News & Views

Orphans, Butterflies, and a Prostitute's Daughter

By Sarah Coggins
April 20, 2006

They lived in a concrete prison, barred in by a steel gate. They left only on Sundays to go to church and back. They had no running water and no electricity. Their bathroom was a hole in the ground with a shack around it. They used dirty well water for everything: washing, cooking, cleaning, drinking. My sister Emily and I went to work with these orphans over Christmas break.

David Mwangi stands at the entrance of Father's House
Children's Home, Ruiru, Kenya, Dec. 14, 2005. At 12 years
old, David is in charge of keeping the steel gate.

On our first day at Father’s House Children’s Home in Ruiru, Kenya, we set straight to work. I held up a piece of red construction paper and demonstrated how to cut out a butterfly. We passed out paper to each child and a pair of scissors. Some cut right into it and ended up with two halves of a shape that didn’t exactly resemble a butterfly. Timidly they asked for another piece of paper. Most sat staring at the art supplies in front of them. Caroline tugged on my skirt and held the paper and scissors up to me. I took a crayon and drew the outline of a butterfly and handed the scissors back to her. She smiled and cut along the crayon line. The rest of the children held up their papers to me. I drew crayon lines on all of them.

After the butterflies had emerged from the construction paper, we gave the kids crayons, glue, and pipe cleaners. Again many of them sat unsure of what to do. I took a scrap piece of paper and cut it into a circle, then glued it onto four-year-old Kevin’s butterfly. He smiled and showed three-year-old Victor. He then took the scissors and tried his best to cut a circle. It ended up looking more like a blob.

Kevin Kimoni, four years old, drinks his breakfast
from a plastic cup, Dec 15, 2005.

As the children started to decorate their butterflies, they began singing a song they all knew. It didn’t rhyme or make sense, but their Kenyan accents and tiny voices made their song adorable.

Butterfly, butterfly spread your wings, fly, fly, fly up to the moon.
I asked Mr. Moon, ‘where did you go last night?’
‘I went to bed. My children went to bed.’
Rain, rain go away, come again another day.
Little boys want to play football and netball.

It was an odd combination, but it was precious.

After an hour of working on their butterflies, we placed them on a table to dry. Many of the orphans had never used glue before. Their projects were entirely smothered and soggy with white Elmer’s glue. Later on, I stood on a chair and hung each of the butterflies from a beam in their dining hall.

Construction paper butterflies hang from the ceiling
of the orphanage dining hall, Dec 14, 2005.

Every day, we did arts and crafts with the children, and every day they became more creative and expressive. They came up with their own ideas, used different materials, and created beautiful works of art. We asked the lady who took care of the orphans how often the children made art projects. She said they never had before.

My heart sank into my chest thinking that these beautiful children with such imaginations had never had the opportunity to express themselves in colors and shapes, sparkles and paints. They were so starved of creativity. Even their surroundings were desolate.

In stark contrast to the social and material poverty of the nation stood the innocence and beauty of the orphans. I was surprised to find the children with smiles on their faces. Laughter bounced through the air. They were still children -- children who loved to run, play, chase, explore -- children who desired love.

The author surounded by the smiling faces of the orphans
of Fauther's House Children's Home, Ruiru, Kenya,
Dec. 17, 2005. The children crowded around the camera,
a novelty they had never seen.

One stole my heart. Her name is Jacqueline. She is 13 years old. She was rescued by her aunt and dropped off at the orphanage. Jacqueline was living with her mother, a prostitute, in a one-room hut, where her mother brought her clients. Herself a child of one of her mother’s customers, Jacqueline witnessed her mother’s indiscretions for years, until she was finally taken to the Father’s House Children’s Home.

The first day my eight-year-old sister, Anne, came to the orphanage, Jacqueline gave Anne a teddy bear she had received from a Christmas box. Even in her poverty Jacqueline still gave. Jacqueline knew hunger and want, but from her lack came a selflessness only the Lord can teach. Jacqueline wants to be a writer and a missionary. At church, she attends the business leadership meetings for men. Once in her cell group of all adult women, Jacqueline took over the session to teach about forgiveness because two of the women in the group had quarreled and decided never to speak to each other again. She explained that there shouldn’t be discord in the body of Christ. She prayed for the women. They apologized to each other and began to walk the road of forgiveness.

Jacqueline leads the rest of the orphans in a Masi tribal
song, Sunday, Dec. 25, 2005. All the children performed
for their guests on Christmas day.

The week before Christmas at a youth event, Jacqueline took the microphone and spoke about the importance of giving during this season. She urged her youth group to think about the less fortunate and do something to help them. She explained there is always something to give, even if it is only a smile. Be creative, she said, and give because Christ gave.

A prostitute’s daughter spoke the best Christmas message I had ever heard.

When I returned to the apparent abundance we have in the U.S., it wasn't enough for me. I wanted more. Not more belongings, not more junk to sit on the shelves. I had been touched by these children whose parents were dead, dying, or had ditched them. Yet they always had something to smile about. There were twin sisters who danced for the Lord. There were the ones whose laughter was infectious. Others had spirits that were tender and meek. They lived to hear, “Nina kupenda sana,” (I love you so much) or “Jesu anapenda watoto wadogo,” (Jesus loves little children). I realized I’d never known a group of people more giving and selfless than the fourteen children I fell in love with at the Father’s House Children’s Home in Ruiru, Kenya.

Having known them, I now wanted more God and everything He has to offer: more love, more sacrifice, more humility, more laughter, more joy, more gratitude, more witness, more zeal.

Bwana sefiway! Asanti Jesu!
Praise the Lord! Thank you Jesus!

Beatrice winks at the camera, Dec. 22, 2005.