Julie's Final Blog From Kenya

Wednesday 7th April - I awoke early worrying about the little boy, Felix, whom I’d met the previous evening. Why hadn't I taken some biscuits in my rucksack, why didn't I give him more bread when I had the chance?

I signed on to the internet. It was only 5:49 French time and I saw that Thomas was on line. Quickly I emailed him to say that Skype was out of the question - if I heard his voice, I would just cry even more. I was so full of despair for this poor little boy. I couldn't bear the thought of him going hungry until tomorrow evening and our next fellowship at Katchok, when he would possibly turn up.

In sharp contrast, we were due to take the girls out to the Impala Park and then for a fish meal afterwards. I managed to cheer myself up a bit with thoughts of seeing 'my' girls again - Ruth and her sisters, Violet , Maccy and Winny.

I spent most of my time with the youngest siblings of Ruth - 2 year old Elizabeth and 3 year old Christine. They were so happy to play with the balloons whilst the older girls touched my skin and played with my hair. Once they got bored of the few things I had in my makeup bag and trying on my lipstick, they investigated my iTouch and then played football and 'catch' like the boys.

It was a happy afternoon which continued with fish at Car Wash and party bags for the youngest amongst them with a promise of a present for each of the older girls, the following day.

In the evening, we took Moses and his wife, Tatu, out for a Thai meal. I so wanted to ask, even beg him to take little Felix into the program but knew that I had to bide my time and let things unfold in the correct manner.

Thursday 8^th April - I had a rendezvous with Florence as I wanted to do some shopping for the girls and hear about the (Felix) home visit that she and John had scheduled for earlier this morning.

Having spent a fortune in Kenyan terms at the Bata shoe shop, Florence and I sat having Iced coffee with a plate of masala chips whilst she began to tell me Felix's grim story.

He was almost 10 years old but was only 2 when his mother died from brain damage having been beaten up by her husband. Felix recalled that he had also had a younger sister who had also died. His father, now 70, and known by other villagers to be mentally sick, was never prosecuted.

Currently, Felix lives with his 70 year old grandmother who barely makes a living by ploughing the fields of neighbouring farms. His aunt and uncle and their 5 children live next door however they refuse to include him in their family life so Felix is rarely fed and is often beaten. In order to provide for himself, he has found work at the construction site digging up sand in order to pay for his meagre upkeep and school fees.

I wept as I leant of his sad life. I felt so strongly that God had pointed me in his direction.

John, who had accompanied Florence on the home visit , reported back that he knew of the boy, saying that on a couple of occasions he had run to (the other) John's house in Manyatta after he had been beaten. This journey (barefoot) would have taken him one and a half hours. Surely this boy fitted the profile perfectly for being brought into the Isaiah Trust programme?

That afternoon, I was due to be at Kibos with Moses to teach the boys some French. In actual fact, the time was spent with Moses giving him the background on Felix. Will he think I am over reacting and too emotional? What do I know of the situation? There are loads of boys probably with the same issues. But in my heart of hearts I knew that I was meant to bring little Felix to Moses's attention.

Moses said that in a situation like this, the ideal is to bring the boy into a family situation until his self esteem is strong enough for him to maybe attend a boarding school. However, I knew that the house was full as it was.

We ended the conversation with the agreement that if he was at Kachock that evening, then we would both go for a home visit the following morning. Thereafter, I tried to distance myself from Moses in an effort not to influence his decision making process.

Friday 9^th April – this morning we went to Nakumat to buy provisions to take to Felix's home. What would we find?

His grandmother's house was in a rural area which in part appeared quite affluent. I asked Moses about this? It looked great he said, but being on the flood plain, it is rife with Cholera and Typhoid - so much for fertile plains, I thought!

Eventually, we arrived there. The house itself was two simple rooms - an upturned wheelbarrow held a bowl for washing. Felix was alone and Moses questioned him closely. Before we left, I held Felix close and promised him that he would be leaving this place whatever - when I asked him if he wanted to be taken care of, away from this situation, he gave me his first word – ‘yes’.

On the way back to the car, as Felix walked ahead with John and Tom, my steps were slow and laboured, my heart was heavy with the despair I was feeling for Felix's situation. Then Moses joined me and said, ‘On Sunday Felix will come to church with Pamela (the mother of Michael of the glasses fame) and he will stay at the house at Kibos. He will be taken into the programme’.

My hands covered my eyes, I was overcome with emotion but I didn't cry, I just sobbed into Moses's shoulder such was my relief at finding this little 'lost' boy. That's Felix at the top of this posting.

Later that afternoon, I had such an overwhelming feeling that God had brought me to this point in my life whereby all my skills in my working life, all my skills as a mother, every ounce of experience I had ever had - all had been honed to this point. This was where I was meant to be.

My delight at attending the children's fellowship meeting the evening before and my high with the news of Felix's acceptance into the programme, was tempered by learning that John's 7 months old son had been taken into hospital during the night with Malaria.

Kisumu is a rollercoaster of emotions, joy and despair, hope then hopelessness.

Saturday 10^th April - All too soon it was time to leave to return to my other family with a simple promise to come back soon ,God willing, with Guy and Kitty. I left with letters full of greetings to their white brother and sister in France.

The flights back to Nice were not uneventful with a late departure from Nairobi, the dash to make the connecting flight in Paris and my case disappearing for 24 hours. All the sorts of things which would normally stress you out, but compared to what I had experienced during the previous 2 weeks, a walk in the park!

I Slept In Marilyn Monroe’s Bed (Possibly)

A Nevada casino once owned by Frank Sinatra and patronised by Hollywood stars and mobsters has closed amid plunging gambling rates and competition from Las Vegas. Even a visit from the renowned gambler, Thomas F Cupples III in the mid 90s did not save this icon of the gambling industry.

In addition to the legendary gambler Cupples, not even a star-spangled history and an association with the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Junior has been enough to save the Cal Neva Lodge Casino from the grim realities of the US casino industry.

The casino, which sits on Lake Tahoe near the California border, last year saw its revenues fall to about a half of what they were in 1992. Reputed to be America's oldest licensed casino, the Cal Neva opened in 1926 and hosted the 13-year-old Judy Garland's first performance nine years later.

However, its heyday was in the early 1960s when it was bought by Sinatra, reportedly in partnership with Sam Giancana, a Chicago mobster who enticed film stars, singers and Mafiosi to flock to its blackjack games and roulette tables. A network of underground tunnels, built to smuggle alcohol during Prohibition, allowed the VIP guests to move around the resort without being seen by the public.

