When I take my daily
walk around the neighborhood in Nairobi, Kenya, I try to be cautious and not
appear too friendly.  Approximately 100,000 people live within one-half hour’s
walk, most of them in very lower class and slum-like conditions. At least 75,000
of them have problems, the likes of which would keep you awake at night if you
listened to them.  But once in a while I give in or fail to abide by my decision
to be utterly cautious.  A year ago I was going through the St. Mary’s High
School grounds.  A young mother Rose always sold roasted com on the cob along
the road.  Her young daughter of about eight, Cecelia, yelled "white man" and
then crouched behind a bush.  I burst out laughing and said to the mother, "Your
daughter yells and then hides behind a bush."

    After that on my walks, I greeted Rose with a warm smile and patted Cecelia on
the cheek saying, "You’re the girl who called me "white man".  About three weeks
ago, Pamela, the second daughter who is six was there.  She had a bad skin
infection.  I brought different kinds of skin ointments to try and clear up
Pamela’s skin.  Three days ago Cecelia and Pamela were carrying branches and
scraps of timber on their head for firewood.  They invited me to their house,
one of the staff houses at St. Mary’s School.  Rose welcomed me and treated me
to diluted apple juice. I shared this with her 3-year-old daughter Molly who was
initially wary of me.  Rose was nursing their one-year- old baby.  By the time
we finished the apple juice, Molly was kind of resting in my arms.  I just felt
so happy with these simple and good people.  I felt like in heaven.