I took his little hand in mine as he greeted me with a genuine smile. He really does have only 4 fingers on his right hand, I noticed. Ambrose, age 10, with only 9 fingers.
I didn’t know who he was when I first saw him, mixed in with all the Simba Scholars when we took them to the park one day for chips and soda. I watched him that day as he played with the rest of the kids, and I didn’t mind buying him a treat along with the others even though he’d *snuck* in. He just wanted to be there with the rest of them, a part of the group. He fit right in.
“Hi Jen!” he said to me that day as he reached out his hand to me, everything on his face beaming – from his eyes to his teeth to his cheeks. Who is this beautiful boy who I’ve never met, that has taken the time to not only learn my name, but then call me by it in an attempt to connect with me? I wanted to know more about him. What was his story?
“His father was a drunkard,” Lydia explains. This is no news to me. About 90% of the stories I hear about the children I work with begin with that same line. Unfortunately, I’ve begun to expect it. “He used to beat Ambrose’s mother horribly.” Another thing that I expect to hear. “There was a day Ambrose saw the father beating his mother, and he tried to help her. He stood in front of her in an attempt to protect her. The father, being so drunk, took a hold of Ambrose and cut off his pinky finger right there.” I was sick. And sad. Not only did he have a horrible home life, he had an appendage cut off because of a fit of rage caused by too much alcohol, and he will have to live the rest of his life with the physical evidence right before his eyes of what his father did to him.
But here he was, acting as part of the Simba Scholars group… having a good time, laughing, playing, running, enjoying chips in the park. This happens to most of them. You can never tell what they’ve been through by merely looking at them. The boy who was sodomized by his dad, the girl who was buried alive by her dad, the boy who’s dad died and was abandoned by his mother, the boy who watched his father murder his own mother… You’d never be able to tell the trauma they’ve lived by looking at them.
As for Ambrose, he just wanted to be a part of this “cool group” of kids called the Simba Scholars. He wanted to fit in, to feel loved. If that is the most important thing, besides education, that we can give these children, then that’s what we’ll do. I want all of them to feel that they are loved and special.
And Ambrose isn’t the only one who’s trying to make his way into the group… I was also approached by another little boy who presented me with a hand-written letter explaining why he wanted to be a Simba Scholar and accompanied the letter with his most recent report card from school (awesome grades, I’ll add). Kenya Simba Scholars is having such a positive effect on the children, the families, and even those who aren’t yet a part of it but that have hope to become a part of it.
My hope is that these children will know that life can be exciting, life can be joyful, life can be filled with incredible passion, life can be filled with love… even in their worlds that are so filled with hurt.
It may go without saying that Ambrose is now up for a KSS scholarship at the Ria’konga Center.
Adventures of an International Advocate 