Marilyn Monroe spent the last weekend of her life at the resort in 1962 as a guest of the Rat Pack actor Peter Lawford and his wife. However, a 1999 biography claimed Monroe was brought there to be threatened not to reveal her Mafia links, drugged in her cabin and photographed in compromising positions. Another popular Cal Neva rumour claims she used the resort for a tryst with John F Kennedy.

OK – so the ‘Cupples’ mention is a bit of poetic licence but I’ve been to the Cal Neva and I probably slept in Marilyn Monroe’s bed and bathed in her bath assuming she had the Honeymoon Cabin.

In 1993, on a house exchange with a lady from San Francisco, myself, my brother and my girlfriend at the time had been advised to drive up to Lake Tahoe. I have to say it was a magical drive taking us through the wine country (where we stopped at a vineyard to sample the fare – bad news when you’ve got another 3 hours to drive), fished in crystal clear rivers, had great food in wonderful scenery and ended up driving round Lake Tahoe quite late at night desperately looking for somewhere to stay.

Eventually we reached this sort of town which seemed to be entirely comprised of casinos and we drove into the first place which looked like a hotel and I remember saying to the receptionist we’d take anything they had. She was quite apologetic and said they had a wedding party and all they had left was, believe it or not, the honeymoon cabin (where Monroe reputedly stayed) and an adjoining room (for the bride’s mother ???).

We grabbed the keys, dumped our stuff and headed into the main body of the hotel to find that the complex was split in half. The restaurant (for late diners) and the casino were on the other side of the road which was in Nevada (which allowed gambling) whilst the accommodation was on the California side (which did not allow gambling). Crossing the road, we entered the casino and found the bride and groom from the afternoon’s ceremony sitting in full wedding gear playing slot machines – it was bizarre – they’d probably been there all afternoon and evening!

We had a fantastic dinner, drank some great wine and lost a few dollars on the tables and then headed back to our lakeside cabins. It was only in the morning that we could see the full beauty of the hotel’s position on Lake Tahoe – have a look at the URL below:

http://www.calnevaresort.com/

Cupples, Lunch for Fred Couples

Fred Couples at the 1992 Open

Watching the Masters Golf tournament at the weekend, I was astonished to see how well Fred Couples was playing. He’s been off the radar for quite a while, probably because he now qualifies for and plays on the ‘Seniors tour’, but he’s always been a favourite of mine, probably because for 40 years of my professional life, and despite being asked how my name was spelt, everybody would spell it ‘Couples’ anyway.

Couples is a terrifically popular golfer and for a couple of decades was the pro most amateurs said they would prefer to play a round with. Tiger Woods has obviously taken that accolade now and I suspect that his stories of ‘off green’ activities hasn’t diminished his appeal one iota. But Fred was always the fans' favourite.

I remember Couples was playing in the British Open at Muirfield quite a few years back (1992 actually) and I was watching his progress with some interest, not just because I followed him as a golfer but also because I’d actually played both courses and the courses were familiar to me.

Couples was in contention for the Open but then his wife was reported to have ‘hit a bar’ in the town, had drunk quite a bit and then had started stripping off whilst dancing on a table in the bar. Couples game went to pot after that and he did not win. Rumour has it that he deliberately played badly so he could go home and get away from the missus, which he did.

And it was during this time when his popularity was at its height when I went to play a round of golf with my mates. The course was out Beaconsfield way and we headed off into the restaurant for lunch prior to playing.

Lunch was ordered at a counter where you paid up-front and then you gave your name on the basis that the waitress would bring your food to you when it was ready.

‘What’s your name’, she asked. ‘Cupples’, I said. There wasn’t even a flicker of name recognition – she didn’t even look up from the counter to see if it was the famous golfer standing there but I distinctly saw her write it as ‘Couples’. ‘First name’, she asked. ‘Fred’, I lied. Still not a flicker of adulation.

About 20 minutes later, she was wandering around the restaurant with my lunch on a tray, shouting, ‘Fred Couples, lunch for Fred Couples’.

My mates were in stitches. The rest of the restaurant was in apoplexy – was he really there in their golf club?

Julie's 3rd Update From Kenya

He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young (Isaiah 40:11)

Easter Sunday – Sundays are so special in Kisumu. Everyone is putting on their Sunday best and rushing off to whichever church service they usually attend. We were heading out to Kibos for Fresh Manna church. As we arrived we could hear the service was well under way and it took about 30 minutes to greet everyone. Eventually Moses appeared dressed all in white. As we would be celebrating communion during the service, he asked us to prepare the bread and 'wine' and then painstakingly he showed me how to prepare the bread. ‘What should I do with the crusts?’ I asked. He looked at me enquiringly and handed me a plastic bag. ‘We'll eat them for breakfast,’ he said. Will I ever be able to throw a crust away again without thinking of him?

I've not really written anything about Moses or the two Johns or Paul James.

Moses is in charge of the house which takes care of around 17 boys. These are boys straight from the streets and who are brought into the Isaiah Trust programme. Under Moses’ guidance, they will be taught discipline, attend school and do lots of studying as well as regular chores.. Many of the boys in the programme had been existing in horrendous circumstances prior to being brought to Moses. Smoking 'bang' and glue sniffing are the main addictions that they arrive with. Once they have experienced some 'rehab', they move to Mambaleo which Paul James runs in a similar fashion. These are the older boys and Paul James prepares them for further studies and reintegration into society- hopefully helping them achieve some kind of self sufficiency.

The two Johns take the role of social workers. If a boy approaches the Trust for help, one of the two Johns will check out if the boy has a real need and if he does, brings them into the programme. Once admitted, both Johns keep a close eye on the boys’ overall welfare and schooling.

Each of these guys is a saint! We visited the house of one of the Johns in the Manatta slum district only the other day. I had expected that as these guys were employed that they would be living in some kind of house....but no, they live in similar conditions to the kids they are caring for, except that they get paid a regular salary. John has a wonderful smile on his face all of the time, so much so that you wonder if he is genuine. During the first school meetings he looked so laid back that he was sliding off his chair! It only took me two days to understand quite how big his heart really is. He and his wife Pheobe share a three room house which is actually a slum dwelling - no water, no sanitation, no legal electricity. Between them they have 4 children, the youngest 8 months old. On a day to day basis, John meets needy, vulnerable or abused children. Iin addition to his own family, John is unofficially 'fostering' another two boys and a young girl. John earns the equivalent of 80 euros a month.

