt outside the house. A plastic pail to go to the river lays often empty nearby.  Occasionally, there’s a chicken or a lamb tied to a tree perhaps to sell at the market one day. Clothes are hung on bushes collecting the dust that fills the air as they dry. Children filthy and tattered run, laugh and giggle as they play amongst the dirt and rubbish, seemingly oblivious to their meager surroundings. This is the house built in Africa. It seems that the bad wolf could huff and puff and blow the house down but when you possess so little the bad wolf never comes.

Kenya Orphanage

God Bless the Child That’s Got Their Own

Never are those simple words truer than in Africa. For even with the thousands of miles and images we have logged in Africa thus far, I am still totally overwhelmed by seeing the small children covered with dirt in ragged clothes. Children that when they see us coming, stop what they are doing and run out to say hello to the Mzungu’s (white people). The small faces, twinkling eyes and large smiles will forever be a part of me.

As many of you may know, Africa leads the world in victims of HIV. With virtually no healthcare, many people succumb to the disease. Children are orphaned after their parent(s) die and often they themselves have also contracted the disease. Many of these children are helpless and face death alone. In our travels we met a man and woman from Australia that took in such a child while living in Kenya. Soon the word spread in the area of their loving deed. From that time on every day when they woke up another child had been left on their doorstep. Although they had not set out to start an orphanage, today they care for more than 200 children. When we were invited to come and see the children, we were very excited. Upon arrival, the children were all in a large room singing and having what they called evening thanks. As we entered the adjacent room all eyes turned our way and all we saw were hundreds of smiling faces. The majority of the kids appeared to be between 4 and 14. There were smiles and giggles and little waves all being sent our way. Soon we were walked into the room with the children and immediately children were moving over directing us to sit next to them. When I sat next to a young little girl about six, she immediately grabbed my hand in hers and held it like I was a trophy she had just won. The other children leaned up against me or held on to a piece of my clothing as if to claim just a little of the glory. For the next twenty minutes we sat while the children sang and smiled at their new friends. Then we were introduced and formally welcomed by the children. When we were all dismissed, we were surrounded by children wanting our attention and more importantly our affection. They bombarded me with questions and told me their names. They touched my skin and earrings and hair. They examined me with their eyes and warmed me with their smiles. They fought to hold one of my hands and anxiously lead me to the girl’s dormitory where there were rows and rows of bunk beds covered with small layers of faded and torn blankets. One small precious little girl asked me to sit on her bed with her. When I did, twenty or more of the little girls sat around us crowding as close to me as they could get. It was there that I spent the rest of the evening laughing, singing and talking with my new little friends. I taught them some old songs and told them several bedtime stories. Then they asked me to dance, and I did the chicken dance. The girls roared with laughter as I flapped my arms and clapped my hands. Even the teenage girls that acted shyer than the young ones, laughed out loud. Within minutes we were all doing the chicken dance over and over again. When it was time for bed, I asked the girls if they had pajamas and they looked at me somewhat confused. Then one of the older girls said we wear our clothes to bed. I instantly remembered the feeling I had climbing into my soft pajamas when I was a child and how I felt so warm and secure. In that moment, I pledged that when I get home the first thing, I will do is send them pajamas.

While I went to the girl's dorm Roy was quickly escorted by young boys to the boy’s dorm.  The last glimpse I had of him several young boys were grabbing his hand and all trying desperately to get his attention. He smiled at me when our eyes met, and I could see he was as moved as I was by the children’s affection for us. Roy told me later that each boy was anxious to tell him about themselves. My brother Ken (our dentist) will be happy to hear that they were most impressed with the gold fillings in Roy’s mouth. Roy told them he would video tape them and when he started, they jumped on their bunk beds. They all laughed and sang songs from the Jungle King. One small boy accidentally let out a large toot and when Roy said he must have eaten cabbage the boys all laughed uncontrollably. We both had an opportunity to tuck the kids in and deliver a few needed good night kisses. Soon it was time to go but we told them we would be back to see them again.

The next day we had made a commitment to go to a nearby park, so we were not able to visit the orphanage. But the following morning we woke up early and went to see the children before they started school. When we walked through the secure gate of the school the kids turned around and started to yell hello Roy hello Cindy. My heart was doing double time seeing their faces and especially when two little girls started to move their small hands to do the chicken dance. A young boy named Jack ran up to Roy and handed him a letter he had written especially for him. He said, Roy, I knew you would come back to see me. Roy was so touched by his thoughtfulness that he was speechless. The children than lined up by height around a flagpole and with the precision of a trained soldier a young boy raised the flag. The children saluted the flag and did their country’s pledge. As I looked down at the rolls of children in front of me, I saw that none of the children’s socks matched and all of them had holes in them. The shoes they had were equally as worn and most lacked the shoelaces they required. After the pledge Roy and I were led into different classroom to help with the children’s lessons.

Four students were seated at every small wood table. One young girl pulled up a single chair so I could sit next to her. My heart broke as I saw the children pass a two-inch remnant of a pencil from student to student, so that they could write the answer to the problem, from the book they all shared. Occasionally a child would rise from their chair and cross the room to get the one eraser held by the teacher for safe keeping.  

Our time went so quickly and before long we had to leave. As I said goodbye my heart was breaking. I sincerely wanted one more hour, week or month with the children. Before we left, we visited the baby dorm and played for a few minutes with the little ones. The room was filled with cribs and many of the children looked very ill.

As we walked down the dirt road away from the orphanage, I immediately burst into tears. Tears of sadness for the children that wanted nothing more than love from us and tears for myself, that wanted nothing more than their love too. The children gave us so generously the only thing they had to give… their LOVE.

If you are interested in more information about the orphanage, I will post it on my FB and travel blog. Roy and I are planning on returning there in the near future to spend more time with the children.  We hope in the meantime to collect blankets, pajamas, socks and school bags for the children.

A boy named Roy

AIRPLANE TRIP OVER THE OKAVANGO DELTA