#madeinthestreets

No, the title of this blog post isn't about me. If it were, it would say 22 years! And if you're anything like the students I work with, you'll think it should say 16, because that's probably closer to how old I look. And then if you'd asked my friends, they'd tell you 5, because that has been and always will be my mental age.

BUT alas, this is all about Made in the Streets, the non-profit I've been working with in Kamulu, Kenya. On August 1st, we celebrated 20 years since the inception of this ministry that has continuously served Nairobi's street children under the leadership of Charles Coulston. 20 years ago Charles and Darlene Coulston began something beautiful with a handful of kids in Eastleigh, and since, transformation has been the story. As much as the ministry transforms the individuals it serves, the ministry has transformed itself tenfold. 

The past week and a half has been a more complicated one. There has been so much on my mind and so many changes happening around me, and thousands of words I could write. But sometimes it makes more sense to (for at least a little while) cut out the noise, process in peace, and strip everything that's going on down to its foundation so that I can remind myself of my own. Editing photos is also a certain type of therapy for me, so in the spirit of simplicity, I leave you with 25 black and white images of the people and place building themselves into the foundations of my heart.

You might be able to see this in the expressions of some of the people photographed, but one truth that has resonated this week is that pain, happiness, anger, mourning-- those are only places. And no matter how much pain, happiness, anger, or mourning may feel blindingly true in any given moment, I shall endeavor to remain standing on a foundation of joy, peace, love, and faith. This has not been a happy week, but it has been a remarkably joyful one, for I have been reminded of that.  

There are some questions we get asked so often that I’ve seriously considered writing answers to on cards to photocopy and hand out: why did you choose Pepperdine? What are your plans after graduation? Why aren’t you dating anyone? When was the last time you washed your hair? (okay, that last one is a more recent addition)

The big one I started getting, especially from other American visitors, during my time at Made in the Streets is, “What brought you to Kenya and MITS?” I’ve heard lots of nicely packaged answers. Some stem from childhood dreams, others from a clear calling from God, a family tradition. All are here to serve, to “transform street children for God and country,” as the saying goes. Just like all those other questions, we all make our mission and purpose sound so much clearer than is actually the case. We know who and how we’re here to serve.

What brought me to Kenya and MITS? My answer usually involves a few things:

  Devon convinced me to apply with her as a duo (and then forgot)

Cecily had me go on a power walk with her to work through my hesitations and remind me of all the things I love

 The things I love happen to be children, photography, travel, putting myself in circumstances beyond my comfort zone, and deferring student loans

So there it was. I would come to Kenya to serve street children (teenagers) by knowing and sharing their stories. Easy-peasy.

Well, obviously, real life hasn’t been so simple. I know why I came, and I have an answer to that that would fit nicely on a 3x5 index card. But then, someone asked me not why I came, but why I am here. And the truth is that perhaps the reason I am here is not the same as the reason I came. Perhaps I am only just catching on to who and how I’m here to serve, beyond my job description.   

We often talk about God’s plan, about how He can see and do immeasurably more than we could ever imagine. I thought that was fulfilled when I ended up coming to Kenya in the first place; it was not my plan. But I knew I had to follow whatever path would require me to trust more. So in my head I said, “Alright, big guy, I listened. Now I’m here in Kenya so I’ll go do my job and you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Nope. He is not finished with me yet. I’ve been thinking a LOT about whom I’m here for. This is partly because I’m different here than I am in America; I’m far more shy and I don’t feel quite the same need to be consistently busy and over-committed. Which translates to me serving differently from how I’m used to, which has kind of had me in a funk. I can’t invest in every single person like I have often tried to.

So, how do you pick and choose whom to invest in and to what capacity? I was talking to my fellow intern about that a few days back. His alignment between why he came and why he was here, the clarity of whom he was here to serve and how, was actually confusing to me. But such is the beauty of how God works in our lives; a clear well-lit avenue reaches the Kingdom of God just as well the avenue that requires me to look at a map, get a little lost, climb a few trees to confirm direction, and jump through some puddles (I prefer the adventure anyway!). My avenue kind of reminds me of the staircases in Hogwarts that shift around depending on who’s on them and where they’re going. And it really makes so much sense that that is the nature of my avenue because those are the kind of avenues that people followed to reach me and lead me toward what I didn’t know I needed.

I had this whole conversation with my honorary Kenyan mother, Nancy, a couple nights ago. She was hardly involved in MITS, but through the avenues that people like Hung and Charles followed to meet her in the Kingdom, her youngest son, Victor, was able to receive a highly specialized kidney operation in the States. Those people did not come to MITS for Nancy or Victor, but they are part of why God had them here.