Moses is a man who has a great deal of presence. The word charisma might have been invented just for him. He is a handsome man with a deep belly laugh and an infectious charm. As soon as he knew I lived in France, he insisted on me adding to his vocabulary on a daily basis, so we greet each other with ‘Bonjour’ and ‘comment ca va’ and the like. As well as being house father to the Kibos boys, he is the biological father to 4 adorable girls. He is also the Pastor at the Kibos Fresh Manna church, preaches from the heart, sings and plays guitar and has an insatiable thirst for knowledge.

Paul James is a slightly built man with a hesitancy and a shyness about him, until he gets up to preach. He works alongside the extrovert Moses, translating between English and Kiswahili in church. He always wants to practice speaking French. ‘How do you say I love you,’ he asks me.

As we walked to see to his goats, Paul James took me to one side to ask permission to call me Mama instead of by my name. He explained he felt uncomfortable calling me Julie and to call me Mama was giving me the respect he thought I deserved.What can I say to him....apart from ‘je t'aime’ of course!

Each of these guys is so special in their own right. I know now why I feel so safe having them around me in the middle of the slums.

And so we came to Church with the music reverberating in my ears. At one point, I got up out of my seat and moved to the back so I had more room around me to sing, dance and clap. I smiled at myself. I'm 'morphing' into Nicky I thought! Nicky and Kitty, my daughter will know what I mean. The music was fantastic and us girls even sang.

(Nicky is the co-founder of the Isaiah Trust and would have been on the trip but she became seriously ill only a few weeks before departure – she’s recovering fine now).

The Easter service was awesome - it lasted 4 hours!!! I will never complain about the 90 minute services at the International Baptist Church in St Paul again!! Ha ha!!

Easter Monday - The 'team' were getting together to play 5 aside football with the boys today. Fortunately, I had planned to go to visit Covenant House's orphanage.

Rather than go in the van, they suggested we take a boda boda. Oh I thought that's great -I've fancied a ride in one of the golf-cart like taxis. Unfortunately, my translation of boda boda was not too accurate and it was the bike taxi rather than the golf cart taxi. So I had no choice but to get my leg over the parcel shelf on the back and cling on for dear life on the 15 minute ride down hill. On numerous occasions my water bottle was jolted off my shoulder as we negotiated pot holes and trenches as well as other vehicles. It was almost as exhilarating as the time I hang-glided off a mountain in the French Alps. I had the same sense of wobbliness in my legs when I put them back on firm ground.

The orphanage was comprised of a group of buildings and dormitories which held the 'usual' groupings of either orphans or abandoned or mistreated kids. They gathered round as I sat on the floor with them and showed them how to draw around their hands. The older ones numbered their fingers then wrote their names on them, cut them out and pegged them to string around the room. Their reward for picking up the discarded paper from the floor was a chupa chup!

We were back home by 5 and the rest of the ‘team’ rolled in around 7:00 pm, each burnt to a crisp, having spent the day in full sun without any shelter. Unfortunately there was no water left for showers! A consolation was that Joshua once again, cooked us a wonderful evening meal.

PS. Just found out that 76 boys turned up to play football today!!

Tuesday 6th April - Off to the provincial hospital this morning with 8 year old Michael to try and get his eye problem diagnosed. Michael is one of 9 siblings but 4 of them died. His mother ekes out an existence on the dumps. I had a four hour wait at the hospital with Michael but we managed to get the staff to sort out his problem, which he says he’s had for five years! Result!

I was then collected by John and taken to visit Ruth (14) in the slum district where she lives. We couldn't get the jeep down the narrow lanes so there was no option but to bike it.

Had a BLAST of a day! I would have been a bit worried on my bike but John took excellent care of me - I even had two of the other guys as outriders (all ex street kids). I felt like I was in a James Bond film! We even stopped in a cafe for quick soda.

Off to a fellowship meeting on the dumps now - hopefully Michael will be the proud owner of some new glasses!

Wednesday 7th April - had a great day yesterday. It ended with a fellowship meeting on the dumps. Michael was there, standing at least 6 inches taller in his new glasses (picture above) - do you know he's been in pain for 5 years, bless him. I'm aware that my time is getting closer to an end here and it was my opportunity to stand up in front of the boys (and all my girls were there too - Violet, Immaculate and Ruth) to say goodbye to those I would not be seeing over the next few days. I explained how happy I was to be going home to my husband and family as I had missed them then my voice just broke as I tried to explain just how much I would miss my African family. Then I came out of the shack to help prepare the bread and juice. There must have been 50 kids milling around still taking part in the service and by now we were in pitch darkness. Just on the threshhold was a ragged little boy. You know how children put their head on their knees when they are tired? I bent down to him and asked if he was tired - he barely had the strength to lift his head. I brought him into the 'kitchen' and gave him 3 slices of bread which he ate so slowly. Then, with all the activity around the place and boys milling around, I lost him. I wanted to give him some more.

When we reached the jeep, I saw him again. I went over to see him and took Florence with me (she's one of the orphans that now receives a small salary to work for the trust). She bent down to talk to him and and translated for me. He was the eldest of 5, both parents apparently dead. They lived with their grandmother who tried to look after them but they had been without food many days. John was called over. ‘This is a genuine boy’, John said. ‘He is telling the truth. I bought him those shoes a couple of weeks ago when he was barefoot’.

The little boy just leaned into me and my heart broke. So that's why I'm awake at 5 am. Florence and John have promised to find him over the next two days so hopefully he can be brought into the Trust’s programme.

I long ago gave up posting blogs at a weekend as, believe it or not, some of my more cerebral articles take quite a bit of research, but after yesterday’s post which was quite depressing to write (I suppose it might even have been more depressing to read) today is a totally different ball game. What a weekend I have in store. So this is to keep J up-to-date with what's happening at Le Brin during her travels.

Totally different to yesterday, when I opened the curtains this morning the sun was blasting everything in sight. What a difference a day makes.

A quick bit of work next door and then get ready for lunch in the village. A table outside in the scorching sun, a few glasses of wine and good company and the world seems a whole different place.

My little contre-temps with Kitty is over and she loves me again. Guy is being a model son and I just adore watching him grow up to be a man. They still tease me mercilessly but who else do they have to humiliate?

