I Cried Today and Jesus Wept It was the only natural response to have. Boys as young as 6 years old were huddled together in a corner of a room, trying as best as they could to avoid the whip of their ‘caretakers’. ‘Stand up! Sit down! Line up!’ The orders were simple. Immediate and complete compliance was demanded. The last one to comply with the order was liable to be hit with the long whip made of the rubber from tires. The hard rubber which has done over 100,000 miles on the road, leaves several centimeters of scar on the backs, arms, legs or even faces, of boys who’s only sin, or transgression may have been that their parents have died, or they were desperately hungry and begged from the wrong person in the wrong way.
I cried. I remember that Jesus wept. John 11:35 “Jesus wept.”
Jesus wept not because of the loss of the single life of an acquaintance. Jesus wept because the majority of mankind was so engrossed with their own simple, self centered concerns, that they ignored the pain and suffering of their neighbors, whose needs could be relieved by a simple tithe or one tenth of their personal ‘disposable income.’
The room was filled with these boys. They huddled together and shivered, closely against the wall, as though they were in below zero weather. Their shivering however was due to the fear, which could be seen deep within their eyes, each pair of them fixed on the men brandishing the whips. There was the feeling of safety, comfort, and assurance in huddling together. This feeling came from knowing that a crack of the whip would disperse its effect over several bodies at once, diminishing its effect on any single one of them. They also hoped that they themselves would be furthest from the harsh and the dangerous stare of the guards brandishing the one and a half meter whip. These whips have a long reach.
I cried. I dried my tears and knelt down to speak with one boy who had a severe infection in one of his legs. The infection extended from his foot to his mid-thigh. He was unable to stand or walk. He was spared the whip, because of his inability to transgress the rule of the law in this setting, but his misery was no less apparent. I knelt down with him and looked into his face. He was dirty, covered with ragged clothing as though he had been a coal miner, and smelly as if he had worked in sewers. His teeth were broken, full of cavities and many were absent. His leg was swollen and had wounds and draining sinuses of pus. He was thin and obviously malnourished as the ribs were only covered with dirty skin. He looked at me and said: “Dr. Johnson, I am hungry.”
I met two other boys there who knew me. Since our work on the streets of Nairobi had been halted by the government’s decree of ‘sweeping’ the boys off the streets, we had missed the opportunity to serve them there on the streets. Our ministry had included actually taking food to the streets as well as holding clinics and evangelization in settings which they boys, girls, and families of the streets were familiar with and found comfortable and safe.
The street sweeping of these ‘street-boys’ was an effective campaign to rid the streets of the nuisance of beggars, and petty criminals during the daylight hours. At night, however, they would return in large numbers, to continue their lifestyle of survival. Prostitution, glue-sniffing, and other petty crimes continued after the city council police shift would end and the ‘street-boys’ would come out of hiding. It was during the night hours they could return, pick through the garbage of the day to find their food, beg from the people who were going to the night clubs, movies and restaurants, and carry on life as usual…, for them.
During the day, the unfortunate ones were rounded up and brought to centers such as the one I was visiting today. Here they are incarcerated because they have no one to speak up for them, advocate for them, or even notice them. They are crowded into a garage like building, sleeping six or more to a bunk bed, or lying on cardboard boxes on cement floors. The younger boys get the beds, while those in their teens and early twenties lie on the floor.
The stench from the toilets is disgusting and only made tolerable to a visitor who can step outside to see the light of day, and move several meters away from the building as the vapors waft through the open windows and doors. No such luxury is afforded those who are inside, as they might escape to the city life again.
After consulting with one of the social workers, my fellow missionary, Aundrae Cassell (of Ambassadors Fellowship), and I were able to arrange for several of the boys to be taken to Saint Mary’s Mission Hospital, to get wound care, and admission for a variety of ailments. We were also able to have one of the boys whom we both knew, released to us as his guardians. There were several members of the staff who were compassionate and desirous of having us help in any way we could. They invited us back to provide health care, clothing, and literally anything to give comfort and assistance to these young boys and men. This, after all is not a jail. It is just a repository for those who make the streets look unkempt bother the tourists and the ‘normal’ people of society.
Jesus wept. He continues to weep as we go on with life concerned more about our retirement plans, our favorite vacation spots, and which version of the Bible we won’t read than we are concerned for The Least of These.
I cried today. I hope and pray that as you read this, you will cry too. After all, Jesus wept.
Greetings, Mr. Johnson.....was wondering what missions organization you and your wife are with and where one could donate....
Thank you for sharing your life...
Posted by: terry | May 16, 2005 at 04:45 AM