So have I figured it out yet? Probably not, but I’ve got some good leads.

Last week, I got in a fight with a Kenyan man who was beating his wife. A lot of screaming (by me) happened. And although, despite his guilt-ridden promise to never touch her like that again, I am far from confident that I made a huge difference in the specific family dynamic. But something else happened during that incident. A number of my girls from MITS saw what happened and had never seen me, quiet Safeena, react with so much energy toward something. That type of treatment isn’t a “norm,” but it’s also not something that most people would choose to get involved with or stand up against. In some tribes, it’s also understood that the husband may teach his wife a lesson through physical violence.

Ever since, a number of the girls, some who had grown up with abusive fathers or had seen their mothers go through similar things, have asked me what I would do if someone was like that with me. I pray I can help make sure these girls know their value and what they don’t have to put up with. Perhaps that is a piece of my ministry.

There are some American visitors who come that have a certain sparkle that you can tell is leading them back to MITS in the future. And there’s a chance that if and when they come back, they’ll have 10x the impact on these kids than I am having, and be able to love them so much better than I ever will. That is something I am so okay with. Even more, if I can invest in those visitors in a way that leads them closer to their purpose, I have the potential of being part of something bigger than myself and my own experience here. Perhaps that is a piece of my ministry.

Occasionally, someone from home will read my blog or see my pictures on Instagram, and they’ll make my day by letting me know how it has touched them. This is by far the most narcissistic piece of my ministry, but potentially the one that could make the most difference. Maybe I can inspire people to sponsor one of the sweet children here rescued from the streets to receive an education. Maybe I can reconnect with a friend from high school looking to change directions in her life and show her that what she wants, especially if it is to serve, is not so far beyond reach (that’s actually happening and I’m SOOOO stoked!!!!). Perhaps that is a piece of my ministry.

There is a girl in the community that hardly anyone knows. She was rescued by a friend from being sold for marriage at age 12, and is now preparing to go to college. Despite having the majority of her education paid for due to receiving high exam marks, she cannot afford the remainder cost of attendance. I’ve been so overwhelmed by my own loans that I never considered that I could make a financial difference in another person’s life. But the cost that could make all the difference in the direction of her life totals three Free People dresses (cue my American materialism). Maybe I can sit down with her to work through potential options together. Perhaps that is a piece of my ministry.

When I was a little girl, I used to sit in front of the mirror when (I thought) no one was watching and talk to my imaginary friend, a reflection of yours truly: Princess Rebecca.

There’s a lot I can explain about my childhood: an obsession with floral dresses (hey, they made a comeback), refusing to go to school if my pink socks didn’t fit just right (still annoying), the fact that my nanny had a secret cupboard of lollipops just for me (hello, Freudian sweet tooth). My affinity for the name Rebecca is not one of those things. But at the time it was clear that anyone named Rebecca deserved to be a princess.

“Princess, what is life as a princess like?”

“You’re supposed to be a princess too, you know, since you’re my twin. Safeena, you should find out for yourself!”

“How?

“I’ll go get my magic wand and we can trade places for a day. You can see what it’s like to be a princess and I can see what it’s like to be a normal person.”

“Oh, Princess, you’re so beautiful.”

Needless to say, even from a young age, I knew myself pretty well. Clearly, I was a beautiful princess trapped in a normal 5-year-old’s body. And if you asked either of my older sisters, they might confirm that my personality reflected that undeniable truth. Even when I found out my family had been spying on me the whole time and I dropped my imaginary friend, I knew deep down that I was a secret princess who should have been named Rebecca. And that’s all that mattered.

Fast-forward a dozen years. By senior year of high school, self-identity levels had skyrocketed. I knew exactly who I was, what I wanted, and what I deserved. That translated to me being remarkably stubborn and convinced that no one else could possibly know me or what I needed better than myself. And thus was born the tale of me running off to California to follow my dreams. I had comfort in how well I seemed to know myself, because, in my mind, I could only really rely on myself if I wanted to thrive.

A couple years later, everything had changed. With all the freedom I had ever wanted and everything having gone “right” for my circumstances, I was less sure of myself and my future than I’d ever been.

Somewhere along the way, faith became my driving force. Having struggled with anxiety, trusting my future in God made so much sense. I realized how many decisions I had made or that had been made for me that were born of no strength of my own. I had been brought to exactly the point where I was, and it was an unlikely, incredible journey, so how could I not? However, trusting my identity in God didn’t make quite as much sense. It often still doesn’t. I’ve been so sure of everything I know about myself, as sure as the princess reflection identity of my childhood. How can I trust my worldview, my experiences, my identity in something that can seem so unclear as faith?

