The life of a street kid

I wrote this over a month ago and haven’t posted it cause it feels sensitive. I want to share the stories of some of my most favorite kids I’ve met, and share the experience of living in the slums. I also don’t want to give people a perception of Rwanda that’s not entirely accurate. I didn’t realize I had preconceived notions of what living there would be like till I was shocked at how developed it was. I’m sharing these stories not to say that this is how it is in Rwanda or in Africa, but to say this is how it is all over the world. Probably there’s a community of underprivileged people close to where you live, you just wouldn’t know about it unless you sought it out or lived there. My encouragement is to seek it out. Learn who your neighbors are, truly love your neighbors as yourself And see the amazing way Jesus loves them too. 

Every day living on this street in Kigali is like living in a permanent parade. Constantly having people calling out after you, waving at you, whistling at you, it gets to be exhausting. But the one thing that is always something to look forward to is running into our street kids. 

There’s many children on this street that for some reason or other have become street kids. Some don’t have parents or a home, some have parents but watch themselves during the day, some are on drugs, some are being trafficked. 

I knew that these realities were real in the world, but never did I think I would spend 6 weeks confronted with this injustice every single day. We’ve worked with underprivileged children before on the race, we’ve seen children on drugs, and even interacted with kids that we thought maybe were being trafficked, but we have never lived in the same place as them. 

These kids meant the world to me, and my team and I got to interact and love on them which was an amazing privilege. Living on the street with those who were underprivileged opened my eyes to so many things. You may read this and think that it only happens in Rwanda or it only happens in Africa, but that’s entirely incorrect. It happens in every city around the world. 

The city of Kigali is known as the Dubai of Africa. After 9 months of traveling around the world, I can say that it lives up to its reputation of being one of the cleanest cities in the world. It has a beautiful redemption story and has rebuilt alongside with the whole country after the genocide of 1994. No matter if it is a first world or third world country, stories so sad you could cry forever are happening right under our noses, and we just don’t interact with those communities enough to know. 

I care deeply about these kids and I think the best way I can honor them is by telling a few of their stories. *All names have been changed for safety and many personal details have been omitted.*

Adam- 

Adam was a CUTIE. He was around 6 years old I would say. He consistently ran to me every single time I would walk or go on runs down the road. He wore the same pants constantly, always with his butt crack out even though there was enough material he could pull them up if he wanted hahahahaha. He like many other kids had their head shaved to keep maintenance easy, and often had types of white/green funk growing in his hairline(still have no clue why or what it was). He had the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. I believe he had a parent, he just fell under the category of the kids who watch themselves during the day. He was one of the kids that the locals don’t interact with or take care of. They considered street kids dirty and passed by ignoring them. That never stopped this kid’s smile and he showed me real joy despite circumstances.  

Julia and Saul- 

These sweet babies were siblings. Julia took care of her brother during the day, I have no clue where they went at night, I never saw a parent around them. They hung out right outside our door (sometimes inside cause they really just wanted to watch us exist hahaha). I have never had someone so excited to see me. The first time I’d open the gate for the day to go for a run, and again when I’d walk to the school, and the tons of trips I’d take back and forth to the church that was ten steps away from us. Every single time they acted like I was coming home from some long time away and were so excited. We sang songs with my guitar, we taught the other kids to play duck duck goose together, we had races in the street, and they came to sit in church with us. Church happened most days of the week, whenever we would go, these two cuties would come and sit for however long we were there, sometimes multiple hours. Sometimes they’d get weird looks from other church goers, but once they were seated, they just would listen to the sermon, doodle in my notebook, or take a nap. They were one of my hardest goodbyes on the race. Seeing crocodile tears well up in little saul’s eyes as I hugged him for the last time, and knowing that it wouldn’t be the same for them on that street anymore was heartbreaking. Usually, we have an organization we can tie people back to that continues the work after we leave, but because of the social stigma and the country rebuilding, no one has taken on the street kid crisis yet. Still, I know the love I felt for them is a fraction of what God feels for them. He knows their coming and going, and He’s truly the only one who can change their situation or protect them or comfort them. 

Jenny- 

Jenny was probably around 12 or 13. She was a constant presence on the street for the first 2 weeks we were there. She would ask for money sometimes, and sometimes she’d be so out of it from sniffing glue she was incoherent, but we’d usually have great interactions. We’d chat in our limited shared language, and laugh about things we were seeing on the street. The way men grabbed her and interacted with her scared me that she might be being trafficked, then I didn’t see her for weeks. I was genuinely scared this girl had been trafficked away or died. We had a mini debrief and when we were driving back to our home I saw her on a side street far from home. She had a bag and was running with some other kids that I knew and knew were trouble, maybe stealing, maybe foraging for food, but I thanked God that she was alive. I didn’t see her for weeks after that till we went on a walk on our last day. She ran up to me once we got to our street. I almost broke down, just so happy to see her. She walked with us and spent a little time hanging out. She asked about my tattoo and I showed her cause she was excited and kept repeating the word for tattoo over and over. Then she said it and showed me her forearm. My stomach sank as I saw a man’s name branded across her whole forearm. Her demeanor changed a little and she motioned for me to look and pulled her shirt down. I was very confused for a second and then I saw what she was showing me, there was a tumor growing on her chest that looked the size of a pear. There was nothing I could give this girl to make it better or take away the trauma she was experiencing. I grabbed her in a hug and started praying over her. I told her how much I loved her and how much God loved her (bless my teammate Cass who’s incredible with languages, she’s the real mvp for teaching me how to say that). It was heavy and hard to walk away, but at the same time I was so grateful that God allowed me to see her alive. Some of my worst fears for her seemed to be confirmed, but I had to trust that every wrong done to her would be made right, and the injustice done to her that made my blood boil, made His boil more. 

These are just some of the dozens of kids that we got to interact with on that street. Each one has a story. But this isn’t a third world country thing, it’s an everywhere thing. True religion is caring for the widow and the orphan, but we can never care for them more or love them more than God loves them. That’s my comfort as I leave Rwanda. It was heavy, but I know there’s a God who’s burden is easy and is loving them more than any human can.