We’re back from lunch now and I’m trying to expand their horizons by playing ZZ Top’s Greatest Hits at full blast. At the moment there’s not too much in the way of protests, in fact, like a previous CD of mine, they may eventually get to the point where they insist it’s played every time we get into the car.

My darling wife returns on Sunday from a soul-searching visit to the slums of Kenya and I know the trip will have changed her life forever. I can’t read her e-mails without getting tearful eyes, not necessarily for the children, but more for my wife’s frustration and inability to ‘hoover’ up every orphan out there and change their lives. The tales of poverty, brutality and injustice are bad enough but when I think of what she must be feeling knowing that she’ll be leaving those kids behind, my heart goes out to her. No doubt our lives in Tourrettes will also change – just how they will change is to be determined but I’m sure they will.

Incidentally, my youngest son, Timothy (now 29) had also been reading J’s posts from Kenya and had made a comment on Facebook to which J replied that ‘Timmy’ had been her first ‘lost boy’ (see picture with his hedgehog birthday cake made by J). I remember the weeks well – there’s a whole story behind this, but suffice to say, my eyes welled up again – it’s been an emotional few days.

It’s also been an expensive weekend as Guy and Kitty have finally negotiated their weekly pocket money (at 13 and 15, I thought I’d escaped but it seems not!) but it appears that they want paid in advance which could be a problem. I reckon more of our disposable income will be heading to the Isaiah Trust and I therefore expect G&K to follow their parent’s example and donate a little bit to help the Shadracks, Michaels and Ruths of this worlds (see Julie’s posts from Kenya if you don’t know who they are). Kitty is desperate to accompany Julie next year and I think that would terrific, but enough of Kenya.

I’m now singing ‘Viva Las Vegas’ (a la ZZ Top) at the top of my voice and the cats have done a runner. Shadow has his paws over his ears and I’m lucky that I don’t have any close neighbours or there might be complaints. I’m contemplating doing some more work next door but on the other hand I might not. Tan and Angie are back on Tuesday so I’ve got a bit of leeway. Yesterday it was too cold and wet to work, today it’s too hot! C’est la vie.

And finally, it’s a great weekend for sport. The Augusta Masters (golf) over the next couple of days, the FA Cup Semi-Finals and what is being billed as the match of the decade – Real Madrid Vs Barcelona on Saturday night.

And finally, finally, an amazing and truly disturbing story from The Masters Golf Tournament. A Sky Sports reporter parked his car in the car park and noticed a super-charged V12 Mercedes car parked next to his with nobody in it – but the engine was running. When he mentioned this to a car park attendant he was informed that the owner of the car had gone to the golf (for eight hours) and had deliberately left his engine running ‘so that the inside of the car would be cool when he returned in the evening’. I have nothing to say!

A Depressing Day

I opened the curtains and it was raining. Worse than that it was cold. I switched on the telly and got back underneath the duvet and there she was – the morning weather girl telling everybody that the weather in the UK was going to be ‘stupendous’ – 18 degrees celsius she chirped. It was not what I wanted to hear. I’m selfish enough that if it’s cold and wet here I don’t want my ‘old country’ to be basking in sunshine.

Wandering through the lounge it was cold enough for me to have to light the fire and only last week I thought I’d finished for the season. Luckily I hadn’t even thought of doing the final (and big) fireplace clean of the year, so that was, at least, some consolation.

There was nothing else for it - It was a day for house chores (thankfully only 4 more to go) but as I’ll have to have the place spick and span for ‘the African Queen’ when she returns, I did the absolute minimum.

After an hour or so of ironing (yes – more), sweeping and hoovering (or is it vacuuming now – why don’t we say Dysoning following the demise of Hoover, that once great institution?), I was just returning to some semblance of normality (for me) when I opened the papers on the internet to find that New York was ‘sweltering’ in 92 degrees (32 celsius I think). People were lying on the grass underneath Brooklyn Bridge soaking up the sun. This was going to be my blog photo but looking at it would have just depressed me even more!

Lunch – that was it. When you’re depressed – eat. Everybody does it and I’m no exception. Got a couple of strange looking things out of the freezer and threw them in a pan (well two pans actually) and let them bubble away to see what they were. Some sort of pasta with ham and cheese and an old chile. The chile tasted a bit iffy but ‘sandwiched’ in some pitta bread I was sure the kids would be happy with it.

‘OK kids – chile for lunch.’ ‘What else is there?’ ‘Well there’s pasta but you won’t want that will you?’ ‘Ooooh yes Thomas – we’ll have the pasta’. And so I was left with the iffy tasting chile and pitta bread which wasn’t too bad after all until I spotted the ‘sell-by date’ on the pitta bread. February 2010 !

Then a bit of lunchtime TV – Doctors – my one and only soap. And what was the storyline? A guy going mental and cleaning his flat convinced that there were bacteria everywhere. It was a bit too close for comfort – especially today.

I looked at the stock market. It was down for the 2^nd day in a row. Time to be a raging capitalist again so I jumped in with both feet and then the US market opened lower and my shares went down ever further!

Then a blazing row with Kitty who was hogging the internet connection thinking that incessantly watching YouTube, whilst listening to web-based music meant she wasn’t ‘downloading’ data. Guy and I put her right. (OK – I know technically it isn’t downloading but it screws the line for the rest of us). It didn’t help that I’d eaten the last bit of her Easter egg!

Then a moment of weakness – I’ll brave the wintery conditions and have a cigarette and a glass of wine on the terrace. What greeted me was a thick coating of yellow dust - everywhere. It comes from the pine trees and covers absolutely everything; tables, chairs, pool and even Shadow if he’s in one of his sleepy moods. And of course, with my allergy it goes right up my nose and I can’t stop sneezing.

PS - that's the outside table on the terrace in the picture and one day's dust!

What a day!

Think Your Pay Is OK ?

After the poverty in Kenya – the obscene largesse of the West ……

No wonder the guy in the photo is looking pleased with himself – he earned $4 billion dollars last year. Let me repeat that – he earned $4,000 million!

His name is David Tepper and is founder of a fund management company called Appaloosa Management. Needless to say, his pay packet has smashed pay records, even amongst those highly paid US hedge fund managers.

Quite a few years ago I was astonished that the head of Disney Corp, Eisner I think his name was, earned over $300million for a year’s work which I thought was obscene, but $4 billion! Can you imagine that amount appearing on your pay slip although he probably paid a bit of tax!

A quick aside - when I was a poorly paid sales guy in IBM it came to year end when I was due a small bonus (probably a couple of thousand pounds) and nearly died when I looked at my pay slip and couldn’t believe that they’d paid me a £64,000 bonus. I quickly established that it was a ‘clerical error’ and was advised by the payroll department not to spend it and that they’d get the bank to send it back (to IBM). I waited a couple of weeks and checked my bank account and would you believe it, they’d paid me a second amount of £64,000! Needless to say, it was all sorted out, unfortunately, within a week or two but in those first few days I probably felt like Mr. Eisner did.

But back to that incredibly rich fund manager. Tepper earned the sum after buying bank shares early last year when most other investors were dumping financial stock. The shares subsequently rose sharply, helping his main fund to grow by 130 per cent after fees. Appaloosa manages about $13 billion.

Another aside – this makes the £127.36 I earned recently by investing in Lloyds Bank shares look positively paltry!

Anyway, getting back to the numbers above – if Tepper has $13 billion under management and he earned $4 billion, either his fees are exorbitant (about 25% of the upside) or, he put his own money where his mouth was and had quite a bit of cash invested himself.

However, not is all rosy in Mr Tepper’s garden. Appaloosa, based in New Jersey, said last week that the Securities and Exchange Commission was examining some of Tepper’s trades.

Nuff said – I can see a witch hunt starting by those SEC bods who are soooo jealous of Mr Tepper and his $4 billion payday.

Second Update From Julie in Kenya

"...share your food with the hungry, provide the poor wanderer with shelter, when you see the naked, clothe him, and don't turn away from your own flesh and blood" Isaiah 58:7

Wednesday 31^st March - I was very tempted on Wednesday to take the day off. Not only had the three house dogs kept me awake all night barking, but once awake, it was difficult not to think about all the hardship that I had witnessed over the last few days. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep but I woke relatively early and decided to shower before the rest of the house rose. Taking a deep breath I even washed my hair! Cold water is all that is available at Covenant House. At 9:00 am we piled into our battered jeep.

Today, we were going to visit two schools and then drive 3 hours to see another two of the Trust's boys who were found on the streets of Kisumu but had been repatriated to a boarding school relatively near to their own villages.

In the first school, we were introduced to seven boys and two girls each sponsored by the Isaiah Trust. Ruth was a very articulate and intelligent girl. When asked what she wanted to do when she left school, she said that she wanted to be a lawyer. She was a serious girl and looking at her report card it was obvious that she could easily achieve this dream. Being the last to speak, Moses asked her to tell us a little bit about her life. Ruth hesitantly told us that she was the eldest of 7 girls, the youngest being 3 years old. Gently Moses prompted her to tell us her story. Her father was rarely with the family as he worked nights so the children were left on their own frequently. Ruth then began to tell us of her mother's illness, how they had to take her out of hospital because they couldn't afford the fees. Ruth attended to her through the next couple of nights until she died in her sleep. By this stage of the story Ruth became overcome with emotion - me too. Here was a young girl who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. I hugged her until we both managed to stop crying.

Later, she posed for photographs with me and showed me around her dormitory. In the washing area, us girls asked her what she needed. Hesitantly she asked for some soap and sanitary towels.

I left with Ruth still in my heart, with a promise to find out who her sisters were and what I could do to help.

Thursday 1^st April - Only two more schools to visit today before they close for Easter!

Yesterday afternoon, we visited the last of the boys’ secondary boarding schools. Their schedule is gruelling by our standards. They are woken at 5:00 am

Today, we visited two more primary schools in Kisumu. I was delighted to meet three of Ruth's sisters - twins Margaret and Susan and 13 year old Kezia. When I met Ruth, it was not apparent that her sisters were in school. Were they not, they would be prime targets for prostitution, hence the relief at seeing them all together!

Good Friday - Today we are going to visit Violet, Alex and Zablon but first we needed to do some shopping. I struggled a bit with 'presents'. Tim picked up salt, cooking fat, sugar, bread, gravy powder and tea. I chose sanitary pads, toothpaste and brushes and soap.

We drove to Violet's house which was off the beaten track and in a slum district. Mud houses with tin roofs squeezed together - hardly any room to pass at all. Barefoot children trying to climb on the car as we manoeveured through the narrow passage ways. Every few houses we would go past a 'shop' or someone with a blanket on the floor selling tomatoes or a single cabbage.

It felt too intrusive to take any photographs from the car and for the first time, I felt fear at being a westerner in the middle of an African slum. We had to stop the car as we couldn't get any further and the heavens opened. Rain's a blessing! As we continued on foot slipping and sliding, I desperately tried not to notice the open sewers on either side of us. Eventually, John led us to the house Violet shared with her father and 6 siblings.

Easter Saturday - Today we are taking the boys out to the ‘Car Wash’ - this is an area where they do - guess what! Wash cars! It is all very amusing as they drive trucks, cars and school buses into the lake and valet them.

The atmosphere there is very lively as there is much activity but we were heading to the fish shacks by the lake which are tin hutted corrugated shacks. It is impossible to get to the lake unless you walk through one of them.

The heat is the first thing you notice from the charcoal fires situated near the entrance, on which the 'mamas' are boiling oil to fry the fish. In another corner, someone with a giant wooden spoon is pouring maize flour into boiling water - this is the Kenyan staple dish - Ugal. If I was going to be unkind then I would say it tastes like wallpaper paste (but without the taste). Next you pass the Tilapi neatly lined up, side by side and on top of each other. These are the ugliest fish you are ever going to find! Their mouths in death are a distinct ‘oh’ shape as if caught out by surprise.

Eventually we managed to find chairs/tables and benches to seat all 40 of us. I had to hug all 30 boys (twice) before sitting down so you can guess that took a while.

No menu - just fish and ugali and some green stuff (sorry I'm not good on names). After about an hour, the huge plates were passed down the table. The English amongst us were somewhat surprised to see the whole fish on the plate (head tail etc) but I was all ready to filet mine! But where was the cutlery??

The lady with the hand wash and bowl came round and the ritual began. Find the soap in the water, soap thoroughly, then wait whilst she pours clean water from a jug over your hands to rinse, then you drip dry.

The boys gave us a lesson in eating the fish – using their fingers. The green stuff was mixed in with bits of tomatoes and was salty and delicious. Plunging my fingers into the ugali and taking a small piece, you roll it in the palm of your hand until it becomes the consistency of dough, make a thumb print into it and fill that with the sauce.

Everyone ate until they were completely full. I have to say that the fish was meaty and extremely tasty. I ate everything in between the tail and the gills ... Then watched Shadrack who was sitting next to me demolish all except the tail.

The boys so love this meal - they probably do this only once each year - they ate until every morsel, on everyone's plate was finished.

See pictures at the following link:

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/tom.cupples/Kenya2#

It Was A Kid’s Day Yesterday

I was up quite early yesterday. It was sunny and warm and perfect for getting all those outside jobs done which I’ve been putting off until we had a couple of days of dry, warm weather.

The stock market had risen again which didn’t really interest me as I’ve sold everything in the run-up to the election so with no financial distractions, off I went to clear up my wood store and do some planting next door.

It was 11 when I remembered that Kitty had a special day and as it started at 12 and she was quite clearly still in the land of nod, I thought I’d better wake her up. I suppose Guy and Kitty are like lots of other kids – they would sleep until their stomachs wake them up, but as Kitty’s day was centred around food, I was sure she’d be awake – nope, not a chance!

“C’mon get up – you’ve got lunch at 12”, I said. It was 2 minutes to eleven o’clock. ‘Ooooohhhh it’s not eleven yet’, was the reply and the head didn’t even surface!

You see, her friend Maeve had won a ‘lunch for two’ in a tombola and the lunch just happened to be at the best restaurant in town – the Auberge du Tourrettes. Two thirteen year old kids were about to have lunch with the WAGs (wives and girlfriends)of the village and Kitty was not about to let me forget it.

‘Don’t think you’re taking me to the village in that manky old scooter’, she said. ‘I want you to get the Alfa out of its winter wrapping, get the top down and take me to the village in that.’ And with that she disappeared into her bedroom to get ready.

Thirty minutes later she appeared in the Armani tailored jacket she’d been given by Linda at our lunch on Monday and she looked a treat. Hair straightened and looking every inch a WAG, she reluctantly climbed onto the back of my scooter and 10 minutes later I dropped her off at the Auberge. ‘Remember – no wine’, I said and left her. I could say I zoomed off but it was more like a putt-putt off!

Just what the Auberge, who normally expect a couple of luncheon diners to spend about 100 euros will do when two 13 year olds ask for a table is anybody’s guess? See Kitty’s latest montage photo of herself above. It’s bad enough that’s she’s precocious – I don’t know how I’ll cope if she’s talented as well!

Then it was back to Guy who, poor thing, has a rotten cold. His scooter has been acting up so we stripped all the farings off of it and looked at all the performance related items. It was great – man and boy, working together on a machine, with me trying to tell him things such as, ‘you’ve got to make sure you put the spark plug in straight’, and him saying, ‘Thomas – I know that.’

Anyway, having cleaned, scrubbed, reset and tightened various bits and pieces, we built it back up and he pressed the start button. Miraculously, in Guy’s opinion and quite expected in mine, it burst into life on the first turn of the starter motor. ‘It’s never done that before Thomas’, was the statement from a boy who obviously had no faith in my engineering abilities.

It’s now 5.50pm and still there’s no sign of the 13 year old WAG. Maybe her and her pal have gone to McDonalds for a Big Mac to end the afternoon’s culinary extravaganza?

Now Nigel’s been in trouble again in New York – find out what he’s been up to at the following URL and watch out for the bad language:

http://monaconigel.blogspot.com/

The UK's Caring Hospitals

There’s a story doing the rounds just now about a hospital switchboard getting a call asking about the health of a patient – a Mrs Jones. ‘Are you a relative?’ asked the operator. ‘Oh yes, we’re very ,very close’, said the caller who was then put through to the ward where the patient was being treated. Once the ward nurse had again established that the caller was a relative (how can they tell?), she proceeded to give the caller a full account of the patient’s treatment and finished with a positive prognosis saying that Mrs Jones would make a full recovery. ‘Thank goodness for that’, said the caller. ‘Can I ask who’s calling so I can pass on a message’ asked the nurse. ‘Oh it’s Mrs Jones in Room 11 of your ward – no bugger has been telling me anything but now I’ve found out – thanks for the information.’

Think it’s a joke? Not on your life. The following report was in the news last week:

“A nurse has been sacked after a dying patient was forced to phone the switchboard of the hospital he was in to beg for water, it has been claimed. Derek Sauter, 60, was left unmonitored for 11 hours at a hospital in Sidcup and used his mobile phone to call for help. The grandfather, who had a chest infection, died eight hours later of pneumonia.”

I know that the UK health service gets a bad press but that latter story is a real indictment of the lack of care some patients receive.

Fortunately, I have not been in a UK hospital since I was a boy but several episodes recently have led me to believe that all is not well, if you’ll forgive the pun.

Firstly, my mate Alan went into hospital a few years ago for a simple hernia operation. He did not survive. Word was that the surgeon nicked his bowel and Alan died of septicemia.

Much more recently we’ve witnessed, or rather J has, the treatment given to her mother and stepfather, both who were very ill and neither of whom survived.

Firstly her mother who suffered from diabetes went into hospital with a complaint and initially the staff treated her very well but as time passed, the treatment deteriorated to the point where J and her sister had to check up that Kath was getting her medication and her meals on a daily basis. Leaving her food and medication just out of reach for a woman who could hardly move was a common complaint and leaving her in soiled sheets was another unforgiveable sin on the part of the nursing staff.

A few months later, Freddi, J’s stepfather who was 92, also entered hospital with a series of complaints (basically his body was giving out) and although, on the face of it, his treatment was ok, when he returned to his nursing home the staff discovered his body covered in bed sores – a clear indication of a lack of nursing care. Just as the home were discussing with the family about making a formal complaint to the hospital, poor Freddi died.

Now I know that we’ve all got stories about the UK Health Service (oxymoron ???), but to have three close relatives/friends enter hospital and suffer what appears to be very poor care just seems a bit too indicative (of lack of care) to be a coincidence.

As some of you may know, my close mate Brian, who was in a serious car accident a few months ago, is still in hospital and it looks like he’ll be there for another couple of months at least. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed that he’ll get better care. It seems to me, and this is a good sign for Brian, that if you’re young enough to understand what’s going on and can complain then you’ll be ok. If you’re old and infirm, you’re in the hands of God, sometimes literally!

Playing on the Beach At Antibes Whilst Billions Were Lost

Let me first of all introduce the characters.

Roman Obramovich – the Russian owner of Chelsea Football Club and worth somewhere between £7 billion and £12 billion. A frequent visitor to these parts where he moors his enormous yachts.

Boris Berezovsky – a fellow oligarch (pictured) who claims he once owned businesses in Russia worth several billion pounds and who has a villa not far away in Antibes.

Arina Berezovsky – Boris’s daughter and Kitty Evans – my step-daughter.

A few years ago, Kitty returned from a sailing lesson having made a new friend. What was strange she said, was that as her new friend sailed her Laser off Cannes, a couple of dark suited men in sunglasses tracked her in a motor boat. At the end of the sailing season, Kitty exchanged e-mail addresses with the little girl and an on-line friendship started, which continues to this day. Frequent invitations for the girl to visit our house were declined and no offers to visit her house in Antibes were forthcoming.

When she returned to the UK, the girl, now known as Arina, would send e-mails innocently giving clues to her lifestyle which was dominated by bodyguards, CCTV cameras and high fences round their Berkshire home.

Intrigued, I spent a few hours on the internet and came to the conclusion (correct as it turned out) that Arina was Boris Berezovsky’s daughter.

Let me re-introduce her father Boris. Self-imposed exile in the UK after ‘falling out’ with Vladimir Putin who he is trying to overthrow. His lawyer/accountant killed in a mysterious helicopter crash and his friend Alexander Litvinenko, murdered with a radioactive poison in London, a couple of assassination attempts on his life and several countries after him for alleged money-laundering and various other misdemeanours. He already has a 6 year jail sentence hanging over him for supposed ‘crimes’ in Russia.

And now the latest twist in his feverishly complicated life:

In December 2000, two of Russia’s most powerful businessmen met at a villa at Cap d’Antibes on the French Riviera. Once friends and business partners, Boris Berezovsky, who owned the villa, and Roman Abramovich, were about to begin a lasting and bitter rivalry that would end up being played out years later in the British courts.

According to Berezovsky’s account, Mr Abramovich was there to deliver a message from the Kremlin: surrender your business interests in Russia or they will be seized.

It was the first of several meetings at which Berezovsky claims he was coerced to hand over shares in some of Russia’s most valuable companies to Abramovich at a substantial discount to their value. He is now suing Abramovich in the High Court in London for more than £2 billion.

At one stage, Berezovsky had political power, playing a central role in helping Boris Yeltsin to retain power against the resurgent Communists in 1995.

Then Mr Berezovsky’s fortunes changed. He fled Russia in 2000 after falling out with Vladimir Putin, Mr Yeltsin’s successor, and became an exile. By contrast, Mr Abramovich, his former protégé, enjoyed close ties to the Kremlin and was on his way to becoming one of the richest men in the world. In 2009, The Sunday TimesRich List estimated Mr Abramovich’s wealth at £7 billion, while years in exile had cut Mr Berezovsky’s to £450 million.

Mr Berezovsky’s mistake had been turning against Vladimir Putin soon after he came to power in July 2000.

In Mr Berezovsky’s account, he claims that he was told to surrender his holdings to the state or “end up like Vladimir Gusinsky”, a Russian businessman who had been imprisoned on fraud charges several months earlier. Mr Berezovsky claims that the threats were repeated by Mr Putin himself at a meeting the following day where he was told to hand his Russian TV assets to the state for $175 million or they would be expropriated and a friend of his who was imprisoned in Russia would not be released. There was also the small matter where Berezovsky alleges that Abramovich coerced him into selling his stake in Sibneft, the Russian oil company, for $1.3 billion — far less than he believed it was worth. Mr Berezovsky argues that he had no choice but to sell his shares or they would be expropriated by the Russian Government. Stephen Curtis, a London lawyer/accountant, well-known for acting for Russian businessmen, handled the transaction. Mr Curtis died in a helicopter crash near Bournemouth shortly afterwards .

Mr Abramovich disputes Mr Berezovsky’s account. He denies that Mr Berezovsky ever had an interest in Sibneft and later sold the company to the Russian state for precisely 10 times what Berezovsky sold it for.

And so the whole affair, despite being entirely Russian in context will be played out in London’s Civil Courts where Berezovsky will try to recoup his ‘lost’ billions. Last week, Abramovich’s attempt to have the case thrown out was rejected and the case will be heard late next year.

In the meantime, Boris wanders around London with an entourage of bodyguards which would make a small army seem inadequate - the occasional invites for Kitty to stay at Arina’s house in London are being politely declined!

Postscript - Boris lost his High Court case and shortly afterwards died in an apparent suicide but which has been declared an Open case by the coroner. 

Special Posting – Julie in Kenya

Julie has sent me some e-mails giving details of her trip to a Kenyan orphanage. Here is her story so far – I’m not embarrassed to say I have been crying as I read them. Photos can be viewed at the following URL (note - the last three photos were taken at an animal sanctuary she visited when she had a long stopover at Nairobi): http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/tom.cupples/Kenya1#.

Monday - we wanted to visit some of Kisumu's primary schools where the Isaiah Trust sponsors some of the most vulnerable children who are studying to pass their KPCE (Kenyan Primary Certificate of Education) which the children need in order to move up to secondary school. Typically, we would be invited into the principal's office and be told that the majority of pupils were orphans. In Kenya, every child is entitled to an education but what initially prevented a general education for all was the cost of the uniform which was mandatory. When children, through various means started wearing uniforms, a new ruling insisted on leather shoes, which again kept the attendance numbers down. The latest issue is that the government has now stopped providing textbooks which is not so much a problem in the primary schools but is certainly not conducive for learning in the secondary schools.

The first Principal we met explained that a further change in the rules surrounding education meant that each child had to now have an official Birth Certificate in order to register for KPCE - somewhat of a problem when a child had been orphaned at an early age and had no known relatives.

Each of the Isaiah Trust's children in the schools, 'our' children, were called before the Principal. Each in turn shook our hand and thanked us. Some were shy, others we knew from church the day before. They glanced at their feet as they were asked what their best subjects were. In a couple of the schools we joined the child in their classroom. The biggest class was 107 children. As we entered the class, they would rise and chant in unison, ‘Good Morning Visitors, how are you’? Each individual child is so polite.

All of the teaching staff deserve respect. The best ones knew every detail of every child that they had taught. When asked what they needed to continue their good work, they stated that they needed exercise books and pencils.