“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”

Now I’m interning with Made in the Streets in Kamulu, Kenya, worlds away from everything familiar to me. And with everything and everyone familiar stripped away, I’m realizing again just how little of my identity I’m actually so sure about. There are no roommates, college traditions, or solo soul-seeking road trips to rest my identity in. 

When people ask me if I’m lonely, I try to be pretty honest. I LOVE the people here so genuinely and dearly. There is just an absurd amount of unconditional love constantly shown. However, it’s hard for me not to have that one go-to person who already knows me really well. The person I can stay up late talking to, uninhibited. The person who knows my story and can read my silences just as well as they can hear my words. It’s honestly really difficult. And the easy, faith-centered response is, “Well, you have God, don’t you?” And I do, but that’s where I’m learning to place identity in Him rather than compartmentalizing God as the big guy upstairs who’s obscurely but probably involved in my life.

I am realizing again, I do not know myself so well. I do not know myself as well as Him who has been guiding my most important steps and let me think they were totally of my own volition. I do not know myself as I am known by God.

The things I know now, about life, about myself, are but an obscured reflection of a grand picture. Every time I think that picture is done and that I can finally understand it fully, it gets a fresh coat of paint, a new layer of understanding.

It’s an odd thing to find comfort in, but it’s something that becomes a source of strength rather than loneliness when I choose the right mindset: I have been engraved in the palm of His hand. Nobody knows me but I am known. I do not know myself but I am known. 

If you would like to lear more about my purpose in Kamulu, Kenya or support me, here you go!

When I was a little girl, I used to sit in front of the mirror when (I thought) no one was watching and talk to my imaginary friend, a reflection of yours truly: Princess Rebecca.

There’s a lot I can explain about my childhood: an obsession with floral dresses (hey, they made a comeback), refusing to go to school if my pink socks didn’t fit just right (still annoying), the fact that my nanny had a secret cupboard of lollipops just for me (hello, Freudian sweet tooth). My affinity for the name Rebecca is not one of those things. But at the time it was clear that anyone named Rebecca deserved to be a princess.

“Princess, what is life as a princess like?”

“You’re supposed to be a princess too, you know, since you’re my twin. Safeena, you should find out for yourself!”

“How?

“I’ll go get my magic wand and we can trade places for a day. You can see what it’s like to be a princess and I can see what it’s like to be a normal person.”

“Oh, Princess, you’re so beautiful.”

Needless to say, even from a young age, I knew myself pretty well. Clearly, I was a beautiful princess trapped in a normal 5-year-old’s body. And if you asked either of my older sisters, they might confirm that my personality reflected that undeniable truth. Even when I found out my family had been spying on me the whole time and I dropped my imaginary friend, I knew deep down that I was a secret princess who should have been named Rebecca. And that’s all that mattered.

Fast-forward a dozen years. By senior year of high school, self-identity levels had skyrocketed. I knew exactly who I was, what I wanted, and what I deserved. That translated to me being remarkably stubborn and convinced that no one else could possibly know me or what I needed better than myself. And thus was born the tale of me running off to California to follow my dreams. I had comfort in how well I seemed to know myself, because, in my mind, I could only really rely on myself if I wanted to thrive.

A couple years later, everything had changed. With all the freedom I had ever wanted and everything having gone “right” for my circumstances, I was less sure of myself and my future than I’d ever been.

Somewhere along the way, faith became my driving force. Having struggled with anxiety, trusting my future in God made so much sense. I realized how many decisions I had made or that had been made for me that were born of no strength of my own. I had been brought to exactly the point where I was, and it was an unlikely, incredible journey, so how could I not? However, trusting my identity in God didn’t make quite as much sense. It often still doesn’t. I’ve been so sure of everything I know about myself, as sure as the princess reflection identity of my childhood. How can I trust my worldview, my experiences, my identity in something that can seem so unclear as faith?

“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”

Now I’m interning with Made in the Streets in Kamulu, Kenya, worlds away from everything familiar to me. And with everything and everyone familiar stripped away, I’m realizing again just how little of my identity I’m actually so sure about. There are no roommates, college traditions, or solo soul-seeking road trips to rest my identity in. 

When people ask me if I’m lonely, I try to be pretty honest. I LOVE the people here so genuinely and dearly. There is just an absurd amount of unconditional love constantly shown. However, it’s hard for me not to have that one go-to person who already knows me really well. The person I can stay up late talking to, uninhibited. The person who knows my story and can read my silences just as well as they can hear my words. It’s honestly really difficult. And the easy, faith-centered response is, “Well, you have God, don’t you?” And I do, but that’s where I’m learning to place identity in Him rather than compartmentalizing God as the big guy upstairs who’s obscurely but probably involved in my life.

