This morning was my last in Eldoret. I still can’t figure out how five weeks went by so quickly. I have a feeling it had to do with the 60 kids I was constantly chasing around, but I still feel as though I time warped somewhere between my arrival and this morning.
As I sat in the living room, simultaneously recovering from the morning playground romp, trying to de-bug the Home’s laptop and generally feeling sad about my imminent departure, Phyllis came looking for me. I recently interviewed her to get answers to my lingering questions and one of the things that I had asked her about was how she found those in the community that she now sponsors with school fees, food, etc. She told me that all of her sponsored children had either come to her looking for help, or that she had been notified of their situations by friends in the community. This morning, I was to find out exactly what that looked like.
After informing me of her intentions, Phyllis led in a girl who looked about my age. She was going to tell me her story and why she had come to seek Phyllis’ help. Seeing the look on Phyllis’ face I braced myself for what I knew would be a tragic enlightenment.
I was right. This girl, or woman should I say, was 24-year-old Gladys. She lived about 10 km up the road and had walked to the Home in what I realized was a state of desperation. As soon as she sat across from me, her story began pouring out of her as if she’d been searching endlessly for someone to listen.

Gladys
Gladys had graduated from secondary school in 2000 with grades good enough to get into most colleges. The pursuit of a higher degree, however, was not an option. Already 18,000 shillings (about $240 or £150) in debt from her secondary education, Gladys spent the next three years of her life doing manual labor on a nearby farm in order to pay off her debts and to provide for her family.
When I say “provide for her family,” however, I don’t mean it in the traditional sense. She has no children of her own. Instead, she has a mother and father too old and decrepit to earn an income, a brother who retreats daily to an alcoholic stupor instead of to work to earn money for his own three children, a mentally disabled sister who cannot take care of herself, and five little ones, orphaned when their mother, Gladys’ sister, succumbed to AIDS two years ago. It was this sister that had provided the only hope for Gladys – she had given her shelter and had worked along side her to provide for their extended family. Without enough money for the proper medical care, however, she, like so many others in Africa, fell victim to the horrors of AIDS.
Soon after her sister’s death, Gladys had been forced to move back to her family’s hut which was already too small for the seven people who lived there. Gladys plus her sister’s five children made 13. Thirteen people in a hut big enough for two.
Gladys tried to go back to school at this point, wanting to pursue a career in social work or teaching. She wanted to help children who had been orphaned like her five nieces and nephews. School, however, was expensive. With the help of her church, she attempted to raise the 15,000 shillings (about $200 or £120) needed to pay for her schooling. Despite their best efforts, however, they were able to raise only one-third of this amount and Gladys was forced to search for work in lieu of pursuing an education.
After a month of job searching, which required completing the 10 km hike to and from town each morning and afternoon – without lunch –, Gladys finally found work as a housekeeper in the home of a wealthy businessman in Eldoret. She was so thankful for what she thought had been a stroke of pure luck.
This supposed luck soon turned sour. Her employer was impossible to please. She was rarely able to go to bed before 1 a.m., and had to wake up only three hours later to begin tending to the house again. The situation was made worse when her employer’s sons returned from studying abroad. Gladys took a deep breath and stared at the floor for a few moments before telling me what happened next. She then told me that since their return home, her employer’s sons had been sexually abusing her. She couldn’t tell anyone for fear of losing her job. She was made to suffer these atrocities alone in order to earn enough money to support her family. She had come to the Home today seeking refuge and looking for someone to help her with a new beginning.
I sat there helplessly as Gladys recounted the abbreviated story of terror. She was merely two years older than me, but had already suffered more than most people suffer in ten lifetimes. I offered her tea not knowing what the proper etiquette was for entertaining someone with such a story.
In the kitchen I attempted to collect myself and wipe the dazed look off my face – a task which I found more difficult than expected. Returning with the tea, I sat down and offered Gladys the only help that I could. I told her that she was strong – so many others in her position would have fallen victim to the temptations of drugs and alcohol. I told her that there was hope. I told her that she had given me hope. Hearing her story reminded me that the resilience of the human soul has the ability to overcome even the most hopeless of situations. It reminded me of why it is that Bread and Water is able to change lives year after year.
After the incident with Cherob less than one week ago, I began to wonder whether what we do could really make a difference – whether we were a small faction swimming upstream against a current of utter hopelessness. Gladys was my much needed beacon of hope. If this young woman could continue to fight against all odds, could stay strong for herself and for her family, then change is possible.
Archimedes once said “Give me a place to stand and I will move the world.” After meeting Gladys, I realized that where Bread and Water needs to stand is next to people like her. It is people like Gladys, people like Phyllis and Jos, who will change this world we live in. I’m just grateful that I’ve been given the opportunity to help them on their way.