Tonight we were invited out to a fellowship meeting in one of the slum areas hosted by 17 year old Paul. Paul has been lucky in respect that an elder in the slums who was once a street boy himself is letting a dwelling to Paul and his younger brother, Daniel. Paul suffers from epilepsy so is limited to the kind of work that he can find. He chooses to collect anything of value from the dump and sell it on. This meagre existence barely sustains him and his brother. Their slum dwelling was an airless room with no running water or electricity. His brother was too ill - suffering from Malaria - to attend the meeting, barely showing his face around the door. Ten or so neighbours attended the fellowship meeting each with their own tale of hardship. One requested help with paying for medication for his brother who had been diagnosed with Typhoid. We prayed for the elder, Stephen, who at 82 had survived on the streets all of his life. Now owning a property of his own, he 'fostered' or rather kept an eye of boys with the same predicament.

Tuesday - and I still have Paul and his brother heavy in my heart. Our group also met Violet. I was drawn to Violet simply through her name and my association with our village at home, Tourettes sur Loup (the City of Violets) and its Violet festival every year.

In many respects, it is harder for the girls than the boys. Violet was the same age as Paul (17) but the sole carer for her 6 siblings. She too lived in the slums but had been put through some education by the Isaiah Trust. Violet was now at the Rotary College and was in her first week of a two year tailoring course. In her classroom, she proudly showed us the small blue dress she had hand sewn for her exam. Her tutor was very pleased with what she had done in one week! The girls shared three ancient Singer treadle machines which reminded me so much of my Aunty Lil. Violet was learning how to cut out paper patterns drawing them out on old paper bags. I promised to get her some more material as this would be her major expense during her course work.

Next on to another secondary school. Here we met Collins, Wycliffe and Zablon. All three boys had been sponsored by the Isaiah Trust for some time and here we saw a quiet confidence. Collins was ranked 4th in his year and well on track with excellent Maths and Science results to achieve his dream of becoming a pilot. The school's motto was The Sky's the limit. Wycliffe had his sights set on becoming an engineer and Zablon, keen to go on to study Political Science. I have no doubts that these boys determination will get them where they want to be and I look forward to following their individual efforts!

Onto another school and another three boys. Having been so happy to see confidence exuding from the last three I was instantly drawn to Alex. What was his situation? I talked to him. In our western culture it would be totally inappropriate to ask about your problems in a first meeting. Alex's spirit looked totally broken in spite of being in school. Where we were asking the others about what they wanted to achieve, Alex was locked in his problems. His father was a drunkard but worse than that, the only work available for him was emptying faeces from the slum toilets. If Alex didn't help him then he would be beaten.

I was overcome with emotion discussing Alex's situation with Moses. All Alex wanted was a place to concentrate on his studies. How much would it cost to move him away from his father? Moses said that a slum dwelling similar to those we saw the night before would cost as little as 500 Kenyan Shillings a month. To provide a supervised house for 5 or 6 boys similar to Alex would cost 5000. In monetary terms, 6 lives could be changed for as little as 50 euros a month - it was the need for this pitiful amount of money that could so change their lives that affected me so deeply.

Leaving the school behind, we returned to Covenant House to change into long trousers and long sleeves in an effort to deter the mosquitos. Tonight, we attended a fellowship group at Kachok, the rubbish tip.

We were dropped off near to Nakumat (Tesco equivalent) and walked over toward the sports stadium. Kachok covers the intervening ground. We walked through undergrowth behind the stadium until we reached what previously had been a dwelling. It consisted of 2 concrete, windowless rooms with a tin roof, except that only a third of the roofing still remained. Three wooden benches held approximately 20 people. It was raining and the lucky ones had some shelter. The service had already started. Biblical quotations endorsed them to 'think big' - with God on your side you are never alone. The boys and girls, some of whom we recognised, were sharing their benches with the street kids. Emmaculate sat next to me - immaculate from that morning, still dressed in her school uniform. She was in sharp contrast to the young boy who had followed me there - his clothes were as dark as his skin though once they may have been green or blue. His t-shirt was full of holes and his denim shorts were ripped from the thigh to the knee. He was barefoot and about the size of a 6 year old. His eyes told me he could have been 14 or 15. I tried to make some form of contact with him. Most kids are bilingual in Kiswahili with English being the common second language, particularly if they have had some sort of schooling. This child was either shy, petrified of a Mzungu (white person), or just too hungry and weak to attempt to talk. As he sat on a bench sandwiched between others like him, I felt a desperate need to reach out. But how?

The fellowship service was prayerful, inspirational and musical with Moses playing his guitar. We sing in Kiswahil and considering how self conscious I was only two days earlier, now I love to sing in their language. Tim (the co-founder of the Isaiah Trust) talked about how a rope needs three strands to be strong - you, me and God. When I was introduced, I emphasised what he had said. If you are alone, then find a friend and with God you will be three. I urged any child who felt alone to come forward to one of us and we would try to help.

By the time the service had finished, we were in complete blackness, wet through from the rain from the roof and no doubt, had collected numerous mosquito bites., None of this registered as bread and juice was handed out to the street boys who politely queued to take their only meal of the day.

We started the trek back to the stadium. Because we had come straight from our school visiting, none of us were dressed for the weather. My flip flops were useless in the undergrowth and mud and I was well aware that there were numerous trenches (filled with who knows what) alongside our path. Hesitantly I took my first few steps and as I began to slide and fall, I was grasped by Emmaculate on one side and another helping hand on the other. I looked to see who it was. Noticably within those attending was a woman and child. Of all the 'gifts' that I brought, each were given to Moses to hand out where needed. One of her other daughters had received a cotton dress and some underwear. To the baby in the woman's arms, we had given a small cuddly toy. These children have nothing to their name other than the clothes they stand up in. The baby reached out for the brightly coloured 'dinosaur' and smiled - she was still young enough to be carried everywhere though her mother claimed that she was 2 years old. With the child wrapped up tightly on her back, she escorted me with a strong hand back to the Stadium.

As we prepared to get into the jeep, I hugged each of the boys in turn - such bags of bones...one boy whispered up at me. I have a problem, he asked...Michael said he experienced so much pain in his eyes that when this happened he could not see. What a courageous boy to ask me, a mzungu - for sure he had been listening to the preaching. I called over Moses who questioned him more closely in his own language. Medication and doctors are out of the question for slum dwellers, for the street kids, it’s impossible. John was also called over. John receives a small salary from the Isaiah Trust to act as a kind of social worker. Michael would need to go to the hospital and see a specialist consultant . Easter weekend is approaching so arrangements have been made for Michael to be taken to the hospital on the following Monday. I have asked to go too.