I am realizing again, I do not know myself so well. I do not know myself as well as Him who has been guiding my most important steps and let me think they were totally of my own volition. I do not know myself as I am known by God.

The things I know now, about life, about myself, are but an obscured reflection of a grand picture. Every time I think that picture is done and that I can finally understand it fully, it gets a fresh coat of paint, a new layer of understanding.

It’s an odd thing to find comfort in, but it’s something that becomes a source of strength rather than loneliness when I choose the right mindset: I have been engraved in the palm of His hand. Nobody knows me but I am known. I do not know myself but I am known. 

If you would like to lear more about my purpose in Kamulu, Kenya or support me, here you go!

It's been brought to my attention by the people who know me best that they know nothing about my daily life at Made in the Streets in Kamulu. I can't really say that's an accident-- describing experiences while they're happening has always been difficult for me. It's also especially hard to sum up the people here in just a few descriptors, so everyone from home has been getting the, "It's been great, the kids are incredible, and you should probably just come visit yourself!"

I know, I should really work on that. But for now, I'm going to attempt to sum up what a typical day here might be like!

7:45 AM: Roll out of bed. Please envision below a sunrise picture that I have never taken because I have yet to wake up to watch the sunrise. 

Say good morning to the littlest neighbors who shout from a distance in their littlest voices, "HOW ARE YOU!!!" Little people, big love. It's about a 5-10 minute walk from where I live at the Intern House, so that gives you an idea for how great I look in the morning. 

8 AM: Morning chapel. Well, more realistically, 8:07 for me because we're working on Kenyan time! 

8:30 AM: Staff meeting. Discussions to help me feel like a grown up with responsibilities.

9 AM: Breakfast by ELIZA!!!! She cooks for us and is just about the best. Breakfast usually consists of chai (so much chai on the daily) and mandazi, which is kind of like donuts, so I'm a happy cookie. We're actually also supposed to eat at 7 AM, but, you know, sleep.

9:30 AM - 1 PM: Working in either the Learning Centre if the wifi is working or hanging out with the older kids in the Skills Centre. Take pictures of them while they monkey around between class. Did I mention there's a monkey in Kamulu? Well, I think I found it. 

1 PM: Lunch. The Culinary kids often cook at the Skills Centre, but I'm usually closer to the Learning Centre so I'll either eat at M House with other American visitors or at the Learning Centre. Chapati is my favorite. I've also developed a slight Coke addiction while here. The soda. Either way, I can always count on Moses to save me "leftovers" from Skills. I've been informed by Maina that those "leftovers" are actually the best of the best, so I feel pretty special. 

If there's any more computer work to be done, I finish that before the Learning Centre closes. Otherwise, I'm free to take photos and play! It isn't the worst that those are some major job responsibilities. 

5:15 PM: Evening Chai with the kids. Obviously not going to miss out on that.

5:30 PM: I usually head over to the boy's compound or the soccer field to take pictures of the kids playing and semi-participate (with my eyes). Watch Jacob further endanger his crippled self. On the way, without fail, these two boys will run up greeting me (often rolling wheels) screaming, "TAKE A PICTURE!!!!." I oblige. Every time. And sometimes we walk to the shops to get 40 cent movies! Oh, Kenya.

6:30- 7 PM: Watch the sunset. Soak it all in. 

This is also about the time I usually give Moses "lessons" in using my camera. If we're being honest, that usually means handing it over and making him figure it out. I'll have to do another post on all these people I keep mentioning too, and why they're the best people to have here.

7 PM: Dinner! Followed by some combination of movies, telling stories, reading, hanging out with Nancy (honorary mother) and Victor (honorary little brother), getting bitten by bugs, Instagramming, making the kids/interns hang out with my because my house is eerily quiet at night, and BED so early. And of course, catching the last of the light.

Every day is DIFFERENT and I hope I can relate the highlights as the days go on. But there you have it! A day in the life, sweet, abundant life.

Just like one of the kids said, "My prayer is to come out of Kamulu better than I came in." This is still just the beginning.

If you would like to learn more about my purpose in Kamulu, Kenya or support me, here you go!: 

In an effort to keep things light-hearted and be a proponent of adding beauty without ignorance to everything we take in, this is the first in a series of Street (Kid) Style posts I'll be doing while here at MITS. Enjoy=)

In other news, I'm just getting over a little bacterial infection I caught that put me in bed for 17 hours straight, but more on that later. Happy Thursday!

If you would like to learn more about my purpose in Kamulu, Kenya or support me, here you go!: